Why I love horses so much? There’s not only one reason. For instance, I’ve also always loved western movies and always been a pro-Indian spectator. I loved the huge land and the endless rides fast like the wind. Liberty and respect for the Nature and what it gives to people.
I’ve always loved Nature in general. Well, except insects. I’m okay with spiders, though. We always had pets at home (cats, dogs, porcupines, turtles, rabbits… long story) and I used to have a horse too, when I was around 8 years old. We lived in Tunisia back then and I had started riding. My horse’s name was Hobeien, which means ‘the righteous path’ in Arabic, if I remember correctly. He was 4 years old when we got him, a gray Arabian Stallion. He wasn’t fast enough on the race track, so he had been sent to “regular riding school”. He was such a sweet horse, very gentle, but also full of energy and always curious. We sort of grew up together. We learnt to jump together, as he had only done ‘fast running’ till then, so go figure. I wish I could have spent more time with him. It seems like 3 years were not enough. But my family moved again and we couldn’t bring him with us.
Later, I kept riding horses during my vagrant-like life, let’s say, but Hobeien IS Hobeien. I should probably say ‘was’, as he’s most likely dead by now. But anyway, more or less 8 years ago, I gave up riding, mainly because my veterinary medicine studies were taking a lot of my time.
Then, I could ride again when I was in Oregon in 2002 and there I found again what I had lost and had a deeper understanding of why I love horses. In August 2002, precisely August 15th (talk about ‘women & useless dates’, see previous journal entry) I spent the whole day riding in the desert. Jim (you can see him in some pictures in the Oregon Gallery) must have thought that I was thinking “where the heck did he take me?!?” Actually, in the evening I thought “heck, now I know why Clint Eastwood has that weird walk. It must have been all those western movies, riding all day long…”
When I think about that day I remember every single thing, even how I was dressed, what I had for breakfast etc. etc. But most important of all, I remember that I felt totally at ease, riding a horse I didn’t know, in a place I didn’t know, which is a desert too, by the way, with a man I barely knew back then. I must have been totally crazy indeed. -This freaking sun’s cooking me but it’s all right, no worries.-
Thing is, I loved it. I loved the connection with the environment and I loved what that crazy trip in 2002 brought into my life. True, I’m back to Italy now, which sucks. And I’m not going to Oregon again within the next few months for sure, which also totally sucks.
But I hope I’ll never forget what I experienced there. Hopefully someday I’ll take again that path and learn more about the connection we can have with the environment and animals like wild horses. They know all they need to know to survive in a place where people can’t on their own. We can learn so much from horses. They can be so strong, but also so delicate and fragile. They base their lives on senses, something that we too often forget to do, to use our senses. We have become masters of disguise, denial, hypocrisy, manipulation.
“Horses never lie”, as Jim says.
No, I’m not a so-called Valentine’s Day hater. I just don’t give a damn about the whole deal. I’m one of those old fashioned people who still think that when you love someone you don’t need a special day to show it. And gifts are not only material gifts. Actually, I believe that the greatest gifts you can give are love, compassion, trust, friendship, honesty, empathy (in random order). Not exactly things you can wrap in a box of chocolates. Thing is, I do love chocolate so if you are thinking at offering me some, do not wait for February 14th.
I’ve always heard stories that could be summed up in “He forgot to do this or that on V-day!” or the plain and simple “He forgot V-day!” Come to think of it, I’ve always found women more complaining than men. I’ve seldom heard of men whining because She forgot V-day.
It’s true, indeed: women have a tendency to remember dates very well. The more the date is useless, the more we remember it. Like, for instance, the day we first did this, or we first did that, or we first went there, etc. etc. On the opposite, when they do remember something, men tend to remember the fact rather than the mere date on the calendar. Is this that bad? I don’t think so.
Of course, I am generalizing. I’m sure there are men who do care about Valentine’s Day and women who don’t really keep track of useless dates. Maybe someday we’ll all stop giving so much importance to the material aspects of ‘Summoned Holidays’.
Now, on a more serious topic, where’s that package of Cuneesi gone?
(and for those who don’t know what Cuneesi are, you’ll just have to google the name and start drooling)
Linn, check this out!!! LMAO… click here
Comments:
Holy cow!! Almost as good as “Looking for freedom”! The Horrrrrff is da man! What a babe…
(I am laughing so hard I am crying…)
Thank you for brightening my day!
~Ski
I was 11 and we had music classes at my school. You could choose to play the flute or a wacky instrument we called ‘armonica’ or ‘diamonica’. It wasn’t exactly a harmonica, but a sort of very small piano with a tube to blow air, but you could only use one hand to play the notes. Anyway, I was a wacky child myself, so sometimes I would learn the melody on the flute, sometimes on the ‘armonica’. The nice thing was that I never really had to spend hours studying the melodies. Truth to be told, I never studied any of them. I soon got the habit of “trying them” once or twice the day before the test. Then I hopped to ear-playing the TV-show tunes. I remember very well the day I learned the theme from Magnum P.I. Go figure. Anyway, music classes always went very, very fine.
Till one day, my parents received a call from school: the music teacher wanted to talk to them. They were quite surprised, as this was the first time such thing happened. So… they met the teacher and the woman told them that I ABSOLUTELY HAD to study music. In fact, she meant that I was so good that the regular class was too easy for me and she suggested that I joined a serious music school and take extra lessons. My parents were… surprised again. One of my father’s friends (if I recall correctly, the one he bought his first Macintosh SE30 from) was, and probably still is, a teacher at the Conservatory of Parma. We all went to meet him and he set up a sort of test to see if I was really gifted or what. Result: the kid does have a very good ear and is gifted. Therefore, we decided that I would start taking serious music lessons.
Thing is, I wasn’t exactly excited by the ‘solfège’(singing the notes), which apparently, is one of the things you do the most at the beginning. Then, we found a music school that wasn’t THAT focused on forming world-wide famous musicians, just a regular music school. That’s when I started playing the piano.
The piano isn’t one of the cheapest instruments, so my parents rented one so that I could practice at home. It went on for a while, a couple of years. Then we moved abroad again (Gabon, this time) and there I kept taking piano lessons privately, this time. Same when I returned to Italy, 2 years later.
Honestly, I’ve always loved music. It’s in my genes, I guess. Even though none of my parents plays an instrument, they both love music and listen to a wide range of genres. It goes from ‘Vivaldi, Mozart & co’, to Led Zeppelin, from Creedence Clearwater Revival to Billy Joel, from Lucio Battisti to Vangelis, from Mike Oldfield to Eric Clapton, from Elton John to Bruce Springsteen, etc. etc. etc. etc. I could go on for hours listing them all.
So, I grew up listening to all kinds of music and I can’t retain myself from keeping the rhythm somehow even when I have no instrument in my hands. BUT… serious music lessons are the most boring thing ever. Dang, that was boring. At the beginning, I was patient enough to think “okay, that must be part of the process: the beginning is boring”. But then it didn’t exactly become THAT more exciting later. Then, even though I was very good, I gave up the lessons and gradually stopped playing the piano.
As I said, music has always been there, so eventually, my crazy family offered me a guitar (Ortega, classical) a few years ago: a lot cheaper than a piano and a lot easier to carry around during our frequent moving. I found a nice book to show me a little bit the basics, but I really hate to play in public so, I only practice when there’s no one home. Or sing in the car when there are no passengers… Nice, huh?
A couple of years ago, a friend of mines offered me a real harp (Marine Band, Key of C), not the ‘blowing mono-hand piano’.
- Woops, what an interesting description! I see naughty people, right now. -
I had no idea how to play a harp, though I remember my grandpa had one, a very small one and red and that’s about all I can remember. Sorry, last time I saw it I was probably around 5. So, the harp… Well, I know of 2 people who can play the harp very well, but it sounded too stupid to ask them, so I looked online for some info. What I read looked so complicated that I decided to skip the lesson-like part and opted for ear-playing again! Yeah!
Last year I was walking with a friend of mines in Livorno and we passed through a music store. They had a lot of different instruments and also some harps. I asked the guy if they had one for beginners, like a plastic one to try notes and stuff. That’s how I got my second harp with a nice denim bag. The problem is, I still can’t do the bending (Sara’s definition of it: moving tongue et al. to play a different note on the same hole; reminds you of the movements you make while whistling). Ergo: I can play half the notes! And that is quite a problem coz you can blow up your head with all that blowing and drawing for hours, and catching the breath and laying down exhausted.
As I am writing, I see naughty people again. Must be something music-related?! I guess I can stop here for now. Maybe I’ll write again about my music adventures, so to say…
- the fury, even when it isn’t. It can change you, turn you, mold you and shape you into someone you’re not. The only upside to anger, then… is the person you become. Hopefully someone that wakes up one day and realizes they’re not afraid of its journey, someone that knows that the truth is, at best, a partially told story. That anger, like growth, comes in spurts and fits and in its wake, leaves a new chance at acceptance and the promise of calm. Then again, what do I know? I’m only a child.
(from the film The Upside of Anger)
