Tudor Robins's Blog, page 12

Mixing it up …

For me, this has been a year of re-evaluation; of getting rid of certain things, doubling down on others, and starting some new things from scratch.

So, where, in all this, does riding fit? Where does riding, which is no small commitment, fit into a life brimming with work and family responsibilities. With my rekindled desire to run long distances quickly – and put in the training needed to do so – and with my sons’ increasingly full schedules (which I want to support – I’m glad to see them involved and busy).

Where, especially, does riding fit into all this if – for many, many reasons – it’s gone a little “flat,” for me?

I’ve been thinking about this for a long, long time. I’ve been weighing pros and cons. I’ve been trying to think differently – how can I still be a horseperson, more importantly, how can I still see Martin, the horse love of my life – if I’m not riding?

Well, first of all, I’m so lucky to have a couple of great people on my side:

1) Martin’s “mom,” Chloe, who when I asked, “How would you feel if I didn’t ride him but I did other stuff with him?” said “Sure, whatever makes you both happy!” Thanks Chloe.

2) My great, smart, savvy, flexible instructor, Steph, who when I asked “Could I do groundwork lessons with you instead of riding lessons?” said, “Sounds cool!” and worked with me to pick a time.

We started yesterday and it was great. It was everything I wanted it to be.

We went right back to basics in a way I really never have before. I mean, sure, as a kid I was taught how to lead a horse, but that was it. We all know how to lead horses, and most of us are immediately lazy and don’t do it exactly the way we’re supposed to. And that’s mostly OK, but it’s amazing what you can get out of proper groundwork.

Leading properly is quite a lot like riding properly. Constant checks are needed – is he moving forward? Is he respecting my space? Where is his head? Are our shoulders lined up? (we need to work on that one!).

And working on the ground with the horse really gets you in tune with their body language. I know he’s going to move before he moves. And I even know why he moves. It’s because of my body language, which I then need to work on.

Groundwork also allows you to really see a horse learning. This is where you begin to fully understand just how smart they are, and how capable they are of picking things up quickly, as long as they’re taught with patience and consistency.

It’s also a great reminder of why doing things right is important. It’s one thing to let a horse bulge his shoulder when you’re on his back. It’s another thing when you – as a small human being – are standing beside that shoulder. Not cool.

Steph started by working Martin and I through individual pieces. Walking on. Halting. Trotting. Moving over. Then she set us a course (just like riding!).

And the cool thing is, I have video!

First clip – us walking. You can see I still need to work a bit more on keeping my shoulder beside his, and my legs walking with his front legs. But I like his forward walk, and at this point he was extremely responsive compared to when we started and would move off from a halt for me with just a cluck.

http://tudorrobins.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Video1-Walk-Left-Rein-2.mp4

 

The second clip shows me taking him to a trot. I’m proud of this one because I resisted the temptation to run ahead and drag him into a trot. I waited until he stepped forward.

http://tudorrobins.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Video2-Trot-Transition.mp4

 

Finally, you can see him moving over from me. This was actually one of the easiest things for him. He had trouble standing still at first. He really wanted to follow me wherever I went. But once he figured out I had to be able to walk around him, and he had to stand still, he was only too happy to step sideways for me when I asked.

http://tudorrobins.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Video3-Halt-and-Over.mp4

 

I was really pleased with our progress in just one session. I learned so much, and I think Martin learned lots too. And, of course, there’s lots of scope for practice to take out of this lesson.

You know, I guess my final observation about groundwork is it truly illustrates what a willing animal a horse is. You just have to look at these videos to see how big Martin is and – even though I’m pretty tall – how small I look next to him. I have him out in nothing but a halter and lead rope and he’s listening to me.

Why? Because he wants to. Because he’s willing, and he likes to please.

They’re lovely traits and I think they’re some of the greatest gifts horses give us.

I’d love to hear your experience with incorporating work other than riding into your work with your horse!

No Literary Masterpiece

I got a review today that made me laugh.

It was a lovely review. It said things like, “It is books like this that make me dream of riding bareback on a hot summer day for swimming,” and, “I can recommend the book to anyone who loves horses and cozy books about friendship and a cute love story.” So nice.

But it started this way – this was the very first sentence: “Appaloosa Summer is perhaps not a literary masterpiece …”

I love all my reviews, and I cherish my five and four-star reviews. However, I usually find something quirky, or interesting, or thought-provoking in my lower-starred reviews. Like this one.

It made me think, “No, Appaloosa Summer is not a literary masterpiece.” And then I thought of the literary masterpieces I’ve read. There are very few I want to read again. Of course, there are a couple of exceptions that prove the rule but, generally, getting through a literary masterpiece once is good enough for me. That’s not how I want my readers to feel about my books.

And the other part of the review – the part where this reader described her reaction to the book – well, that was spot-on what I wanted to achieve.

Appaloosa Summer is a book that has allowed me to reach my goal of reaching, and connecting with readers. Being the author of Appaloosa Summer is gratifying, and I feel privileged.

I also feel a huge responsibility to get it right with the next book (also no literary masterpiece), which is why I’m working so hard on my revisions right now.

 

Touring the Gyms

So, my kids started playing basketball this year. And they’re in two different age groups. And they each have a practice and a game each week. So that makes four gyms a week. I am rapidly touring through the gyms of Ottawa and I figure, hey, if I’m going to do it, why not blog about it?

Here we go …

Today’s gym: École secondaire publique De La Salle, located at 501 St. Patrick Street (in other words downtown) in Ottawa.

The name actually tells you a lot about the school. It’s French – you got that, right? – so, of the four publicly funded school boards in Ottawa, we already know this is in one of the two French boards.

And then, we see “publique” in the name. So, it’s public, as opposed to Catholic.

We board hop with our games and practices. We really don’t care. Give us a decent, centrally located gym, and we play in it. So, this week, French public. I’ll let you know about next time.

What else? Well, De La Salle is a grade 7 – 12 school mainly known for its Centre d’Excellence Artistique – or centre for artistic excellence.

As to the important stuff – yes, it was bright, and yes, it was clean (much cleaner than our school gym!) and, yes, it had seating for parents. What more could we want?

I may, occasionally, also be moved to comment during these posts on related issues like, why are we funding four different public school boards? And why does the Catholic board get public funding but no other religions do? These are good questions – yes they are – I’m not motivated to tackle them today, but maybe one day

Stay tuned for the next stop on the Ottawa gym tour …

Join Up Cover

In case you missed it – although it was in my newsletter, and plastered on Facebook and Twitter – but just in case … I have the cover for Join Up!

Here’s something I didn’t post anywhere else – this is the original photo, taken by talented photographer Martina Gates, which I sent to my amazing cover designer to turn into the cover:

And here’s how it looks made into a book cover:

Questions? Thoughts? Comments?

Send them my way!

The Return of the Light

Morning Sun, a Creative Commons image by Conal Gallagher.

The weekend that just passed here in Canada saw the end of Daylight Savings Time.

There were protests. There was mourning. There was despair. There were pictures taken at 5:27 p.m. showing just how dark it was.

I guess I’m weird, because, for me, this time change brought more light into my life.

I run at 6:00 a.m. and, up until last week, I was running in the pitch dark. A little earlier in the season, the sky would go grey, and the air would get a kind of graininess toward the end of my run, but for the last several weeks, nothing. Just me, wearing a flashing red light on a band around my waist, and a couple of reflective slap bracelets.

For a while I could run out through the city streets and, at the far end of my run, there would be just enough light for me to head down to the river and work my way back along the bank without complete fear of being chopped up by an axe murderer (don’t ask me why I’m convinced axe murderers hang out along the riverbank instead of in quiet city streets – it’s probably a false assumption, but there it is).

Recently, though, my runs were all dark, all streets, all streetlights, no sun.

Until this week. This morning when I left home the night was already lifting. I could probably have gone straight to the river, if I was feeling plucky.

Instead, I gave the axe murderers a few extra minutes to pack up and go home, and I ran down to the river at about the 4K mark in my run; when it was really quite bright.

In fact, as I ran through the underpass that tunnels under the Ottawa River Parkway, and emerged on the other side to face the river, I couldn’t believe how wide open, and light, and beautiful it was.

I don’t despair about the loss of light. There is light – it’s just a matter of when you go to find it.

Also, we’re only six-and-a-bit weeks away from the shortest day of the year. Which means, after that, the days start lengthening again. Cool …

The thing is, though, I don’t think it’s cool for me to say I don’t mind the end of Daylight Savings Time. It puts me out of step with accepted wisdom. People think I’m being a Pollyanna, or that I’m in denial, or that I’m just plain annoying.

But it’s true. It’s the way I feel. It’s life as I know it.

There are other things I do / feel / think that aren’t very popular to state out loud. So, I generally try not to state them. Although I’m about to write them in my blog so … good thing not that many people read this blog!

Here’s my list:

– I genuinely love exercise.

– I actually don’t particularly enjoy cheesecake. Or donuts. And I actively dislike coffee.

– I don’t have an international travel bug / wanderlust / whatever you want to call it.

– I don’t think we need a bigger house / ensuite bathroom / main floor laundry room.

– I quite like winter.

– I think Mondays are just fine.

There are more, but you get the picture. I often feel like saying these things earns me sideways glances; like I’m breaking a code – “We all must hate Mondays,” “We all must dread exercise,” etc.

I don’t think I can possibly be alone, though. I think there must be more people out there who secretly like ironing, or hanging out with your mother-in-law, or other things you’re just not supposed to like.

Come on – spill! Who are you, and what’s your guilty-because-it’s-too-virtuous pleasure?

I call bagsy on the end of Daylight Savings.

A Letter to the Parents of my Son’s Friends

Gang of Four – a Creative Commons image by Ishikawa Ken

Parenting, for me, is more fun this year.

My kids are busy, they’re out there, they’re doing things that require schedule juggling, and car pooling.

I’m spending time with them in different ways than I used to, and because of that I’m spending time with your kids in different ways than I used to.

I like your kids. A lot.

I like driving them to basketball. I like how they josh and diss each other. I like the sometimes silly, sometimes clever nicknames they have for one another.

I like how they make fun of each other, but only enough so that everyone laughs – never so much that anyone could come anywhere close to crying.

The more I get to see your sons, the more they impress me. They’re thoughtful, caring. They make sure nobody gets left behind. They’re responsible. They have an inner core of values they can’t be swayed from.

And, right before they jump out of the car, they always remember their manners. “Thank you,” is the last thing I always hear from all your children.

I know some parents choose – or try to choose – a peer group for their kids. I never did that, and sometimes I felt like I was late to the party, not on the bandwagon, maybe neglecting something important.

But my son ended up with your kids as his friends. I couldn’t have chosen better.

And because he chose them, I guess I can be reassured about his good judgment.

I trust this group of friends. I know, as parents, we’ll all help them – we’ll offer advice, and guidance, and rides home from parties – we’ll do what we can. But at a certain level we have to hope and believe these kids will help each other.

I do believe that. I think each of your sons will only ever do what they think is best for my son. I know he feels the same way about them.

Sometimes there are moments, places, people, events in life that just click. I feel like, as a group, our kids have clicked and I feel very, very lucky for that.

Thanks for having such great kids. I couldn’t ask for more for my son.

Ferry Chic

Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not allowed to decorate our house all by myself because I find myself really drawn to the look and feel of the ferry.

There’s something about this pattern I just love.

I’m afraid, if it was up to me, our house would end up looking sort of nautical-industrial-chic (I like to think “chic” but I suspect the rest of my family might think “ugly.”

Doesn’t everyone want one of these in their living room?

So, maybe not to recreate at home, but I do like the ferry ambiance …

I don’t know how this would fit in – maybe a hat stand?

What inspires you?

Profound running post

Or not.

After running a half-marathon on Sunday, I know I thought I was going to write a profound post. I know I intended to. I think I even had it planned out.

But it’s gone.

Just gone. From my head. From my thoughts. I think it linked back to writing and life, but I can’t remember why.

Perhaps this is because the entire 21.1K (whoops, I originally typed 2.11K, which is funny, because a man was holding a sign by the side of the course that said “When I signed up, I thought it was 2.11K!” Ha! Funny!) – anyway, the entire 21.1K, passed in a kind of haze of euphoria.

Not that I’m going to discuss my past and mind-altering substances, but if there ever was a time when I did know what it was like to be under the influence of mind-altering substances, this run (I imagine) would be very much like that – except with no crashing after; just a continued haze of feeling good and happiness.

And maybe that’s it. Maybe I just wanted to say that I texted a friend the night before (Hi Claire!) and said “I’m going to try to enjoy every K” and that became my mantra, and I did enjoy every K. Every single one. It was all fun. And maybe I felt like there was a writing and / or life lesson in there.

I think, also, I came to a realization that I am a really, really simple person. I love the simplicity of running. Of putting on the least possible amount of clothing (although, lemme tell you, waiting in the corral at eleven degrees, I spent a few goosebumped minutes questioning that strategy) and making sure nothing’s new, so it rubs, and that my shoes are snug-but-not-too-tight, and just running, with my footsteps and my breathing to set the pace for me.

Which is why I can’t believe I never swam before, or thought I would like swimming. What was wrong with me? I mean, maybe in a different country, but here, in Canada, we can swim anywhere. And, yeah, sure you can buy (and I need to buy) fins, and pull-buoys, and other swimming aids. And I really prefer to have a swim cap and goggles, just so my hair stays out of my face and I can – kind of – see. But, really, a swimsuit (if you’re in public) and some water, and you’re good to go.

(And, yes, a very good question in all this is why do I like riding so much because – I mean – what could be more complicated / equipment intensive, etc. than riding? But I’ve always known it, and done it, so I guess breeches, and half-chaps, and paddock boots, and cross-country vests, and martingales, and breastplates, and cruppers, and dropped nosebands, and twelve different kinds of horse boots, and polos, and coolers, and quarter sheets … you see where I’m going with this …. anyway, they all seem normal to me.)

So, that’s it, that’s all for my running post. Nothing more profound. No way to circle back and make a point. Other than to say, I’ve recently been googling 30K races – because, I guess, if you’re going to enjoy every K, more Ks are better …

I’m Obsessive-Compulsive enough, thank you very much …

I read this story a while ago. The tagline is “I weighed myself every hour for the entire bank holiday weekend. Here’s what I found out.”

It’s interesting in a few ways. I mean, first of all it’s interesting that somebody would do this. And, yeah, some of the findings are kind of interesting.

But it makes me all kinds of freaked out. Because, for a while, this was my life. With one even more radical addition – I also used to eat while on the scale. Yup, while weighing myself. Not sure why I would do that, other than to torture myself, because surely that’s a way to guarantee your weight only goes up, but it was something I did. (You can read this post if you want to know more about my history with anorexia).

We don’t have a bathroom scale in our house. Actually, we have no kind of scale in my house. This seems normal to me, but possibly it’s not.

It’s a conscious decision. An alcoholic probably shouldn’t keep beer in their fridge. If you have drug addiction issues, it’s possibly a good idea to get rid of your stash. I have been, in the past, a weight addict and it’s no fun.

Having no scale in our house makes a few things tricky. I have to remember, when I’m at my parents’ house, to get my kids to weigh themselves so I know things like when they can graduate from a car seat to a booster (years ago), and so I know where to set the DINs on their ski bindings (now).

I remembered to do this the last time we were there. Before I know it, I’ll be making that trek to the ski shop – probably dodging soggy snowflakes, lugging multiple skis – and I’ll have to say, “He weighs 110 pounds,” and “He is 127.”

So, I went and found my parents’ bathroom scale, and stuck it on the flat tiled floor in the hall, and called my kids in to jump on it. Exclamations, laughter. It’s fun to be heavy when you’re a growing boy. You love gaining weight. Then the adults thought they’d get on, too. “Oh, I didn’t think I’d be that much,” was met with “I think that’s pretty good – you’re doing well.”

When everyone was done stepping on and hopping off, I leaned forward. It was like the scale was drawing me in. I sort of, nearly, almost contemplated getting on.

But that would be disastrous. Where weight is concerned, there is no good number for me. If I’m heavier than I expect, well, ’nuff said – it’s the end of the world as I know it. If I’m what I would expect … well, why am I not lighter? If I’m lighter than I could imagine, then a slow panic sets in – “must stay this weight – must not go up.” Which, of course, would lead to further “checking in” weighing. Which, of course, could culminate (if one were very obsessed, which I have a history of being) in hourly weighings.

As to hourly weighings – well, while I think checking Facebook hourly is probably a waste of time, I think it’s much less of a waste of time than stepping on a scale every hour, so I certainly don’t want to end up there again.

Back to my parents’ scale, my mom said “You’re not getting on, are you?” and I shook my head and said “Of course not,” and bent over further, and picked the scale up. “Just putting it back.”

So, that bullet was dodged. And I’m glad.

Because I have enough to obsess about – raising happy children, keeping our guinea pigs alive, tracking books sales, and website stats, monitoring (not as often as I should) the investments in our RESP, etc. – without obsessing about three numbers which, lined up in the wrong order (1-5-2 instead of 1-2-5) could throw me into turmoil.

I’m not going there.

Grace, in my first novel, Objects in Mirror, also had some issues with the bathroom scale. Here’s what she did about it:

As I stumble into the bathroom in the morning my body feels heavy but not in a bad way, rather in a calm, relaxed, gravity-still-hasn’t-released-its-hold-on-me way.

I flush, wash my hands. On autopilot I prepare for my morning weigh-in. Toe the bathroom scale out from the corner where it lives. Breathe in, then out, whooshing every spare bit of air from my body, willing lightness into my step as I raise my left foot…

…and freeze. No more numbers. The words – or something like them – swim back to me through 11 hours of solid sleep. Leave me balancing, one-footed, as I prepare to get my first number of the day. Success or failure right here in front of me.

I lower my foot back to the floor.

I’m not going to do it. Adrenaline chases away the last remnants of my sleep slowness.

This ends here, now. Movement outside catches my eye. Annabelle walking towards the house. Where has she been this early? It’s garbage day.

Oh wow. I’ve got to move now. Before the garbage truck comes. Before I give in and climb onto the scale after all. Before I lose my nerve.

I dash back to my room – pull on a pair of jersey shorts under my nightshirt – return to the bathroom and in one quick movement, scoop up the scale and head downstairs.

Quiet. In the kitchen the kettle’s roiling, the morning radio host’s giving the weather, and the clinks and dings of dishes and cutlery tell me Annabelle’s unloading the dishwasher.

I ease out the rarely used front door. Unlike the side door, which Annabelle refers to as our personal disaster zone, there are no stray shoes here. No handy flip-flops to slip my feet into. It’ll be a barefoot trip then.

Ouch! Yike! Poke! The sharp gravel up close to the house is killer. It gets better further down the drive as two smooth strips emerge; worn flat by the frequent passing of the car tires. I can walk almost normally here. The smooth clay is even mildly soothing to the soles of my feet.

Then I see the snake. I yelp, jump and drop the scale. Hesitate to pick it up lest I discover squished snake underneath. Nothing. Phew.

The scale is probably broken though. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. It makes it much easier to stuff it on top of the bag of kitchen garbage, pushing the lid down firmly on top again so Annabelle won’t see what I’ve done.

I scamper back to the house. The way back much is much quicker and easier without toting the awkward scale. I step back in just in time to see Annabelle disappearing up the stairs. Jamie’s awake. Perfect timing for me.

By the time she comes back down with my bright-eyed brother chanting “Cheewios! Cheewios!” I’m in my spot at the table, with a piece of brown toast in front of me, eating an apple one slice at a time. Reading the book I grabbed from Annabelle’s library pile in an attempt to distract my brain from the automatic mental calorie-calculating it’s become so skilled at.

Are we going to have a fresh start or rehash last night’s argument? If it was my dad I’d pick (b). With Annabelle I’m betting on (a). I’m right. “I told you if you picked up that book you wouldn’t be able to put it down,” Annabelle says.

I smile. Take a bite of toast. “Perfect. That’s just what I need right now.”

Announcement! Horseback Reads

The last little while, I haven’t been “around” as much. There are many things going on. Back to school is a biggie, of course! Then there’s me, figuring out how my year will go (signing up for Masters swimming, but that’s another story, to come later). And, of course, I’m this close to finishing Join Up. And I’m THIS desperate to start writing the sequel to Fall Line.

So, busy.

One big thing that’s consumed quite a bit of my time is Horseback Reads.

What it is: A collective of horse-loving writers, who love our readers, and want them to have “All horse books, all the time.”

Why we did it: We all write at different speeds, but not a single one of us can write as fast as you can read. So we all get questions from our readers – “when will your next book be out?” In the meantime, we know there are other great horse books out there, so instead of making individual recommendations each time, we thought we’d band together and showcase all our writing in the same place. I’ve read the work of all the authors on this site. They all take time and care over their writing, they all know and love horses, and I don’t hesitate to recommend any of them to my readers.

Who we are: Well, visit our Featured Authors page to find out more, but short answer is, we are: Maggie Dana, Barbara Morgenroth, Natalie Keller Reinert, Kim Ablon Whitney, Kate Lattey, and Mara Dabrishus. Oh, yeah, and me!

How we’re doing it: Through our website, our newsletter, our Facebook page, our Twitter account, and on Instagram. Contact / follow / connect with us in any of these places. We really want to hear from you!

When should you check it out? Right now! Go! What are you waiting for? And, please, please, please – if you think this is a good idea, spread the word. Tell your friends. There are Free Reads on the site too! Another good reason to visit and share!

I hope you like our new site, and I hope it helps you read all horse books, all the time!

Let me know if you have any questions or thoughts!