Rachael's Birthday, or "I am getting drenched!!"

Princess Rachael Elizabeth Boatwright turned five on July 19, so she packed her clothes and took a trip to North Carolina, also known as Almost Heaven. She went to visit her Grandma and Grandpa Rudy, who being old and moldy and what with having to work and all, couldn't visit her in her castle in Virginia. Rachael also kindly allowed her older brother Trevor the Flatulent and her baby sister Ariel the Interminably Cute accompany her, along with Dad, who was the Moneykeeper (an oxymoron) and Mom, Who Knows What Clothes Match and Cooks. After a brief car trip in the Mallowmobile they all arrived in High Point, ready to party. But first they had to get past Claire the Fierce and Winston the Even Fiercer, sneak through the Laundry and Catpoo Dungeon, avoid the Claws of Death and the Polydactyl Kitty, which they did without much bloodshed. But the Home of the Grandfolks was empty, and even worse, the kitchen was not full of good dinner smells. Alas, the Mom Who Cooks did not, so off went Dad and Grandpa to the Italian sector to bring the Princess and her entourage some sustenance, or better yet, spaghetti on round silver plates, and for the Adventurous, eggplant Parmesan WHICH MAY HAVE BEEN VEAL, or not. We shall never know. And then the Princess retired to the Informal room to watch Noggin, only Dad was struck by the Sword of Commercialism and thus turned the dial to the Cartoon Network, which caused Mom to question his Sanity later on. Following much sampling of the Noble Dessert Wine from the legendary Stonefield Cellars Winery , the old Grandma suggested a Bat Walk which was met with a chorus of Yeas from the Princess and her siblings, as this meant they could AVOID BEDTIME, because as everyone knows, bats only come out at twilight, which was nine pm in Almost Heaven, North Carolina. So they gathered their crocs and dogs and jars and lanterns and other hiking accoutrema and set off into the fading light of Suburbia to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Flying Rodents, to seek the fatally beautiful Fireflies, doomed to be put in a jar by the Trevor the Astute Hunter, and to tantalize the visitors with a brief tour of the THE HOUSE FOR SALE DOWN THE STREET, obviously a GOOD BUY, being an Estate Sale, but alas the people who rent their castle up north were only temporarily seduced by the GREAT VALUE.

After much walking, many bat sightings,even by Ariel the Small, and several Firefly Capturings, the tired Princess climbed the Hill of Sorrow and Leg Cramps with her
throng of Hangers-On, and upon reaching the Castle of Relativity began to weep in the most heartbreaking fashion, tears rolling down her fair cheeks. Alas, it became apparent that the Princess had not caught a firefly and that even though Trevor offered his own flashy bugs to the Royal Sister, she was not appeased. Finally, to the surprise of All and Sundry (who had just shown up uninvited)it was noted by Trevor the Beaten Down by All These Sisters that there was one lone flashy fly left in the jar who had not been Set Free, so Princess Rachael took the jar to the front stoop of the Castle of Relativity and, unscrewing the lid of the glass prison, set the little phosphorescent creature free. The evening was saved, and all the Royal Siblings piled happily into the familiar cozy bed of the Castle. And the old grandma pulled put of the Bag of Surprising Stuff a night light of most amazing design, a light which created stars of Many Colours on the wall to the delight of the Royal Grandkids, who declared it pretty and went off to sleep.

The following morning the Grandfolks went off to work and the Princess and her Court went to the Museum of Dinosaurs, Lemurs and Tigers, which is a Tale that shall be told by the Mom who Blogs and Doesn't Seem to Cook. That same evening Dad the Smoker of Turkeys cooked lovely juicy hamburgers and hotdogs on the Castle Grill while Grandpa gave sage advise and drank from the Bottle of Brewed Barley and Hops. And the Royal Children, still WAITING FOR RACHAEL'S BIRTHDAY, watched My Neighbor Totoro and Did Not Want to go to Bed Much. But they knew that finally on Saturday it would be the Princess Rachael's Actual Real Birthday and that they would be going to a Land of Great Adventure and Recreational Water.

The Great Day dawned grey and misty but with the Admonition from Trevor the Soothsayer that it "Can't rain on Rachael's birthday," the revelers set forth for a Day of Merriment. The first stop on the great Journey was the Land of Breakfast (or Golden Corral in some parlances). This was a land of Wonderment, a land of Scrambled Eggs and Bacon and Sausage and Pancakes and French Toast and Omelettes and Hash Brown Potatoes and Biscuits and Strawberries and Yogurt and Gummi Bears and Sugar Cookie Pizza and Corned Beef Hash and Eggs Benedict and Watermelon and Brownies and Soft Serv Ice Cream and you could have it all Twice, even Three Times, such an amazing Land this was!! The Princess Rachael commanded her Grandmother to carry her plate and place such items of her choosing on it and carry it back to the Royal Table. Her poor old Grandma complied, many times, and sadly did not get to finish her coffee, but this is of No Importance to the Story.

The next stop on the Journey to the Park of Excess Water was a simple shop selling bathing suits and wrapping paper and Cd's and water. The Royal Grandpa, alas, did not find a swimming suit of Less Absorbency and was saddened, but the Royal Dad found water in plastic cylinders and after a heated exchange of words with the Royal Son, purchased the beneficial liquid without Flavor or Fitness added. The Royal Mom did not buy anything but did remind the Royal Son to curry favor with the King or risk the Consequences. Everyone returned to the Royal conveyances and headed out to the final destination. There was much discussion between the Mom and Grandma over the Possibility of Rain, but they realized talking about it would make no difference at all. After all, the HIGHLY COMPENSATED meteorologists had studied the meteors and other signs and had declared NO RAIN (except maybe later on in the afternoon, and then there was only a 30% chance which as WE ALL KNOW means no, it is not gonna rain on YOU) Nevertheless, there were an awful lot of Big Gray clouds looming overhead.
The Royal Procession arrived in the Wet and Wild parking lot ahead of the common folks and rushed to the ticket booth. To the horror of the Royal Parents, Trevor the Tall was charged an adult price because of his Great Height, even though the Royal Prince Just Turned Seven. This was a great Injustice but no one wanted to spoil the Princess' birthday so Dad decided not to File a Complaint on this Happy Occasion. The next stop was the Cabana rental booth, which as we know is what separates the aristocracy from the rabble, and the King thought that the Princess' fifth birthday was the proper occasion for her to develop her natural Preference for All Things Costing more than Regular Stuff, and so the Cabana was rented and the distinction between the Princess and her subjects was emphasized by the blue band placed around her delicate wrist, so that All and Sundry (who kept showing up wherever she went) would realize her place in the Park and in the World, and treat her with awe and deference, as was her Right. Indeed, all the Royal folk were given bright blue bands and wore them with distinction, except for Ariel the quite Small but Vocal, who did NOT want to wear hers, but then she was too young to understand the GREAT HONOR that having a Cabana bestowed upon you. After settling into the comfort of the Royal Shelter, the Men went off to seek the Great and Thrilling Slides of Terror, and the Royal Women descended to the Kiddie Pools, pools of great and frightening whales, submarines, toadstools and other things SO TERRIFYING that the Birthday Princess did not LIKE them and demanded to go elsewhere. Of course her demands were obeyed and off they went to the Kiddie Slides, a place so frightening that the Princess demanded to go Elsewhere and would NOT watch the Princess Ariel go down the slide with her Mom. Finally, after much impatient Princess foot stomping and some embarrassing public dancing by the Princess and her plump old Grandma, the Lazy River opened and let the Princess in ahead of everyone else. She pointed to the BEST inner tube and of course her Grandma grabbed it, and the Princess LIKED it! She sat in the tube like the Royal person she is and floated down the river in the lovely current and there were no scary slides or splashes at all! NOTHING HAPPENED, and the Princess Rachael loved it, and much time was spent floating in circles. Her Mom the Queen who Really Does Cook Sometimes floated in the reverie of someone who doesn't get much Peace and Quiet and only occasionally had to amuse the Princess Ariel.

But Alas, the lazy river lost its charm eventually and the Royal party headed back to the Cabana where the Royal men regaled them with stories of Truly Amazing Waterslides of great tallness and twistiness and speediness. A pizza was sought and purchased and a sort of Great Feast followed. Then the Great decision was made to go to the Wave Pool, an awesome fortress of astounding technology, where the ocean is tamed into ONE GREAT WAVE which bursts forth with regularity from the bowels of an INVISIBLE MACHINE and sweeps the unfortunate from their feet and leaves all before it gasping in Amazement. It scared the Princesses to death, a figure of speech that seems appropriate. Even Prince Trevor the Fearless was a little undone. The Royal Grandma asked the Royal menfolk, who had abandoned EVERYONE in some great insanity of joy, TO PLEASE WATCH THE CHILDREN so that the Queen and the Queen Mother could tempt the great wave by swimming toward it, and so they did. By now the Royal Princess Rachael was pretty much DONE with the water park, which she expressed by saying with some emphasis, "I am DONE!!" But the Grandma suggested cotton candy which was met with great hurrahs and they headed off to the candy stand where Grandma paid NINE DOLLARS for three bags of cotton candy, two blue, one pink , and there was joy in the Cabana again. Everyone ate great gobs of spun sugar except Trevor whose sweet tooth is quite a bit smaller than the Royal Sisters'.

And then came the Great Irony. It started to rain, slowly at first, and then harder until the slight chance of rain became a torrential downpour. The Princess was not amused. Not only did it rain on Her Birthday, but at a Water Park, where quite frankly there was already more than a reasonable amount of opportunities to get wet, and the Princess was not impressed with most of them. Really, she just wanted to return to the Grandcastle and open her presents. Truly. But there was the little problem of the Cabana. It required that everyone GET THEIR MONEY'S WORTH, a concept pretty much lost on the Princess. "I am getting drenched!" she announced with regal impatience. This was obviously not the case, as she was under the sheltering Cabana and wrapped in a towel. But the Princess was given to a certain dramatic overstatement of facts. "I AM GETTING DRENCHED! I AM DONE!!" she announced again to her brother, the Prince, who lay out in the open on a lounge chair, covered by four towels, and replied in a muffled voice that he was nice and dry. " I AM GETTING DRENCHED!" she cried with horror to her grandma who was actually getting drenched on her starboard side. "I AM GETTING DRENCHED!" she shouted with royal exasperation to her mother, who, looking somewhat amused said "What are you Rachael? Can you tell me again?" At this point the Princess Rachael totally forgot that she had just turned five that very day and said with unquestionable imperialism, "I AM GETTING DRENCHED AND IF I HAVE TO STAY HERE ONE MORE MINUTE I WILL TAKE THE CAR KEYS AND DRIVE MYSELF HOME!"

It should be noted that the rain stopped,the Royal Family went back to the Pirate Ship where the Prince had a good time jumping into the pool off the bow, where grandma and grandpa actually got to swim, and where the Princess refused to stay but actually had a blast at the kiddie pool with the Princess Ariel and the patient Queen who Never Cooked Once, and enjoyed another trip down the lazy river. All in all, getting DRENCHED is pretty much fun as long as the Princess says it is fun.

Wall e

Loved this movie.

July 4th

Plenty of time to write today. We had to cancel our trip to New Bern as David the Reno Man has way too much to do before the place is habitable. He is a very nice guy and is apparently quite meticulous, so we will just wait until he is finished to his satisfaction. He has completed stripping the ancient wallpaper and painting the place one uniform light beige color, and has installed the neutral beige tile, although he had to reset a couple of tiles he was not happy with. But he has not installed the bathroom sink and counter, or the kitchen cabinets, counters and appliances, or the ceiling fan. He did say the place was much brighter now. So we will wait another week or two before heading for the coast. I am excited to see the results, especially after we put the bed in, with all the beige and chocolate brown and reddish accent colors. And the multicolored rug. And the metal wall decor I picked up at the Home Depot clearance corner and must spray black. I want to see if it all blends. BUT most of all this weekend I wanted to go to the pool, rent a boat, go bike riding, sit in the hot tub, eat at Morgan's Tavern again. Before they close it, sigh.

I say that because after three years of eating there at least two weekends a month, they closed the Armadillo Grill. This little fresh Mex cafe was our favorite casual eatery. We could schlepp in wearing our rattiest old shorts and flip flops and feel right at home. The place was always dark and cool, the tvs were everywhere but no sound, you could order a beer and an enchilada plate and know that you would not get any foreign objects in your food, like the metal nut I found in my food from Three Caballeros in Jax Beach. We knew it would happen. The place was never crowded, not even during furniture market. We really didn't expect it to stay open the first year. But after three, we figured they must somehow be making a profit, maybe in the bar. So I admit we were shocked to find it closed permanently, with a sign on the door to try their Raleigh and Carrboro locations. A bit far for a quick bite, I think.

So, still on the subject of food, since we had to stay in town, I decided we would at least have a cookout, just us. So I have chicken marinating in lime, garlic and cilantro, and we will also have grilled corn and pineapple, a salad and watermelon.I don't think we will be braving the traffic this year to try and see the fireworks at Oak Hollow Park. Last year, when Devon and Ray and the kids drove down on the spur of the moment and gas was two dollars a gallon cheaper, we tried to see the fireworks but ended up cruising up and down Eastchester, hoping in vain to find a parking spot.I really miss the days of watching from the beach, or even from my mother's houseboat in Palatka. I hope next year we will be in New Bern, or Jax Beach, or DC. We will have a better plan. Spending holidays alone is no fun, even if it is relaxing..who needs relaxation, unless it is by a pool, or floating up the Trent River?

Ramblings

I have written a lot over the past month...just didn't publish it. Don't like ranting on the internet. Sometimes it seems so hard to express one's self in a coherent, amusing, entertaining manner. So I don't think I will try. I think I will just write.
I read with some sadness that Devon is giving up home schooling. I completely understand her decision. I don't think I would ever have had the patience or courage to attempt to teach my children a curriculum, with expectations from the school system. But Trevor and Rachael seemed so LUCKY, to be able to learn from their mother, in their own home environment, with a flexible schedule and no teacher to discourage them or judge them. But of course in the real world they will have to overcome discouragement and they will be judged. And they will be incorporated into a group and somehow learn their place. Sigh. And they will have to conform to the school calendar. I loved it when they seemed so free, outside of the constraints of society. Of course, I loved it when I seemed so free, able to take off for Reston for birthdays and illnesses and for fun. But it was also quite disconcerting, to have no connections or obligations where I lived. Having a job has given me a small sense of belonging in High Point. Still quite small....
We have paid someone to redo our New Bern condo, as our tenant moved out. We lowered our expectations from granite to laminate counters, but other than that we are getting what we wanted, tile floors, new kitchen,paint, GRANITE in the bathroom. I am a victim of HGTV. Today I went out at lunch to Steinmart to buy a comforter, towels, shower curtain, pillows etc. It is fun to decorate such a small space. We will be hauling it all down to the coast this 4th of July weekend, loading up the pickup with a bed and mattress and blinds and bringing the dogs and generally seeming like the Clampetts. I will post before and after pictures next week.
Disconcertingly, Dennis is playing a Tivo'd Nirvana concert in the den as I type. I am writing about decorating listening to the late great Kurt Cobain insisting that he doesn't have a gun. I believe he DID have a gun. They did a "no 1 song of the decade" thing on VH1 at the millenium. I was watching with Dennis and Kristen. I TOLD them it would be "Smells Like Teen Spirit" but they didn't believe me. Of course I was right, and Kris was an In Sync fan, she could not be expected to know, heh. She was one of their few 20 year old fans. She and her good friend Nicole went and camped out all night to score concert tickets, along with the twelve year olds and their moms. I guess that was better than me having to throw the Marilyn Manson cd away that Devon left in my car (you should not have left it there!)But I like most of the alternative groups of the nineties. Flannel shirts were a welcome change from the large hair groups and synthetic rhythms of the eighties. As for music today, it is well hidden from public view, the good stuff. I seek it out wherever I can, Vampire Weekend, Postal Service, whatever.Yesterday I was on an "Ink Spots" kick, remembering my parents' album with the song "To Each his Own." (Oh the rose must remain with the sun and the rain..." sung in a minor key and oh so poignant.) There is NOTHING you can't find on the internet.
I see I have digressed into music again. what can you expect from someone who slept with her transistor radio under her pillow as a preteen?
Oh, and so long to the hippy dippy weatherman, the man with too much stuff, another icon bites the dust.
Happy Independence day, everyone. Happy Canada Day!!

New Bern Diary, Fri-Sat

The wonderful thing about New Bern is that the kids and grandkids show up. We have invited everyone to Lake Lure, but no one came for two years. But they come to New Bern, so we keep our annual appointment the week prior to Memorial Day weekend, before the rates go up. This week is usually warm enough for summer activities, and we can still get a two bedroom condo with our timeshare points. Why they come is obvious:Devon and Ray love to sleep on a lumpy sleeper sofa in the living room while the poor grandparents suffer in the master suite, and the three children suffer upstairs in their own little kingdom, actually a loft with a window through which they an pitch their clothes, toys, and voices to their sleeping(?) mom and dad below. This trip Arie was bedded down in the upstairs closet when we arrived. The Reston folks arrived ahead of us this trip, as Dennis and I are both working people this year and didn't get away till after seven. Last year we were between jobs and arrived in plenty of time to have sloppy joes and frozen corn ready for the weary travelers, and the mere sight of sloppy joes sent Ray into food nirvana. Alas this year there was no food ready; we all ate on the road and arrived tired. Devon and I invented a drink that was much enjoyed over the next several days. It was a concoction of Smoking Loon cabernet sauvignon, orange juice and gingerale. So the guys drank beer, the girls drank wine-ade, and we all went to bed.
I awoke the next morning to the wonderful sound of my son in law making breakfast!!!!
Pancakes!Bacon! It was just the start of many wonderful meals cooked by Ray, paid for by Ray, or eaten by Ray. Not to omit the meal at BB Hurricanes, the previously mentioned worst restaurant in NC, which unfortunately is the only restaurant on the property. After breakfast, we all went over to the indoor pool, the kids remembered how to swim, we all sat in the hot tub and enjoyed the Sahara, which is what Trevor somewhat aptly called the sauna. In no time Trevor was jumping in and paddling to the deep end. Rachie swam with a pool noodle and her Grandma, and Arie clung to her mom for awhile, but later in the trip was noodling around the pool with help.We had scads of fun, horsing around and playing crab, manatee and shark with the kids. Later we played minigolf, went bike riding and made several trips back to the pool. Trevor took his grandma on a bike tour of the area, and we stopped to feed the geese and turtles at the lake. We also walked over to our studio condo which has just been vacated by our tenant of two years, and Dennis and Ray spent several hours hacking apart the ancient murphy bed and hauling the mattress and bed to the dump. Trevor found a beautiful model sailing ship, a square rigger which had been left in the condo. On the way back from the dump, the guys picked us up some pizzas at the Big Apple, the kids and their mom watched Lady and the Tramp in their kingdom upstairs, the menfolk watched some silly trash on the downstairs TV, and grandma went to bed at nine o clock. Too much wine-ade??

ahh, New Bern, part one

Almost heaven, North Carolina. Since moving to NC three years ago, we quickly discovered what we had been missing all these years: beaches wider and less crowded than Florida, mountain retreats just a couple of hours up the road, breathtaking fall scenery, laughably mild winters, yet occasional snowfalls, lots of opportunities to enjoy sitting by the fireside, long lingering springtimes bursting with color, from daffodils to azaleas and dogwood. And the mountains and beaches are no more than three hours from our doorstep. The dogwoods and azaleas are in our backyard. The fall spectacular is on our street. We have been to Asheville and Banner Elk and New Bern. Nothing compares to New Bern. Most people have never heard of New Bern, a town of about twenty three thousand people, sitting inland from the Atlantic at the convergence of the Trent and Neuse Rivers. Like Jacksonville, it is a town of wide rivers and gorgeous waterfront homes. And it is close enough to have the moderating effect of the ocean, the late day seabreezes and the comforting salty humidity. Unlike Jax, it is a small town with little industry, and the downtown has been converted to a few blocks of bed and breakfasts, antique and art stores, TWO trendy coffee bars, and the birthplace of Pepsi Cola enshrined on a corner. And let us not forget the Cow restaurant, specializing in all things bovine, and ice cream. And the toy store, independent, and full of serendipitous stuff. There are touristy places, the Tryon Palace which we have never bothered to enter with three kids six and under, several waterfront hotels, the Carolina Aquarium, down the road toward Morehead City, which we are sure to visit next year. The town is edged by the usual Southern ghetto of small shacks, pool halls, pawn shops, poverty. When they finish repairing the drawbridge into downtown, you can skirt the obvious, but right now the detour takes you through other folk's reality. Even Disney World has an underclass....
But our reality is Fairfield Harbour, part resort, part expensive waterfront bulkheaded deep harbour houses, part retirement village, part timeshare. This bit of middle class paradise is a couple of miles out of town, five miles down a country road, through an unguarded entance, past the golf courses and modular earthtoned condos, to the timeshare units a few steps from the rec center, the marina, and the worst restaurant in NC. Well, it can't ALL be good.

Eight Belles

When I was a teenager, and younger, my sister and I never missed the Kentucky Derby. We loved horses. And a televised horse race was just another opportunity to see that most magnificent of horses, the Thoroughbred, perform as God intended, not as the fleetest of foot, for that honor belonged to the Arabian, but as the horse with the most heart, the horse who could run the fastest and the longest. We were steeped in horse lore, we knew all about the great triple crown winners of a past golden era, War Admiral, Citation, and the legendary Man O War. We read every horse book ever published, The Black Stallion series,Smokey the Cow Horse, Misty of Chincoteague. All the great classics of horse literature had passed through our hands by the grace of the public library. A cigar company whose name escapes me held a contest every year, and the grand prize was a Thoroughbred horse. Every year we entered, half expecting to win and half wondering what we would do if we DID win. I wonder now if any suburban child ever won that large hungry temperamental equine, and kept it in a garage or a fenced quarter acre of backyard, alongside the swing set and the barbeque grill. We grew up in the sixties, that era of Secretariat and Northern Dancer, and we lived only a couple of hours from Ocala, where sweeping white fenced green fields still were home to champion race horses. Horse racing seemed to be a charming and charmed sport, and Derby winners retired to lives of ease after a few years of a glamorous life in the Sport of Kings. So I thought at the time.

As I grew older, I lost interest in horse racing. I still loved horses, but the reality of feeding and caring for a creature much larger than a collie held no appeal for me. My sister, however, never got over her infatuation with the undeniably beautiful creatures, and to this day has many more horses than can be reasonably expected to be "necessary." But they are not Thoroughbreds. Thoroughbreds cannot be pets. They have been bred for one reason only, to race. They are not saddle horses. The Thoroughbred is, sadly, a racing machine, a commodity to be bought and sold, a moneymaking enterprise on four powerful yet delicate legs.

As an adult, I rarely remember the date of the Derby.When I was still in Florida, my mother or my sister would call to remind me, and I would, for just a few minutes, get caught up in the excitement again. The year that Barbaro was expected to take the Triple Crown, I was as shocked and saddened as everyone by the "freak accident" that ended his chance for the ultimate horse racing prize, that ended his career, and eventually ended his life. To the great credit of his owner, extraordinary attempts were made to rehabilitate this huge hearted horse. Months went by while he gamely fought the painful onslaught of laminitis, and the veterinarians charged with the impossible task of saving the life of a horse with a shattered leg learned much and tried everything. But Barbaro died anyway.

Yesterday, at 6 pm, I flicked on the TV to catch the evening news. Dennis had run over to Carter Brothers to pickup two Saturday night special spaghetti dinners. I saw that I had not missed the Derby and spent a few minutes learning what horse was the favorite, who was the long shot, and who was the tall black filly with an actual chance to win. That was Eight Belles. Dennis returned with our dinner, I set up the
trays, and the jockeys mounted up and eased their engineered racing machines into the gates. And they were off! I was rooting for a horse named Adriano, only because he was ridden by Barbaro's jockey. But the favorite, an unbeaten colt named Big Brown, in only his fourth race, took the lead in the stretch and never looked back. He won the race by several lengths and I did not know who came in second. I was looking for Adriano, who had done poorly. But I was shocked by the behavior of the winning horse, who, in his trek to the winner's circle, seemed spooked. He even threw his jockey to the pavement. And then the cameras focused on a bizarre scene, a horse down and a horse ambulance hiding the horror. The television announcers hemmed and hawed, said that Eight Belles had gone down after finishing second, and that the jockey had been seen walking away. They tried to put a positive spin on the event, saying that quite often a horse will go down and it does not mean it is anything serious.Hmm, I thought, that's not true, especially after running second in the Kentucky Derby. And the jockey walking away, well that could only happen for one reason...his mount is severely injured, it is his fault, he was the "driver.' Sure enough, the track vet made the tragedy clear to millions. The horse had compound fractures of both forelegs and had been euthanized immediately. No months of whirlpool therapy for this lady. She had broken BOTH legs, AFTER the race. How could this happen? Was her genetic engineering flawed? Why did it happen? That one is easy. These animals are money makers. They don't have "heart." They have one purpose, and they are not in the driver's seat of their "purpose driven life." The horse who runs the fastest, the longest, without getting injured, will make the person in the driver's seat very wealthy. Thousands of these elegant, shy creatures do not have the right stuff. Only a few do. The multitude of injuries occurring every day in this "sport" are the result of bad genetic engineering. And it is all for profit. Sure,Barbaro's "family" loved and admired him: he was already a hero. And he had three good legs for awhile. Most horses injured at the track are euthanized and forgotten. But not this time. Millions of viewers saw this beautiful black filly die at the Kentucky Derby after racing beyond her endurance. I could not swallow my food.I could not speak. Finally, I started to sob. I don't know why. I could only think how SHE must have felt, almost catching that big brown colt, running fast and hard as always, and then suddenly, unspeakable pain, falling on the hard dirt track, heaving with exhaustion from the race and overwhelmed by fear when she could not stand. Confusion, then nothingness. Obliteration. No more. On the greatest day of her life. In our perspective.

The other perspective is from an unknown vantage point.This was not the greatest day of her life. The greatest day would occur in the future, when she could fulfill her purpose as a horse, an intelligent, emotional creature. This is not good stewardship of the earth. I know it seems trivial compared to war, famine, the evils done by man to man. I know I rarely sob when I see abandoned children in the Sudan, frightened women in Baghdad,victims of disease, starvation, and crime. But this was the Derby, a happy occasion, with American women in hats, of all things, and magnificent horses parading colors down the track. I did not want to see that ugly underbelly, that cruel sneer from the god of this religion, paramutuel betting. How ironic when they announced what the trifecta paid.
The dead horse paid off. The dead horse. Just a dead horse. I don't plan on ever watching the Derby or any Thoroughbred horse race again. I don't imagine the boycotting of tv viewing of racing by a single middle aged woman will make much of a statement to the world. I don't imagine I am being particularly altruistic.I just don't want to feel the shock and pain of a dying horse again.