Everybody seems obsessed with #TBT, the weekly reminiscent photo movement. I’ve decided to take the plunge with my own blast from the past. This is a picture of moi, circa 1956, before I became a curmudgeonly old poop.
I loved ponies. My Dad used to regale me with stories of when I was a toddler and every Sunday he and Mom would take me to a place not far from our home that had pony rides. He’d buy a ton of tickets so I could ride for hours and when it was time to go home I’d wail at the top of my lungs to stay and ride some more. I don’t remember that at all, but I don’t doubt that it happened.
As a young girl, my room had dozens of horse figurines on shelves decorating the walls because I was always fascinated with their beauty and the freedom one feels astride the magnificent creature. To feel the wind in your hair as the countryside passes you by is to experience something wonderful. In riding a horse, we borrow freedom.
I always wanted a horse.
I think I will celebrate my first day of retirement by finding a stable and going for a ride to truly feel free.
“The horse, with beauty unsurpassed, strength immeasurable and grace unlike any other, still remains humble enough to carry a man upon his back.”—Amber Senti