and disrespectful rascal into a trail horse I'd feel safe and happy to ride. That, and to have a place share various musings and happenings. [See Musings, Horse Happenings, and Other Odds and Ends of Life]
That feels like a lifetime ago, in a way. A different life. The big Victorian house and 20-something acres with a milk cow, horses, chickens and the works exists now in memory and pictures, not in real-time. At least not for us. I loved the years we spent there--our family growing up. The green, green land, the rolling hills, the big gracious rooms and wrap around porches. It was magical. Perfect. I thought I'd be there the rest of my life. Host grandkids and holidays, and maintain my battle to keep flowerbeds weed free, animals healthy, and that type of thing.