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December 16, 2019: Where we are, when we are Here

At the conclusion of our trip, after we pulled into the driveway, I began wondering if we’d done a trip because everything seemed almost the same. Almost. The place was unkempt, the grass knee high, the paddock lush with weeds. As the days progressed, everything began to seem much the same. We reclaimed the animals we’d farmed out, that is Tinni, Ranger and Stormy, and Thelma and Louise. And we all fell back into our old routines.

The only things that now indicate that there was a trip are some photos and three very trail savvy mares. It doesn’t seem like much.

Alys and Hrimi

I decided shortly after we arrived home to take the EMT course, which was being offered at the local college. I put my heart and soul into studying the material, and I did not do much else. I did at first get the horses out on a near daily basis, but less so as the semester progressed. I had eight Saturday classes, and elected on the remaining Saturdays to go in and, under supervision, practiced doing the hands-on exercises.

Today was Monday, two days after the fact. I had the same feeling I had when I finished my trip. It was as though I hadn’t had taken this class. The one and only difference was that I felt as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulder. My stress level, which over the past few months had risen to an all-time high, had gone had gone back down.

I think then and now the resumption of routine was what was responsible for my sense that I’d done nothing out of the ordinary. Yesterday, and even more so today, were again the same old same old. I did agility this morning with Tyra, then hung out when Josh, our farrier, appeared and did four trims. I then did agility with Hrimmi, and after, Pete and I took her and Tinni for a walk.

Tonight I’ll get my book sale flier out to friends. And if time, I’ll resume work on my recycling book.

As it is, I might have more trail savvy horses. And I might have a broader first aid knowledge base. These are not tangible entities, so the word might holds great weight.

Back to the same old same old, again, and again, and again. At least there is the same old same old. For this I am grateful.

Next: 348. 12/17/19: The Script

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