Seeking Protection

Look at these legs. The front ones in particular.



I took that photo moments after 2007 Horse of the Year Curlin won the Stephen Foster Handicap on Saturday. It was a Herculean accomplishment. He carried at least 10 more pounds than any other horse in the race, and for most, he conceded 15 or more pounds. Watching Curlin's long, relaxed stride as he rolled past in the stretch, you'd have thought he was out for a romp in the park. He did it easy and he did it happy. And this half-ton boy did all that on those legs you see up there.

Starr Ann and I promised to stay on top of what the horse racing industry does to make breeding saner, racing safer, and life better for thoroughbred horses. So far, they're making all the right noises. Here's the latest:

Ban on Steroids, Toe Grabs Recormmended
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by Blood-Horse Staff
Date Posted: June 17, 2008
Last Updated: June 17, 2008

The Thoroughbred Safety Committee announced June 17 that it is recommending the elimination of steroids in race training and racing, a ban on toe grabs, and a series of whip-related reforms, all aimed at improving safety and integrity in Thoroughbred racing.

You can click here to read the details.

Anyway, we aren't about to forget. And if these reforms fall by the side, or if the changes don't keep on coming, we're ready to turn up the volume. But one thing we won't do is turn our backs.

Curlin about 15 minutes before the race:



And right after being doused before going to the winner's circle:



And since this is a lesbian blog, we can't let some big boy have the whole post. Here's a pretty little girl who won the very next race, The Mint Julep Handicap. This champion filly is Dreaming of Anna. Now, what self-respecting lesbian has never dreamed of Anna?

Sometimes At Night

Do you know that wave that washes across you for no reason and it feels just like homesickness, only you’re at home? That happened to me last night.

So I went to Starr Ann’s room and stood in her doorway because Bates growled from somewhere in there and I just really wasn’t in the mood to get my foot bit.

All Starr Ann had to do was say, “Bates,” and he settled back in his bed. Then she said, “Everything okay, Margo?”

“Yeah. Just having the dark blue lonesomes.” That’s what Starr Ann and I always call it.

By the window light, I saw Starr Ann pull back the sheet. “Well, come on in here and let’s get all floaty.”

Once I was settled and we were both lying there looking out her window, Starr Ann said, “Don’t you just love those trees against the night sky?” Then she got real quiet so whatever I needed from her could filter up.

I said, “Tell me the first, prettiest thing that comes to your mind.”

“When two women are singing a duet, the smile on the face of the one who’s not singing at the moment.”

I nodded in the darkness. After another while, I asked Starr Ann to tell me something that never fails to crack her up.

She said, “The sound you made that time when we were little and you jumped off the high end of the porch holding that umbrella like a parachute.” Sure enough she cracked up. “And then you laid there in all that pain and figured it was probably that you were just too heavy for the umbrella, so you told me to try it since I was littler. And I actually did! And there we both were – laying there lucky we didn’t break something.”

“Tell me the first, saddest thing that comes to your mind.”

“When you cry.”

I smacked her arm real light. “It’s hard to make me cry.”

Starr Ann cranked her head in my direction some. “Margo, you cry at yard sales, for Goddess sake.”

“Yard sales are mighty sad.”

She got her head re-situated on the pillow, and I could tell she had that one smug look on her face.

“Tell me the first, best lines of poetry that come to your mind.”

Starr Ann recited:

I can’t believe your hands and mouth
Did all of that to me,
And they are so daily naked
For all the world to see.

“Tell me something fun I get to have tomorrow.”

The longer Starr Ann thought about it, the funner I knew it was going to be.

Finally, she said, “I’ll do my Elvis for you. I’ll do him singing Rock-a-hula Baby.” And she even gave me a preview. “Rock-a-hula, rock, rock-a-hula.”

I said, “Nobody loves me like you do, Starr Ann.”

It was too dark to see it, but I just know Starr Ann was smiling like the lady in a duet who’s not doing the singing at the moment.”

War On String May Be Unwinnable, Says Cat General

We've seen the prettily decorated generals testify before Congress. We've heard some of the right questions get asked. We've heard the lies and ambiguities that passed for their answers.

We've seen the bloated oil executives testify before Congress. We've heard some of the right questions get asked. We've heard the lies and distortions that ended up making them sound like victims of high oil prices.

The House Subcommittee on Commerce, Trade, and Consumer Protection, has scheduled several big names in thoroughbred racing to testify starting June 18 in a hearing called, “Breeding, Drugs, and Breakdowns: The State of Thoroughbred Horseracing and the Welfare of the Thoroughbred Racehorse.”

According to reports, a subcommittee statement said recent deaths “point to a persistent and widespread problem, raising significant questions about the sport and its governance.”

It sounds like they've summoned the right people and are going to ask a lot of the right questions. Maybe for once, they'll actually demand accurate answers.

Who knows, it might start a trend.



Whether you live in a horseracing state or not, a letter or email to your representative, urging real pressure and expressing concern for horse welfare, could help.

Click Your Way To Happiness

You know how we imagine technological change to go one certain way and sometimes it does, but sometimes it doesn't? Like how a long time ago, people thought cars would give way to tiny private helicopters. Or like how when you were little you thought they'd soon invent a pill that would make you miniature and whole families would be able to live in a single chest of drawers. Or how we believe any day now Google would have an olfactory option where you can search for, say, "brownies baking" to get a bunch of search results that when you click on them you'll enjoy the chocolatey scent of hot brownies?

I don't know. Maybe it's only Starr Ann and me who think that way. Because none of that's come true yet.

Anyway, something they have come up with, and I'm telling you, Starr Ann and I are as surprised as anybody about this, is a brand new, beta version, clickable orgasm. I know! What the heck!

So, this snappy new technology is being tested all month over at Hahn at Home. Just click the button you'll find at the top of Lori's blog. I've highlighted it here with a triangle, just in case you aren't familiar with its location. Heh.

Feel free to click all month. And not just for your own selfish pleasure. Clicking often will also help Lori finally beat out that Xeno blog that seems to get a load of votes every single solitary time Lori almost takes the lead.

You know how Starr Ann is. She's getting adventurous with her 'votes.' Right now, the evil thing is out with my laptop, clicking in various innerestin' WiFi spots around town. She's also threatening to double click later on and I've kinda dared her to try a right-click. We'll have to see what happens with that.

Me? I'm heading out to Best Buy for an optical mouse. Gonna hook it up to Starr Ann's computer later on and see if I can't rig up a little surprise for her.

Good luck. Happy clicking. And please come here to share any new features you discover with this beta version of ClickJoy by MycroSofter.

We Take Back What We Said Earlier

So, there was this man,


and he did a quite honorable thing.


When my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) and I were still at the orphanage, they brought this little boy to stay there. He was real cute, and real small for his age. Starr Ann was around twelve at the time, and I guess Jake was maybe four or five.

Anyway, Starr Ann was crazy about this child. She took him over right away and gave him the closest thing to a mother you can imagine. I always found it so sweet to see how Starr Ann and Jake got along.

Jake was forever falling out of some tree, wrecking his scooter, or being hit by a swing. Getting banged up was one of Jake's claims to fame. The other claim was that he was constantly talking about being a jockey someday.

Well, Starr Ann was pretty protective of that kid, and every time he got hurt she'd go pick him up and check him over real good, then worry like crazy that he had internal bleeding or something. One time, she heard in health class that when somebody hurts their head, besides making sure their pupils aren't out of sync, it's a good idea to ask them a question and see if they answer it the way they normally would. So, since Jake was never without a favorite jockey, that was Starr Ann's question for him. Whenever Jake got messed up, Starr Ann would grab him up (after carefully checking for broken bones) and rock him for a few minutes, then ask him, "Who's your favorite jockey." And he'd tell her his current favorite, which Starr Ann always knew, and then she could finally relax. Well, except for waiting for him to poop, so she could be sure he wasn't bleeding internally. But at least she could check head injury off her worry list.

Jake got adopted after only one year at the orphanage. The nuns frowned on letting kids keep in touch after they left us. Starr Ann grieved for a long, long time.

Still, after all this time, I don't mention Jake hardly at all. I'm just not up to seeing that one look Starr Ann gets on her face. But yesterday, after watching the Belmont, where Big Brown had an off day, and his jockey pulled him up coming off the final turn, regardless of what anybody might think of him, I kept thinking of Jake for some reason. And I could feel that Starr Ann was too. I just knew she was.

About an hour after the race, Starr Ann came walking by as I was folding some laundry. I rolled up a towel and bumped it across her head. "Hey, who's your favorite jockey."

The sun came out in Starr Ann's eyes. "Kent Desormeaux."

Well, at least I knew she didn't have any head injuries.

The Boobs Have It

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) doesn't take no-class stupidity lightly. Well, she doesn't exactly take it hard, either. Here's an example of what I'm talking about.

She was surfing around the Internet (under cloak of my passwords, of course) and all of a sudden we hear her, all the way out in the kitchen, laughing that one way you really don't want to hear Starr Ann laugh. Jodie looked at me. I looked at Lane. Lane shrugged her shoulders.

I said to Jodie, "Lane hasn't seen Starr Ann in this particular shade of sardonic before."

Now, we're working real hard, all the while trying to make it look like we aren't working at all, on getting Lane to get even halfway innerested in something, anything. So, naturally, she didn't take the bait.

Jodie pursed her lips (I love when she does that) and said, "Well, Miss Lane, get ready, because in oh, I'd say about 20 seconds," Jodie took a fake look at her watch, "Starr Ann should be coming through that door with a great big load of some kind of bullshit."

Lane nodded real neutral.

In about 20 seconds, Starr Ann came walking through the door, carrying a copy of that picture up there. She showed it to Lane first. "These people have the honor of being connected with one of the best-going horses to come along in our lifetime, and look how they've decided to try and cheapen him."

Lane took a dismissive glance and handed the photo to Jodie, who didn't hold back one bit. "Fuck a frickin' duck upside down and sideways!"

If you think I didn't rush across the room to see for myself, you're wrong.

Starr Ann's eyes darted over at Lane. Still nothing.

So Starr Ann got this real casual swing to her voice and it all of a sudden sounded a whole lot more Southern than usual. "Tell you what, Margo, I think you and me oughta buy us a racehorse. Name her Boob Job. See if Hooters wants to pay us the big bucks for lettin' 'em sponsor her."

"You're right! I can just hear the race call now. '...and as they near the wire, it's Boob Job by a nose, no wait, that's not a nose...'"

Jodie said, "Then after she wins, '...now entering the winner's circle is Boob Job, a 3-year old gray filly out of Silicone...'"

Starr Ann's turn. "...by the two time Grade II winning sire Owl Eyes..."

Ouch! We all groaned at that. Well, Jodie and I groaned.

But the really bad lines crack Starr Ann up more than the good ones do and she was ready to roll. "Reminds me of those Hoof Hearted videos on youtube."

I said, "Huh?"

Jodie said, "Huh?"

"You never saw those? You gotta pronounce 'Hoof' like 'roof' and say 'Hoof Hearted' real fast."

Jodie said it out loud that way and just about peed in her pants. "...and it's Hoof Hearted by a nose..."

Then the miracle occurred. Lane asked, "And I suppose you're going to tell me Hoof Hearted has a come-from-behind running style?"

I doubt any of us has ever in our lives been so happy to hear such a silly, juvenile joke.

Tomorrow, we put Lane on yet another airplane. This one will be taking her back to Walter Reed Army Hospital (you know, the one at the heart of the not-so-distant neglect scandals) where they will subject her to their Warriors In Transition program.



Starr Ann, Jodie, and I have every reason to hope that Lane's wonderful, resilient, youthful, hopeful, healthy mind will whisper something like '...Hoof Hearted coming on from the rear...' or '...gray filly by Silicone...' right when she most needs a chuckle.

And just for the record? They haven't invented a level of base corporate sponsorship low enough to take one bit of class away from the likes of this exquisite creature.

Dona Nobis Pacem

There was only time to act. Starr Ann saw to that.

After a fifteen-hour sleep, Starr Ann took a sip of the coffee I had waiting for her this morning and said, "The Posse should start arriving any time. Do we have the boots?"

I nodded yes about the boots, and Starr Ann caught me up on what she had planned. Hard to believe one little cowgirl got so much arranged in such a short time. Goddess, that's my Starr Ann.

Lori and Jodie got here before that first cup of coffee was halfway gone. Jodie was stunning in a beige brushed cotton shirt with a turquoise bandanna around her neck. Lori cut a heroic figure in midnight blue tailored slacks and a white silk shirt, flared just right at the neck. One glimpse of them, and I realized I needed to get to my room and change.

By the time I got back, they were all there. Quieter than I've ever seen them.

Frannie, smiling but subdued, was on the couch with CJ and Joyce, telling them about the conversation she'd had with Jamila that night of the big campfire and snowball toss. Seems Jamila liked to sketch, and she'd promised to send Frannie some impressions from Iraq. In a month or two, after she and Lane got their bearings.

Over by the window, looking outward, Nina and Gina had their arms around each other, slightly swaying, not saying a word.

Lost in thought, JoeyJo and Heather did what they could to pacify Bates and keep him out of trouble. When Bates growled and nipped at Heather, JoeyJo snapped out of her reverie and said, "Never saw the little monster take to anybody the way he took to Jamila. Did you see her put her face right up to his that night?"

Mimi wiped her cheek and pretended to have something to do in the kitchen. She didn't.

Over by the front door, Eryll was speaking softly to Folkrockgirl, who looked like her young heart was about to break.

The only one sitting alone was Cap'n Dyke, and her stony expression left no doubt she wanted it to stay that way.

I'd had just enough time to scan all these precious faces when Starr Ann came in the front door. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Everybody knows their part. I brought Lightning around. Jodie, great job with the wagon. Lori, what about Lane?"

Lori said, "Starr Ann, honey, I don't think she's going to come with us."

Starr Ann didn't say a word, just walked upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, we were all rushing over to help her maneuver Lane into the wheelchair.

Lane was saying, "Starr Ann, please! It's not gonna help anything."

Starr Ann looked around at everybody, then back to Lane. "Did you ever think it might help us?" And before Lane could get any angrier, or say no again, Starr Ann wheeled her onto the front porch.

At the foot of the steps was the old fashioned buggy Jodie borrowed from the saloon girls in town. They must have worked real hard to get it that shiny. And the dark upholstered seat was all fixed up with a soft extension for Lane's leg to rest on. Alongside, all the pretty Posse horses stood calm and steady, not moving much more than to swish a tail.

Out in the grass, slick and handsome as could be, Lightning stood under English tack, with Jamila's boots reversed in the irons.

Lane didn't move a muscle for a long time. Then she sighed, pulled her gaze from Lightning, and inclined her head toward the buggy. "Will you lift me into it, please?"

Starr Ann led Lightning on foot, with Lori driving Lane just behind and the Posse trailing, all the way to the river. We stopped there on the bank for a few minutes of peaceful silence. When a hawk flew over, circled, came back and soared off again, we watched her until she was a speck on the sky, then just the memory of the speck.

Starr Ann took Jamila's boots from the stirrups and placed them in Lane's arms with such care, then she removed Lightning's tack and set him free. He picked a few bites of sweet river grass and sauntered over to sniff at a shiny wet rock. Then, a blue streak of horse electricity shot through him and he kicked his heels real high before striking off toward home. By unspoken consent, we all let our horses run right with him. I barely had time to swoop Starr Ann up with me, so we trailed back with Lori and Lane, but by the time we turned for that last run at the barn, we were one big herd, pure nerve, muscle and sweat.

I don't have to hope Jamila was with us. None of us does. There's a peace in our hearts that tells us she was.

Marching home

Yesterday evening, Jodie and I were just about to have a light supper when the kitchen door flew open ahead of Lane in a wheelchair and Starr Ann pushing. I don't know if you ever hugged someone in a wheelchair before, but I guess you have to get the hang of it. Well, the chair was only partly what made it awkward. The other part was that Lane isn't exactly accepting affection or anything right now. Fact is, she's barely answering direct questions. Which we totally understand. It just would have felt nice to hug her good, that's all.

Anyway, we barely got a few bites of macaroni and cheese down them before they conked out, and they're still sleeping.

Jodie and Starr Ann of course slept up in Starr Ann's bed, and I offered to let Lane have my room because of not having to navigate the stairs, which was really my way of helping her not have to face the room she'd shared with Jamila, but she just got a little out of humor and said if we didn't want to help her up the steps she'd crawl up.

This morning, when Jodie came down, I asked her if she'd had a chance to get any details from Starr Ann about how she managed to bring Lane home. Jodie said no, Starr Ann was way too sleepy. But she did ask one question. She was pretty concerned about whether I'd arranged to borrow Jamila's riding boots. When Jodie told her the boots should be delivered today, Starr Ann smiled real sweet.

Jodie also said she had to go in to Lane three different times because of bad dreams.

This Just In

Well, the whole not existing on paper thing is kinda getting in Starr Ann’s way. Her fake papers got her on the plane (Starr Ann claims Osama bin Laden’s probably flying commercial, it’s so easy), but she needs a little bit more in the way of credentials to get inside Walter Reed. Celia Susan claims to have the proper materials, and she’s heading up there.

Bottom line, Starr Ann hasn’t made it to Lane yet. Lane knows she’s there, though, and she’s not real happy about it. Seems like Lane basically wants to put a pillow over her head and pretend the world doesn’t exist anymore. And who knows, maybe that’s a pretty good short term response. Only thing is, Starr Ann is determined to be right there when the pillow comes off.

Anyway, yesterday when Starr Ann realized that Celia Susan wouldn’t get there until at least late tonight, she took up the offer of a Posse rider who lives about an hour and a half away. Yep. Starr Ann had supper and spent the night with Heather and April, of Wishful Writer fame. You know how even when something momentous is going on, your brain still tries to make all the normal observations and things, just to keep you grounded? Well, when Starr Ann called to check in last night, she told me about three times how nice that bathroom of Heather and April’s turned out. So, I’m real thankful for the hospitality of those cowgirls.

And Jodie says Starr Ann has something cooking. She’s given Jodie the job of getting in touch with Jamila’s folks about the possibility of letting us borrow Jamila’s riding boots for a few days. More on that as it develops.

Lately, I feel like I ought to be calling this the Starr Ann Dispatches.

Separation by degrees

Lane was freezing inside a C-5 Galaxy high above the Atlantic Ocean as Jamila’s casket was being lowered into the earth somewhere in Dallas yesterday afternoon.

Just a few weeks ago, they were both hot and whole and secure in believing that nothing could ever come between them.

We heard from Lane again late last night. This time it was by phone. Her voice was as flat as it had seemed in that first email about the attack. Is it possible for a person to be in shock for this many days?

Jodie and I took turns talking to her first, and all we got were a bunch of single-syllable responses.

When Starr Ann took the phone, I could tell things were going pretty much the same for her. Then I heard Starr Ann say, “What if I fly up there to be with you?” Her expression dipped a little bit, and she said, “But I want to, Lane.” Lane must have actually gotten a whole sentence or two out then, because Starr Ann just listened for several seconds. When Lane was done, Starr Ann cradled the phone in the crook of her neck to free up her arms. She folded them across her chest and said, “Okay. I won’t.”

That was about it. Starr Ann disconnected the phone and handed it to Jodie, saying, “I’m going to take a shower. Margo, would you book me a flight on something, I don’t care what, to Walter Reed? The sooner the better.”

Jodie asked, “Should I pack a few things for you?”

Starr Ann just called over her shoulder, “No, I have my emergency pack, and this is definitely an emergency.”

Starr Ann’s probably landing in Washington, D.C., right about as I’m writing this.

Falling between the cracks

Our house feels like some kind of command center. There was another brief email from Lane, written just a few hours after the one I posted on Monday.

The doctors moved up the surgery on her leg. It's already done. And since they had her moving around on crutches by Monday night, with plans to ship her back to the states yesterday, Lane emailed us that she'd requested permission to be flown directly to Dallas, where they're holding Jamila's funeral this afternoon. That request wasn't denied. Apparently, it wasn't even addressed. She thinks they're initially taking her to Walter Reed.

Since Monday night, Jodie, Starr Ann and I have taken turns talking to what seems like about a thousand Army people, trying our best to get somebody to listen. We just knew there had to be one person in there who cared that a seriously wounded eighteen-year-old woman was desperate to say her final goodbyes to another eighteen-year-old who'd put her life on the line, and lost it, in Iraq.

Finally, late yesterday, the phone rang. A woman calling from the hospital where Lane was being treated. She wasn't willing to say who she was, but she did give us the number of a lieutenant colonel in Fort Story, Virginia. She said to call this woman about Lane and Jamila. Said to not ask how we'd gotten her name, because the officer would not tell.

Of course we called. Starr Ann did the talking. And this woman was real roundabout, but Starr Ann thinks she's going to try to help us out. Only thing is, we have to quit drawing so much attention to the case and stop calling other people about it. She said we just have to wait for word about what they're going to do with Lane.

So we're waiting. And hoping with all our might that Lane's on a plane headed for Dallas right now. They're burying Jamila at two this afternoon.

An email arrived sometime in the middle of the night

She sounds way too calm. So far, this is all we know.


Hey,

Sorry you haven’t heard from me for so long. Had a little accident and am in the infirmary after the Medevac got me to [redacted]. Me and Jamila and a bunch of other soldiers from the engineering unit were headed to [redacted] to do the surveying for [redacted] stuff so we wouldn’t need so many convoys – you know they just bomb and snipe the shit out of us when we convoy. I’d tell you how scary it’s been in the month since I got here, but I just ain’t got it in me to talk about it right now.

Me and Jamila were sitting next to each other all cozy-like and we were glad the ride was almost over. I think we were in [redacted] region. We’d been trying to sleep. We never get to sleep. Our skin was spitting sand. It blows everywhere. Breathing it. Stinkin’. Even when it’s pitch black it’s hotter than hell. Mortar fire started and hit the truck ahead of us. The driver took evasive action, but it was a clusterfuck. We all grabbed our rifles and our small artillery crew started firing back at what? Nothing? Couldn’t tell no way where those bastards were coming from. Smoke was everywhere and it seemed like the rain of mortar and machine gun fire was never going to stop. Something hit my leg and it felt like the fires of hell ran up to my neck. I had to rip off my t-shirt to wrap it up. Blood was everywhere and I just remember thinkin’ as I was looking down at the pile of chitlins that was a leg that it wasn’t really my leg so it’d be okay.

The firing stopped about then. Either that or I passed out. All I know is the last thing I remember was looking over to check on Jamila and she was just laying there all crumpled up all funny like—she was turned all unnatural—it didn’t make any sense. I didn’t even see any blood.

Next thing, I woke up on the helicopter and that’s the last I remember for a long time. What the hell am I gonna’ do? I thought maybe it wasn’t true, but it was. I couldn’t even tell her I love her one more time.

I’ve got to find a way to see her mom, just don’t know how I’m going to do it. I can’t even tell them that she died trying to save somebody or something – she was just in the wrong place—in the wrong country—where we’re all doing the wrong things for the wrong reasons. That there was no damned reason at all for her to be dead.

Ain’t nothing going to be right ever again. Not in a world that’d take her and not me.

I’m being shipped back to Landstuhl where they are going to operate on my leg again.

I have to go.

Lane

Not Again This Year

For the last few years, Starr Ann gets in a real testy mood as Memorial Day approaches. It's because we know the mainstream media is once again going to allow this administration to trot out their boy for another two-faced, insulting display of solemnity and compassion over our country's fallen soldiers.

This year, Starr Ann's come up with an idea. And she has asked me to enlist the help of anybody who happens to read The Starr Ann Chronicles.

Here's the deal. Tomorrow, we target every hypocritical article we can find that shows President Bush feigning sorrow at Memorial Day ceremonies.

First, make up a template of your general remarks, and be sure to stress your objection to the media's part in this administration's annual charade.

Next, be sure to copy and paste your prepared opinion into the comments section of the articles you find (especially those articles run by local media) or into an email when commentary isn't available.

For extra added value, you can take a few seconds to customize each comment by copying and pasting into your statement a line or two from the specific article you're criticizing.

Jodie, Starr Ann and I have made a pact to each visit 10 separate publications and leave a strong protest about the travesty of this lying, cheating, war-for-oil president being allowed full rein to play pious, compassionate leader on Memorial Day.

We really hope some of you think this is a good idea and will join in.

Dang! A Fiction Blog

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) and I have discovered something real cool. Yep. It's a brand new lesbian blog. But get this - it's fiction! What a concept, eh?

We just discovered Lesbians From Space this morning, and after reading their first seven posts (that's all there are so far), we're totally hooked on the storyline. If you like lesbians (heh), like space stuff, and like fiction, hop on over there and check out what Comet Rider and Space Girk are up to. But hurry, because the plot is ongoing, and you wouldn't want to miss out on anything.

Fiction blog. Wish I'd have thought of that. Good luck, Commanders!

That Global Thinking Thing

Today is exactly two weeks away from the June 4, 2008, Blog Blast for Peace. Starr Ann wanted me to suggest that we practice up thinking about the planet as one big globe we all have to share. That's it. Just practice up thinking that way. Because we're going to have to get real good at it, real soon.



UNITED NATIONS, May 19 (IPS) - "A rolling tsunami of social unrest is underway as we speak -- hungry people are desperate people capable of taking desperate actions. This tsunami is rapidly enveloping the global South, and it won't take much longer before it knocks at the door of the global North," warned Vicente Garcia-Delgado, the U.N. representative for CIVICUS, the world alliance for citizen participation.

Wild Horses For A Wild Woman On Her Birthday

Happy Birthday, Frannie!
We Love You

A Blast

As I may have mentioned before, my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) is the world's best at getting a party together STAT. So, there we were, expecting Lane and Jamila to arrive in mid-afternoon, and Starr Ann had the party ready to launch by late morning. Still wouldn't tell me what her big surprise was, though.

Afternoon came and went without one sign of the kids. Which was a little bit comforting. It felt good to know Basic Training and tech school hadn't made Lane grow up too much. At the same time, though, Starr Ann and I'd really been looking forward to having the girls all to ourselves, if only for an hour or so. Dang, where does time go?

By seven, most of the Posse had arrived. Still no Lane and Jamila, but things were cranking into high gear by their own selves.

Lori had somehow rigged up a lighted footpath between her Riding Cowgirls Ranch and our Happy Hands. It was quite beautiful, and I still don't really understand how she did it, but that's Lori for you. Lori also brought a lot of marshmallows, on the off chance Reeflightning didn't make it on time, since she had to travel so far. But right as Lori started to get the campfire going, Reef arrived. So, all good. The marshmallow specialist was in charge of the marshmallows. Anyway, Lori was supposed to be on hot tub patrol.

Everybody was having a real good time when, about eight or so, here comes Lane and Jamila walking through the door. Dang! Talk about two beautiful kids full of life and so in love you could see it a mile away! It was like a pheromone cloud rolled in with them. I mean it, the place started rocking.

Our puppy Bates came running from who-knows-where and made the leap of his life into Lane's arms. That boy just about wiggled in two, his tail was wagging so hard. And in a surprise move, he took to Jamila right away. Still in Lane's arms, he twisted his neck and leaned over toward Jamila's face. Of course, we all know Bates, so there was a collective gasp, and we all held our breaths. But he didn't even try to bite her. Just licked her face.

Starr Ann said, real matter of fact, "Prolly smells more like Lane than Lane does," which broke the tension enough that everybody laughed. Lane had the decency to blush. Black women, though, have an unfair advantage. Jamila might have blushed, then again she might not have.

After their entrance, everything just took off. What I remember is real patchy. At one point, I was in the pasture in bare feet, dancing with Frannie, Tigger, CJ, and the -inas. Funny thing about the -inas. Gina surely remembers being at the party, but I got a message from Nina this morning saying she was sorry to miss the hoedown. Just goes to show you Nina's so in love with Gina she truly doesn't know where she is half the time.

There was another point when I spotted Starr Ann, Cap'n Dyke, and Frannie huddled up real close, like they were talking real serious. Then they all three at once threw their heads back and laughed real hard. Don't know why, but the sight of that just made me so happy I almost couldn't stand it.

On my way out to check on the horses, I spotted yet another lovely Posse member, JoeyJoe, emerging from that lighted footpath with Lori. That made about the fourth cowgirl I'd seen Lori on that path with. What the heck?

I said, "You chargin' for this shuttle, Hahn?"

Lori didn't bat an eyelash, just whipped out this little pad of post-it notes and started writing. She tore off the one she'd written on and said, "Here you go, Margo. I'm actually booked solid, but I'll fit you in at 11:30. Meet me right about here."

Smiling real appreciative, all I said was, "Thanks," and I went on to the barn.

Well, guess what? There was no need for me to go checking on the horses. Lane, Jamila and Bates were already in there handing out carrots. Jamila was inside Lightning's stall. Lane saw how surprised I looked and she told me not to worry, that animals just seemed to take to Jamila. Sure enough, Lightning was being a perfect gentleman.

Right then, the door slid open. It was Starr Ann. All four of us spent a few seconds smiling like crazy, just happy to share a few private moments.

Starr Ann came over and bumped shoulders with Lane. She asked Jamila, "Wanna hear any of the good oil on Lane, Jamila? I know a few of her secrets."

Jamila kissed Lightning right on his muzzle and came out into the shedrow with us. "Sure. I want to know it all. Wish we had more time."

I said, "There'll be plenty of time someday. We completely understand how anxious you are to see your folks."

A little wave of sunlight passed across Jamila's features at just the mention of her parents. That was real nice to see. I can't tell you how happy Starr Ann, Lane, and I felt for Jamila right then.

Anyway, a loud hoot from outside made us all jump and go look. Almost everybody had congregated around Reef's campfire, and somebody must have said something hilarious, because the whole Posse was just about in tears, they were laughing so hard.

I lost track of Jodie and Starr Ann for about half an hour after that, and I should have known it had something to do with Starr Ann's surprise. It sure did!

All of a sudden, Starr Ann and Jodie came up to us all at the fire and hollered, "Snowball fight!"

I couldn't believe it. This is only May, for Goddess sakes! See? Every winter, Starr Ann stockpiles a bunch of snowballs - fills up our freezer and the freezers in all her bunkers. This year, she even made Jodie let her load a bunch of 'em in her freezer. Anyway, Starr Ann always waits until July or August, in the middle of the summer's worst heatwave, to break out the snowballs and have our snowball fight. It's unheard of for her to spend her snowballs in May. But there they were, in a bunch of piles spread all around the field, far enough from the fire to keep them from melting before the battle.

It took a minute, but everybody caught on pretty quick and in no time the snowballs were flying everywhere, people were screaming as snow exploded against their warm bare legs, and squealing as crushy ice got dropped down the backs of their shirts. Five minutes of fleeting mayhem, and it was all over. Or so we thought. Everybody was out of breath and giggling, when Starr Ann said, "Uh-oh."

All eyes turned to where Starr Ann was looking. Jamila had held back a single snowball and was standing there carefully holding it, with an evil look in her eye.

Giggling, Lane said, "Toss it, Honey Girl, it's gonna melt."

Jamila looked down at the quickly vanishing snowball, and her evil expression turned real seductive. She gave Lane a challenging look right before taking a big bite out of that snowball, then holding it out toward Lane. Guiding it by holding Jamila's wrist, Lane took the next bite. They did that until that last one of this winter's snowballs was all gone.

The girls had to leave early the next morning to make their flight to Jamila's parents' house in Dallas. Before they left, they confirmed what we all pretty much knew already. They're being sent to Iraq. Real soon. They'll be there before the month is over.

Right now, what we're doing is staying focused on the fun we had at that party. Not thinking too deeply about what we can't control.

Oh, speaking of the party, somebody left a pair of chaps near that path to Lori's place. They look like Frannie's. Just sayin'.

Party Tonight!

Real nice of them to give us so much notice, but Lane and her new girlfriend Jamila are on their way home and should be here late this afternoon.

We're so excited we can barely get the plans together, but we're throwing them a party. Nothing fancy. We just wanted everybody who loves Lane to have a chance to see her. They're only going to be here for the one night, because Jamila misses her mom and dad real bad and can't wait to get back to Dallas, where Lane said they're practically holding their breath until they get to see their daughter again. Apparently, on that last visit Lane hit it off pretty well with Jamila's parents. So the girls are spending the rest of this leave with them.

We're kinda disappointed we won't have more time with Lane, but heh, she's a kid in love.

Lane said they have something real important to tell everybody, so Starr Ann and I are officially inviting the Posse and anybody else who cares about Lane, or cares about bourbon, or tequila, or dancing barefoot in a pasture that's so muddy it feels like Crisco between your toes, or sneaking off to share some moonlight with another cowgirl, to come on by for Lane and Jamila's party tonight.

To tell the truth, we're a little edgy about meeting Jamila. We heard she's different. Rides English.

Anyway, hope we see you here. Starr Ann says she has something special planned. Evil thing won't tell me what it is.

Feelings, FEMA, and Frogs

So, I was cutting our grass yesterday, right? I know. I know. Lawn is bad for the environment. Believe me, we're planting trees like crazy at the Happy Hands Ranch, looking forward to the day when the area around our house is lawn-free. But for now, we still have to mow, and because the horses tend to founder on sugary weeds in late summer, we keep the pastures cut so they're grassy instead of weedy. At least we never use herbicides or pesticides. Ever.

Anyway, I was riding along and I saw movement near this muddy spot out by the tall cottonwood. Yep. It was that frog up there. I took that picture of him and on the way inside to show it to Starr Ann, I named him Rickles.

As I reached Starr Ann, I teared up and blurted out, "Look at this baby I almost ran over with the tractor. I almost killed this adorable thing."

Starr Ann looked at me real hard before glancing at the photo. "Yeah, he's something, all right. Looks a little like Bates, doesn't he?"

It was true. That dark, judgmental expression looked a whole lot like our weird little puppy does right before he bites somebody. My heart just melted. I really did start crying then.

Starr Ann's words got real swirly, as if she were talking to a little kid. "Hey, Margo, you know how I always let you and Jodie send me off to one of my bunkers when I'm PMSing?"

Starr Ann could really get off subject. "Yes."

"Well, how would you like to spend a few days in one of the shelters?"

"No, thanks."

"Now, Margo, don't be hasty. It'd be good practice for when the Feds start rounding people up in the FEMA camps."

I laughed. "Who needs practice? We go underground. We eat freeze-dried food. We sneak out at night to care for the horses. We get real pale." Seemed pretty straightforward to me. "Don't see a need to practice."

"What about if I call Celia Susan and you two hole up in a bunker together for a few days? That sound fun?"

"Starr Ann, what makes you think I'd want to go off to one of your bunkers and play FEMA camp emergency sex slave with Celia Susan?"

"Give it up, Margo. Your room isn't that far from mine. Does the phrase 'Put this somewhere, the guards are coming' mean anything to you?"

I guess I started crying again. "Awwwww, now I'm missing Celia real bad."

Starr Ann put her arm around me as she walked me to my room. "I know you do. Now just pack up enough clothes for three days, okay? I'll be back in a few minutes."

"But what about the grass? And you know how directionally challenged I get during PMS. Prolly couldn't even find a bunker."

Starr Ann said she'd take care of all that, so I packed some stuff up and went outside. Starr Ann's so thoughtful sometime it just makes me cry. I broke down again when I saw these signs marking my way.



Dang, but Starr Ann loves me. Doesn't she?

A Conversation Barely Overheard

Jodie's colleague, Karmen, came down from Boston for the weekend. Karmen and Jodie teach at the same university, only Karmen teaches English Literature, instead of American History, like Jodie. Anyway, Jodie served a big dinner Saturday night so everybody could get to know Karmen.

After supper, I passed by Starr Ann and Karmen in the living room and snagged, not deliberately or anything, a few words of their conversation.

Karmen said, "Oh, yes, I read Margo's blog each day, so I know quite a bit about you already."

Starr Ann smiled real big and I think, but I'm not sure because I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but I think Starr Ann nodded while she was smiling and took a sip of her beer.

So Karmen went on, "For example, yesterday's piece was quite nice. I especially liked the symbolism in that one."

Well, Starr Ann's eyes got that one sparkle in them, the one that means she's caught somebody out. At least I guess that's what her eyes did. I wasn't paying that much attention. And Starr Ann said, "I don't think Margo put any symbolism into that one. Before she wrote it, she said she had "big issue fatigue" and wanted to just go write something mundane. Something absolutely face-value."

Karmen slowly put her wine glass down on the counter. "Oh, no, Starr Ann. This is my specialty, my field. That piece was loaded with symbols, metaphor, and figurative language."

Starr Ann does not possess a genuine rapt expression. Trust me on this. It's just not in the girl's facial repertoire.

So, Starr Ann gets this rapt expression on her face and says, "Are you sure? Well, since it's your specialty and all, maybe you could write down some of it. Gosh, I guess I just don't know Margo. Or else I don't know how to read. Or something."

Karmen was happy to do it. Come Sunday morning, Karmen dropped an envelope off at our place on her way out of town. In the envelope was an essay. An essay on the symbolism of my last post, the one titled Unremarkable. Anyway, here's Karmen's essay:

Symbolism in 'The Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) Chronicles Post - Unremarkable
Let's define the word first; this word 'symbolism'.

The term "symbolism" is often limited to use in contrast to "representationalism"; defining the general directions of a linear spectrum - where in all symbolic concepts can be viewed in relation, and where changes in context may imply systemic changes to individual and collective definitions of symbols. "Symbolism" may refer to a way of choosing representative symbols in line with abstract rather than literal properties, allowing for the broader interpretation of a carried meaning than more literal concept-representations allow. All forms of language are innately symbolic, and any system of symbols can form a "language;" even a binary system. Human oral language is based on the phoneme. The written word is symbolically representative of both the symbolic phoneme and directly to the cognitive concept which it represents. Symbols are not the creations of mind, but rather are distinct capacities within the mind to hold a distinct piece of information. In the mind, the symbol can find free association with any number of other symbols, can be organized in any number of ways, and can hold the connected meanings between symbols as symbols in themselves.

Having defined, somewhat, the idea of symbolism, let's apply this idea to 'Unremarkable'. I flex this exercise for one reason: the author's friend asked me, and I quote "If you had to describe it, how would you? What was it about, as you saw it?" unquote. Now, I cannot state that I've never searched for or found symbolism in The Starr Ann Chronicles before – that would be an untruth. Indeed, I have soared in Hilarity Clouds and dipped in the Symbolic Seas of the Chronicles many a time, but to be asked how I 'saw' it, well, that was something altogether new.

So, without further ado, let's do this.

Dawn is breaking and Margo Moon's (MM) best friend, Starr Ann (SA) (the one constant in MM's life) is standing beside the bed with coffee (a stimulant that causes one to wake up). MM asks why they are awake (mayhaps the eternal question 'why are we here'?). Starr Ann replies that they are going to the pond (life's beginnings in the primordial ooze) to watch the sun rise (a new beginning). SA reminds MM 'how cold it gets in those last few minutes before dawn. And how damp.' (things are always 'darkest' or 'worse' before the dawn) and gets MM a hoodie (warmth, reassurance).
Next, they walk hand in hand to the pond carrying coffee (love and alertness travelling towards a beginning). They travel through all the 'old' places (leaving the past for the promised light ahead) and MM notes that SA has real, nice hands (dexterity, protection, healing).

Next everything is quiet – even nature herself (relaxation), waiting for the anxious (this is obvious, so nothing to see here, move along) Sun to rise (revelation and enlightenment). Suddenly a bird bursts in 'with the most intricate, twirly, show-off birdsong you ever heard' (childlike happiness; carefree). SA giggles and MM knows this will cause her to 'crack up' (not follow status quo; possibly revert). MM tries to stop SA by 'knocking her on the arm' (connection with the breaker of rules), misses (she doesn't really want to stop her) and falls back (backsliding away from adulthood), making a noise and scaring 5 (five is the number of 'divine grace' and the sign of the mediator between the goddess and her children) deer who run towards them and then away from them (deer direct one to pay attention to one's inner thoughts – think of their antlers as antenna into and out of the brain. Here, perhaps, the deer are saying 'pay attention to the world when you have to, but it's okay to run away from it when you want').

SA, Our Trickster and Mind-Player, is laughing, but helps MM to her feet (I don't think I need to interpret this – pretty obvious) then high-fives MM. They've missed another sunrise. They do not want to grow up.

Dang. I had no idea. I'm either deeper and smarter than either SA (hi, SA) and me put together ever imagined, or symbolism has a life of its own, or Karmen is totally full of it. Heh.

Unremarkable

It was still dark this morning when I woke to find my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) standing beside my bed holding a thermos of coffee.

I said, "Why are we awake?"

"Because we're going to the pond and watch the sunrise like we haven't done in about a million years."

"Oh." I got up and started dressing.

Starr Ann poured us each a cup of the coffee. "Don't forget how cold it gets in those last few minutes before dawn. And how damp." She opened my closet and picked me out a heavy hoodie.

Holding hands on one side and our cups on the other, we strolled through all the familiar places - out our double gate, across the middle pasture, over the creek trickle, along the narrow woods path, up watermelon hill, through noodle pass, and finally around the pond rim to the side where we were facing east. Starr Ann has real nice hands.

The quietness had texture to it. Seemed like everything - trees, dirt, animals, grass, just everything - was hushed up trying to hear the Sun rustling around under that black horizon, all nervous, getting ready for today's big appearance.

Then this one bird couldn't stand it any longer and started in with the most intricate, twirly, show-off birdsong you ever heard. It was so over the top, Starr Ann got to giggling, and when Starr Ann giggles, I can't keep from cracking up. I went to knock her on the arm to get her to shush, and in the dimness I missed. Ended up falling backward and kinda not exactly screaming, but just making a little bit of a surprised sound. Well, that caused about 5 deer, who I guess'd been sleeping just beyond the cattails, to jump straight up in the air and first run in our direction, then stop, then run the other way.

Starr Ann was bent over double, she was laughing so hard. Evil thing did have the decency to help me up, though. Eventually. Once we were both upright and gettin' it together, we slowly turned to look across the pond. The Sun had already slipped up and clear of those distant treetops.

Starr Ann high-fived me. "Missed it again."

Spring Sprucing Up

Storms last night and Starr Ann's having cleaning fits. Must be springtime. Anyway, our electricity went out for a while, and that never fails to remind me of when Starr Ann and I were little. First time we lost electricity at the orphanage after Starr Ann got there, I ran down for her the list of all the things that wouldn't work until the lights came back on - no toaster for the nuns to make our breakfast, no washing machine, no refrigerator, and no toilet flushing. Yep, Starr Ann was so little, she fell for it when I told her we couldn't flush the toilets without electricity.

One spring when a big storm hit, Sister Blissie Marie found Starr Ann all bunched up in bed, trying to hold it. Well, Sister Blissie was the type to get to the bottom of things, so she eventually worked the truth loose from little Starr Ann and hustled her off to the bathroom right away. I clearly recall my punishment for telling that tiny lie. I had to be Sister's right hand girl for spring cleaning that year.

So anyway, those storms last night aren't the only reminder that spring is really here. Starr Ann's been tornadoing through everything in sight. She's cleaning, spiffing, cozying, and fluffing. It's what springtime does to her. Poor thing.

This year, instead of feeling guilty for not having the spring cleaning gene, I've decided to tidy up a few things here at the Chronicles. Yep. I've updated the Posse list for one thing.

And since you can never have too many good women riding alongside you, we're real happy about gaining three new Posse members.

JoeyJo over at Soon to be Discovered and Sallyride, her Lipizzan, will be riding with us from now on, Nina will be cantering in from Closer to Fine on her gray speckled horse Tumbledown, and our great friend CJ from Current Jam is looking for the perfect steed.

Hi JoeyJo, Nina and CJ! Feel free to pick out and display one of the Posse buttons on the right. If you want to. By the way, here's my chance to thank Lori from Hahn at Home for coming up with those most excellent Posse buttons. Starr Ann and I love us some Lori.

Let's welcome these fine women to The Posse and hope their first ride with us isn't too death defying. But you never know.

What A Mess

On Saturday, as soon as we realized Eight Belles had died galloping out after the Derby, one of us turned off the TV, somebody else opened the fridge and picked out four nice carrots, and before we even realized what we were doing, we were out in the pasture pampering our horses with treats.

I could barely take my eyes off Trickster's fine, long cannon bones. In thoroughbred breeding, the muscles have gotten stronger as the skeletal system has gotten finer. Huge rubber bands rigged to fragile matchsticks. Half a ton of horseflesh supported on those bones the circumference of my forearm. If you let yourself think about it too deeply, standing up seems a miracle. Running on those legs should be downright impossible.

We hated everything about horse racing in those minutes and hours after she died. And in horse racing, there's a whole lot to hate.

But the reality is that the industry does exist. And wishing won't make it go away. Neither will turning away from it completely. Like economic sanctions that hurt the poorest the most, a boycott of thoroughbred racing would hit the horses first and foremost.

After Ruffian shattered her leg on the backstretch at Belmont Park in 1975, ten years of hard times for thoroughbred racing followed, as people understandably stayed away from the track. But little actually came of all that. Fans wandered back, and there were few real changes.

Being born into today's world is like stepping in chewing gum. The more you try to get clear of the mess, the worse it gets. No matter how hard we try, we all pollute. Most Americans pay taxes that help support our wars. Ethanol reduces fossil fuel dependence, but takes corn away from the world food supply. Horse racing can be terrible, but turning away from it is worse.

We all sat up Saturday night talking about whether to ever watch another race. We decided we will. We'll probably even watch Big Brown's Preakness and Belmont. But we're going to do something else, too. We're going to do what we can to put pressure on the industry to get rid of the whips, to ban the racing of 2-year-old babies, to convert all racing surfaces to safe synthetics, and to really penalize trainers caught drugging their horses.

Getting rid of whips is a no-brainer. The playing field remains level because none of the horses are getting hit.

Waiting until horses are 3 years old would be a huge change, but anybody who knows horses knows it's the right thing to do.

Statistics show a marked reduction in injuries over synthetic surfaces, so again, a no-brainer.

And drugging? Right now, a trainer who gets caught drugging a horse is merely suspended from the racetrack. All that means is that he or she can't physically enter the gate. His or her racing organization rolls along, with the trainer orchestrating everything by phone and Internet.

Starr Ann and I have turned our backs on the track a few times now. But we always come back. This time will be different. We're staying right in their faces, demanding sensible reforms until they have to listen, and supporting organizations that are making headway.

As for the beautiful filly herself, we console ourselves with knowing her body was hot, pumped, and full of adrenaline when she went down. Shock, perhaps Nature's kindest process, took over quickly. Confusion was probably Eight Belles' strongest sensation for those few seconds before the needle went in. If she'd gone down on a casual trail ride, as horses sometimes do, she wouldn't have had the benefit of swift euthanasia. So for that part, we can be thankful.

Starr Ann had a dream Saturday night. It was a pretty one. Two fillies, one jet black and one a very dark gray, running wild and free on sound legs without riders. That's all the dream was. Just Ruffian and Eight Belles tearing through an unfenced pasture.

This tribute stands on Th'Mound, and I could think of none better.

Don't Drink The Water

Jodie took some photos of Amelia and Smokey yesterday morning. We're having that pond checked for drugs.

Happy May Day!