This is a POST!

Whoohoo! Posty post post. Words to convey practical retelling of my life since the last lovely blog update.

Post is a strange word. I'll assume that the definition of post referring to a narrow piece of wood vertically shoved into the ground is not the one that is intended to be used in reference to an update on a blog, but instead the definition of post as referring to a letter in the mail. But I'm also pretty sure that you can blog on Sundays, the only day of the week on which the post does not come. Do they change the entire setup of all blogs to say "not Post" on Sundays? That seems rather ridiculous, but no post on Sundays.

I have been doing things. Other than pondering strange nuances of English. Things like the Fourth of July. Which is a thing in all of the world, but a relatively larger thing in the US. The day of the horse flies. Where the founding fathers were bickering over Thomas Jefferson's phrasing of the Declaration of Independence, and, because of the heat, opened the windows. Which let in an abundance of horse flies. They bite. This so bothered the fathers, that they were like "Yo Jefferson, everything's cool with this. We like it. Now let's go somewhere without these frikkin flies," and went home.
Totally the way that history should be taught.

All and all, fireworks are pretty. And mea maritus is clumsy.

Also redyed my hair blue. All of it. It's all blue. Sometimes I forget, and am rather confused by the stares I get in public. I'm used to being partially invisible, so these stares are disconcerting. Then I realize that my hair is turquoise, and I feel comforted that the likeliness of them staring at me because there's some terrible creature crawling on my head that I haven't felt yet is significantly less.

I just realized that last Saturday was the last time I'll ever volunteer at Riding Unlimited again. Really, I'll probably go back and visit, but it won't be the same. I won't know every horse's quirks, or be one of the regular, trusted volunteers. I won't know everyone's name and I won't be a vital part of the riders' experiences. I'll miss the quiet moments with the horses before and after lessons; the grooming time, the relaxing time. I'll miss the hectic times of quick tack changes; the hurried rush to grab the right stirrups or bridle. I'll miss the long drive out and back, the twenty minutes or so of open fields and nothing but road; the time to think. I'll even miss the aggravating trains, determined to make me late.

Mostly I'll miss the people. The volunteers and the riders. And the helping. I think I'll miss helping people, every week, on the dot, the most.

From silly ravings, to waxing nostalgic, all my love and best wishes.