Thursday, February 2, 2012

Grooming the Beloved Horse with Brush and Stirgil

How lucky can you get?  Pretty lucky  it seems if you decide you will go downtown because Restoration Hardware is closing, and you hope to get another garden tool set at 75 percent off.  Well, I didn't get the garden set.  No, I saw a large jar with bath brushes, four of them.  I touched one on my arm and said YES.  I got all four.  There will be people I love who should have one.  But only if they behave themselves.

I have to get everything ready for my bath because I am weak when I am out of my brace.  I have a couple support brackets, but the beverage, the single cigarette, the foot tools must all be ready.   Now I get in naked before I put the water in and brush myself down, the dead skin that builds up beneath the corset.  And I think this is really taking care of myself like I would  my mount when I was going out riding.  My mount would hear my car engine and as he was head hunt horse the others would stay behind his shoulders, but they all came for carrots.   My mount was caught, and kept following for extra carrot.  I brushed him down well before putting the saddle pad and jump saddle on.  Now I am brushing myself down and remembering a horse and the Blue Ridge mountains, and Darby's Folly and the paths down Barracks Road.  Memories are so important.  Like fragrances!   Although I can't smell new things I can evoke them and smile at carnations, fir trees, fine leather and chrome.  I do smell a few things, I found out.  At the zoo, I smell fresh ordure, fresh gas - and I enjoy smelling.  If only it was horse manure and horse piss.  Alas!  I am grateful for the memories.  And I look at beautiful foxes on YouTube and Cossacks riding their horses, at the warmbloods, the thoroughbreds, the Ahkel Teke, the Hackney, the Fresian, the Hungarian Forest Horse.  I love them all.

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