The Clip-Clop Returns to Celebration's Streets

Once upon a time, one of my favorite "ambiance items" in Downtown Celebration was the horse and carriage rides. One of my earliest memories was trotting down Celebration Avenue with hubby in a carriage drawn by a sturdy drafthorse. Such a unique way to see the downtown area! Somehow it all goes together....the clip-clop of hooves on the bricks of Market Street harkens back to an earlier age.

Of course, as a horse owner, my opinion is somewhat biased in favor of equestrian activities. Even back in Chicago, we would often do a horse and carriage ride in the Loop after a delicious prime-rib dinner at Lawry's. It probably harkens back to my teenage days, when I worked at a livery stable. In the fall, after a long day of guiding trail rides, we would all hitch rides on the hay wagons that ran throughout the autumn evenings. Back then, there were no subdivisions in that area south of the city. The big drafthorse teams would trot down the road, under a starry sky unmarred by any light save for the occasional street lamp. I loved the smell of the hay and of the bonfires when we returned to the barn. Even to this day, one whiff of that smokey aroma instantly makes me think of autumn. The chill air of September and October would drive us to huddle around the fire; the next day, that scent would still cling to my jacket. Those were wonderful, carefree days, but I always felt mournful when Halloween arrived. It's my favorite holiday, but the pleasure was melancholy because it meant that hayride season was over for another year.

Thus I was quite excited to see the carriages here in town. One of our earliest photos shows me standing on Front Street and beaming next to be a big, grey equine after our very first carriage ride in Celebration. It was taken around the time that we had just purchased our home; I thought that the carriages, like the yearly leaf drop and the soapy snowfalls, would be a perennial part of the town that I could enjoy as I strolled the streets or sipped coffee in the rockers at the edge of the lake.

But alas, it was not to be. Around the time that we made our permanent move, the horses vanished from the downtown streets. Apparently the barn that provided them went out of business, and no one bothered to find another source. It was another little piece of our town that faded away into history, chipping off yet a bit more of what made this such a special place.

Now, I'm happy to say that the carriage rides are back! Tonight my husband and I were among the first to take an inaugural ride. Lexin, the current owner of downtown, is bringing them back on weekends during the cool season. The carriage was here for a wedding at the Celebration Hotel, so the carriage firm used the opportunity to familiarize the horse team with the streets of town prior to their official return. I was among the group of volunteers invited to go on one of the "practice rides."

What a perfect season for the rides to return. In two more days it will be October, and a chill has crept into the morning and evening air. We're still flirting with 90 in the afternoons, but this morning, on my way to the barn to ride Figment, I left before 8 a.m. and I was downright chilly! Granted, fall is more subtle here in Florida; there are very few trees with falling leaves, but out in the state park the autumn flowers are blooming and some of the foliage is taking on a lovely fiery red tinge. Orange lights and jack-0'-lanterns are turning up on porches. Fall is slowly but surely embracing us in its grip.

Lexin hosted a nice little get-together at the Town Tavern, with snacks and drinks flowing freely, as we waited for our rides. The wedding took longer than expected, so the carriage arrived a little late, but no one seemed to mind (a couple of mudslides or rum runners definitely increase a person's patience level!). We spent most of the time chatting with our fellow attendees and with the representative from Lincoln Management (the firm that manages downtown for Lexin) and the special events coordinator.

It was quite an interesting conversation; for a long time I've been disturbed by the general lack of maintenance downtown and the potential for our special events to disappear. It seems like once Disney left, no more thought was given to the appearance of our downtown district. The landscaping was abysmal, the garbage cans overflowed, and little things like the carriages faded away into history.

Lately I've noticed that the landscaping and general upkeep have improved. Now that the weather is milder, I love to walk downtown in the evening and have an ice cream cone at Kilwin's (the walk eases my guilt for the calories, even though I don't think the roundtrip hike from East Village burns off more than a bite or two). Instead of chalking up more evidence of the decline in my mind, I've been been pleasantly surprised. It's starting to look good again...a cheery, inviting place where I might like to stop and spend some time instead of a sad little area that exudes a general air of disrepair.

I was quite excited to hear about additional plans for downtown. Besides the carriages, there will be more activities coming and the special events will continue to expand. How heartening to hear that! Downtown was one of the big draws that made us fall in love with Celebration. As I said before, I love to walk downtown and pause on the rockers by the lake. I like to hike down Market Street on the weekends and marvel at the crowd of people. I enjoy the special events...one of my greatest joys is standing off to the side as the paper leaves fall or the soapy "snowflakes" rain down on eager children, just taking in the scene. I come downtown for almost every "snow night" in the winter, just to experience that little piece of the magic that reminds me why we moved here. If it ever disappeared, a big part of our town's specialness would be gone...and what would be the point of living here if we turned into just another vanilla subdivision.

Soon it was time for our ride, and hubby and I climbed into the carriage in front of the Town Tavern. It was dusk by the time the carriage rides started, so our photos didn't turn out too well, but here is a shot of the two of us repeating history...another Celebration carriage after quite a long hiatus.

Before we trotted off on our official ride, we made a quick stop at the horse trailer, which was parked on Front Street, so the horses could have a drink of water. Then we trotted down Celebration Avenue and turned onto Market Street, heading back to the tavern. The streets were teeming with locals and tourists, and it tickled me to see the out-of-towners pointing, waving, and even taking photos. I imagine that some locals might have been pointed, too, since newer residents probably don't even remember when the carriages were here originally.

It was so neat to ride by the storefronts, seeing Halloween decorations and even twinkling Christmas lights in the windows, basking in the fact that we have the great privilege to live in a place that tourists come to visit. They can only be here for a short time to enjoy our wonderful town, but for me it's a daily occurrence. What a blessing!

After the carriage ride, we paused for another quick drink before heading home to East Village. I hated to leave, as it's fascinating to sit on the Town Tavern patio and people watch on weekend evenings, but I still had work to do.

Oh well, now I can come downtown any weekend and watch the carriage rides just as I love to observe the leaves and "snowfalls." Whenever I'm feeling stressed by my workload or irritated about some local controversy, spending some time downtown is my panacea. How can I feel bad when I live in the best possible place that I can imagine? How can I feel stressed when people are having fun all around me? They have to make an effort to come here; for me, it's literally in my backyard.

I'm glad to see that downtown is on the upswing again and that the feeling will be preserved. I'm looked forward to seeing the rest of the changes, and I'll be sure to blog about them as they become reality.

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Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Love That Storm Froggy-Style!

Hurricane season has been here for a while yet, and thankfully there has been no major activity. Even our usual summer thunder-boomers are showing up with less frequency, much to the disdain of my flower beds.

But when and if the big storms come, I'm going to petition for John-John Mackey to come to the Orlando area. Who is John-John Mackey? You might remember him better as Tim Meadows, formerly of Saturday Night Live (during one of those periods when it was actually good). In one of my favorite skits, he played a weatherman in a spoof of those "We've got the best weather forecast because we have Uber-Doppler Mega-Radar 6 Trillion" commericals. A transcript follows:

Lame Weatherman (played by Will Farrell): So this low pressure system is going to be very active. We're ognna have a cold front that's gonna push through - it's really gonna result in some precipitation, so you may want to bundle up and put on your galoshes..

Announcer: Are you tired of little boys trying to talk like weathermen, telling you what the weather may or may not be? Then turn to News 4's John-John Mackey and his Storm Tracker Accu-Cast. John-John doesn't just tell you about the weather. He grabs that bastard weather and pounds it into little, pathetic shards, then shoves those shards into your pink, puffy face!

John-John Mackey: I'll get you inside the storm! I'll let you live the storm, be the storm! And then, baby, I'll make you love that storm Froggy-Style!

Announcer: So, if you want to hear vague forecasts full of hot air - watch someone else. But for Storm Tracker in Accu-Cast, turn to John-John Mackey, who will fill every hole you've got with the latest breaking weather! So, when you want to know what storm is breaking, count on John-John Mackey to lasso the storm, take it apart, and show you how sad it really is.

John-John Mackey: When I see a storm front coming, I'm all, "What's up, bitch?!" And the storm is all, "Not, much, Sir." And I'm all, "That's right, bitch! Now, go make me a sandwich!" And you want that kind of confidence in your weatherman!

Announcer: "Confidence."

So, for earlier warnings, more accurate forecasts, count on News 4's John-John Mackey and his Storm Tracker Accu-Cast! When the weather leaves its house, John-John bangs its wife. "Confidence." John-John Mackey: Weekdays, 7 and 11, Channel 4 Pulse News. Be there!

Sure sounds a lot better than the lame local options, like "Fox Orlando, Your Calm in the Storm" (yes, that's really their tag line). And Fox, like the other stations, is only "your calm" when there is nothing on the radar that they can hype up into the Killer Storm of the Century. I used to think that was a Chicago phenonenon, used to turn meek, powdered-sugar-coating snowfalls into vicious blizzards poised to bury millions alive under suffocating heaps of ice and snowflakes. But having weathered more nasty thunderstorm clusters than I could ever count, I know that the forecasters are just as happy to hype thunder and lightning as they are to hype innocent snow.

Granted, the storms can be pretty wicked. I've counted two with fair-sized hail this summer, and a couple of times the wind has been strong enough to topple trees here in Celebration. But after the Hurricane Trio a couple of years ago, I'm not impressed by an uprooted palm here and there when I can still remember a time that every tree on Celebration Boulevard toppled in a domino-like row.

Hopefully this year Florida won't need a "calm in the storm" because the hurricanes will stay away. I know we're not out of the woods yet, but the edge of the treeline is in sight. And if we do get socked, I'm going to take a page out of John-John Mackey's book. I'll be the one clinging to a tree trunk, trying desperately not to get blown away as debris swirls all around me, yelling, "That's right, you bitch storm!! Now go and make me a sandwich!!!!!"

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Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

The Kids Are Away, The Adults Are At Play

Now that the kidlets are back in school, the adults can head off to play at Disney World. Even though it's still fairly early in the month, the crowd density at the theme parks has taken a noticable drop. A friend and I went to the Magic Kingdom this morning, and we didn't wait more than 5 or 10 minutes for anything.

It was a good sign for light crowds when we boaded the ferryboat to take us to the park and only a handful of people joined us. We had arrived around 9:30 a.m., which should have been prime time for the morning droves of tourists. There were no lines at the turnstiles, and Main Street was littered with little knots of scattered bodies but nothing like the inpenetable fall of humanity that had graced the pavement just a month or so before.

We headed directly to "Pirates of the Caribbean," since I hadn't yet seen the addition of Johnny Depp. Johnny...sigh! Swoon! Such a versatile (and sexy) actor. From Ed Wood to Edward Scissorhands to Willy Wonka to Captain Jack Sparrow, he has the adaptability of a chameleon. Even with parts that are polar opposites, he fits them all flawlessly.

I knew there were three Audioanimatronic Johnnies; my friend had already been on the revamped ride, but it was a new life experience for me. "Pirates" was walk-on when we arrived, so soon we were launched off into the coolest waterfall effect that I've ever seen before drifting into the midst of a raging battle with Captain Barbossa.

The first two Johnny additions are subtle; they fit in nicely and don't change the character of the ride. The last one is very obvious, but still quite cool. It's amazing to see just how life-like the new Audioanimatronic characters are. Their movements are uncannily "human." So many people refer to Celebration as "Stepford"...perhaps I should be worried that those new figures are prototypes for new Celebration residents.

The wait was so short that we rode again, then headed off to the Jungle Cruise for a rousing dose of corny humor. Before we left Adventureland, I had to get a fix of twisted orange juice and soft serve vanilla ice cream. It's my favorite treat at theMagic Kingdom; the orange is real frozen juice, not sherbet....mmmmmmm!

After that, we hit "Haunted Mansion," "Small World" and "Wedway People Mover," (I refused to call it by its current name)...there was no line for either. I committed a minor faux pax at the Mansion; a couple with their small boy asked my friend and I whether we had ridden it before. When we said "yes," they asked if it might be too intense for a little one. I shared my opinion ("Oh, no, I don't think so. It's really more cute than scary") just as we passed one of the Cast Member butlers. He gave me a perfectly in-character haughty looked and echoed "Cute?" Oops!

By then, it was nearing lunchtime, so we headed out of the park for a seafood fix at Red Lobster. On the way, I had to stop for some fudge on Main Street to bring home as a late night treat.

It was a great kick-off to the "off-season season." I've missed the parks all summer, but I refuse to go anywhere near them just as any sane person would refuse to jump into a pirannah tank. Even when I can't visit, I'm comforted just by knowing that Disney property is only a mile or two away. I get a small fix by visiting the hotel restaurants, and every night I am soothed by the sounds of Illuminations and Wishes that can always be heard from Duloc Manor.

And now my patience has paid off. I can finally visit the Mouse again without braving the teeming masses and lines that take longer than an average person's lifespan. In Chicago, I would be sad that fall is nearly here; in Florida, it simply means the beginning of my favorite theme park season.

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Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Back to School

Where on earth did the year go? Here in Celebration (and the rest of Osceola County), today is the first day of school already!

Really, though, the year's as not far gone as it seems. It's only early August, but in my mind the return to school coincides with late in the month or early September. When I was a kid in Illinois, Labor Day was typically also D-Day. We either went back the week before or the week of the holiday.

Here in Florida, where education revolves around the Holy Altar of the FCAT Test, the poor kids are forced back early in order to have more time to prepare. But next year will be different, thanks to law that goes into effect for the 2007-2008 school year. It mandates that the school start date can be no earlier than 14 days before Labor Day, which will be Aug. 20 next year.

But that's no help to the poor kiddies this year; the streets were void of child life this morning, and the community pool were virtually deserted early this afternoon. Instead, the Celebration young uns are slaving away over reading, writing, and 'rithmatic while the summer sun blazes outside and their counterparts in other states still run wild and free.

While the kids are away, the adults will play...I've already got plans to visit Disney World this week with a friend whose children are back in the classroom. That might sound cruel on the surface, but most kids who live in Celebration are sick of the Mouse House. While it might be preferable to school, it's not the wonderful treat that it would be to those who don't live right next door to the pixie dust.

Even though August is still pretty young, Labor Day is not all that far away. In my youth, it marked the end of summer and a return to the educational grind. In my Florida adulthood, it stands for something quite different: The peak of hurricane season. For two years in a row now, we're cruised around Labor Day and the storms have forced us to embark in Fort Lauderdale instead of Port Canaveral. I sure hope that this year three is a charm! If not, we're going to have quite a convoy, as I'm sailing with several other people from Celebration.

So far, so good on the hurricane front (I don't want to say that too loudly to curse it). Meanwhile, I think I might take advantage of the child-free lull and the continuing hot weather to get some use out of the community pools. I usually do my laps at the health club, but sometimes it's nice to walk down the street and hop into the circular East Village "basin." Based on its size, I wouldn't rightfully call it a pool, but I like to water-jog around the concrete island in the center. There are full sized facilities in North, South, and Main Villages, but I like being able to just hike over right from our home...those three require a bike or NEV ride.

Maybe in 2007 it won't feel like the year whizzed by quite so quickly...instead of August 7th, my lamenting blog entry won't be until the 20th. By that time, with two extra weeks of 90+ heat behind me, I'll probably be more than ready for fall!

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Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

The Gasoline Game

Once upon a time, buying gasoline (and getting a fairly decent price) was easy. We had a Mobile station right here in Celebration. Granted, it was on the outskirts (the Water Tower shopping center in 192), but you could access it without technically leaving "The Bubble." Because there was a Race Trac station right across the street, the Mobile kept its price competitive. Usually it would match the Race Trac or set its price a penny or two above it, which I considered a "convenience fee."

But several weeks ago, lightning struck the Mobile, and the resulting fire put it out of commission. I think it's supposed to reopen soon, but in the meantime I've been a Gasoline Nomad, wandering aimlessly in search of a rare combination: the best deal and the most convenient station.

The Race Trac is still there, but it's not particularly easy to get to even though it's right across the street from Water Tower. You have to go out on 192 and make a U turn. Once you arrive, you'll discover that every tourist in the greater Central Florida area has made a beeline for that same station. I have a theory that they must give the gas away, but somehow I'm never included in the giveaway that attracts customers from near and far.

The trick is not only to find an available pump, but to locate one on the correct side that matches with Canyonero's gas tank. The tank is on the driver's side, but 9 times out of 10 the available pumps are in a spot that matches up with passenger side tanks. Grrrrr! Granted, I could back in, but that's a virtually impossible acrobatic feat with cars constantly buzzing around like lions circling a herd of wounded wildebeests. They're ready to swoop the moment they spot an open gas pump, and if you're trying to take it yourself, God help you! When you're driving backwards, it's virtually impossible to outmaneuver an aggressive front-facing driver who decides to stake a claim on your pump.

Often, all of the pumps are taken, so you must stake out a territory and pray that someone will pull out soon. Generally, that works out as well as picking the quickest line in the bank or grocery store. I always seem to pick a block of pumps where the drivers are not merely fueling up, but also saving some money on lodging expenses by settling in for the long haul. After all, they have a rest room and snack shop in close proximity. Why pay for a hotel room when they can just crash in their car for free?

Even though the Mobile was generally busy, I never had to wait for a pump. It had a steady flow of traffic, but I always had a fighting chance of being able to purchase gas without turning it into a competitive sport. I hate it when filling up my tank is akin to finding a parking spot at the Florida Mall during the Christmas season.

In order to avoid the world's busiest Race Trac, I generally buy my gas on the way to or from the barn in Clermont. There is a Hess station near the Wal-Mart on 27 that is generally cheap (with "cheap" being a relative term, i.e. barely under $3) and somewhat less crowded than the Race Trac on 192.

I never, ever stop for gas on 192 between Celebration and Clermont because for some odd reason those stations are way higher than the ones heading east. Heading towards Kissimmee, you can buy your gas for less than $3 per gallon, but just a few blocks to the west you'll pay $3.04 and up. I've never figured out the difference...perhaps the West 192 gasoline is mixed with gold flecks or diamond chips.

We also frequent the Hess stations on Disney property. Logic might tell you that Disney stations would be much more expensive than the norm, but surprisingly that's not the case. At most, the WDW Hess stations are two or three cents more per gallon, and they're generally not too crowded unless you visit them at park closing time.

How I long for the day when I won't have to play Gas Station Roulette any longer because the Mobile has reopened. I never realized how often I patronized them until they were gone. Celebration needs its gas station! Hopefully they will be back in business soon.

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Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Illuminations By Phone

My husband is certifiably insane. Or perhaps he just has a major streak of masochism hidden beneath his laid-back exterior. He will actually voluntarily visit Disney World during the summer peak season!

Sure, I know a few locals who will visit the parks in the summertime, but usually it's with a passel of out-of-town visitors in tow. But hubby gets a hankering to see Fantasmic and Illuminations every few weeks, and like a crack addict slinking down a dark back alley for a fix, he slips off down World Drive to the seamy summer environs of the Mouse.

He's usually forced to go solo on his jaunts, as I rarely go anywhere near the Magic Kingdom et. al. from mid-June through late August. It's bad enough dealing with the traffic overflow on the Road of Tourist Trap Hell, aka 192, whenever I want to venture outside of the Celebration Bubble. I have different needs, and I get my fixes driving way out to the calm, woodsy outskirts of Clermont, where my horse Figment and I have our mental moments of "oooommmmmm" on the equestrian trails of Lake Louisa State Park.

I've been riding just about every morning since Figment was delivered from Chicago in early June. I have to get to the barn early in order to avoid the most oppressive heat of the Florida summer. Usually I get in an hour or so of riding. When the bugs aren't too bad, we venture into the thick of the state park. My favorite spots are the loop that goes around Dude Lake and an open area on the way back to the horse trailer parking lot that is just perfect for a canter.

We've seen quite a bit of wild life, from deer to gators to eagles, and of course the ever-present aramdillos. We haven't stumbled across the wild pigs yet, thank goodness! I am quite content to ride in the wilderness; it reminds me of my youth, when I first got my old horse, Cochise, and I would spend hours exploring the Chicago forest preserves on his back.

I bought Cochise when I was only 16, and I distinctly remember heading back to the barn one afternoon on the main trail while my mind wandered off to the future. I wondered, "How old will he live to be?" If he made it to 20, then I would be almost 40...ancient, from a teenager's perspective! I speculated...would I still be riding? Would I still love it as much? Would it still bring me the same level of peace and tranquility? It was hard to imagine what life would be like two long decades from that innocent time.

Now, Cochise is 29 and retired, and I'm a 40-something-year-old coot. But if I could go back in time, I would reassure the teen-aged Barb that horses would still be a big part of her life. The outer body might change, but there's not much difference on the inner core. I might have a new equine trail companion (Cochise is retired in Illinois), but the pleasure remains the same.

But tranquil pursuits aren't enough for hubby. He craves the excitement of peak season Disney World to fulfill his own inner needs. This is a man who went to the parks a couple weeks ago and actually waited 90 minutes to ride "Soarin'!" Now, don't get me wrong...I love that ride. But I don't love it quite enough to cough an hour and a half in July when I know that the lines will be nearly non-existent this fall, or at least I'll be able to get a Fast Pass without arriving at 8 a.m.

But long lines don't faze hubby one bit. He uses the time for people watching, which is always an active sport at WDW. The peak season crowds just roll right off his back. Thus tonight he headed off in Canyonero to see Fantasmic and Illuminations while I remained at home to work (yes, to me, work is preferable to summer season theme park hell!).

Shortly after he left, thunder clouds rolled over Celebration and filled my ears with ominous rumblings. I called hubby on his cell and reached him in the middle of the Great Movie Ride. So far, things were dry at Disney-MGM. He called me back later with an impressive report: He'd managed to do the Movie Ride, Tower of Terror, and see the Millionaire show, and he was on his way to Rockin' Roller Coaster with a Fast Pass. That's pretty darned aggressive for August at Disney!

Later, he gave me a buzz from the Canadian pavillion, where he was preparing to watch Illuminations. As much as I hate the crowds, I do get a hankering to see that show on a regular basis. I love the music, which I have on CD, but it's not quite the same as being in the midst of the blazing fireworks and watching the globe glide across the lagoon. I still get chills when they fire up the lasers and the countries of World Showcase suddenly light up.

Hearing the initial blast of fireworks and the musical strains put me into a state of withdrawal. I know it sounds pathetic, but I actually stayed on the phone until I could hear my favorite part of the musical score! Vicarious Illuminations is better than no Illuminations at all. I listened through the temptuous beginning and imagined the Epcot sky blazing and the smoke billowing across the lagoon. Then the music slowed down and the explosions ceased, and I imagined the globe gliding slowly across the water. Finally, my favorite part! As the orchestra swelled, I imagined the globe turning orange and blue as the video scenes flashed on its face. My favorite scene (not surprisingly) is the white horse galloping across a blue sky background.

Once that part was over, I reluctantly hung up the phone. I needed to get back to work, and at my ankles Farquaad was reminding me that it was ten minutes past cat feeding time and he was close to collapse from hunger.

As a I parsed up the cat food between the Feline Trio, my mind drifted back to the early days of our Celebration experience. Ages ago, I blogged about the time when Duloc Manor was still being built and I called our real estate agents. I reached them on their cell phone as they headed to Epcot to spontaneously see the Candlelight Processional, topped off with Illuminations. Oh, how I envied them and longed for the day when that would be my reality too!

I wonder what it would be like if we could drift back in time for a moment or two and talk to those "early versions" of ourselves. I wonder what Young Barb would have thought if I could have told her, "By the time you're 40, you'll be living next to Disney World and riding a new horse through Florida scrub land." I'm sure it would have been a shock because at that point I'd never been to Disney World yet. I knew that I wanted to be a traveler, but I'd never cconsidered moving away from Illinois.

The only thing that wouldn't have surprised me would have been that I still owned a horse. I subscribe to a quote from Monica Dickens: "When I can't ride anymore, I shall still keep horses as long as I can hobble along with a bucket and a wheelbarrow. When I can't hobble, I shall roll my wheelchair out to the fence of the field where my horses graze, and watch them."

The Barb who was waiting eagerly for her house to be done probably wouldn't be too surprised that her present-day counterpart is still so happy in Celebration. But I suspect that she'd roll her eyes if I told her that she'd be enjoying "Illuminations by Phone." Hey, it's better than fighting the crowds!

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Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

School Days are Almost Here...Don't Forget Your Toilet Paper!

I couldn't help but be amused at one of the local news stories a couple of days ago. A report on Local 6, one of the Orlando TV stations, focused on school supply lists issued by Central Florida schools. I don't have kids, but back when I was in school, those lists usually contained items like crayons, a box of pencils, a composition book, notebook paper, etc. But apparently some local school districts have items like Clorox Wipes and toilet paper on their list! If you don't believe me, you can view the story for yourself:

http://www.local6.com/money/9551272/detail.html

You'd think that the potty would be stocked at district expense, but according to John Young Elementary School Principal Regina Ponce, most schools are asking for more supplies from parents and less from the district in order to route money to teacher salaries.

"Any time parents can help us with the less expensive items, then that's where I want to spend the bulk of the tax payer money," Ponce said. "Because those parents are taxpayers and they appreciate "A" schools and quality teachers."

I couldn't help but wonder: What if a parent refused to provide the potty paper? Would their child's right to poop be rescinded? Would the poor kid be forced to collect leaves outside during recess for later use or pray that corn would be served at lunchtime so they could save the cobs? Besides the butt wipes, I wonder if nauseous kidlets have to provide their own bin of that gross-smelling sawdust that gets tossed on vomit.

Some schools also require children to bring ten glue sticks each. At ten glue sticks per child in a class of 30 kids, you're looking at a 300-stick bonanza. Ponce explained that one as follows: Items like these this go into a reserve because getting them from the warehouse where the school district keeps its supplies can take up to a month. Basically, you're providing communal glue sticks to go into a district pool.

Another one that appealed to my wry sense of humor was a request for old socks and T-shirts to wipe down dry erase boards. No fancy-schmancy erasers for Central Florida schools when apparel from the rag bag will do just as well! After all, those high falutin' Office Max dry erasers run a whopping $2.99 each and only last for a year or two.

Thankfully, the Charmin-Gate scandal is limited to Orange County, and Celebration is in Osceola. Our schools have been embroiled in enough other controversies, so I'm glad we can sit this one out and know that the local kids attend plush facilities equipped with toilet paper and genuine erasers, secure in the knowledge that there are well-stocked supply rooms brimming with the hundreds of glue sticks that we all know are essential to a quality education. Meanwhile, over in Orange, I wonder if "chair" and "desk" will make next year's list.

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A Different Side of Florida

Even though I typically blog about life in Celebration, we're really just one miniscule spec on America's wang (Homer Simpson's name for the Sunshine State). All kidding aside, there's a lot more to Florida than Disney World, Miami, Daytona Beach, the Kennedy Space Center, and the other big tourist areas/attractions that people typically associate with us.

Now that Figment, my horse, is here, I am becoming well acquainted with a different side of Florida. It's a side that is disappearing all too rapidly...a side dotted with cattle pastures and orange groves. As I drive to the barn, I pass through the gaudy 192 tourist corridor and weave my way through road construction where 27 is being widened to accommodate the strip malls and subdivisions springing up like weeds on either side. Here and there, a bedraggled orange tree speaks of the not-so-distant past when its brethern once dotted the landscape in military rows. Now, there is Walgreens, CVS, and Wal-Mart, plus Taco Bell, Burger King, Wendy's, and most of the other fast food Big Names.

But once I turn off 27, I only have to go a few miles before the scenery changes drastically. Suddenly I'm in the midst of dense copses of trees, broken occasionally by a pasture where cattle lazily graze. There are plenty of horses, too, and groves that still actively produce fruit. There are pristine lakes surrounded by open green spaces, not "lakefront" subdivisions with cookie cutter houses.

The barn where I board Figment is on a bona-fide dirt road. Hopefully it won't be developed for a long, long time...I suspect it will be a few years at least, as there is no easy way to get there. A state park is right across the street, and it's the kind of place where you might see a wild boar rooting along the riding trails or a baby gator sunning itself on a log.

Even though we moved to Florida primarily to be close to Disney World, and even though I love Celebration and find its high density a comforting reminder of my Chicago roots, I love the fact that another world is just a 45 minute drive away. It feels so renewing for me to rediscover the Old Florida whenever I visit the barn. It's heaven to saddle up Figment and trot through an orange grove or weave along the state park trails. I love the crowded, crazy atmosphere of Disney World, but riding in the country fulfills a deeper, more basic need.

I used to feel it when my husband and I would visit Woodside Ranch, a dude ranch in the wilds of Wisconsin. It's not too far away from Wisconsin Dells, a tourist area with a main strip that looks like 192 on steroids. We loved to visit the Dells twice a year, reveling in the restaurants, water parks, and thrill-ride attractions. Woodside was only a few exits down the expressway, but it might as well have been on another planet.

I remember standing outside the bunkhouse one night, looking up at the stars. They sparkled like diamonds on a sky of black velvet. No other light was visible, save the soft glow from the windows of the bunkhouse and a lone streetlight on the driveway. There were no cars on the lonely road in front and no sounds, save for the distant nicker of horses in the barn across the street. Standing there, soaking it in, the peace somehow filled a deep well in my soul that I hadn't even known was empty.

It's been many years since I've been to Wisconsin, but now I've found my peaceful place in Florida, and I have my horse to share it with.

I guess that the easiest way to explain it would be to share the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, "Out in the Country" by Three Dog Night:

Whenever I need to leave it all behind
Or feel the need to get away
I find a quiet place, far from the human race
Out in the country.

Before the breathing air is gone
Before the sun is just a bright spot in the night time
Out where the rivers like to run
I stand alone
And take back something worth remembering.

Whenever I feel them closing in on me
Or need a bit of room to move
When life becomes too fast, I find relief at last
Out in the country.

Before the breathing air is gone
Before the sun is just a bright spot in the night time
Out where the rivers like to run
I stand alone
And take back something worth remembering.

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Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

The Ceiling is Falling! The Ceiling is Falling!

Chicken Little would feel very much at home at Duloc Manor this week. The sky, or rather the ceiling, was literally falling this morning due to a leak in the air conditioner drain pipe.

Actually, the saga goes back a few of weeks. I dragged my sorry butt back to Chicago for the first time in 9 months in mid-June. I didn't really want to, but I've been putting it off for much too long. We had set up a visit with my sister, a dinner date with friends, and I also had a business meeting in the Loop, so I had to steel my nerves, down some Xanax, and force myself onto the plane.

I was flying alone on a Thursday to join my husband, who'd been there working since Monday. It was my first time flying since the fatal Southwest accident at Midway last winter, and my mind had been concocting all sorts of terrible air-disaster fantasies in the many months since I'd last flown. I'm a nervous flyer at the best of times, and a Flight From Hell (Cliff Notes version: unable to land due to weather, forced to divert for fuel and sit on the plane for hours, and then an aborted landing at our original distination) made me even more paranoid. I'm not afraid of a crash, but rather of knowing that I'm "trapped" and potentially unable to land. But Xanax usually chills me out enough to prevent me from running through the aisles in a frenzy of panic, and I'm not too bad unless the flight takes on some of the characteristics of that terrible, terrible day when I was trapped on the plane for hours.

Fortunately the flight to Chicago was dull and uneventful, just the way I like 'em. I chose a window seat in the exit row and prepared to lose myself in a music CD. But the man in the middle seat was quite chatty, so I spent most of the 2+ hours listening to his tales of life and retirement. It made the time go by rather fast, and before I knew it I was touching down at Midway and breathing a sigh of relief as the reserve thrusters assertively kicked in.

I marveled at the fact that I didn't feel any attachment to the condo where I'd lived for almost a decade. It was somewhat more familiar than a hotel room, but not by much. I feel more at home in 5650, my usual room on the Disney Magic and Wonder ships, than I felt in my former abode. The only thing that tugged at my heartstrings was my comedy/tragedy mask collection that still graces the piano room walls. I reminded myself that someday soon they'll be with me at Duloc Manor.

It was great to see various friends and relatives, but I was more than ready to board a Florida-bound plane on Monday. I popped a calming pill and settled in to listen to some music while hubby watched a DVD. I was pretty relaxed, so the fact that well over two hours had passed didn't sink into my skull until the captain announced on the PA that we were in a holding pattern. We couldn't land due to weather. ARGHHHHH!!!! FLASHBACK! FLASHBACK!

I popped another half-pill of Xanax and fought the anxiety that surged through my nerves like an electric current. I pulled out a book in an attempt to focus my racing brain. Then hubby, who always knows just the right thing to say, announced, "Wow, I'll bet we're running out of fuel by now. We're probably going to have to divert to Tampa!"

It was only through a supreme act of will than I didn't totally lose it right there. Instead, I excused myself to the lavatory, where I splashed cold water on my face and practiced slow, measured breathing. I'm a cognitive therapist, and I was frantically forcing myself to look at the situation in a rational framework: "There's nothing you can do about this, whether or not you freak out, so why waste the energy required to panic?" It helped a little, but I still took the other half of the Xanax pill when I returned to my seat. That large of a dose of "happy drugs" typically puts me to sleep, which I figured would be the best option.

At that point, the captain announced that we had been cleared to land in Orlando. Whew! I could feel my comfort level rising as we glided in over the familiar scenery. I wanted to cheer when the plane entered the airspace over MCO property. But suddenly the engines gave a mighty roar and we swooped up into the sky again! I couldn't believe it...an aborted landing. How much closer could this get to my previous nightmare experience? Worse yet, the captain never explained why we were forced to abort. I'm sure it was some mundane reason, like another aircraft in front of us that hadn't moved quickly enough, but I need some reassurance. I just want to know that the landing gear isn't hanging by a thread or that an engine is ready to explode.

My adrenaline vied with the Xanax for control of my brain, but thankfully we landed after a few more circles. I actually managed to stay awake for dinner, but I laid down when we got home at 8 p.m. and didn't stir again for 12 full hours.

We were scheduled to go on a three-day Disney cruise on Thursday for my husband's birthday. Unfortunately, on Tuesday I noticed an ugly brown stain on the family room ceiling. Just great...that gave us 48 hours to deal with it before we had to leave for Port Canaveral. Thankfully, we had purchased an extended home warranty, so even though it would be a major inconvenience, at least it wouldn't cost us any more than $50 to repair.

The warranty company sent a serviceman out on Wednesday. He pronounced it a clogged A/C drainage line, which seemed ironic since we flush it out with Simple Green every month per the builder's instructions. There was no dampness around the mouth of the drain pipe, but water had definitely found its way underneath the A/C unit. The serviceman unclogged it and pronounced it "sound," but I couldn't help a nagging feeling of paranoia that something else could happen while we were away on the cruise.

Like my flying phobia, my house fear is rooted in a past experience. When we were first married, I moved into my husband's townhome. It was a creepy 1970s throwback with an avocado-painted exterior and a vibe inside that would have sent any self-respecting psychic running in panic. Ever seen the "Bad Dream House" episode of The Simpsons? I'm sure that townhome was the inspiration; if I'd seen blood running down the walls, it wouldn't have shocked me in the least.

I always felt that we'd come home someday and find it burned to the ground. While that didn't happen, it did get destroyed by a second-floor flood while we were in Ohio for the weekend. The toilet tank cracked, and the subsequent damage was enough to leave us homeless for three months. The drywall was destroyed, as was most of the flooring. They had to strip Bad Dream Home right down to the studs and rebuild most of the interior. We sold it shortly thereafter and moved into a nice, non-haunted condo.

But obviously water-based destruction is a reocurring theme in my life. Our ceiling had a big, brown stain in the shape of a giant, mutant ameoba, and the paint on the beam between the dinette and family room was cracked and peeling. We put it out of our minds and focused on enjoying our cruise.

Upon our return, we purchased supplies to attempt a do-it-yourself repair job. But we didn't want to start it until we were certain that everything was dried out, so we let it sit for a few more days.

Good choice!

On Sunday morning, I heard hubby grumbling in an annoyed sort of way, tinged with mild panic. The stain was spreading like the lethal slime in "Creepshow," and the whole area was soaking wet again. The cracks had now worked their way almost halfway across the beam. Why oh why does this sort of thing have to happen either a) two days before we leave on vacation; or b) on a weekend?

I called the warranty company, and they had the repair shop call me back. I was assured that we'd be a priority call on Monday morning. There was one call before us, so the serviceman showed up around lunchtime. After eliminating the less destructive possibilities, he realized that he was going to have to cut into the ceiling. Turns out that the pipe joint had come unglued and separated, so all the run-off water was draining right into the ceiling. Ugh!

The serviceman fixed it and patched the hole temporarily with a taped-up garbage bag. It can't be fixed until it drys out completely and until we make sure that there is no repeat performance. Hopefully the new glue will be more effective than the old.

So now Duloc Manor looks very classy; outside, most of the front lawn is dead (perhaps Davy will replace it someday, but I'm not holding my breath), and inside you can sit on the family room couch and admire the "decorator white" plastic trash bag that is nicely counterpointed by a frame of black electrical tape. Perhaps if the beam cracks extend any further, I can pass them off as a new sort of designer rough finish, sort of like distressed wood.

Oh well, I can't complain to much. It looks like the problem is really fixed this time, and since the ceiling had to be cut into to make the repair, part of the restoration should be covered under our warranty too. Not too much of a trauma in the cosmic scheme of things, but I'll still feel better when Duloc Manor is pristine once again.

Click here for my Life Coaching website.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

The Teaser Storm

As I type this, the torrential rains brought in by Tropical Storm Alberto are thrumming again my window pane. My wish for rain has been granted; now, I just hope that we get enough to put out the brush fire. Judging by the gray skies and soggy ground, that's not going to be a problem.

In the cosmic scheme of life in Florida, Alberto is just a "teaser storm." Sure, it's bringing bands of wind and rain, but after Hurricane Charley two seasons ago, it seems like nothing more than a really, really long version of our typical afternoon thunderstorms.

It's sort of like a practice run...Nature's version of a school fire drill. Even though we knew Alberto wouldn't hit the Orlando area too badly, people have taken it as a sign to make sure that their pantries are stocked. It's an excuse to inventory outside areas and build awareness of items that could easily be "gone with the wind." Are there batteries in the weather radio? The flashlights? Is the roof sturdy enough to hold up to a real hurricane? This first topical storm of the season reminds us that hurricane season is, indeed, here...that Charley, Frances and Jeanne in 2004 and Katrina in 2005 are not just distant nightmares. God forbid, history could repeat itself, and we all must be prepared.

Alberto has also served as the opportunity to rekindle another rite of the summer, at least in our home. When Halloween is coming, you break out the jack o'lanterns and corn stalks. With Christmas, it's colored lights, tinsel, and holly. With hurricane season, it's an obsession with The Weather Channel and www.noaa.gov (the hurricane tracking site). I've had my eye on NOAA ever since Alberto was in its infancy, fixated on its potential strength and projected path. Since my husband and I both work at home, TWC has been on our television non-stop, even though we could just as easily look out the window.

At least this storm is bringing us a lot of good, in the form of much-needed moisture. The first bands brought some rainfall yesterday, and I was ready to rejoice among the raindrops as they fell on the parched earth. I was at the barn, and the rain started literally as I pulled into the driveway. Living in Florida, I've learned that the bands bring their downpours in waves. I simply waited till the first wave past, then managed to get in some riding time before the next one hit. Figment and I waited that one out in the barn, then snuck in a little more work before another band unleased its watery load.

It looks like Figgie will have a couple of days of leisure now, and when the rain is over, the pastures should start coming in lush and green. He already thinks he died and went to Heaven; in Chicago, he was turned out in a dirt corral with hay, but now he spends his days grazing on fresh grass. It must be like the differences between living on military MREs and then suddenly switching to gourmet cuisine.

He has taken to life in Florida very well, although being torn away from his former herdmates has had a psychological effect. If I take him out of view of the other horses now, he gets quite agitated and whinnies for them frantically. It's something I'll be able to break him of in time, and meantime I'll cut him some slack...he's been through quite a transition.

I can't really complain about his progress; he works well in the round pen, and I've been riding him all over the owner's property, through the orange grove next door, and down the road. The next step will be a short jaunt to the state park to start getting him accustomed to the trails.

But that's not going to happen until later in the week; for now, I'm housebound and watching the rain. I don't mind being stuck inside one bit, as I know how much we need this water. It will feel so good to see the grass come up green again and see the water levels of the lakes rise back to where they should be.

I know it's wishful thinking, but how nice it would be if this were the worst we would get this year. Sure, that's unrealistic, but after the last few years, we could really, really use a tame one. Only about five more months to go.....

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

I'm Wishing for a Hurricane

Okay, well maybe not a hurricane, but at least a tropical depression. Not a big, scary, destructive one, but just something that will dump a lot of rain on Central Florida. We should be in our rainy season right now, but the dry weather continues unabated. In addition to the low lakes and dried-out vegetation, we're facing a high threat of brush fires.

Hubby and I discovered the fire danger firsthand on our way to the barn this morning. 192, the Yellow Brick Road of tourism, was closed at the 429 toll road. We jumped on 429 and took it all the way out to 50. That was well out of our way, but we didn't feel like going all the way back to I-4, and we needed to stop at the Lake Louisa State Park ranger station anyway to purchase an annual membership. Since I board Figment, my horse, right across the street from the back entrance, the membership card will allow me to ride on their trails legally.

429 was shrouded in an eerie gray-black haze from the fire that burned not too far away, and the smell of blazing vegetation permeated the car. Thankfully, the fire didn't threaten any homes, but I'm sure it will have a big impact on the businesses located in the cordoned-off area.

We thought that the road might be open by the time we were done at the barn. No such luck....we whizzed down 192, thinking that we were safe because there were no signs or other warnings. But suddenly the sight of a patrol car loomed up out of nowhere, and we had to join the conga line of cars heading back towards 27. At the morning roadblock, there was a state trooper giving people instructions on potential alternate routes. This time around, there was no one.

We decided to take 27 to I-4, and since we hadn't had any breakfast or lunch and it was almost 2 p.m., we were hoping to grab a fast-food bite in the meantime. We couldn't really do a sit-down meal, since we were both covered with dirt and horse sweat, and I'm sure that we were scented with Eau de Manure.

There weren't many dining choices, so finally we opted for a Subway located inside of a gas station just before the I-4 interchange. The nearby fire should have warned me that we were close to the Gates of Hades, as we had stumbled on the Subway From Hell.

There were four people in front of us, each ordering multiple sandwiches. Normally that wouldn't be so bad, except that only one person was working and it was very apparent that he was paid by the hour, not by the sandwich. Actually, a second person was working too, but I use the term working very loosely. She made a few appearances, stared blankly at the line, and disppeared to some back area where her workday wouldn't be bothered by dealing with actual customers. At one point, she and the lone sandwich-maker did discuss where the kids meal toys were located, but it didn't seem to have much bearing since there were no children in the line. Of course, the people head of us might have been children when they first joined the queue, but if so, they had reached adulthood in the interminable wait.

One of the people in front of us stormed off in disgust, which probably saved us a good half hour of wait time. Since I had a lot of time to study my surroundings, I realized that we were in for a double dose of punishment. You get your sandwich at the Subway counter, but you pay for it at the gas register. I heard grumbles and groans that caused me to glance at the register...it was surrounded by three puzzled cashiers who were staring at it blankly while it emitted a continuous high-pitched tone. Meanwhile, a line of customers snaked down the snack aisle and almost back to the cooler.

The people in the register line were definitely kicking up more of a fuss than those of us waiting for sandwiches. That's probably because the Subway customer wannabes all had become malnourished during the lengthy wait, while the people who had just stopped in for gas had probably eaten elsewhere and still had their strength. Even if it flagged, they could survive on snack food from the shelves among which they were forced to wait.

I noticed that when a person ordered a toasted sub, the sandwich maker apparently didn't realize that he could start on the next order while waiting for the sub to toast in the oven. Instead, he just stared blankly while each single sandwich cooked. Making two orders at once was beyond the boundaries of his limited comprehension.

My husband pointed out a plaque declaring that Subway a "Model Store." Just what it was a model of was not specified, but we both had some ideas. Oh well...eventually we got our order, passed the second gauntlet (the cashier line) and made it home to Celebration before too many months had passed.

Early in the evening we did get a nice, heavy rainstorm, although it didn't last too long. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw drinking straws poking up from the grass as the raindrops poured down on the parched brown lawns.

There is a tropical depression that is supposed to hit us early next week. Normally, I'm praying for the storm path to turn away, but this time around I'm doing a rain dance to attract it. It's not a destructive killer storm...sure, there will be some wind, but nothing worse than a typical nasty thunderstorm. The much-needed moisture will be well worth it. Storms aren't particularly pleasant, but fire is so much worse.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

All's Well That Ends Well

Figment is finally home! He arrived at around 2:30 p.m. and stepped off the trailer looking remarkably calm, especially considering that he'd been in transit for over 48 hours.

He was sweating a bit and gave the ramp a suspicious look, but then he walked right down and followed me into the round pen. We put him in there for a while so he could trot around and stretch his legs, and he also rolled several times in the orange clay. He managed to coat his whole body with an orange tint.

The trailer was huge; he had certainly ridden to Florida in style! I'm used to small, two horse trailers or basic goosenecks, but this was a fully enclosed rig where he'd basked in air conditioned comfort in a roomy, padded compartment with all the hay and water he could want. It was large enough to hold 6 to 8 horses, but by the time he got to Clermont, he was all by himself. He'd had a companion for part of the way, but she had been dropped off first. He was sad about that because they became close friends during the journey, nuzzling and licking each other like two necking teens.

Now, at his new home, there were several other horses, but they were all out in the pasture while he was confined to the round pen. Eventually he'll be turned out with pasture buddies once he has settled in. For now, he watched the others from his vantage point in the round pen. He was acting so calm that I did a little work with him; I didn't ride him, or even tack him up, but I lunged him a bit and had him perform some tricks. He remembered things quite well, considering it's been almost three years since I've done anything serious with him.

He didn't look stiff at all, and he was much less confused that I had imagined he'd be. He'd just been plucked from his home of five years, and before that he had lived his whole life at another barn with his mother. Since he's been rather sheltered, I wasn't sure how he would react to so much change. He's much more resiliant that I ever thought.

I gave him a shower before feeding time, and he seemed to enjoy the spray of cool water. He stepped right into the washrack as though he'd been in one a thousand times, even though this was the first time ever. Next, I put him in his stall, and he got a bit agitated because the other horses weren't in the barn yet. As they were brought in, he neighed frantically, upset at the fact that none were stalled near him. But not to worry...eventually his new next-door neighbor was brought in, and they happily sniffed noses through the bars that separated them. They seemed to become fast friends, so hopefully they will become pasture buddies once Figgie starts going outside with the others.

He'll have to be started on pasture slowly, since he didn't get much grass in Illinois. The corral where he was turned out was all dirt, and the horses grazed on hay. Figment can't suddenly be given all the grass he wants at once without getting a tummy ache. It would be like letting a child loose in an unlimited candy store. He can have a bit each day until he's built up his tolerance for "rich" food.

I left the barn confident that he's settling in very well...much better than I had expected. The shipper kept reassuring me that most horses handle long distance transit quite well, but horror story scenarios kept dancing through my mind. Granted, there was the breakdown in Kentucky, but the horses got through that unscathed.

I'm hoping to head out early tomorrow in order to beat the heat. I wonder how long it will take Figgie to get used to summer in Florda. If he's like me, it won't be long at all.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Will He or Won't He?

Will Figment make it to his new home on Wednesday, or won't he?

According to the driver who picked up the stranded horses, he should be rolling into Clermont some time around noon on Weds. That's not too far off the original schedule, which is pretty impressive considering the truck break-down.

My mind is more at ease because Figment got into the new trailer without much hassle; if he were truly traumatized, he would have probably refused to climb in another rolling metal box after managing to escape the first one.

I always wonder what goes through a horse's mind when it is trailered somewhere. When I was younger, I used to take my other horse, Cochise, to shows and local parades. I imagined that he thought the trailer was some sort of magic box. He'd climb in, get jolted around for anywhere from half an hour to a couple of hours, and then emerge in a totally different place. That has to be pretty confusing for an equine.

I think he understood the concept, though...one year I had ridden in a parade and was preparing to bring him home. I had hired a trailer from a local barn, and they had to make multiple trips because it was a two-horse trailer and several other horses had also been brought out. Just as we approached the trailer, it started to rain. Another woman who had also brought her horse nearly broke her butt to rush to the trailer ahead of us and put her horse in. I guess she didn't want to wait in the downpour for the second trip.

Problem is, her horse refused to go in. He would barely even get close to the trailer. I stood by with my friend, who had come along to help with Cochise; we were all getting rained on while the woman struggled with her uncooperative beast. Finally, after 15 minutes or so, my friend couldn't take it anymore. She led Cochise up and said, "He knows how to trailer." She pointed him at the door, and he rushed right past the other horse and jumped in as if to say, "Out of my way! I'm getting wet! I know that this is the way home." Ah, the joy of a well-trained horse!

It usually takes some practice to get a horse to walk in willingly, especially in a small two-horse trailer. Figgie is being hauled in a nice, roomy four-horse model, but standard two-horse trailers look small, dark, and narrow to the equine eye. A horse is a prey animal that is used to being on the move in wide open spaces. Asking it to enter and stand "trapped" in a dingy, claustrophoblic area goes against its instincts.

But horses can be taught (or bribed) to do things against their better judgement. Through the liberal use of treats, I taught Cochise that a trailer was a good place to be. I've never tried to load Figment into a two-horse model, but hopefully now that he's had experience in a larger trailer, a small one won't seem too intimidating.

In addition to wondering how he views the trailer, I wonder if he misses Cochise and Serenity, his two pasture mates for the past five years. When I bought him, he was three years old and had never been away from his mother. For the first day, he galloped back and forth in the pasture, whinnying for her wildly. By the next day, he seemed to have forgotten all about her...he settled into his new home as though he'd lived there all his life. Hopefully he'll take to his new home in FL as easily.

Back in IL, Cochise doesn't seem to miss him at all. On the other hand, Serenity is quite confused. When the horses are out in the corral, they can go back into their stalls if they want to. After the trailer left, Serenity kept going into Figment's stall as though he were searching for Figgie. But he and 'Chise are buddies; they're both old farts who I suspect will quickly forget their young nemesis.

Meanwhile, the waiting game continues. Barring another breakdown tonight, I'm hoping that we'll be reunited within the next 12 hours. When I last spoke to the driver, he was just about to do a drop-off in Alabama and then continue on to Florida, with a sleep break worked in there somewhere, too.

Hopefully by tomorrow night I'll be describing our happy reunion.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Don't Ship a Horse on 06-06-06

As Figment motors his way towards Florida, I have been checking in on a FL discussion board for horse owners to keep my mind busy. I was getting especially worried last night, since I couldn't reach the driver by phone. Same thing this morning...I left two messages, but didn't receive a call-back. It had been more than 24 hours since Figgie climed on the trailer, so I was starting to get concerned.

On the horse discussion board, someone was joking about bad things happening on 06-06-06. For those who are not up on their Christian End Times superstition (or who haven't seen either the old or new versions of "The Omen"), 666 is Satan's number, found in the Book of Revelations. Therefore, although it's a bit of a stretch, 06-06-06 could be considered an unlucky day.

The discussion thread made me chuckle. I've always been the sort of person who would call a black cat into my path, and Friday the 13th tends to be a lucky day for me. I thought, "Uh oh, maybe I shouldn't have shipped Figgie on the dreaded 06-06-06. Maybe that's why I haven't heard from the driver," but it was a joking thought.

A short while later, the phone rang. It was the transporter's office, calling to tell me that the truck had broke down in Kentucky! Yikes! The horses were all fine, but now they will have to wait until a "rescue" rig arrives from Pensacola. Thankfully, the temperature is in the 70s, and there is plenty of food and water to keep them occupied until their journey resumes. Figment tends to be calm as long as he is around other horses, so he will be fine with his two new equine buddies that were picked up in Ohio.

Once again, I am convinced that God has a wicked sense of humor. Such irony! Oh well, at least it's better than the ice storm that I encountered with the cats, fish, and bird. I'm glad they broke down in a safe place with cool weather so they will be nice and comfy while waiting. For horses, "waiting" isn't such a bad prospect...for the most part, they stand around and eat all day, so what they're doing right now isn't too much different than their usual life. Figgie is energetic and likes to have space to run around, but I'm sure he can contain himself as long as he has a bale of hay in front of him.

I'm the one for whom the waiting is hell. I'm anxiously anticipating a phone call that will give me the newly calculated arrival time. It doesn't look like the impact will be too bad; if things go well, Figment should still arrive in Clermont some time tomorrow.

In the meantime, he's hanging out in the Bluegrass State, where perhaps some of his distant relatives are grazing nearby (he's 1/4 Thoroughbred). Or with any luck he's already hitched up to the replacement truck and working his way south once again. Meanwhile, his "mom" has learned her lesson. No more ridiculing superstition, hee hee!

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Goodbye Mr. Figgs

My husband sent me more photos tonight to ease my worried mind. I needed that, since I haven't been able to get in touch with the driver. Hopefully he's not lying wounded by the side of the road next to a kicked-apart shell of a trailer as Figment runs wild down the expressway!

Since Figgie had only been on a trailer once in his entire 8 years on this earth, I was worried about how he would react. He was delivered to me as a 3 year old, but his mother was on board with him, so I'm sure that helped convince him to jump aboard willingly. Now he was being asked to climb into a dark, empty, unfamiliar space after climbing a hollow-sounding ramp. Goodness only knows that he'd think about that.

But from the photos, it looks like it wasn't a big trauma for him. Below, he is meeting the driver for the first time:

Having decided that he's friend, not foe, Figment follows him out of the corral:

My 29 year old horse, Cochise, watches from the safety of his stall. The old man looks pretty good, considering that he's the equivalent of a 90-something-year-old human!

Figment let off a pile of road apples before climbing in:

Trapped!

Figgie was eating hay within minutes of the above photo (right afterwards, the driver hung a hay net), so I don't think he was too upset. Goodness only knows where he is right now, as I type this. I remember my own Journey From Hell through the ice storm, but we're not too likely to have a repeat of that in June. Hopefully they made it to Ohio at some point today to pick up some friends so he can feel like he's part of a "herd" for the rest of the trip.

Tomorrow morning I'll try the driver again and see if I can get some news on how my "baby" made it through the night.

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