#honestly i feel like a donkey on the horse race | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mylordshesacactus · 4 years

Text

Anyway for the record:

Fiona in this AU is a shepherd--small-time, private homesteader whose land isn’t really suitable for cash crops--and I honestly don’t think she owns a horse, as they’re expensive to keep and she doesn’t really have a use for one most of the time. I do think it’s possible she owns a donkey, as a shepherd living alone would have use for a versatile pack animal that’s hardier, smaller, and less expensive to feed than a horse. What she DOES have is a collie, because that’s literally non-negotiable for a sheep farmer.

May: Blood bay Arabian mare. It’s...this is not an inexpensive horse. It is not, like, easy, or realistic, or in many cases [checks notes] possible, to get an Arabian out here. May very obviously comes from SERIOUS money to manage it. But, and here’s the thing--while her little Arabian may stand out in a line of morgans and mustangs and quarter horses, it’s not an out of touch choice. That’s a completely appropriate desert horse--and Arabians are hardy, light on their feet, intelligent, they’ve got endurance for days. If you can get one, and you’re one of Robyn’s Girls TM--meaning you just tend to pop up wherever anyone needs help, whatever kind of help that is--so you need a dependable mount for a variety of situations? Nobody’s gonna judge you for your choice if you’ve got the money.

Joanna: Quarter horse gelding. Probably a bog-standard sorrel. Dependable, strong enough to carry a tall and powerful rider but this is a working horse so they’re also fairly small and compact. Smart, steady, and deceptively quick--they’ve got kind of a low, horizontal carriage naturally, which gives them a bit of a sleepy appearance, but if you’ve ever seen a quarter horse in a cutting competition their attitude is basically “that’s cute boss, you hold the reins if it makes you feel better; now sit back and shut up and let me do my job thanks I’m better at it than you are”. Quintessential cowboy horse, basically. May not be flashy but he does the job and he does it well.

Robyn: I actually think it’d be thematically appropriate if Robyn didn’t own a horse, honestly. She can grab one of the others and/or ride double if she needs to get somewhere in a hurry; I say thematically appropriate because if y’all recall I have Robyn running the Mantle tavern in this AU so she’s actually quite tethered to one place, and might not....need, to keep a third horse around the place. That, and in canon, she’s both a leader and a support fighter. Plus like....there’s symbolism, in the likelihood that a lot of the time Robyn’s first action upon arriving at a tense situation would be to dismount. Place herself on the level of everyone else. It means that most of the time, she wouldn’t be assessing a situation from the inherent position of power that is looking down at people from a horse--and, in a situation where the person she’s arguing with does stay mounted (cough Clover cough), it highlights the power imbalance and throws into relief the fact that the other person is consciously choosing not to dismount to match her.

Failing that, give the girl a good honest dun mustang, she deserves it.

As for the AceOps:

Clover rides up on some big white stallion, a heavy warmblood cross; big English-style dressage type, totally unsuited for the region. (Disclaimer, I actually personally STRONGLY prefer English-style disciplines over Western and, for example, don’t personally like quarter horses at all, while I adore a good warmblood. We’re talking about tropes, here.) He’s probably bombproof, very well-trained and all, because Clover’s a boring-ass cop; but that steadiness in this case comes at the cost of him being reactive. This is a horse that doesn’t think back at his rider, in a setting where the gold standard is that sharp-eyed quarter-horse cutter. He doesn’t fit.

Harriet is the exact opposite extreme; she’s got a dark bay racing thoroughbred stud, profoundly unstable as racing thoroughbreds generally are, very much the epitome of “gosh I wish my motorcycle had an acute anxiety disorder and the ability to make bad life decisions”.

Vine gets a cremello saddlebred stallion because saddlebreds are bad and weird and I despise them. Their legs are bad, their tails are awful, they’re gaited and gaited horses are terrible, and I personally hate every moment I have to spend looking at them. Much like cops. No but like, literally--Saddlebreds are uncomfortable and awkward and do weird things with their limbs, which is Vine’s semblance, and their “official” riding style is a) viscerally bad on every conceivable level and b) blatantly the result of too many rich people with more money than sense and excessive time on their hands. The goal here is that the AceOps just don’t....work.

Also Saddle Seat is legitimately the worst thing horse people have ever invented and anyone who competes in it I am legally allowed to hunt for sport.

Elm: Halflinger stallion. On the surface, halflingers are refreshingly sensible--a good all-purpose breed, heavy enough for draft work but light enough to right, a good choice for a tall, broad rider like Elm. There’s nothing WRONG with halflingers--but the level of control the breed club has and their requirements to be accepted into the studbook are INSANE. Seriously, google that shit. So, a perfectly sensible-looking horse that’s still deeply Rich People Nonsense in origin.

Marrow on the other hand rides a dark bay Morgan gelding. Morgans are phenomenal horses that very much Fit with Western tropes. What is a morgan? Good question! Nobody knows. Morgans are the pit bull terriers of the horse world. There’s like, technically a studbook, but...it’s just sort of A Horse. A dependable, sensible, pretty-but-not-like-TOO-pretty, versatile horse of all work, can do pretty much anything; jack of all trades, master of none, but all in all just a good and useful horse with no pretentious bullshit attached.

I didn’t put too much thought into this YOU put too much thought into this, shut UP--

#y'all better appreciate my restraint here #do you see the number of mules in this post? it's ZERO #ZERO mules #I didn't put a SINGLE mule in my wild west AU #THAT is my level of dedication to putting symbolism first #there is not a SINGLE MULE in this lineup

38 notes · View notes

blackroseraven · 4 years

Photo

We didn’t muck today, but instead handled putting horses out and feeding/watering some of them. It was a gray, rainy day, but most of the rain stopped, although the mud is foot-deep in places. Which you generally find out by stepping into said place, yes.

It was kind of a race after that to get Quattro ready and up to the arena before pony club started. I didn’t quite make it, but. I got going before a lot of the kids were up there, and we were able to do a good amount of exercise even once pony club began. He did pretty well today, even if he tried out a few different tricks to get out of work.

He was really well behaved afterwards, too, when I just rode him for a little. Well. Mostly. He cut a jump once and I had to redo it, and at the very end, when I was getting off him, he decided to go into angry donkey mode and start kicking and grumping.

But once we went down to the aisle he just stood with me. No crosstie, no halter, no nothing. Just stood as I brushed his mane, as people walked by. He once attempted to get into a stall and find food, but I was able to cajole him back out and then just brush him for a little longer.

He didn’t want his coat on today, which is probably smart on his part.

After that I got Q, who was a tremendous jerk in the crossties but behaved really well up in the arena. Which is how it usually is with him, to be fair. He was... okayish, but there was definitely some lameness when we picked up speed, poor boy.

So yeah. I mean... we got things done today and that’s honestly more than I expected.

I’m concerned about. Certain things, but. Trying to just... focus on the here and now, and take it one day at a time.

It really does feel like the only way to survive some days.

#horse #quattro

1 note · View note

weracetogether · 4 years

Photo

RAGBRAI 2019- The Stories of Iowa https://ift.tt/39j7gz4 I will tell the story of RAGBRAI 2019 as all stories are told, from the conclusion. Over the week we rode for 553 miles and climbed for over 21,000 feet. We had five bike mechanical issues requiring shop stops on the way. We had 14 and 13 beer stops, one pork chop, a wood fired pizza, countless pies, cinnamon rolls, pancakes and sausage, cheesecake, cookies, cobbler, homemade icecream, bbq, tacos, BLT, noodles, fresh sweet corn, gyros, pickles, french toast, and I am sure a few other things I am forgetting. We listened to two lines of about 200 songs (and sang the rest of the songs...well I did). We saw cows, horses, kittens, rams, goats, donkeys, rabbits, and one golden retriever (a half mile from the Mississippi). We threw over 20 milkweed balls. We encountered hundreds of people with stories and laughter. We thanked officers and paramedics and nice old church ladies. Well, that's the overview; now for the stories!!!

USAF cycling team- out to help!

Please note the stories may not be told by day- because this is RAGBRAI!!!! (If you don't understand let's go to Iowa the last week of July and bring your bike.) BIKE SHOPS ON THE ROAD RAGBRAI is a traveling city of support, including traveling bike shops. These shops manage everything from flat tires (because yes, people on a 500 miles ride forgot to learn how to change a tube or to even bring a spare tube) to broken bikes (no seriously, "here are the three parts of the bike and this piece that is hanging off. Can you fix it?"). No matter what was brought to them the bike shop staff were always smiling. We know this because for the first four days we became friends with the guys at Bike World and then the next three days we rode by getting "hellos" and waves, while they asked about our bikes. It all started on day 1!! This was our gravel day and the first day we met Brad. Oh Brad!! We were about five miles out from the overnight town when we stopped at a small pass through town on a big hill. After a quick stop I picked up my bike and suddenly it won't roll down the hill. This is not even me being on the bike pedaling, it won't roll down the hill. In this moment Patrick says the best line of the day (maybe the trip)-- "It is operator error or is something wrong?" The look I gave him at this moment I am sure said a bunch of curse words that I won't type out here, but "are you kidding me right now" would have also been communicated in the moment. So I did what any person who has been riding a bike for ten hours would do; I handed Patrick my bike and said here you roll it down the hill. When it stopped and refused to move for him too, he confirmed it was in fact not operator error. Oh good, because I was worried this was going to be a long week of me not knowing how to use a bike (please read that line in the most sarcastic tone with eye roll.). This led to us going back up the hill with what ended up being a broken spoke. Turns out the gravel may have jostled more than my internal organs. This was when we first met Brad. Brad who was putting back together other bikes with "brake problems", "derailer problems", and "I don't know what happened problems", smiled as we stood there waiting our turn. Brad then looked at my bike and confirmed, again, it was not operator error. Then he proceeded to fix the problem. Now you might be thinking "great job Brad, way to fix that issue." But this would not be our last encounter with Brad or Bike World and one other bike shop I don't recall the name of, sorry. Nope Brad would go on to fix Patrick's chain and adjust his cables for better shifting up hills; Bike World would go on to sell me a tire (not a tube, a tire-- this will be important later), an the other bike shop would also sell me a tire and fix my bottom bracket making my bike no longer sound like a paint can rattling up hills. Every time we needed help they were there (or close enough) and they were light hearted with positive words and smiles. We laughed through being close to tears each time we stood at their tents. And Brad-- you ROCK!!! And I am glad you got to see your mom during the trip and got a good home-cooked meal!!! GRAVEL Holy crap super fun day!!!! I was in love with riding the gravel loop the moment my tires hit that slightly muddy, somehow dusty, all bumpy road. However, my riding buddy was not feeling the same way. This was day one of riding and seriously trying not to die or end up with serious injury on day one was a HUGE concern on this 18 mile loop. At about 3/4 of a mile into the gravel course and Patrick announced he was done (there may have been curse words; correction there were curse words). I was now between a gravel road and a tough place, like the end of our adventure on day one. I stood at the top of this little hill, looking at the bigger hill, while Patrick wrestled his demons. But lets be fair I stood there like a three year old with a five dollar bill outside an icecream shop. I am pretty sure I was trying not to smile and bounce and yell, "This is F-ing awesome" (ok so to be honest I may have yelled that)!!! This moment was not about me; I was ride or die and there was honestly a chance at death since this was a new riding type for us. Patrick agreed to go up the next hill which would put us about a mile into the 18 mile ride and maybe 200 feet of the 1500 feet climbing on this loop done. At the top of the next hill we stopped (me still in three year old "Can we PLEASE do this" mode). To my excitement Patrick now announced that while this was clearly a bad idea, maybe not our worse idea but a bad one, he was game to go!!! Pretty sure I was fist pumping the air and yelling "they can't take our freedom" as I headed down the hill full speed. We would stop a few more times at the top of hills with Patrick shaking his head and me bouncing on my dirt packed cycling cleats. We would also make it about five miles from the end of the loop when the rain came back. This added a new component of mud to the course. I was told on several occasions to be careful, even by the ladies at the patch stop (Pottawattamie County, the highest county in Iowa, yeah that wasn't on the description). It seems people know that look in my eye of "I live for danger" and they all try to help Patrick to control this behavior in order that I may not find out where the nearest hospital is in Pottawattamie County (I can tell you it was not going to be on the gavel road we were riding). We made it safely to asphalt again and Patrick's death grip on his handlebars loosened, high fives were given, and oh yeah, tires were changed (tires that I would carry on my bike for the rest of the day-- I honestly didn't mind the attention, because "hell yeah we did the gravel"). For the rest of the trip any gravel on the road was met with Patrick yelling "gravel" in his best Clint Eastwood raspy voice. Because when you overcome the gravel loop you announce that this is old news to you and you are invincible (well, except for that broken spoke mentioned earlier). MILKWEED BALLS

Patrick is attracted to oddities (I mean he married me, you have to know this statement is true). So when he saw a tent with butterflies and heard the words "do you want balls" he couldn't deny the intrigue. Turns out Milkweed Matters is an Iowa group who puts together milkweed balls for cyclist the throw along the roads of Iowa in an effort to grow more milkweed to help the monarch butterflies to thrive in Iowa. Here's what you do-- you pick up milkweed balls, which are designed with "clay" as a no till natural tilling seeding method, you put them in your pocket, you ride your bike along the roadway, you find an area where other wildflowers are growing, where there is no mowing and no crops, then you toss them out there. That's it! Each day the tents are located on the route and you pick up more balls to throw. (You do get told not to eat them and not to take them out of the area, as this milkweed is specific to growing in this area.) A few notes- throwing things from your bike is awkward (for me) and you get dirty looks from those who don't know. I explained on more than one occasion that I was not throwing trash on the roadway, I was throwing milkweed. To which the most common response was a roll of the eyes. (Look people I am saving butterflies here. Does someone saving butterflies litter? No, no they don't. They save the fucking butterflies!!!) JERSEYS THAT BIND US

In cycling events what you wear matters. Things like shorts, padding, gloves, helmet, all very important; but your jersey cements who you are in the minds of those passing or being passed. This is your calling card, it is the story you will tell for the day-- for one day, maybe one mile, but it will forever define you for that person. This is why the jersey is a very important choice. Jerseys bring out the conversations in people. They are easy talking points- "oh you have a jellyfish on your jersey, I was once stung by one"; "Oh your jersey has an anatomically correct heart on it, does it mean something (the answer is no, it just looked tough)". The conversations go on like this. But there are these jersey conversations that also stick out. Patrick was wearing his Escape from Alcatraz jersey. We had done the race a number of years ago. This jersey was noticed and remarked on often during the day. We were standing around in a pass-through town when I guy came up and mentioned that he had done the race back in the late 90's. He told of how much we liked the race and visiting California. he then said, "Yeah, I did the race because when I was a kid we were visiting Alcatraz when the escape happened. I remember the sirens and the commotion." At this point all Patrick and I could do was stare at the guy who didn't lead with this part of the story; no it was a casual second thought. I am pretty sure I questioned the guy, "You mean you were in San Francisco when the escape occurred?" He looked at me like he shouldn't have to repeat himself, but very nicely he said, "Yeah we were there on a family vacation looking at the island when it all happened." Then he said the following, "Well, you guys have a nice ride." Wait!!! What just happened???? Patrick and I just stood there for a minute as this guy walked on to talk to other people. Then I am pretty sure we just started laughing. This is what happens on RAGBRAI, you meet people, they tell you something cool or unique or unexplainable, and then they are gone. WE STOP FOR BEER-- WELL, IOWA CRAFT BEER TENTS RAGBRAI is a drinking game. We found out from a friend (Thanks, Kevin) that on the route would be these white beer tents- IOWA CRAFT BEER TENT (a mix of Iowa breweries)- and you could get an armband. This armband was the gateway to a free tshirt at the end of the week. Here are the rules-- Get a band; Buy a $5 craft beer or root beer at the tents; You must buy at least ten beers and you have 14 stops to achieve the goal; Only one beer per stop will count towards your total. The second set of rules that you have to follow is how to get your beer-- Have your money out; pick which beer and learn its number; get in line; walk to your beer's number; grab beer off the table; walk through, handing your money to the staff at the end of the line; scan your armband; find a shady place to sit and drink. It is a super easy process, except for on the first day when you didn't read the sign about having out money, this gets you a few dirty looks that say "bless her little heart". Patrick will tell you the process was slightly different, because for him he walked through the line and told the money taker "she's paying for me." To which I always answered, "I don't know him." And then the money taker took my $10 without any gesture to give me change. Now, those are the rules, but the game is really-- "What can Teresa drink and still ride and then what can Teresa drink and not feel that weird pain in her left ankle?" GAME ON. Each day there were two stops, three on one day and only one on the last day. We made a plan to stop at each stop starting on day one. This was a good plan because the beer stop on day one was after the gravel, a celebration beer for sure. For the most part the last beer tent was about 10 miles outside of town which gave me a great opportunity to have a dark beer and still be able to get to the night town safely. We never had a bad beer. A few "not my favorites" but never a bad one. In fact the day I had to drink before 9am (because it was short course day) I had a blueberry pancake beer which was the perfect breakfast!!! Mostly at the first stop I had a root beer or a cider (because fruit mid morning does not bring about judgement). The IOWA Craft Beer Tent would also play a vital role in the State Trooper Story found later in this post. BUGS OF IOWA

On the first night in Iowa I got bit by a bug on my ankle. I'm from Florida so I get bit by bugs all the freaking time. But this REALLY hurt. The following day my ankle was hurting on the ride, like really hurting. By the following day my ankle was swelling and bruising-- and hurting every time my shoe touched it (which is a lot over 70 miles a day). Moral of the story Iowa has bugs that belong in Australia!!!! PIE

I know it is a photo of icecream.

One does not talk about RAGBRAI without talking about pie. Honestly, it is one of the reasons to love RAGBRAI and if you don;t understand this this you missed the point of RAGBRAI. The best pies you will find will be the pie stands with 7 year olds or 70 year olds handing out the pies. There is only one rule in RAGBRAI- eat pie, eat pie often! A TIRE, A GIRL, AND A COP WALK INTO A BEER TENT The final story I will tell about RAGBRAI 2019 is a story about the greatness that is the Iowa State Patrol. It was day four (of seven) Patrick and I were set to do the Karras loop which puts the ride miles over a century ride. We had finished the loop and all the hills required to get there. We were ready to get another fruit smoothy and a beer before we checked this day off the list. During the loop my bottom bracket started to sound like a paint can rattling with every push. I knew I was going to be stopping again at a bike shop tent to figure out this sound, because one thing was for sure it was not a "happy" biking sound. Not to be out done Patrick decided to get a flat tire. Not just any flat but a full tire blow out. This would be his second in the week (we are on day FOUR)- the "other" tire. I am pretty sure at this moment my actual words were, "You are fucking kidding me?" Patrick shook his head, "nope". Then many more curse words got said in that moment. Given that my bike actually could be ridden I decided to ride ahead to scout out a bike shop tent. Well, there was not one at the first town down the road. I can back to let Patrick know that I was going to rid on till I found the bike tent and I would bring back a tire for him. He was to sit under the tent at Tom the Turkey and get a fruit smoothy. Funny enough he had "ride friends" there who had been on the course and at this stop with us previously. I rode up about 10 miles and found the bike repair tent. I told the guys about my bike and the paint can noise. "Sure we can look and fix it, but it is going to take a minute." Great, well you see the other problem is my husband needs a tire and is ten miles that way (pointing back down the road). The bike shops guys could not leave and pack up yet and only had the shop truck. I looked around and saw a state trooper vehicle. I asked the bike guy if he knew where the state trooper was located. He pointed up the hill near the beer tent as he handed me the tire I needed to get to Patrick. I told him thanks and that I was going to be back for my bike after I got the tire to my husband. The guy yelled "good luck" as I marched up the hill.

Actual photo sent to State Trooper. Patrick with a bag of unmarked medication.

The State Troopers were walking away when I stopped them. They turned around and the only way I can explain this is they looked like "Super Troopers"- mustaches and aviator sunglasses in place. I smiled, I did not laugh. I told them I had a situation. I then explained that they could either take me and the tire to my husband or they could take the tire to my husband. Yep, you heard that right- there was no option to tell me no. They noticed that too and looked at each other like I was a unicorn asking for directions. After a few moments of repeating the request, officer one tried to tell me they could not do it but officer two said they had to call their supervisor. I told them I would wait. Officer two walked away, I swear he looked like he was pretending to dial. Officer one just started at me. I looked over my shoulder to see the bike shop guys watching and smiling. Officer two walked back up shaking his head- not at me but as his partner. I was grinning so big when he told Officer one that the supervisor had given the go ahead to take the tire to my husband.

Loop patches.

As Officer one stood there astonished at the response. I began to tell the Officer two what my husband looked like and where he was located. This took much longer than I intended, as it seems the officers were not familiar with the area. We played a game of"who's on first" when I was telling them I had no idea what the two name was but that I knew he was as the Tom Turkey tent and that said tent was ten miles "that way". The officer rolled his eyes at me. I never lost it wanting to yell at him, Dude I am from Florida. DO you know where Florida is? A hell of a lot further away than your house." But I didn't, nope I took a deep breath and explained one more time where I left my husband. Oh wait it gets better. The officer asked for my husband's cell number. The issue here is that my husband's phone died earlier in the day and is in my pack on my bike. In full disclosure I told the officer this information. Officer two looked at me dumbfounded and officer one I am pretty sure threw up his arms in a "are you fucking kidding me" gesture. Officer two, after a few deep breaths, looks at me and says, "You know you are making this very difficult for us?" What I didn't say was "if you had left fifteen minutes ago when I gave you the details you would be there by now and not standing here dealing with me." Instead I told him "I know. And I promise I am not trying to but let's be honest cell phones aren't working out here anyway." Then I told him that what I did have was a photo of my husband form earlier today. I actually had a photo of him sitting in the exact spot that he would later be found in!! I also gave the officer a friend's phone number. A friend who I knew was still out of the road, and who I also knew was more than likely not near Patrick, but it was my best chance (the cops never called Kevin).

Kevin and Kelly- TEAM AWESOME

What would follow was 45 minutes worth of me texting with the officer, who turns out gave the tire to his supervisor to take up the road. I am pretty sure the man was irritated in giving me his number but he answered each text with updates. Until the final notice that Patrick had the tire in hand. I thanked the officer for his help and that the people of Iowa, him included, were amazing. In the meantime, I had gone back to the bike repair tent. I was greeted by laughter form the guys who all talked over each other in disbelief that the officer took the tire from me to go in search of my husband. The guys were nearly done with my bike, so what was there to do but o grab a beer (before the tent closed for the night). There I sat, with my fixed bike, on the side of the road, drinking a root beer (yeah, I know my limits) as first Kevin can riding up. When I said "Hi" and then "did a cop call you" the rest of the story got told with laughter following. As I glanced over the left at the road left behind, there he was, riding up the hill with a huge smile on his face. We both started laughing as he rode up. "I guess the State Trooper found you?" I asked him. "Yeah, he did. How?" It was a story told again from the bike seat as we traveled the rest of the way to town, laughing at how a girl got an officer to take a tire up the road by the power of demand. Let me say this in closing of this story- Thank you to the State Troopers who helped us out and kept us safe for not only this one moment but for the whole ride. The officers were amazing being there with support, blaring music, and a helping hand. There are many more stories to tell of RAGBRAI. Stories of lighting bugs, sunrise and sunsets, award winning cinnamon rolls, water slides, rock bands, and holding hands. But for now this is RAGBRAI! RAGBRAI 2019 has come a gone, but the stories will live forever!!!

#IMCHOO #IMTraining #Triathlete #Triathlon

4 notes · View notes

called-to-be · 5 years

Text

I am losing my mind.

I know for a lot of you, living in the middle of “no where”with a little garden and chickens is a beautiful life goal. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to make you feel any less. I just need to get it out somewhere, how much I mss home.

When I was 18, I left the farm. It wasn’t by choice. A tornado threw an ancient oak on our home and I didn’t want to be a financial burden to my grandparents. I went out West and lived in the desert for about two years. Now I’ve lived in the Caribbean for another four. Everyone back home thinks it’s the dream, of course, but I was never meant for this kind of life.

I’ve gotten engaged and had kids now, I can’t just go back home. I have to save enough money for that, but it’s hard to find work on a poverty-ridden island, especially with two toddlers. It’s just a fact of life. I find odd jobs when I can.

I miss so many things. I miss waking up just before dawn to the smell of coffee and seeing the dew and fog on the acres outside. I’ve never liked coffee, but I’ve always loved the smell. Eating an orange while watching the sun rise is so peaceful. Going out to feed the animals and wish them good morning, wearing a sweater even in June because honestly dew is cold! Checking for eggs and making them for breakfast, hearing the bacon from the neighbour’s pig sizzling while I read a book from the massive library we own. No... really.... I’ve not seen the walls of our home since we moved in 15 years ago, my grandmama has floor to ceiling in every room lined with books of all sorts.

Making my bed with those darling quilts I miss so much. You know, the patchwork ones? Sweeping, dusting, vacuuming, washing windows, practicing piano while waiting for the grass to dry. Maybe running up te road to the supply store for something we need and breathing in the scent of fresh mulch. Can you believe I miss the smell of animal poop?

Picking up all the fallen sticks and starting the fire. Cutting the grass and raking up all the shreds and leaves to add to it. I’m not sure why we never composted, but I’ll do it when I’m home. Watering the plants and making sure the deer didn’t bust the chicken wire again. Checking on the chickens to make sure a fox didn’t get at them. Checking on the blueberry bushes, the grape vines, and the mulberry tree. Giving the neighbour’s donkey and goats rubs. Checking on the pear tree because somehow it bears fruit even after “death". Checking on the bee tree and all around to make sure if any have fallen they can be aided properly. Running the neighbour’s hog off our land.... again..... and the cows, too. It’s usually safer to call him to come round them up, though.

Sitting on the porch swing midday and just taking it all in. The sounds of the crickets, the grasshoppers, the animals, the wind rustling the grass and leaves... the smell. Especially when the grass is freshly cut or the rain is coming in...... Fireflies. I cried during Secret Life of Pets 2 because of how much I miss fireflies. Basking in the warmth of the sun.

Eating made-from-scratch dinner *as a family* and heading to bed after a card game/board game/puzzle because that was really it... and being grateful for it.

Hell, I miss the clothes. It’s too hot here to wear anything other than a tank top and a skirt, 12 months a year. I miss my hat and my boots and my ridiculously decorated jeans. I miss sweaters and belts and gloves and picnic dresses. I miss monogrammed shirts and getting a tshirt for EVERY event you went to and that being your entire wardrobe. I miss riding horses and watching barrel races. I miss seasons. I really, REALLY miss Autumn and everything that comes with it.

I miss feeling close to my ancestors. I miss the lessons I learned. I miss feeling real. I miss the silence.

#personal #farm #farmcore #cottagecore #south #midsouth

5 notes · View notes

mardukwhite-blog · 5 years

Photo

I was not raised in a racist home or environment. Living in the South, almost every White person has a small amount of racial awareness, simply beause of the numbers of negroes in this part of the country. But it is a superficial awareness. Growing up, in school, the White and black kids would make racial jokes toward each other, but all they were were jokes. Me and White friends would sometimes would watch things that would make us think that “blacks were the real racists” and other elementary thoughts like this, but there was no real understanding behind it. The event that truly awakened me was the Trayvon Martin case. I kept hearing and seeing his name, and eventually I decided to look him up. I read the Wikipedia article and right away I was unable to understand what the big deal was. It was obvious that Zimmerman was in the right. But more importantly this prompted me to type in the words “black on White crime” into Google, and I have never been the same since that day. The first website I came to was the Council of Conservative Citizens. There were pages upon pages of these brutal black on White murders. I was in disbelief. At this moment I realized that something was very wrong. How could the news be blowing up the Trayvon Martin case while hundreds of these black on White murders got ignored? From this point I researched deeper and found out what was happening in Europe. I saw that the same things were happening in England and France, and in all the other Western European countries. Again I found myself in disbelief. As an American we are taught to accept living in the melting pot, and black and other minorities have just as much right to be here as we do, since we are all immigrants. But Europe is the homeland of White people, and in many ways the situation is even worse there. From here I found out about the Jewish problem and other issues facing our race, and I can say today that I am completely racially aware. Blacks I think it is is fitting to start off with the group I have the most real life experience with, and the group that is the biggest problem for Americans. Niggers are stupid and violent. At the same time they have the capacity to be very slick. Black people view everything through a racial lense. Thats what racial awareness is, its viewing everything that happens through a racial lense. They are always thinking about the fact that they are black. This is part of the reason they get offended so easily, and think that some thing are intended to be racist towards them, even when a White person wouldnt be thinking about race. The other reason is the Jewish agitation of the black race. Black people are racially aware almost from birth, but White people on average dont think about race in their daily lives. And this is our problem. We need to and have to. Say you were to witness a dog being beat by a man. You are almost surely going to feel very sorry for that dog. But then say you were to witness a dog biting a man. You will most likely not feel the same pity you felt for the dog for the man. Why? Because dogs are lower than men. This same analogy applies to black and White relations. Even today, blacks are subconsciously viewed by White people are lower beings. They are held to a lower standard in general. This is why they are able to get away with things like obnoxious behavior in public. Because it is expected of them. Modern history classes instill a subconscious White superiority complex in Whites and an inferiority complex in blacks. This White superiority complex that comes from learning of how we dominated other peoples is also part of the problem I have just mentioned. But of course I dont deny that we are in fact superior. I wish with a passion that niggers were treated terribly throughout history by Whites, that every White person had an ancestor who owned slaves, that segregation was an evil an oppressive institution, and so on. Because if it was all it true, it would make it so much easier for me to accept our current situation. But it isnt true. None of it is. We are told to accept what is happening to us because of ancestors wrong doing, but it is all based on historical lies, exaggerations and myths. I have tried endlessly to think of reasons we deserve this, and I have only came back more irritated because there are no reasons. Only a fourth to a third of people in the South owned even one slave. Yet every White person is treated as if they had a slave owning ancestor. This applies to in the states where slavery never existed, as well as people whose families immigrated after slavery was abolished. I have read hundreds of slaves narratives from my state. And almost all of them were positive. One sticks out in my mind where an old ex-slave recounted how the day his mistress died was one of the saddest days of his life. And in many of these narratives the slaves told of how their masters didnt even allowing whipping on his plantation. Segregation was not a bad thing. It was a defensive measure. Segregation did not exist to hold back negroes. It existed to protect us from them. And I mean that in multiple ways. Not only did it protect us from having to interact with them, and from being physically harmed by them, but it protected us from being brought down to their level. Integration has done nothing but bring Whites down to level of brute animals. The best example of this is obviously our school system. Now White parents are forced to move to the suburbs to send their children to “good schools”. But what constitutes a “good school”? The fact is that how good a school is considered directly corresponds to how White it is. I hate with a passion the whole idea of the suburbs. To me it represents nothing but scared White people running. Running because they are too weak, scared, and brainwashed to fight. Why should we have to flee the cities we created for the security of the suburbs? Why are the suburbs secure in the first place? Because they are White. The pathetic part is that these White people dont even admit to themselves why they are moving. They tell themselves it is for better schools or simply to live in a nicer neighborhood. But it is honestly just a way to escape niggers and other minorities. But what about the White people that are left behind? What about the White children who, because of school zoning laws, are forced to go to a school that is 90 percent black? Do we really think that that White kid will be able to go one day without being picked on for being White, or called a “white boy”? And who is fighting for him? Who is fighting for these White people forced by economic circumstances to live among negroes? No one, but someone has to. Here I would also like to touch on the idea of a Norhtwest Front. I think this idea is beyond stupid. Why should I for example, give up the beauty and history of my state to go to the Norhthwest? To me the whole idea just parralells the concept of White people running to the suburbs. The whole idea is pathetic and just another way to run from the problem without facing it. Some people feel as though the South is beyond saving, that we have too many blacks here. To this I say look at history. The South had a higher ratio of blacks when we were holding them as slaves. Look at South Africa, and how such a small minority held the black in apartheid for years and years. Speaking of South Africa, if anyone thinks that think will eventually just change for the better, consider how in South Africa they have affirmative action for the black population that makes up 80 percent of the population. It is far from being too late for America or Europe. I believe that even if we made up only 30 percent of the population we could take it back completely. But by no means should we wait any longer to take drastic action. Anyone who thinks that White and black people look as different as we do on the outside, but are somehow magically the same on the inside, is delusional. How could our faces, skin, hair, and body structure all be different, but our brains be exactly the same? This is the nonsense we are led to believe. Negroes have lower Iqs, lower impulse control, and higher testosterone levels in generals. These three things alone are a recipe for violent behavior. If a scientist publishes a paper on the differences between the races in Western Europe or Americans, he can expect to lose his job. There are personality traits within human families, and within different breeds of cats or dogs, so why not within the races? A horse and a donkey can breed and make a mule, but they are still two completely different animals. Just because we can breed with the other races doesnt make us the same. In a modern history class it is always emphasized that, when talking about “bad” things Whites have done in history, they were White. But when we lern about the numerous, almost countless wonderful things Whites have done, it is never pointed out that these people were White. Yet when we learn about anything important done by a black person in history, it is always pointed out repeatedly that they were black. For example when we learn about how George Washington carver was the first nigger smart enough to open a peanut. On another subject I want to say this. Many White people feel as though they dont have a unique culture. The reason for this is that White culture is world culture. I dont mean that our culture is made up of other cultures, I mean that our culture has been adopted by everyone in the world. This makes us feel as though our culture isnt special or unique. Say for example that every business man in the world wore a kimono, that every skyscraper was in the shape of a pagoda, that every door was a sliding one, and that everyone ate every meal with chopsticks. This would probably make a Japanese man feel as though he had no unique traditional culture. I have noticed a great disdain for race mixing White women within the White nationalists community, bordering on insanity it. These women are victims, and they can be saved. Stop. Jews Unlike many White naitonalists, I am of the opinion that the majority of American and European jews are White. In my opinion the issues with jews is not their blood, but their identity. I think that if we could somehow destroy the jewish identity, then they wouldnt cause much of a problem. The problem is that Jews look White, and in many cases are White, yet they see themselves as minorities. Just like niggers, most jews are always thinking about the fact that they are jewish. The other issue is that they network. If we could somehow turn every jew blue for 24 hours, I think there would be a mass awakening, because people would be able to see plainly what is going on. I dont pretend to understand why jews do what they do. They are enigma. Hispanics Hispanics are obviously a huge problem for Americans. But there are good hispanics and bad hispanics. I remember while watching hispanic television stations, the shows and even the commercials were more White than our own. They have respect for White beauty, and a good portion of hispanics are White. It is a well known fact that White hispanics make up the elite of most hispanics countries. There is good White blood worht saving in Uruguay, Argentina, Chile and even Brasil. But they are still our enemies. East Asians I have great respent for the East Asian races. Even if we were to go extinct they could carry something on. They are by nature very racist and could be great allies of the White race. I am not opposed at all to allies with the Northeast Asian races. Patriotism I hate the sight of the American flag. Modern American patriotism is an absolute joke. People pretending like they have something to be proud while White people are being murdered daily in the streets. Many veterans believe we owe them something for “protecting our way of life” or “protecting our freedom”. But im not sure what way of life they are talking about. How about we protect the White race and stop fighting for the jews. I will say this though, I myself would have rather lived in 1940's American than Nazi Germany, and no this is not ignorance speaking, it is just my opinion. So I dont blame the veterans of any wars up until after Vietnam, because at least they had an American to be proud of and fight for. An Explanation To take a saying from a film, “I see all this stuff going on, and I dont see anyone doing anything about it. And it pisses me off.”. To take a saying from my favorite film, “Even if my life is worth less than a speck of dirt, I want to use it for the good of society.”. I have no choice. I am not in the position to, alone, go into the ghetto and fight. I chose Charleston because it is most historic city in my state, and at one time had the highest ratio of blacks to Whites in the country. We have no skinheads, no real KKK, no one doing anything but talking on the internet. Well someone has to have the bravery to take it to the real world, and I guess that has to be me. Unfortunately at the time of writing I am in a great hurry and some of my best thoughts, actually many of them have been to be left out and lost forever. But I believe enough great White minds are out there already. Please forgive any typos, I didnt have time to check it.

1 note · View note

nightfoot · 7 years

Text

This is a commission I did for @hoskky! She drew these characters, gave me a vague description, and asked me to flesh them, so here are three little backstories I wrote for each. Set in a vaguely-fictional medieval Persia.

Commission Info

The Runner

Rahim first realized he was fast when he was seven years old. He had always known he liked running, of course, but that was typical of a young boy. The epiphany came when he was seven and he found himself challenged to a dare: retrieve a pomegranate from the tree at the far side of the school master’s garden, and get back to the street without getting caught. Though he feared the beating that would surely be in store if he failed, Rahim could not tolerate his friends thinking him a coward. Overcome by pride and the need to prove himself, he clambered over the wall and crept through the bushes.

It had been his intention to achieve his goal through stealth, and he managed to get all the way to the tree and pluck a pomegranate from its branches without being seen. He had just turned back to the wall to wave to his friends poking their heads over when heart-stopping bark reminded the hair on the back of his neck that humans were prey animals. The saluki dog raced down the garden path toward him, graceful legs galloping like a horse and silky hair streaming from its ears and tail. Rahim only needed a moment’s glance at the snarling teeth to take off in a sprint. Rahim pushed his legs faster than he ever had in his life, certain that the dog’s breath so close behind him was pushing him onward. When he reached the edge of the garden, he tossed the pomegranate over the wall and leapt up a trestle of ivy. At the top of the wall, he perched with one leg hanging on both sides. He looked to his left and saw a dog furious that he’d outrun it, and then looked to his right and saw his schoolmates shouting and cheering. From that moment, he knew two things: one, speed was a gift he possessed in strides, and two, he rather liked being above everyone else.

Over the years, his parents were pleased with him. Rahim was a dutiful son, paid attention to his studies, respected his elders… and won every race he entered. He was the best, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was the kindest. An endless stream of praise from relatives and teachers alike can do things to a man’s ego, so when he sprinted past the finish line at the spring athletics competition, he felt confident that he deserved the applause being thrown his way. When an attendant from the palace introduced himself afterwards, praised his speed and stamina, and offered him a position running messages for the Shah, he felt he deserved that, too.

Rahim left his small town to travel to Asheveh. There, he became a royal messenger and raced around the empire. He enjoyed the luxurious perks that came with palatial connections while he was at home, and also relished every mission he was sent on. Nothing made him happier than running down long roads, letting the warm air fuel his lungs and his legs flow so rhythmically that it would take more effort to stop. Some people said that racing was his one true love, and that was why he’d never pursued any romantic relationships. He wasn’t sure if that was true; he’d just never found the time nor inclination. On any sunny day, he could often be found running back home after a job, an invisible saluki nipping at his heels. Back home was fine wine, decadent food, and an evening of good company with other well-respected workers in the palace, but in the moment, there was only the race.

The Urchin

Tamaris had never been comfortable with her older brother’s stealing. She knew where he got the loaves of bread he sometimes brought home, but she tried not to think about it. It became even worse the first time her older brother had shown her how he picked pockets, and then she was met by crushing terror when he told her it was her turn. She pressed her back against the sandstone wall, shaking her head. She would get caught! And stealing was wrong! But her brother scolded her, pointed out that picking pockets was what had put food on the family table for years, and that, being six, she was old enough now to help support the family. With the guilt piled on, she hesitantly crept into the bustling market.

Shafts of light pierced through gaps under the brightly coloured awnings and voices cried out from every stall. The smell of sweaty bodies and spices on display nearly overwhelmed her, and she felt certain that every vendor and shopper alike was watching her and knew what she was planning. The panic nearly sent her scurrying back to her brother to insist she couldn’t do it, but the thought of him scolding her and thinking she was a baby was even worse. She tried to find someone who looked wealthy - someone whose day wouldn’t be ruined by losing a few coins. She spotted a man arguing over the price of a necklace and eased toward him, slinking past a donkey and creeping up behind him. She swallowed heavily, licked her chapped lips, and reached for his pocket. Just like her brother had demonstrated, she pulled out the pouch of money and then bolted into the crowd. She didn’t even look back to see if he’d noticed.

Tamaris didn’t stop running until she reached a sunny plaza and fell into the shade of a date tree. Breathing hard, she looked down at the money pouch in her shaking hand. She tipped the coins into her palm, dazzled by the gleam, and then quickly put them away before someone saw and asked where she’d gotten them. A scrawny girl in clothes as baggy as hers clearly hadn’t come by them honestly.

With that thought, guilt spread through her like venom from a snake bite. She was a thief. A dishonest, thieving, no-good street urchin. When she was little, she’d hated the disgusted looks richer people gave her when they passed her on the street, but she deserved them now, didn’t she? People looked down on kids like her because you couldn’t trust them, and they were right. She tried to tell herself that this money would help feed their widowed mother and younger siblings, and that they needed it more than the rich man needed the necklace, but she still felt awful.

She turned her head away from the market and toward the domes and slender pillars of Asheveh’s palace in the distance. Tamaris tried to imagine how nice it would be to live there and spend her days lounging on silk cushions as servants fanned her and brought her infinite platters of food. It was hard to imagine such luxury being real when she’d spent her whole life in the slums. She had good friends there, and the camaraderie between those that had nothing was unmatched, but she often dreamed of a world of sparkling fountains and golden jewellery. She wanted that life so bad she could feel the longing lashing against her rib cage, but this pile of stolen coins clutched in her hand was the closest she would ever get to it. She’d never achieve wealth without stealing it, and she’d never be anything but a thieving street rat.

The Warrior

It was the final months of the Isfahan Campaign. The war had raged for almost two years now, and the enemy was on their last legs. What were they fighting for? Well, Behrou had never bothered thinking too hard about that. She was a soldier, and soldiers went into battle when told. The whys and the whens were questions for the officers to sort out.

That morning, the sun rose over the hill and shone like gold on the cavalry’s spears. With the blast of a horn, a hundred horses galloped down the slope to the enemy encampment below. Wind whipped the flags, voices shouted in unison, and the ambushed enemy scrambled to pull their pants up in time to meet them. Behrou rode at the front of her division and led them into the encampment. They cut down every last one of those barbarous curs before the sun was halfway up the sky, giving them time to be back to their own camp before lunch.

But then, just as they were settling down to enjoy a well-earned meal, Behrou spotted movement behind a fig tree. Sneaking up behind the lieutenant was a straggler from the enemy camp, dripping with blood and face filled with vengeful fury. The lieutenant, too busy feeling pleased with himself after the successful raid - as officers are wont to do - didn’t even notice. The enemy began to raise his scimitar to strike down the unsuspecting lieutenant, but before he could deal the fatal blow, Behrou threw her spear like a javelin. Her aim was true; the spear went right through the enemy’s neck and sank into the trunk of the tree, pinning him there. Everyone in the area stopped to stare, and in the utter silence that followed, a single fig dropped from the tree and plopped onto the dead man’s head. Behrou stepped past the frozen lieutenant to pick up the fig. She held it out to him and said, “Care for some dessert, sir?”

At the conclusion of this tale, the bar erupted into applause. Behrou, withered by age, drank in her audience’s rapt attention… and then drank in another mug of beer. Was it true, she was asked, the part with the fig? Behrou assured him that of course it was true, and that for the rest of the campaign, some jokers in her regiment thought it would hilarious to offer her a fig at any opportunity. From there, she moved on to the next story, a tale that involved a daring mission across enemy lines and how she and a small handful of companions scouted out the enemy’s numbers. She remembered the mission fondly, and especially remembered how it felt to ride a horse with joints that didn’t creak, to sleep in a tent on the ground without aching the next day, or to spring to action at a word and never look back. She was old now, and the vigour of youth was long behind her. Things had been simpler in her youth. She went where the officers told her and fought the enemy because they were the enemy. Your friends were the ones who fought at your back and you never worried more than a month ahead, because who knew if you’d still be alive to deal with it?

At a young age, Behrou had realized that her parents’ farm held nothing for her but a future of marrying a farmer, so she followed the trumpets into the cavalry as soon as she was old enough to do so. She rose through the ranks until she commanded scores of soldiers (but never to officer, of course - she would be insulted to be mistaken for an officer), and every time she screamed a battle charge while stampeding into battle, she thought about how the rows of pikes ahead of her were still a better future to look forward to than season after season of wheat fields. And eventually, after decades of adventure, the borders of the empire began to stabilize, campaigns came fewer and far between, and her treacherous body started having trouble getting on and off a horse. In the end, she retired with honour, a handful of medals, and enough stories to fill a book.

It had been a good life. She took her military pension and bought a house in Asheveh, because even now she wanted to stay as far away from a farm as possible. She’d been all across the empire with the army and seen more of it than most of the patrons in this bar combined. She had a thousand and one tales of daring and valour, and a few more that focused on the naughty bits. As long as her stories kept flowing, so did the beer.

#nightfoot writes things

4 notes · View notes

amusement-spark · 3 years

Text

Shrek 4D

Shrek 4D is one of the older attractions still at Universal Studios in Orlando, and, while it could probably go for an update, it still manages to get a few laughs and scares out of its audiences.

The Queue for Shrek 4D is very simple. While waiting in line you can watch a handful of clips from the original movie on the TV's, including Shrek and Donkey venturing into Duloc, a parody of over commercial amusement parks. Kinda makes you wonder, "what am I doing here?" In addition there are a number of posters and signs for fictional attractions like "Donkbo" a flying ride modeled on Disney's Dumbo ride. The posters have a lot of small clever jokes, and are definitely worth giving a glance while you wait.

The workers at this attraction are all costumes appropriately in tunics and tights as they lead you into an honestly well constructed theater. Torches light the walls and a large red curtain hangs at the front. Mood and feel were excellent. Then the show begins.

Unlike other Universal attractions like the Jimmy Fallon Race through New York, and the more mobile Fast and Furious Supercharged, the audience doesn't move for Shrek 4D. It is more like simply watching a short film with occasional special effects. Commence all the potty humor and jokes at Disney's expense that you would expect from the Shrek franchise.

The 4D effects generally work really well. You have you staples: lights in the room match the onscreen action; water and wind as necessary; and enough 3D stuff coming at you to choke a donkey. One particularly effective gag used air pipes to create the illusion of spiders crawling past your feet. It'll get the kids to squirm every time.

The one effect I take a lot of issue with is the moving seats. The plot of the ride involves a lot of chases on horse, and the seats all rock along with the film. The problem is that whatever hydraulics they use to move the seats are VERY loud, and you are rocked with every individual step. So occasionally you'll be shaken like paint getting mixed. Because each seat is moving on its own, unlike the audience in the Jimmy Fallon attraction all moving as a unit, every seat has to have the jostling mechanism. Hence the loud volume. One upside to this design is that it allows wheelchair bound guests to remain in their seats and still enjoy a majority of the attraction.

Shrek 4D was produced before any of the Shrek sequels, meaning the plot is exclusively tied to the first film. If they were to do an update, I could definitely see them adding new fan favorites like the princesses and Puss in Boots, as well as updating the villain from the one off baddy Farquaad to the enduring Prince Charming. However, this would cause the show to lose a bit of it's nostalgic, dated as hell, charm. For fans of the franchise, it's a blast. For more casual Shrek viewers, maybe sit this one out. For your neck's sake.

Castle-ness: 5/5

Comfort: 0/5

Nostalgia goggles: 4/5

Overall score: 3/5

#universal studios #orlando #florida #shrek #dreamworks #amusement parks #theme parks

3 notes · View notes

mikeyd1986 · 6 years

Text

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 89, February 2018

On Monday lunchtime, Mum and I went to The Coffee CLUB Cranbourne for a “coffee date”. I was still feeling exhausted and washed out from the Australia Day weekend and of course it’s still really humid. We’re both holding out for the cool change to come this afternoon. We ordered iced coffees with whipped cream and a chicken, avocado and cheese toastie with chips for lunch.

After weighing myself recently, I’m really not happy with my weight right now. I’ve jumped back to 92-93kg over the past couple of months due to Christmas, travelling, going out for lunches and dinners etc. But I am determined to jump back on the health and fitness horse and focus on slimming down again. I mainly want to focus on losing body fat (visceral fat) around my stomach/belly/abdomine as this has been the source of my body image issues. https://www.muscleforlife.com/visce...

On Monday night, I went down to YMCA Casey RACE for a Spa & Sauna session as well as a Water Workout class. My heat tolerance in the sauna is still quite low hence why I limit myself to 5-10 minutes max in there. Even that duration is a struggle for me but I quickly remind myself of all the health benefits I’m getting for sitting here pouring with sweat (weight loss, stress relief, flushing out toxins from the body). The spa was also helpful as my glutes were still a little tight from last week’s beach run. http://www.finnleo.com/pages/health...

The Water Workout class was really packed tonight. I’d say around 25 people were in the pool with me but there was still plenty of room to exercise in. The young female instructor is someone I’ve had before last year and of course like last time, she made us work hard tonight. I swear she’s probably a personal trainer as well. We did lots of jogging, running, star jumps, tuck jumps, cross-country skiing, rock n’ rolls, donkey kicks and side jumps plus work with the underwater dumbbells. Whilst I was a little rusty and uncoordinated at times, I still walked away feeling like I’d done a decent workout. http://sgac.com.au/Blog/the-top-10-...

On Tuesday night, I went to a Body Combat class with Cinamon Guerin at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. I’ve only owned my 2015 Hyundai Accent for just over 3 weeks now and I’m still slowly discovering all of these new features. Tonight I was trying to figure out how the interior lights worked and all found that my compartment for slashing loose coins was located above the windscreen rather than down below the radio like where most cars have it. Oh well, I’m slowly working it all out.

Tonight’s class was a little more challenging than usual for me tonight. I was having some issues with my levels of fatigue and could feel my face getting flustered much more quicker than usual. But I soldiered on and slowed down when I had to. I was also trying hard to focus on my technique and felt pretty good about some of my combos.

There were a few surprises that Cinamon threw in like forming a circle and doing HIIT sprinting in the spot, holding planks for 30 seconds and doing core exercises which we all love to hate. But considering I’ve been focusing on weight loss again, this is the exact reason why I’m doing these sorts of cardio classes. It’s never going to be easy but it will always be achievable. https://www.lesmills.com/workouts/f...

On Thursday morning, I had my Gentle Hatha Flow yoga class with Dell Brown at Just Be Yoga and Meditation in Beaconsfield. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been going to yoga classes at this studio for 8 years now. Granted, the last few years have been choppy, turbulent and inconsistent to say the least but I always try to set good intentions for myself in terms of having a yoga practice (whether it’s regular or irregular). Even when I haven’t been there for months, somebody will still remember me and that’s what keeps bringing me back to Just Be. That sense of community and enjoyment for doing yoga.

Of course there were times where I had my doubts. Embracing change is something I still struggle with at times and there have been many changes at Just Be. Changing owners, changing yoga teachers, changing classes, changing students, changing interior layouts. But I’ve tried to remain open minded every time I end up coming back. Admittedly, I did feel a little awkward and I couldn’t really explain why. Maybe it’s that unnecessary need to explain myself to Michelle as to my whereabouts or that I “should” be speaking up more. But these are pressures I still place on myself and I’m still learning to let go of.

Today’s class was really laidback and blissful. I’m honestly glad I chose it because I noticed how tight, stiff and sore my joints where particularly in my hips, glutes, lower back, neck and shoulders. So thankfully there were plenty of poses to relieve these issues including spinal twists, cat-cow pose, cobra, hip-opening poses, low/high lunges, sun salutation, dancers pose and a supported shoulder stand. I’m really hoping to hit the reset button on my yoga practice and attend a little more regularly than last year. http://www.justbeyoga.com.au/

On Thursday afternoon, I had an appointment with my support worker Ally at Colourfield Cafe Casey Central. Today I discussed with her why I’ve been feeling so overwhelmed lately. The process of my VCAT case has now recently began and now I have a hearing date set for the middle of March. I’ve got a bit of preparing to do in terms of “serving” papers to the people involved which means a trip down to Officeworks and lots of photocopying. The whole thing is very new to me and whilst I know I have a strong case, I’m still daunted by it all.

I’m also learning to deal with my emotions better. It’s still inevitable that I’ll have moments where I want to get upset, get defensive or get angry when someone insults me or makes me feel uncomfortable or threatened. It’s about discharging myself from the emotions and telling myself that everything will be okay plus lots of deep breathing. It does get easier but I’m still a sensitive person. It only takes one thing to trigger me off but at least I can generally calm myself down quicker.

On Friday morning, I had my photo shoot for an article I submitted to the Cranbourne Leader for the Now, Yoga studio VCAT case. I was feeling a bit nervous and awkward about it as I generally hate posing in front of the camera. Thankfully the photographer Wayne was pretty easy going and patient with me as I followed his directions about how to stand and which way to look. I’m definitely not a natural but I did the best that I could. Certainly wasn’t expecting this opportunity to pop up this week so I’m counting my blessings.

On Friday afternoon, I had my appointment with my counsellor Ruth at Piece Together Counselling. It was 4 o’clock and was already starting to feel exhausted and worn out. Ruth asked me what’s bothering me the most at the moment and I said my energy levels during the day and being able to cope with everything that’s currently happening in my life. She suggested to break things down and just focus on one thing at a time especially in the short term. https://www.piecetogethercousellingnarrewarren.org/...

My biggest issue in terms of my energy levels is my sleep disturbances and lack of sleep in general. Earlier in the week, I decided to seek out the advice of an online Naturopath through the Blackmores website. She suggested a number of different things in her email including taking vitamins for stress, seeing a doctor to get a blood test done, eating more proteins and complex carbohydrates, drinking more water, regular exercise and reading some articles on fatigue and the energy clock. https://www.blackmores.com.au/ask-a...

On Friday night, my parents and I went into the city to see the Mrs. Brown’s Boys live stage show at the Melbourne Convention and Exhibition Centre (MCEC). I actually enjoyed it more than I expected. I wasn't the biggest fan of the TV show though I did watch it now and again. It had it's moments but I wasn't falling off my chair laughing. But tonight's live show was a million times better than the stuff I saw on TV.

Certainly it's much ruder (If you don't like jokes about dicks, boobs, masturbation, sex etc, steer clear) and the actors do ad-lib and go off script at times. Those were probably the funniest moments for me when the actors couldn't keep a straight face and lost their shit. The storyline about online dating and Valentine's Day worked really well for the comedy material. I'd highly recommend seeing it.

0 notes

weracetogether · 4 years

Text

RAGBRAI 2019- The Stories of Iowa

I will tell the story of RAGBRAI 2019 as all stories are told, from the conclusion. Over the week we rode for 553 miles and climbed for over 21,000 feet. We had five bike mechanical issues requiring shop stops on the way. We had 14 and 13 beer stops, one pork chop, a wood fired pizza, countless pies, cinnamon rolls, pancakes and sausage, cheesecake, cookies, cobbler, homemade icecream, bbq, tacos, BLT, noodles, fresh sweet corn, gyros, pickles, french toast, and I am sure a few other things I am forgetting. We listened to two lines of about 200 songs (and sang the rest of the songs...well I did). We saw cows, horses, kittens, rams, goats, donkeys, rabbits, and one golden retriever (a half mile from the Mississippi). We threw over 20 milkweed balls. We encountered hundreds of people with stories and laughter. We thanked officers and paramedics and nice old church ladies. Well, that's the overview; now for the stories!!!

USAF cycling team- out to help!

I know it is a photo of icecream.

Actual photo sent to State Trooper. Patrick with a bag of unmarked medication.

Loop patches.

Kevin and Kelly- TEAM AWESOME

#IFTTT #Blogger #Triathlete #Triathlon #WeRaceTogether

0 notes