Sally in some ways is like a elderly lady going through a later-than-mid-life crisis. She still is trying to chase (imaginary) younger stallions; she still wants to get pregnant, and now she is playing hard-to-get... with ME now.If I get the colt first back in the pasture, Sally used to race back to be with her baby. Now, she takes a casual look over her shoulder just to make certain where he is, and goes back grazing. And then begins to play tag when I go to catch her.

Yesterday, I turned the tables on her - I put Sally back first, so she suddenly was the one racing up and down the fence, frantically whinning for her baby to 'come back home'.

And today, as extra duty, I RODE her. Sally was so suprised by me sticking a bit in her mouth and actually getting on her back that she actually WALKED instead of her normal prance. I kept it short (before she had time to figure it out), but it felt nice.

Well, sorta nce - even though it was just a few minutes, I am a little bit saddle-sore.

OLYMPICS

I am watching the opening ceremonies, and I must say, crying like a baby. One of those incredible displays of what should, in an ideal world, be something normal - people putting aside their political, religious, cultural and language differences, and joining together in an event.

(Of course, I could write an entire additional blog about the silliness of sports and competition, but I'll set that aside for now).

And one of those most poignant moments? With the flag-bearer for the China delegation (that 7'8" guy who plays basketball in the U.S. - Yao Ming, I think?) was little boy, eight or nine years old, I'd guess. He was at school when that horrible earthquake struck in China a few months ago, crawled out from the rubble, and then crawled back in to save two of his schoolmates. When asked why he had gone back in, he said, "I'm one of the class leaders. I was responsible for them."

Can you see why I'm all teary?

DANCING WITH HORSES

"I wish I had eyes in the back of my head" - "I could use another arm" - "I need to be in two places at once" - sounds familiar, right?

Sally, my old (20+ years) Thoroughbred mare, was used as a brood mare for a long time, and obviously feels very strongly about having her numerous babies ripped away from her. When we first got her, she was skin and bones, and absolutely frantic about being taken away from her latest little six-month old filly.

So four plus years ago, when she was put into the corral with Najale, who at the time was a skinny little 18 month old colt, she fought with her emotions and loyalty to her former foals valiantly for about, let's see, maybe three seconds, and then adopted Najale with her entire equine heart and has loved him unconditionally ever since.

The disadvantage about this wonderful maternal love, however, is that Sally cannot stand being apart from Najale by more than six inches, and will freak out in every sort of horse sort of way possible. She rears, she runs, she whinnies, she gets into quite literally a LATHER of a panic attack.

I am, regardless of Sally's discomfort, forced to feed them separately, because Sally will cheerfully give up every last bit of her feed to El Gordo colt. But otherwise throughout the day and night, where ever Najale is, Sally is just a few steps away.

So when I take both of them out to graze (which after the generous rainfall we have enjoyed is pretty much twice a day), I count on Sally's separation anxiety to keep her close by to Najale, and so I need to keep a lead rope on Najale only.

It usually works.

I do have to mention that I also take out both dogs for this grazing siesta time - Murray, my obedient, patient German Shephard/Border Collie mix, who follows me around with a tennis ball in his mouth, waiting for whenever I am willing to throw it (for hours, if necessary) - and Delilah, my husband's adopted-from-the-track insane Greyhound, who spends the majority of time outside clocking and comparing her own race times (she has her own stopwatch and is asking for an Blackberry for Christmas), chasing rabbits (of which we have LOADS, and thank goodness they usually outlast her on the long stretch), or eating horse dung in the pasture.

Now, Sally has been undergoing.... hmm, there really isn't any way to put this that isn't pretty crass.... an extended period of celibacy. I mean, she was a brood mare, which meant she at least was getting some when they wanted to get her pregnant. so she seems to, er, ENJOY the process, and seems to wait to, oh, REPEAT it as often as possible.

And my dear sweet virgin Najale, although he wasn't gelded until he was almost two (which means some of those male hormones should still circulating in his system), has absolutely NO idea of what it could mean to consummate ANYthing. Poor Sally tries to seduce him in true Mrs. Robinson fashion, and all he thinks she just wants to play tag or see who can bite who the fastest. And yes, I mean, it would be sort of incestuous, wouldn't it, with their relationship, right, so I can't get too mad at him.

So (back to the main story, if you are still reading this, which is amazing, because I would have given up about two paragraphs in - in fact, why are you still wasting valuable time here?! Isn't there any late-night television that it be more educational than this? Go try on the rehashing of the men's Olympic swimming - some good male bodies to check out there!), tonight Sally somehow either caught a whiff of something in the air or fancied she heard a studly whinny from down the road.

Whatever it was, she was certain it was male, and it was WAY more interesting than the grass she was munching on. So she took off at a fast trot for the northeast corner of our property, looking for the tempting pleasure that was somewhere beyond that fence.

Now, Najale was still concentrating on stuffing his face with grass as fast as he could, so took no notice at first - but suddenly Delilah (Greyhound) streaks in front of his nose, causing Najale to both throw his head up and suddenly notice, hey, Mom is taking off somewhere withOUT me!

So suddenly there is (I'll try to keep this in the correct order) Najale rearing and getting ready to dash after Sally, Sally STILL heading for the fence, Delilah suddenly deciding that this is the chance to break her latest 6.2 second 600 yard dash, and Murray ALSO unexpectedly resolving that THIS is the moment to stand between the excited Najale and myself.

Four animals all in opposing motion. If only someone had had a video going.

End of the story - all ended up safe and sound back where where they were supposed to be, and, since this story is being repeated about every other evening now, NO additional gray hairs on my head. I know it sounds very
nonchalant, but it's like having teenagers - after a while, you realize getting upset about it doesn't change anything, they will eventually come back home (or call you from the holding cell, at least), and you might as well go back inside and get another cold soda.

Another Diet Coke, anyone?

STEADY AND SLOW AND OLD

The gym I have joined has only two elliptical trainers, and they are side-by-side in the midst of all the other stair-climbers, treadmills, and whatever-they-call those seemingly frivolous air-walking dealios (I'm certain they work something - I just can't tell what it might be, except for an excuse to get into cute exercise clothing, look like you're working out but not having to sweat at all).

So whenever I climb onto the elliptical (and because of my knees and ankles, that the only cardio thing I do anymore), there is usually someone already on the other one, or if not, someone will mount it while I am working out.

Now, I am a fifty-three year old white woman. In addition, I know that I look like a fifty-three year old white woman. I also look like a mother of three, possible a grandmother of two to eight, someone has a deep and personal relationship with both ice cream and pizza (and, as I am discovering while writing this, I also seem to have an annoying inclination to write out numbers when it isn't necessary).

I don't think my exterior (i.e. body, physical appearance, 45% body fat poured into spandex) could be intimidating to anyone else under the age of 114 (it was an effort, but I did not write that one out, did you notice?), so when I scrambled onto trainer next to a twenty-something young woman (notice how I said 'young' woman instead of just a woman? That's age showing right there), I was certain I posed no tangible threat or any sort of challenge to her. I would huff and puff while keeping my rpm under 85, my heart rate around 160, and the weight/pressure/whatever on the stride around 2.

So, with my faithful iPod in my ear, I begin my normal slow, gradual, 50 year old lady (hey, I'm on a roll now) warm-up. My partner next-store, meanwhile, is perhaps slightly condescendingly glancing over at my dashboard/read-put/whatever you call the thing and keeping her steady and obviously faster pace going.

But, as with most exercise things I do, I begin to gradually to speed up - just a notch or two at a time. It's nothing to alarm anyone, and it certainly does not quell my young companion's enthusiasm, who is still keeping a gleeful eye on this middle-aged woman next to her (sidebar here - why is it called middle-aged? I'm not planning about being around when I am 106. Middle age should be when you're 35).

After about 6 minutes, I am actually matching my travel companion's speed, and she is becoming slightly concerned. However, confident that this is only an old lady's desperate and last-ditch effort to somehow show her up, she does not increase her speed.

AHA!

Okay, actually, I don't speed up at all. But I lasted for 24 more minutes - and my 'buddy' finally gave up after 20 (tee hee!).

AGE RULES!!

SWOONING

"Swooning" is what Scarlett O'Hara did before she went through the Civil War and got toughened up.

Swooning is 1. to be overwhelmed by happiness, excitement, adoration, or infatuation 2. fall in faint: to experience a sudden and usually brief loss of consciousness [13th century. Shortening of aswoon.

It lends an elegant and very feminine swoosh (1. make or move with rushing sound: to make or move with the rushing or swirling sound of fast-moving water, or make something move with such a sound [Mid-19th century. An imitation of the sound])

Can you tell yet that I just LOVE dictionaries?

But unfortunately, I do not swoon. I don't even faint. I pass out.

And I just fall flat either on my face or my butt. If I fall on my face, I generally either get a bloody or broken nose (by my own calculations, I think my nose has been broken something like eight times now - only once surgically).

Today? Twice. Once at the gym - thank goodness I was on a machine that I could grab hold of and keep myself from falling. Once at home- slumped (which is one of the most unromantic words in the English language) over the stand-alone-freezer and so didn't completely fall down.

It's not that uncommon for me - I have unusually low blood pressure. Great for my heart, but lousy for remaining upright at times.

And you think by now I would KNOW that I can't stand up suddenly, right?!

APPROVED READING ONLY

I am trying very hard to be the adult here, but I want to stomp and complain and BITCH, so blog, you are the place I am going to vent tonight. Hopefully this way I can get it out of my system and not be excommunicated next week.

And I am deliberately NOT using the name of my church - I don't want any search engines picking this up (especially after I've already used the word bitch and may use hell and damn before I am finished). The two of you who are my only readers will know, I am certain, what I am talking about.

I was asked to begin a book club last year. And yes, I was asked by the leader of my church's women's organization. So I set a date, and a place, and invited a lot of women generally (and some women specifically) to come. We met - we all made some suggestions - we picked a particular book to read that month - and the pattern was established.

And we've read some pretty good books.

Sounds okay, right?

NOW the plot thickens (I love that expression - like adding creme of tarter to a soup).

I should mention somewhere in here that members of my church tend to be rather conservative, although the church as a unit remains STEADFASTLY out of politics (which I just love) - and my local congregation takes that conservative tendency to EXTREME levels (read that pretty far right).

But (back to the book club). since I was also responsible for the church's sacrament meeting bulletin also, I made certain that our little group received the publicity it obviously needed (since it began and has remained a relatively small group) by putting in every week the book we were reading, and the date and time of our next meeting.

No problem - never a comment - this went out to EVERYone in our congregation that attended sacrament meeting EVERY week.

Until about three weeks ago.

The book club had agreed, upon my suggestion, on reading Barack Obama's "The Audacity of Hope." My husband had read it, and recommended it - no one else had any book to recommend - okay, decision was made. We weren't reading it really as a political book, but to gain more insight on Obama's life and views.

And I, of course, if regular fashion, put my little note in the sacrament bulletin, "The Book Club will meet on ____ at ___ to discuss this month's selection, 'The Audacity of Hope' by Barack Obama."

AHA! Now, suddenly, this gets attention.

It didn't help that at this exact time I had asked to be released from doing the sacrament bulletin. I was having an increasingly difficult time with sitting for more than 10 to 15 minutes. And since I needed to be at church 2 hours before to make copies (an extremely long tale about 'our' people never get anything done early, but I'm not going to get into that), I needed to stand through most of our services, and generally had choir practice for an hour afterwards, it was getting more and more difficult to last through our entire block of meetings, let alone the time before and after.

So, when my little book club announcement did NOT appear the first week that I do NOT create and copy the bulletin, I asked the executive secretary (who was doing it until someone was formally asked) why not?

I think that is what started the whole ball rolling.

Suddenly the book club listing in the regular women's organization listing disappears - I am asked to NOT distribute my regular fliers to the youth and children's organizations until the women's organization president (a newer one since I was asked to begin the book group) has spoken to me. And when I ask her what's going on, SHE needs to talk to the local church's leader first.

Then, extremely embarrassed, she explains to me that all readings for the book club must be approved IN ADVANCE by the local church leader.

I will bet you five million, thirty-eight thousand, two hundred and fifty-six dollars ($5,380,256) that NONE of this would have happened if the book club selection had been John McCain's "Faith of My Fathers."

Okay, I am going to be the grown-up now. I will have the book club list IN ADVANCE submitted.

But oh, I am SORELY tempted to simply submit what we have read for the PAST year and get it rubber-stamped. I am also sorely tempted to simply hand over the leadership of our book club to someone else who will only accept 'church-approved' reading choice.

Thanks - I need to get that out of my system.

BEYOND CULTURAL DIFFERENCES

There are some things that we as humans all seem to do, regardless of our upbringing. We smile - we cry - we roll our eyes - our first word always seems to be 'ma' or 'wa' (my children being the exception that proves the rule, of course - Harmony's first word was "shoes", Joy's was "food" and Josiah's was "SHUT UP!" since the girls were always talking for him).

Instinct? Genetic behavior? Survival skills? I don't know.

But it's our differences that seem to be emphasized, at least in the large political scheme of the modern world. Our view of God(s), our social observations, our treatment of others, our punishment of those who break our rules.

I have a very strong opinion that if women were in charge of things (world leadership, political positions, trade, etc.), a lot of things would be handled without having to resort to violence. My husband always gets quite upset when I bring this up, insisting that women are just as prone to defensive tactics, etc. I agree that we are prone to offensive moves, and yes, I'm certain there are aggressive females who would drum up some battles (the image of a shoe sales at Macy's immediately comes to mind)

But I also feel that without the high testosterone levels, we are more likely to be thinking about our children, their future, and how to care for all of us. We clean up - we take care of other people - we concentrate on our homes and our families.

Two very small and possibly silly examples come immediately to mind- the difference between male and female missionaries, and the difference between RS and Priesthood quorums (I guess I could even go into the difference between the YW and YM programs, but let's stick to these two).

Admittedly, young men in our church are expected to serve their full-time missions at age 19 (although the case can be argued that 19 may be their intellectual peak), and young women are not allowed to go until they are at least 21 (when their intellectual peak is not reached until at least 36 and often later).

But elders have rules, and time-schedules, and mission presidents, and zone and district leaders, and white books, and a lot of rules. The sisters are just sent out, and they work.

I've known personally two mission presidents say they would give almost anything to have a mission of JUST sister missionaries - "because you don't need to keep watching them!"

And anyone who has served in a ward or stake council knows that if you want it to happen, put the Relief Society in charge.

It doesn't look like it is going to happen in this world, but I honestly would love to see women be in charge, and see what happens differently.

Anyone out there got opinions about this? I'm curious (and no, Bro. Amon, I am not asking you for yours).