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Favorite Sayings and Poems

When I am an Old Horsewoman

When I am an old Horsewoman
I shall wear turquoise and diamonds,
and a straw hat that doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my social security on red wine and carrots,
And sit in my alley-way of my barn
And listen to my horses breathe.

I will sneak out in the middle of a summer night
And ride the old bay gelding,
Across the moonstruck meadow
If my old bones will allow.

And when people come to call, I will smile and nod
As I walk past the gardens to the barn and show instead the flowers
growing inside stalls fresh-lined with straw.
I will shovel and sweat and wear hay in my hair as if it were a jewel.

And I will be an embarrassment to all,
Who will not yet have found the peace in being free to have a horse as a
best friend,
A friend who waits at midnight hour
With muzzle and nicker and patient eyes
For the kind of woman I will be
When I am old.


Author Unknown

A Horsey Wife  

A Horsey Wife is: 

A sentimental fool.  Displays a minimum of six 8x10 color photos of the horse in the house and carries a crumpled snapshot of you (taken before you were married) somewhere in the bottom of her purse.

Easy to locate.  She's either off on the horse or out in the barn. 

Upholds the double standard.  Smoothes with the most bewhiskered beast, but recoils when you need a shave.

Owns one vacuum cleaner and operates it exclusively in the barn.

A social butterfly, providing the party is given by another horsey wife.

Falls asleep in her soup at all other functions. 

Economy minded.  Won't waste your money on permanents, facials, or manicures. 

A culinary perfectionist.  Checks every section of hay for mold but doesn't blink when she petrifies your TV dinner in the microwave. 

Occasionally amorous, but never leaves lipstick on you collar, at worst, a slight trace of chap stick. 

Easy to outfit.  No need for embarrassing visits to uncomfortable little boutiques.  You can find all she wears at your friendly men's store. 

Features a selective sense of smell.  Bitterly complains about your sticky-sweet cigar smoke while remaining totally oblivious to the almost visible aroma of her barn boots drying next to the heater. 

Unmistakable in a bathing suit.  She's the one whose tan starts at the nose, ends at the neck, and picks up again at the wrists. 

A dedicated club woman, as long as the words "horse" or "riding" appear in it's name. 

Has your leisure at heart.  Eliminates grass cutting by turning every square inch of lawn into pasture (which, in turn, converts itself into mud.) 

A master at multiplication.  She starts with one horse, adds a companion, and if it's a mare, she breeds it. 

Keeps an eagle eye on the budget.  Easily justifies spending six hundred dollars, but croaks when you blow ten on a tie. 

An engaging conversationalist.  Can rattle on endlessly about the latest de-wormers and the pros and cons of castration. 

Socially aware.  Knows that formal occasions call for clean sneakers. 

A moving force in the family.  House by house, she'll get you to move closer to horse country (and farther away from your job.) 

Easy to please.  A new wheelbarrow, custom boots, or even a folding hoof pick will win her heart forever. 

Shows her affection in unusual ways.  If she pats you on the neck and says "you're a good boy,"  believe it or not, she loves you!

Love's Risk

There is a risk involved in everything

Every time you share a smile

Every time you shed a tear

You are opening yourself up to hurt.

Some people tread slowly through life,

Avoiding the closeness risk brings,

Side-stepping the things they can't understand

Turning away from those who care too much-

Those who care stay too long,

Those who hold too tightly.

There is never an easy way to love

You can not approach it cautiously

It will not wait for you to arm yourself.

It does not care if you turn away

It is everywhere, it is everything.

Love is the greatest of all risks.

It is not reliable, it is not cautious,

It is not sympathetic

It is unprejudiced and merciless.

It strikes the strongest of mind,

And brings them to their knees in one blow.

Even in the best of times, love hurts.

It hurts to need, it hurts to belong,

It hurts to be the other part of someone else,

Without either of your consent.

But, from the moment it overtakes you,

It hurts worse to be all alone.

The risk of love never depletes;

It grows stronger and more dangerous with time.

But, it's in the total surrender of all defense,

That we, no matter weak or strong,

No matter willing or captive,

No matter what, we truly experience love.

Despite the many things love is not,

Outweighing it all are the things that love is.

Love is surrender without a loss.

It is a gift without the cost.

It consumes your every thought & desire,

Every breath you take.

It is the fire that fuels you

To do more than pass through life;

It urges you, instead, to live.

No matter the outcome, having felt love,

You will never be the same.

It may scar your heart & soul

And Leave you only memories of forever.

Or, it may cause every day of your life

To feel like there is no need for tomorrow.

But, love is worth it.

On Doing and Being … Anyway

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;

Forgive them anyway.

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;

Succeed anyway.

Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;

Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;

Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;

Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;

It was never between you and them anyway.

 Mother Theresa

The Station

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We are traveling by train - out the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of children waving at a crossing, cattle grazing on a distant hillside, row upon row of corn and wheat, flatlands and valleys, mountains and rolling hillsides and city skylines.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there, our dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. Restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes - waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450sl Mercedes Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion." "When I reach retirement, I shall live happily ever after!"

Sooner or later, we realize there is no station, no one place to arrive. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.

So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.

By Robert J. Hastings 
from Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Patty Hansen

HEAVEN 

A man was riding his horse down a road, his dog padding along by their side. The man was enjoying the scenery when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying and that his horse and dog had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he finally stood before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He nudged the horse toward the gate and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. When the rider was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is heaven, sir," the man answered. "Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the rider asked. "Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."

The man gestured and the gate began to open. "Can my friends," 
gesturing downward towards his horse and dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept animals." The traveler thought a moment and then turned his horse back toward the road and continued on his way.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

"Excuse me!" he called to the reader. "Do you have any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there." The man pointed to a place that couldn't be seen from outside the gate. "Come on in."

"How about my friends here?" the traveler asked. "There should be a bowl and a bucket by the pump."

They went through the gate, and, sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl and a bucket beside it. The traveler filled the bowl and took a long drink, then gave some to his dog while he filled the bucket for his horse. When they all were satisfied, he led his horse back toward the man who was standing by the tree waiting for them, the dog following faithfully behind.

"What do you call this place?" he asked.

"This is heaven," the man replied.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope.
That's hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No. I can see how you might think so, but we're just happy that they screen out the folks who'd leave their best friends behind."

"Somewhere...somewhere in time's own space
There must be some sweet pastured place
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
Some Paradise where horses go.

For by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again."
-Stanley Harrison