Category Archives: Florida

Stirrups ‘n’ Strides – horse therapy for all

November 3, 2022 Sharon 1 Comment

Today I saw a young woman with Down Syndrome light up with pride and happiness after she completed a horseback riding class at Stirrups ‘n’ Strides Therapeutic Riding Center. I have been leading her on a sweet quarterhorse named Jasper each Saturday morning, but today the instructor gave me the go-ahead to unclip the lead rope. I looked up at the student and said, “You’re the boss now!”

Taking up the reins, she gave Jasper a little kick, and said, “walk on.” She kept him walking around the arena, steered him through a line of poles, and completed an obstacle course with only a little help. At the end of class, I said, “You did that all by yourself. You’re a real cowgirl now!” She beamed and gave me a timid high-five.

For the last few Saturdays, I have been getting up at the crack of dawn to feed the menagerie before I head off to volunteer at the morning classes offered by Stirrups ‘n’ Strides. The organization provides therapeutic horseback riding to people with physical, mental, or emotional challenges and aims to “improve the quality of life for these individuals with the opportunity for emotional, educational, and physical growth through horsemanship, competition, and the healing power of the horse.”

When I arrive at the barn each week, I chat with other volunteers and check the clipboard to see which horses and riders are assigned to me. Most weeks, I’ve worked with the same two students and the same two horses, Lilly and Jasper. I’ve enjoyed getting to know them all.

We groom and tack the horses, and then bring them out one at a time as the students arrive. Most students use a mounting block, but the facility also has a wonderful ramp and hoist for moving people from their wheelchairs on to the horses. We all head in to the main arena at the start of the class. Once the whole group is ready, some students stay in the main arena and others ride a short distance to the trail course arena. Halfway through the class, the two groups switch.

In the main arena, students walk and trot their horses, practice steering around barrels or through a row of poles, and receive instruction to build their riding skills. In the trail course arena, riders tackle obstacles that build physical strength and balance, offer cognitive challenges, and teach horse handling skills. For example, one obstacle simulates opening a gate while on horseback. That requires riding up to the gate, positioning the horse, reaching down to remove a rope looped over the pole, backing up then moving forward through the gate, and hooking the rope on another pole. Another obstacle features an archway with dangling pool noodles. In my early days here, I just led the horse under the noodles, but the instructor encouraged me to challenge my student a bit more. Now I ask questions such as, “How many noodles are there? What color is the biggest noodle? Can you reach up and touch the green noodle?”

Initially, I thought the whole goal was to teach horseback riding, but now I realize there’s so much more going on, as evidenced by one of today’s activities. Students balanced a plastic egg on a spoon while walking around the arena, which required them to sit up straight and concentrate to keep their spoon balanced while steering their horse. I’m not sure I could do that!

This was only my fourth week of volunteering, but I have already learned so much. I feel more confident saddling and bridling the horses with a variety of western and English tack, and I understand better how to interact with the riders to keep them engaged and challenged during the lessons.

I fully appreciate the therapeutic effects that horses are having on my body and spirit during this time out of the classroom. It’s rewarding to be part of an organization that spreads the love!

This video offers a great overview (ignore the promotion for last year’s fundraiser).

This article has some editing errors (sigh…), but it tells the backstory of how Betty Gray started the organization after her 3-year-old daughter, Kathy, was kicked in the head by a horse. Today, Kathy is an accomplished 46-year-old horsewoman who has clearly benefited enormously from therapeutic riding and her leadership role at Stirrups ‘n’ Strides. She always has a smile and story for everyone at the barn.

Here’s the promotional flyer for this year’s fundraiser, coming up soon. If you are in this neck of the woods or know someone who is, please spread the word!

Florida, Midlife Crisis Edition

The Manure Meditation … and Other Reflections on my Self-Care Journey

October 23, 2022 Sharon 1 Comment

I almost hate to tell you how wonderful my mornings are.

My cat Ella wakes me up around 4:30 a.m. Hold on … that part is most decidedly not wonderful. It gets better.

I go back to sleep till about 6. Then I get up, make a cup of tea, and crawl back into bed to read for a whole hour. At 7, I set aside my kindle, sit cross-legged at the head of my bed, open the Calm app on my phone, and click on a short guided meditation.

Afterwards, I head to the barn, where the minis greet me with the most appreciative whinnies. They know breakfast is coming. Once they’re fed, I grab the broom, pitchfork, shovel, and wheelbarrow and get to work.

As I sweep the stalls, clean up manure, scrub water buckets, and shovel sand back into the holes dug by barn dogs Zeus and Athena, I try to practice what I learned in my morning meditation.

I pause and lean on the spade handle to watch the gray dawn dissipate in the rising sun. I notice and feel gratitude for a sapphire sky with one puffy cloud, a pasture full of white ibis aerating the grass, a bright watercolor grasshopper resting on a fence post, an expansive V of honking geese soaring overhead, or the smell of pine when I crunch through the trees. Instead of letting my mind wander and speculate about the future, I try to focus on the moment, finding delight in the world around me. Of course, the challenge is to hold on to that feeling for the rest of the day.

Every morning, something makes me laugh. Zeus, a lumbering behemoth of an Anatolian shepherd, begs for a belly scratch. Aprille, one of the mini mares, sticks her face in front of the leaf blower, tossing her long mane like a fashion model. Mischa, the female Great Dane, transforms into a spindly kangaroo, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of going outside.

As for exercise, the barn is my gym. I have lost 20 pounds and developed abs and never-before-seen biceps. I don’t exactly feel like me, but I like it.

I never eat out because … well … money and the lack thereof. Instead, I cook nutritious, vegetarian soups and other freezable meals, eat farm fresh eggs from a lady in the neighborhood, and load up on veggies from a nearby produce stand. (That said, I recently discovered that you can buy single pieces of cake at the supermarket!)

The latest glorious addition to my self-care routine is yoga. Just across the dirt road behind the farm, I discovered an oasis: Wind Horse Yoga. Three days a week, I wander through my gate to join a lovely little yoga community, where owner Knan and her four dogs create a climate of fellowship and zen. Instead of a bell or chime at the end of practice, we are roused from savasana by wet noses and wagging tails.

Ankle kisses mark the end of yoga class.

Working full time, I dabbled inconsistently with self care. I took a mindfulness course and embraced meditation wholeheartedly, but life’s commitments soon pushed that practice to the back burner. I downloaded workout apps, joined gyms, attended fitness classes, and tried to maintain a regular schedule of exercise off and on over the years. I became a vegetarian and tried to eat healthfully; it’s just that cooking is so time-consuming and falafel wraps with garlic sauce delivered to my door are so delicious and convenient. My point is that I basically failed at self care for most of my adult life.

These days, I’m blissfully unemployed, and my college classes are challenging but not overtaxing. This midlife crisis or “gap year” or whatever it is has handed me the most wonderful and unexpected gift: time to take care of myself, mentally and physically.

It didn’t start out that way.

For the first six weeks, I cried a lot. If I wasn’t crying, I was on the brink of tears. I barely made it through my classes before falling apart in my car on the way home. Everything triggered tears, and I didn’t even fully understand what I was sniffling about. The tiniest frustration or inconvenience overwhelmed me. While working around the barn, my mind zipped and zoomed in all kinds of crazy directions, looping back and getting lost. Looking back, I realize I was processing a great deal of change: giving up my career, sending my husband halfway around the world, not having an income, living in a small apartment, and caring for so many living beings who wanted my attention all the dang time.

Those changes continue to trigger moments of panic, confusion, and anxiety. I realize this gift of time has an expiration date, and to be honest, sometimes visualizing where this is all going sends me on a downward spiral. No, it’s not nirvana, but every day I try to appreciate this opportunity to slow down, learn, and grow.

Who would have thought I would find mindfulness in manure?

Peace in a pitchfork?

Focus in farm work?

Gratitude in the grind?

Comfort in cat litter?

No, I went too far with that.

Ommm…

I found this at a garage sale today!

Florida, Midlife Crisis Edition

College Classes + Miniature Tutors = Steep Learning Curve

October 16, 2022 Sharon 1 Comment

After two decades of learning and growing as an educator, I feel quite confident in front of a classroom. Presently immersed in something totally new and unfamiliar, I am beginning to realize how much I took that expertise for granted. Developing a solid skillset takes time, patience, and humility. Why did I think I could jump right in to the horse world like a pro?

The amount of learning my poor old brain absorbs each day, both in my classes and at the farm, makes my eyes twitch. Book learning and lectures frequently raise more questions than they answer. I latch on to some random concept and lose myself in a digital scavenger hunt on that topic, such as when we studied the circulatory system and I got fixated on the size of a horse’s heart. Human hearts weigh about 10 ounces. The heart of an average 1,000-pound horse? 10 pounds. And remember racing legend Secretariat? His heart was reportedly a whopping 21 pounds! So there’s a good hour I can’t get back.

Reviewing with a model before dissecting the horse heart.

The minis also teach me a lesson every day. These two guys, Timmy and TJ, are among my most dedicated teachers.

They seem determined to trick me into a variety of rookie mistakes. TJ (on the right) is a rapscallion of a gelding with a strong sense of entitlement and crazy eyes. Timmy is TJ’s dad, the only stallion in the little herd. He is generally sweet and gentle, but TJ brings out his naughty side.

Every morning, when I clean the barn, they follow me and intentionally block my path. I keep telling them, “The sooner you let me sweep out this sand, the sooner I can feed you!” Yet they persist. Here’s one example of their determination.

After all this time, I had the brainstorm yesterday of shutting myself in the stalls. Shoulder-high doors lead from the barn aisle to the stalls, and metal gates lead from the stalls out to the sandy paddock. The horses roam freely in and out of the paddock but have no access to the barn’s interior.

TJ and Timmy glared at me through the gate while I efficiently swept out the sand and loose hay. When I opened the gate, they rushed in, and I quickly shut myself in the neighboring stall. Smug with this new power, I forgot to latch the door from the first stall into the barn, and those two made a break for it. Before I could stop them, they gleefully knocked over a bucket of pellets and scarfed down a few bites. Touché, little men. Lesson learned.

Later in the day, it was bath time. Timmy loves to hang out in the water mister until he is soaking wet, and then he rolls in the sand. He was filthy, and his tail was matted with poo and sticks from the field. I tied him up and hosed him down before getting to work with shampoo, sponge, a rubber curry mitt, and a comb. Afterwards, I used a mystical concoction called Cowboy Magic to detangle his mane and tail. He was so handsome!

And then he did this. I think I heard TJ egging him on.

When I texted their owner, she wrote, “That’s why we leave them in the stall until they dry off.” Well, rats. Another lesson learned.

Although my eyes ache from the pressure of my rapidly growing brain, I love this stuff. I may not reach expert status as quickly as I had hoped, but for now, I am focusing on the journey instead of the destination.

Daily Life, Florida

Pandemic Diary – the Quest for a Test

June 25, 2020 Sharon 2 Comments

Now that I have quarantined at my house in central Florida for almost two weeks, I’m ready to get out of here. I want to drive to my sister’s home near Destin, where I can hunker down with her family. I look forward to giggles with my sassy little niece, Annesley, and informative chats about lizards with my precocious nephew, Will. Their new pool is also calling my name. However, I want to be sure I’m virus-free before invading their space.

Everyone has been telling me how easy it is to get a Covid-19 test in the States, and sure enough, when I googled it yesterday, I found an online interface where I could register for drive-up testing at several locations. I filled out the form, chose a location, clicked on one of the available appointments, and was sent to another form. It took all of two minutes to complete the process, but when I clicked “submit,” a message popped up saying, “Sorry, that time is no longer available. Please choose a new time.” When I followed those directions, it wiped all my information off the forms, and I had to start over. Which I did. ELEVEN times!

I now knew my mom’s mobile number, my health insurance membership number, and my rental car license plate by heart, but I still didn’t have an appointment.

I googled again and found the number for the Florida Department of Health. I learned that I could get free covid testing with no appointment at one of three locations between 9 a.m. and 2 p.m. “The Clermont site has already used up all their tests for the day, though,” I was told. I asked about the other two sites. One was more than an hour’s drive, but the other – about 30 minutes away – still had tests available.

It was 9:30 a.m. I grabbed my keys and my mask and hit the road. When I arrived at the health department around 10 a.m., a big sign informed me, “COVID testing closed.” Another note explained the 100 tests allocated for the day had already been used. When I got home, I called the health department office to find out how early I would need to arrive to get one of the coveted tests. “Oh just be here by 9, and you’ll be fine,” the receptionist said.

This morning, I was on the road by 8:10 a.m. I packed a book, planning to hang out in my car till the clinic opened. Instead, I arrived to find a full parking lot and a line of masked test seekers. The “COVID testing closed” sign was still posted, so I almost turned around to drive home. Instead, I parked and started preparing a firm but civil reaction if someone informed me that I was too late. Lucky for me, that didn’t happen.

It should say 9 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. ’cause if you’re any later, you are not getting tested!

A nurse handed me a baggie with a blank label on it. She told me to write my name, phone number, and birthdate and then proceed to another nurse, Rosanna, who gave the instructions. Open the baggie, take out a swab, and stick it up both nostrils. “How high do we have to stick it?” I asked. I had heard you practically have to touch your brain. “As high as you’re comfortable,” she answered. “Just clean out your boogers.”

Boogerless, I took a little liquid-filled vial out of the baggie and popped my swab inside. I handed my baggie back to Rosanna, and I was finished. It looked like another 20 people behind me in line would get the last of the tests; a health department worker was sending everyone else away at 9:40 a.m.

Once I got over my crankiness at the state of Florida for making this process so frustrating, I rather enjoyed my drive home. I guess I hadn’t realized how close I was to a beautiful stretch of countryside.

My parents have lived in this retirement community for several years. Although I have visited many times, we usually hung out at their house or the pool. We didn’t venture far beyond the subdivision gates. When Tony and I bought a house just up the street from my mother, we advertised it as a seasonal rental, so we haven’t gotten emotionally invested enough to learn about the area. For example, I had no idea a huge national forest is practically in our backyard!

According to the U.S. Forest Service, the Ocala National Forest “is the southernmost forest in the continental United States and protects the world’s largest contiguous sand pine scrub forest. The forest has more than 600 lakes, rivers, and springs, including three first-magnitude springs where visitors can swim, snorkel, and dive in crystalline waters year round.” (I just looked it up. A first-magnitude spring is the largest kind of spring, discharging at least 64.6 million gallons of water per day.) Wait, what?! How do I not know about this place?

In addition to boasting some gorgeous trees and springs, which frankly were enough to get me super excited, the Ocala National Forest also features several recreation areas, an historic mill house on the National Register of Historic Places, an archaeological site with evidence of pre-Columbian settlements, and an interpretive trail through the area that inspired Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings to write her Pulitzer Prize-winning book, The Yearling. (Check out this story from NPR.)

Hold on … Fun? Nature? Cultural heritage? Literature? Those are my favorite things! Another favorite thing? Horses. And guess where you can find the Ocala 100-Mile Horse Trail? As soon as I win the lottery, I am buying a horse and getting on that trail. Can’t wait.

On my two trips to the health department, I passed through part of the national forest and witnessed other spirit-nourishing scenes, as well. An eagle’s nest, perched at the top of a towering tree. Acres of bee boxes. A flock of shorn sheep (I wasn’t even sure what I was seeing at first!). Sandhill cranes, including a baby (!) strolling through the fields. Horses grazing, cows snoozing in the shade. And lakes! So many lakes. In typical fashion, I was quite giddy and may have shrieked a bit with delight.

So, lesson learned. Every cloud has a silver lining … blah, blah, blah. Instead of moaning about having to drive 30 minutes for a covid test, I am rejoicing to discover so much beauty right around the corner. For now, I will wait for my test results and fantasize about the day when the parks reopen and we can all get back out there to soak it up.

Florida, On the Road

Stress Balding in My Dreams

June 13, 2020 Sharon 1 Comment

Last night, I dreamt I was getting ready for a family party. As I ran my hairbrush over the top of my head, my hair peeled off like a wig, leaving a bald, scabby patch. I shrieked and showed my sister, who said, “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. But you can probably comb your hair over to cover it up.” This morning, I asked the internet to interpret my dream. Here’s the general consensus:

“Another interpretation of the meaning of losing your hair in a dream is fear of losing control or feelings of helplessness. If you dream about losing your hair it could indicate that you are afraid of a situation in your life or that you feel powerless in a particular situation in your life.” (zeroinonnutrition.com)

Hmmm … You think?!

Do you think I might “have a fear of losing control’ because I have been on lockdown in a three-bedroom apartment with my husband and cat for 14 weeks? We started “distance learning” in mid March. At first, I thought it sounded fun and easy, but I soon realized I would work harder and longer hours than I ever have in my career. I got emails from eighth graders at 10 p.m. wanting feedback on essays that were due at 8 a.m. the next day. At first, I refused. However, it didn’t take long to figure out those teens slept late and worked in the evenings. If that’s what their pubescent brains and bodies needed, I had to play along. I felt gloomy and lonely and hopeless. Finally I stopped wallowing and started getting up earlier to practice yoga. Nothing crazy, just a gentle morning wake-up practice. I felt the transformation right away. I faced each day with a little more optimism, a little less self-pity. Yet, there was no denying I was trapped with an introvert (my husband) and a narcissist (my cat). Both needed a lot of attention, but neither had the skill set to fill my emotional void.

Do you think I am “afraid of a situation in my life” because I am the poster child for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and South American winter is right around the corner? Tony and I had agreed to spend our “winter break” in Chile. We were relatively comfortable and safe. We could and did get whatever we needed delivered to our door: organic produce, beer and wine, groceries, a computer dongle, even two jigsaw puzzles. For a while, we could leave the building with our masks on, but the explosion of coronavirus cases in Santiago led to an extended quarantine. We had to go online for governmental approval to leave the house, which we did three times. It was no joke. I even got pulled over on my bike during one of my outings so the officer could confirm I had legitimate permission. As our beautiful sunny autumn turned gray and chilly, I visualized spending the next couple months in that apartment. I wouldn’t just be lonely and anxious. I would be lonely, anxious, and cold. Despite my reservations about traveling and hunkering down with Floridian covid-deniers, I impulsively got online and booked tickets to Orlando.

Do you think I might feel “powerless” because I put my fate in the hands of a bankrupt airline? To be fair, the flight from Santiago to Miami on Latam Airlines impressed me. The flight attendants all wore masks and ensured passengers were able to maintain some personal space. Passengers were required to wear masks, and some went full hazmat. There was no drink service or complicated meal tray. We got a bottle of water and a tray of ravioli. I took off my mask to wolf down the food and then quickly put it back on. In Miami, we disembarked by row rather than crowding together in the usual crush to get off the plane. The airport felt relatively safe. Nearly everyone wore masks and seemed to avoid crowding together. After collecting our luggage, we were all funneled into a security area where officers completely unpacked our bags, presumably looking for drugs. I had forgotten about the Brita filters I brought home to recycle. They do look suspicious. The officer stabbed one with his knife, releasing a pile of carbon sand, and then politely encouraged me to repack and move on to my connecting flight. That was weird and stressful, but nonthreatening from a virus perspective.

Do you think I might have “feelings of helplessness” because I was getting on a plane with a whole lot of people who don’t seem to care about social distancing and wear their face masks more like chin guards? Once American Airlines started boarding for Orlando, I realized my sense of security was about to evaporate. About half the passengers wore masks; fewer wore masks correctly, actually covering their mouths and noses. I was wearing an N-95 medical mask with another cloth mask on top. Yes, two masks. While waiting for my group to board, I overheard a couple girls snickering behind my back. I turned around to see they were staring at me while wearing their own masks down around their lower lips. I wanted to yell, “I just traveled from a country with 167,000 cases and more than 3,000 deaths. I am terrified that I’m transporting this virus to Florida. I am double masking for you! You’re welcome!” I felt so deflated knowing that whatever I do to protect myself and others, I am at the mercy of these people who don’t take it seriously.

Anyway, I am quarantining at my house in Florida, and it really is a lovely little place. I got up this morning for my usual yoga practice. I drank coffee outside, listening to the birds. I drove to Walmart for a non-contact grocery pickup, which was convenient and safe, much to my relief. I did a sudoku puzzle, worked on report card comments, scrubbed and refilled the bird bath, lounged outside with a book, Facetimed with a good friend, and called my sister to tell her about my dream. I’m about to pop some sweet potatoes in the oven. Life could be worse.

Still, uncertainty is my nemesis. The website’s interpretation was spot on. And so, until life returns to some version of normal, I suppose I will wake from disturbing haircuts with a better understanding of why they haunt my dreams.

Florida, On the Road

Florida Family Time

September 23, 2018 Sharon Leave a comment

Tony and I just got home from Peru, and I was sitting down to write about our trip when I realized I never finished writing about our last trip. Such a blog slacker.

After our visit to Costa Rica, I ditched Tony and popped up to Florida to sign the paperwork on our new house and hang out with my family. We found a cute furnished home on the golf course, just a block from my parents, and we’re hoping it will be a hit with snowbirds seeking a seasonal rental. It was in pretty good shape, but the previous owners had rented it out for a long time without much TLC.

I did a cursory inventory of the house and hauled a lot of bedding, dishes, and random objects to a local thrift shop and the garbage. The sellers seemed to have dumped all their unwanted junk at this house before signing it over to us.

I have mixed feelings about owning a home in a 55+ neighborhood, even if it bills itself as a “fun and affordable active adult community where everything you could possibly want, need, or dream of doing in your retirement years is just a golf car ride away.” The town makes a few exceptions for buyers who are (just barely) too young for the ‘hood. When I got my Villages ID, the community center workers made me feel like a teenager. “You’re so youuuuuung!” they crooned.

We decided to task my mom with the job of getting the place rent-worthy. She found many ridiculous former “fixes,” such as shutters hung upside down and kitchen drawers reinforced with a paint stirrer and a broken yardstick. She swore she could make the repairs and decorate by the end of September. The only stipulation: “I have a vision, and you don’t get to say anything about it.” Hmmm… I don’t know many contractors that include a clause like that. But hey, she’s doing it for free and she has a knack for this. We call her “business” La La La Decorating. (You know, like when you hold your hands over your ears and say, “La la la, I can’t hear you!”)

Lucky for me, my whole family decided to spend spring break in The Villages. My sister, Kate, and her gang drove down from Michigan, and my brother, Mike, and his clan popped by Florida en route from Korea to their new home in Abu Dhabi. My other sister, Megan, and her family recently moved to Florida, so they drove about five hours to join the fun.

That was a whole lot of chaos at my parents’ house, so I hauled all seven nieces and nephews up the street to my vacant house. They played with legos and army men, made slime, wrestled, and colored. We had an epic pillow fight with the many trash-bound pillows left by the previous owners.

For my Super Auntie moment, I had planned a special presentation about Costa Rica. The little cuties all sat at my feet like they were in circle time at school while I shared fun facts about the different places we visited and showed pictures on my phone of the animals we spotted on our trip. At the end, I leaned down and whispered, “Guess what? I brought some of the animals back for you.”

They paraded to the living room, where my oldest nephew, Nico, had helped me set up an exhibit of stuffed animals. He made a sign and positioned the sloths, bats, squirrel monkeys, white-faced monkeys, armadillos, and a macaw on the TV cabinet. He and I had come up with a system for each kid to draw a number, and then they would go in that order to choose their animal to keep. I worried that they would fight over a specific animal or get upset if they didn’t get the one they wanted, but it all went smoothly. Their cherubic smiles swelled my heart and eased my distress at spending a cubic ton of cash on amazon to get those toys.

Of course, there was the requisite dancing in the Spanish Springs town square (accessible by golf cart from my parents’ – and, gulp, now our neighborhood).

We also went bowling one afternoon and got a lot of attention. “You guys sure have fun,” one bowling alley senior commented.

And Jack celebrated his 5th birthday poolside.

We crammed a lot of love into less than a week’s visit. Adios till Christmas!

The Guide Hog