The Story of a Pony

This is the story of a pony:  Silver's Bonnie Lass, a registered Shetland pony, who came to live with us many, many moons ago.   Stewie* bought Bonnie as a yearling and gave her to us when Emily outgrew her.  Bonnie was fourteen, and Jess was four. We've had Bonnie for 16  years.  Add it up.  What a lucky pony to have belonged to only two families, and how lucky we are to have Bonnie.

Bonnie was Jess's first pony.   We had Bonnie shipped down to us from Chico when we still lived in Lakeside.  We gave Bonnie a day or two to settle in, although Jess was dying to ride her.  On about day 4 or 5, I got Bonnie out and lunged her around the front yard before I let Jess get on her.  Bonnie raced and jumped and bucked and farted before she finally settled down.

I knew I was in serious, serious trouble...I knew I was in deep s**t...I knew it was the end of life as I knew it because Jess ran up to Bonnie --  who was starting to sweat -- threw her arms around the pony's neck to hug her, and exclaimed: "Oh, Mom, she smells soooo good!"

*Stewie is one of Diane's best friends, who in turn, has become one of my best friends -- we have played horsie-swap more than once.  Emily is Stewie's daughter, who has grown up to be delightful.  Thomas is Stewie's son, Jess's first-and-always-love, who is delightful, but needs to grow up and remember how much more delightful he used to be....

Denise Tries Technology

It's Labor Day weekend and instead of sticking around the house, I flew to Indiana to judge a goat show. Left on Friday, returning Sunday (today). On this particular trip, I decided to embrace the technology the rest of the world has been using for quite some time.

I opened the Garmin I received for Christmas '09 and took it with me. I have found that -- oddly enough -- not very many goat shows are held in cities, so I often find myself driving from an airport to some rural location on dark roads. I mean dark roads -- with no 7-11s in sight, nowhere but a farmhouse to stop and ask directions. I hate Mapquest. After it sent me yet again to the wrong place -- this time to a closed fishing camp somewhere in Michigan -- I asked for a Garmin for Christmas.

I have a reputation in the family for being a bad driver. It's true that I am unable to drive without twitching, talking on the cell (or worse, texting!), drinking, changing the radio station, looking under the seat for something I dropped, etc, thus making it appear that I am not paying attention to the road. Way back when when I had my driver's permit and was driving with my dad one day, he counted something like 100 times that I moved, scratched, shifted in my seat, or played with my hair in a 30-minute drive. (that's only three movements per minute. sheesh)

So even though I can parallel park my three-horse trailer and routinely back the same trailer a block-and-a-half down the street to turn it around; because of my twitchiness, my family thinks I'm a horrid driver. Then, why did they think it was a good idea to give me something else to fart around with in the car?

Okay. So I took the Garmin to Indiana. But I also took a map, and then stopped and asked directions on my to the show Friday night. But this morning, I was feeling pretty confident with my chatty little friend on the dashboard; and even when the freeway signs told me that the airport exit was 4 miles away, I believed Garmin and followed its directions to nowhere.

What happened, Garmin? When they moved the Indianapolis International Airport TWO YEARS AGO, did they forget to tell you?


(ps and then, to fully embrace more technology,  I bought a netbook at Walmart. I'm typing as I flying. How cool is that?)

(pps because I discovered a 17" laptop is not very easy to travel with)

(ppps don't tell Allan)

Why I decided to start blogging.

Tere told me she was blogging and that, if you wanted, you could have it bound into a book.  For some reason, the whole book idea spoke to me, and I decided that I should keep a record of my thoughts and feelings for, well, posterity. 

Actually, I suppose I had an idea of creating something for my kids when I'm gone.  Not being maudlin or corny here, but I wanted to chronicle some of my memories for them (or at least MY version of the events); and I also wanted to write about me, what makes me who I am.  Now that my mom is gone and my dad is a little loopy, I've lost the chance to ask questions about why or how  or when.  And I hope that this gives them some things to think about, and maybe they'll realize why I behaved the way I did (or probably still do). 

I also want to impart some words of advice and wisdom that they may not want to hear at this point in their lives, but are words of wisdom anyway.

Today's wisdom:  Always tip the hotel maid.  She works harder than hard and picks up all your crap and scrubs the toilet for you -- for minimum wage.  You're on vacation.  What's an extra dollar or two? 

The Zip Line Personality Test.

I have two lovely children.

 Larry is my firstborn -- isn't he gorgeous?

and here's Jess -- isn't she a stunner?

(That's Manny, who's been Jess's best buddy since 3rd grade, on the right.  He was not her date that night...hmm why not, Manny?)

So aren't my children lovely?  Do you think if I described them you could figure out which one I was talking about by their pictures alone?

 We'll give it a try.  I'm going to give the following clues regarding Child "A" and Child "B".  Both of my kids were perfect babies, but ----

"A" was never able to entertain his/herself (unfortunately), and usually found some way of getting into trouble if left alone.

"B" was able to spend hours playing with toys and puzzles quietly.

"A" never cared what he/she looked like before going out to school.

"B" was meticulous in his/her grooming, and spent time each morning from 3rd grade on doing his/her hair.

"A" struggled through school, never turning in assignments or studying for tests.

"B" was an honor student. 

"A" once drove to school barefoot, only to find there were no shoes in the car and had to drive home.

"B" doesn't go outside without shoes.

"A" can't find his/her toothbrush.

"B" has never had a cavity and actually likes the floss Santa put in the Xmas stocking.

"A" is a bit of a dare devil who does wildly impetuous things.

"B" would go skydiving, but only after consideration and planning.

Okay, so look at those pictures again.  Who is child A and who is Child B?  What if I were to tell you that I have devised a personality test that is guaranteed to show a child's real personality.  It's the new ZIPLINE TEST.  Look at the following photos and see by the way my two kids tackle the Becker's zipline you can determine their personalities.....

Lima ... the rest of the story

Well, I accidentally hit the publish button on the previous Lima post instead of the save button.  So, in fact, I'm guessing it wasn't all that interesting after all.  But here's the rest of the story...

Remember that I was Ohio judging when I decided to investigate the story that my mom told us numerous times about my great-grandfather being hung for murdering his wife.  I had just found out that while there was no museum or a rope as Mom claimed; Lima had indeed been the site of the first public execution in that state and the convicted man was hung for murdering his wife.  Well, that piqued my interest, so I came home to San Diego and did some Internet research (of course).
Look what I found:


File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by:
Judy Woerner judyw0113@yahoo.com May 7, 2006, 4:50 pm

Lima News January 29, 1928
ROPE IN SHERIFF’S OFFICE IS REMINDER OF ALLEN-CO HANGING
Lima News, January 29, 1928
Excerpts from the article:


"For more than five decades a piece of rope has hung in the office of the Allen-
co Sheriff. It is part of the rope that was used to hang ANDREW BRENTLINGER
on Friday, April 7, 1872. He was the only man ever executed in Lima.
BRENTLINGER, a resident of Shawnee-tp, stabbed his second wife, Sarah, to
death on October 24, 1871 and dug and buried her in a grave a short distance
from their home.
After his children gave the alarm, the murderer was found and although he had
swallowed poison, medical assistance saved his life.
A trial was held before Judge Mackenzie. BRENTLINGER was found to be guilty
and sentenced to be hanged January 20, 1872, however, the governor, RUTHERFORD
B. HAYES, granted a reprieve of 100 days.
Two days before the hanging, the BRENTLINGER children and grandchildren called at the jail. His aged father and his brothers did not visit him. His attorneys, ISAIAH S. PILLARS and C. M. HUGHES, visited him the following day. With them was T. E. CUNNINGHAM, who had assisted in the prosecution.
The night before the hanging the prisoner could hear the talk of a threatened mob. Fifty men were assembled to guard the jail. The prisoner arose early on the morning of the execution and ate a hearty breakfast. A Lutheran minister, Rev. BARTHOLOWMEW visited and offered prayer and readings from the Bible. The condemned man acted unconcerned through it all.
On the day of the hanging Sheriff COLBRATH led the prisoner to the scaffold. It was erected in the corridor of the jail and BRENTLINGER stepped from the landing of the stairway onto the death trap. Spectators remained on the main floor. The sheriff read the death warrant and the condemned man was asked to make a final statement, but he remained stoically silent. The black cap was adjusted while Rev. BARTHOLOMEW chanted the hymn “Eternity Is Waiting.” The trap was sprung and the scaffold disappeared from under the man. After BRENTLINGER’S body was prepared for burial, his bier was placed on the street where everyone could see him."

Mom talked of this story many, many times as I was growing up; but she didn't supply any true particulars and didn't even know her own mother's true last name.  Mom died of complications of Alzheimer's in 2005, so we'll never really know what the true story is. But it certainly leaves a question in my mind... how about yours?

Happy Birthday!

July was birthday month here in my neck of the woods.  Trish and Stephanie and Vicki all have July b-days, so I went to TWO whole parties.  I don't go out a whole lot.  I'm too old, too tired, and too grumpy, I suppose. 

Anyway, we celebrated Trish's and Stephanie's day with a make-your-own-pizza party over at Trish's.   We had everything you can think of to put on a pizza....

Yum-yum-yum!!!

and of course, we girls wanted to preserve the festivities with a photo op and a birthday toast...

...and as that champagne flowed, some of us got a little more relaxed...

pizza toppings were discussed....

as well fashion and parenting tips.....and perhaps that age-old question arose: Can you feel your nose...err, ears?

...we had  a blast and got some really cute photos............

...but I got to thinking... should we preserve only the "good" photos?  Aren't the "bad" photos, the ones memories are made of?

...how about the one where we girls wanted to show the camera our "best side"...

...or the "true" us...

...or where I'm demonstrating a facelift technique...

...or this one which captures, I think, the essence of our friendship...

...it's just a blur of nonstop talk and waving hands...

and my favorite...

when I'm 80, I want to look at this one, remember, and laugh all over again...

Why You Should Pay Attention to Your Parent's Boring Stories... or "Lima, It's More than Just a Bean."

My mom always told us stories of her family and her life "way back when."  Some of them I paid attention to, some not so much.  Anyway her family was from Lima, Ohio, originally; then they moved to Condee, S.D., to farm.  She was born there.  Her dad was Edgar Cyrus Holmes and her mom was Zitella "Stella" Holmes, nee Jacobs.  Stella and her younger brother were orphaned and taken in by a family that Stella was working for, so Mom didn't know if Jacobs was her original name or if she took the name of the adoptive family.

So Mom told this story about Stella's grandfather....I think. (this is where should realize where my title comes from!)  Or it might have been a great-uncle.  I can't remember.  Anyway as the story goes, this man murdered his wife and was hung for it in Lima, Ohio.  According to Mom, he was the first man hung in Lima and the rope used to hang him is in a museum there.

Lo and behold, I had a judging assignment last spring in Wapakoneta, OH, and stayed in Lima.  Talk about fate.  Well, I had some time to check out the town a little, and there is no rope hanging in a museum.  I drove through the town and it is a lovely little Midwestern town, with lots of trees and sweet houses.  But no sign of a rope used to hang my great-grandfather.  But back at the hotel, I found a travel guide talking about the first public execution in all of Ohio, and it was in Allen County; in fact, it was in Lima!