I took some riding lessons, but found going around inside a barn while a lady shouted at me and spending an hour cleaning tack and things was not for me.

There was a pony/horse riding place not too far from my house that was much more satisfying. For the hefty price of $5 you got to take the pony and/or horse of your choice off into the wilderness for an hour.

This was great.

When the neighbor girls and I could wrangle $5 out of our parents and convince them to drive us there and pick us up an hour later.

Which was not nearly often enough.

When you live on a long five mile stretch of road with less than a handful of houses on it, you tend to know every inch of it. It had not escaped our attention that a certain old man owned a lot of land nearby but did not live there. It was fenced in.

We were intrigued.

So we crept down the path in the woods to see what we would find.

And there they were. Two perfectly lovely horses housed in an old ramshackle barn in the middle of the woods in a tiny meadow.

We were in love.

And started scheming. Now there wouldn’t be much of a spot to hide these horses if we stole them and brought them home.

So we decided to just steal them temporarily.

It is not that easy to get on a horse without any kind of equipment when you are not yet very tall. The trick was to lure one over to the ladder or short wall in the barn and then try to leap on top of them. Sometimes our efforts did not get much beyond this.

But the times we did manage to get on one and steal it away—oh, those were good times.

The neighbor girls and I would ride our bikes down, hide them in the bushes, and sneak down the path to “our” new horses.

Even getting thrown off a horse you’ve stolen for the day is immensely satisfying.

Then one day we heard a noise.

Footsteps down the path and some sort of “whump, whump, whump”.

The Old Man appeared. Hitting his leg with a sharp, whippy stick.

Someone hadn’t hidden their bike well enough.

We were pretty sure that we were going to get whipped within an inch of our lives which probably came from reading far too many books as none of us had ever experienced anything like it personally.

Instead, he gave us a talking to. A very, SCARY talking to using the stick to emphasize his points.

He convinced us that there was a rabid bull in the woods that would surely kill us dead if we stepped one foot over the fence ever again.

My life as a horse thief was over.

But it did lead to a fascination with thieves in books, particularly ones who are actually good at it and don’t get caught by old men with sticks.

They occasionally even pop up in my novels.

Novel thieves are SO much more clever than I.

Love to you all,

Bridget

I know that non-Wisconsinites have this idea that WI is covered in farmland and it’s all about cows and things. Not so in the north half of WI. It’s thick old fat forest up there. Any farms you’ll find are small and were cleared by strong backs of spunky farmers who plucked out each tree one by one, ripping the roots out of the ground with stump removers.

We did not live in such a place. We lived in the woods. Lots and lots and lots of woods.

So this pony became a woods pony and we let it roam free in the wilderness.

My mother hated the pony.

The pony hated my mother.

The pony’s name was Sundae and when my mom walked down the long driveway to get the mail Sundae would sniff her out.

And charge away, nipping at her.

For some reason, the pony loved my dad.

When my dad went skiing down the trails through the forest, Sundae would trot after him like a ginormous puppy.

This sounds cute and probably was, but big old clodhopper pony hooves completely ruin ski trails.

So the pony went to a nearby farm that had room for one more.

I wasn’t even in Kindergarten yet. I did NOT get to enjoy the pony, not one little bit.

There’s a picture of me on Sundae but that is about it.

This didn’t bother me until I turned about ten, read too many Misty of Chincoteague books and the like, and realized that what I was really missing in my life…

Was a pony.

But I’d even have settled for a horse.

Stay tuned for Part II of My Life As a Horse Thief (in which horses might actually be stolen).

Love,

Bridget

Plus, I now have a new lucky health cat!

Have a great week!

Love to you all,

Bridget

No, not that couple.

Although…

They do look quite cute together.

But I’m talking about the other couple.

Harpo and Pumpkin have been together for eight years now, but sadly I don’t have any pics from their kittenhood together. Not because I don’t have a million pictures of them. I do.

They are just so cute.

But we don’t have any pics of them as kittens together because they weren’t kittens together. We got Harpo first. He was just a wee little thing, fitting in the palm of my hand. And he came sweet–a really cuddly cat.

With a very large mouth.

But he was also a hyperactive kitten. We had to save him from certain destruction every few minutes. He didn’t have a natural sense of self-preservation and wanted to splash in the toilet, eat dental floss, stick his head in spaces smaller than himself, and generally cause havoc. We’d come home to find the entire house decorated with toilet paper. One day I drew myself a steaming hot bath and when I went to get in, there was Harpo, wading around sniffing bubbles.

He needed a friend. But we couldn’t go through kittenhood again so soon. Pumpkin was 9 months old when we got him–a pre-adolescent who was almost full-sized and naturally mellow and Buddha-like.

And they’ve been together ever since–keeping each other’s ears clean, sleeping nose to nose, and playing Chase That Cat together.

Love to you all,

Bridget

]]> http://www.bridgetzinn.com/blog/?feed=rss2&p=2219 3 http://www.bridgetzinn.com/blog/?p=2153 http://www.bridgetzinn.com/blog/?p=2153#comments Sat, 21 Aug 2010 20:38:41 +0000 Bridget Zinn http://www.bridgetzinn.com/blog/?p=2153 Year 13, We’d just moved to Portland and I think we’re in the bird something or other, maybe a sanctuary? Notice the white shirt.

Year 14, The Portland Auction where I sported Starlet Hair by the awesome Lori Ann at Halo. Is it the SAME white shirt?

Year 15, The Summer of Love and the white shirt is still there!

Expect the next 16 year retrospective in 2026!
Love to you all,
Bridget

But we must move on.

Year 11, Our First Visit to Portland

Year 12, Our Second Visit to Portland (take note that this is the year I stopped straightening my hair)

Year 12 Bonus Photo, I also found a picture of us in Vegas in which I forgot to pack my contacts (it was an early flight!) and Barrett has some kind of slickster hair, but he’s wearing that cute suit.

More olden times photos to come (well at least a year or two back)–keep a look out!

Love to you all,

Bridget

That’s us working! Look at those muscles. My mother said we’d want pictures of us working in the woodpile someday. I thought it was just an excuse to take pictures instead of help us, but lo and behold, we now have evidence of our labors.

Year 9:

The re-creation of a painting (I’m not saying it’s a good re-creation as we had never seen the painting when we took it and were going off the photographer’s memory, but that was the idea–bringing the Renaissance to life for John Zimm). Thanks to John Zimm for taking the photo and Jacob for sending it and helping me fill in this year.

We did not actually spend those two years entirely in evening wear.

Year 2:

Year 4:

Love to you all,

Bridget

Which is officially half of my life. Woo hoo!

Yes, I know we are a bit celebration-happy, having multiple weddings last year, taking the whole month of March to celebrate those wedding anniversaries this year, having a Summer of Love tour to celebrate love with all of our other loved ones (finale in Portland still to come!), and now we’re celebrating couplehood as well?

We are suckers for love. I’m thinking next year will be the year of the Honeymoons.

Here are some entertaining photos from Year One. I had to take pictures of the pictures since I haven’t figured out how to use the scanner and Barrett is doing this crazy thing called *working* so they have some weird glare and blurriness issues.

In the meantime, before the year of the Honeymoons, we are planning a BIG adventure for later this week but haven’t decided which adventure to have! Enjoy the coasty coast, cool waterfalls, shooshing rivers, or do some cupcake testing?

Any BIG adventure suggestions? We would love to hear them!

Here’s wishing you all love and someone–spouse, relative, neighbor, friend, or mailman–who continues to surprise and delight you. And (possibly even better!) is continually surprised and delighted by YOU.

Love and kisses,

Bridget

I had no idea that humidity was something that I needed.

Until I bought a humidifier. Now that I am breathing air that is like little poofs of heaven and I know what happiness is, I realize just how much I love humidity.

It happens that I am on some drugs that cause dryness–my fingers are all wrinkled up and the bottom layer of my feet recently cracked off.

But who cares about such trivialities as finger tip loveliness and having intact feet? Barely a bother really.

What really gets me is the nose.

In the past when I’ve complained of schnoz-related issues, some people, whose names I will not mention (Jeremy), suggested, and this is so gross I can barely type the words, a device known as the natty pot. Yes, that thing filled with some sort of liquid that you stick up your nose and expect to have drain out the other side.

Have we learned nothing from the peas????

Don’t stick objects up your nose. This is wisdom.

And sticking something up your nose EXPECTING STICKY, NASTY THINGS TO COME OUT???

What twisted individual came up with this idea?

That guy who invented chemo?

Back in the day, before my nose dryness trouble, that first breath of air in the morning was scrumptious–all silky, velvety and smelling of hot cinnamon toast and a steaming cup of Scottie B.

Lately, my first breath of air in the morning has been so painful that I sit upright in bed vigorously NOT screaming. Because my nose is so dry and sensitive that the first breath of air is like lighter fluid to the flame inside my nose.

Where fire ants have set up a penal colony.

Not just fire ants having fire parties, delinquent fire ants having fire parties.

I mentioned this to my fabulous reiki practioner at the Chiyu Center who casually suggested a humidifier.

So I gave it a whirl. While the fire ants have not completely vacated the residence, they are now much pacified by the heavenly poofs of moistoned air gliding over them.

Ahhhhhh…..

Hope you’re having a great week!

Love to you all,

Bridget

Photo Credit: Zaser