Boston

Howdy from Boston! Where the signs are written with a Boston accent!

 Just a few tantalizing pictures today:

 Food corner shop in little Italy:

 Gelato in Little Italy:

 We managed to find the water, and watched some sail boats practicing a drill:

 We also stopped to watch some Italians playing bacci!

Today was just a couple hours of touring time, and the next two days are all work.

Mornings

On sunny days there are two sparrows that sit on opposite sides of our building's fascade. I started noticing them because they sing very loudly, and I always look for the singers when I hear singing. It makes me smile to see the sparrows at their posts belting it out every morning.

Speaking of singing, the other day I passed a coworker in the hallway and she started singing "Good morning!" from Singin' in the Rain. There were two more of us in the hallway, and we both joined in. Major coolness points for coworkers singin' songs from an old musical.

As this post is about mornings, and roosters crow in the morning, and this story is about a chicken, I think you should read it! Not convinced? Just look at this picture:



the early bird catches the duck that laid the sneaky egg


I'm not really a morning person. I actually like morning pretty well, especially if I had enough sleep (hah!), but I like them quiet. Zorro is allowed to be present, and anybody else who likes to keep to themself in the morning is permitted--just...sit in the other room. ;-) Yet I still love quiet mornings, inside, outside....particularly at the barn or working in a garden. What about you? Are you one of the people who goes "SPROING" in the morning, ready to talk, or are you the type who takes a while to even think about enjoying human company?

Herbs, Cold, and Travel

 

>I went to a local flower and garden festival this weekend. It was a warm, sunny day and I ran around the festival on a mission. I bought 10 different herbs--but I have barely looked at them since due to the rain and cold so I'm not totally sure anymore what I got.

witness: cold and wet

>I know I got two types of lavender, cilantro, rosemary, basil, dill, and calendula. I also got phlox and another groundcover with yellow flowers. I cannot wait to plant them! But unfortunately I'm going to have to. First it was the cold and wet. Then it was the cold. And yeah, it doesn't look good for the near future.

>I picked up this nifty looking gadget at the thrift shop last week. I am not at all sure what it is, other than it's some sort of grinder, and is probably a generic spice grinder. It was $1 and I thought it was amazingly cool to look at.

>Has anyone else been having issues scheduling posts on blogger? For  the past week, no matter what time I schedule a post, it doesn't go up unless I come back and switch it to automatic and post it myself. This isn't a huge deal, except that I'm probably not going to be able to hit go the next couple days--I'll be in MA for work.

>I really really hate leaving Zorro behind when I have to travel for work.

>I have a lot of half finished projects lying around right now. I broke out my glossy red spray paint last weekend and red-did a large vase and a terra cotta pot. I have pictures of the spray painting process, but as of yet there is nothing in the terra cotta pot, and the vase still needs a particular spot. So, being the perfectionist I am, I'm sitting on my pictures until you can see the finished product.

>Oh, I also built a pallet garden, and have to build another for my as-yet-to-be-bought lettuce and spinach, but my homemade gardens don't have dirt or plants, so...no pictures yet...might I blame the cold and wet again?

scrappy

>I'm scrap booking again. Remember that big trip over seas that Zorro and I took Christmas 2010? Well...I'm putting the pictures and momentos in an album finally. Yay for Michael's having 12x12 albums on sale for $5!

>I looked at Navarre yesterday and realized that he actually has a physique now--he doesn't look like a rolly polly pasture pet now. He looks like an honest to goodness riding horse. The kids are doing a great job with him.

March

>I'll get to seem my folks this weekend, I'm excited about that. Now if I could have Zorro with me too...

More blues

Some of you might remember that our air conditioning broke this past summer. It froze. Then overheated. Well. We thought they fixed it. Zorro and I were never totally sure the repairman actually knew what was wrong, he just changed a part and told us to keep our air filter cleaner next time. Right. Ok.

Turns out, it wasn't properly fixed. It limped along, we used it as little as possible. Eventually we turned on the heat--up until this month I had no clear idea that the AC and the heat came from the same unit. Now I know, silly me.

We thought the higher than usual utility bills were due to the Christmas lights (our first year doing those or having a tree) and the hot water heater (did I tell you that broke in the dead of winter?). As soon as the weather was remotely moderate we turned off our money guzzling electric system and let the internal temperature of the house breathe with the spring moods.

Most of the time this is ok.

The trouble was discovered when the maintenance guy came to do the annual check up. He pronounced it dead. More than dead. Cooked dead.  The heat we'd been running at least half the winter was emergency heat. Which is why the house never got more than a few degrees within the temperature set on the thermostat, then it would plummet, and then the emergency heat would kick in. Which is why our bills were so high. I suppose we should apologize to the Christmas lights for blaming them.

Oh boy.

I wasn't imaging it when I thought there was cool air coming out of the vents all winter. (I knew from physics class that our perception of temperature is relative, so I hadn't thought much of it).

Now that we knew it was busted, we broke the news to our land lords, who took it well, and have been researching for the past 3 weeks the best possible deal for replacing it. Yeah, replacing it. Like I said, it is cooked dead. So we're supposed to get a new system on Thursday. In the meantime, it's barely hitting 50 degrees outside here, which means it's just an eeny weeny bit cold in here most mornings.

The good news is that our bedding is delightfully warm and comfy so we sleep very well at night. The bad news is that this makes it difficult to leave the bed in the morning. Praise the Lord for space heaters.


my seedlings, seemingly unaffected by the cold, reach for the sun



13- Almost Eaten

(Episode 1- How It Began. Episode 2-Lavinia . Episode 3-Gambling . Episode 4-Fortune Favors Episode 5-A Little Fire 6-Quill 7-the Gig 8-Southward Ho 9-City of Color 10- Water 11-Dinner for 34 12-The Counsel That Wasn't)

 13- Almost Eaten

The ungodly screeching at dawn was, according to the maid, the Haim Cuckoo.

“It’s a small bird, no bigger than my fist,” she explained, desperately trying to hide her laughter. “It has a sweeter song when it wishes, but it shouts to greet the sun.”

I stepped down from the window sill. I had already put away my daggers. “It must be made entirely of lungs.”

The maid grinned and held out my clothes. “Here they are, my lady, clean and dry.”

I crossed the room and took the clothes from her. They smelled like fruit. “Thank you.”

“Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

She left with a smirk and a bow. I buried my nose in my clothes. They distinctly smelled like fruit—peaches, I thought. Not a bad smell, but I hoped it wouldn’t announce my presence to every creature I passed within 10 furlongs of. It couldn’t be helped. I got dressed quickly and joined the mercenaries for breakfast. Then Quill, the tracker and I trooped through the castle kaleidoscope to the stables where our horses waited for us.

I was glad to see that the horses had evidently been very well cared for. Their coats shone…and unless my nose betrayed me they smelled like peaches too. My black, Hook, dropped his head to my chest in greeting and I could smell the perfume on his mane. This culture was very strange. With full saddle bags we left the brightly colored city and returned the dust colored land outside. I was surprised how relieved I felt. We rode in silence, and kicked up enough dust that talking would only fill your mouth with it. With steady riding we reached Trumble by midday. Our favorite tavern keeper and blacksmith were very glad to see us and full of all sorts of weather predictions and the most cheerful pronouncements of doom I have ever heard in my life.

“It’s not that we wish you to fail, you understand,” chirruped Geodry, the tavern keeper, “It’s just that it’s been done before…like dropping a rock from the balcony to see if it falls. It always falls.”

“Like rain,” rumbled Geordan, wiping his massive dark hands on his blacksmith’s smock. “You get used to it.”

“Is that peaches I smell?” Geodry asked, lifting his nose toward our horses.

I, Quill, and Wace, the tracker, were sitting at a bench outside Geordan’s forge eating the lunch that Geodry had merrily brought out to us. Our horses were tethered 8 yards away at the water trough. The three of us looked at each other, and then turned to look at our horses.

Geodry marched over to Quill’s bay and unceremoniously stuffed his nose into the horse’s mane. “Yeeeaup, that’s peaches, alright!” He cackled. “Geordan, where’s your boy? We can’t let them leave like this. They’ll get eaten in the first 30 yards of the badlands!”

Geordan laughed, his teeth bright white against his dark face, and then he bellowed back into the smithy for his apprentice. “Boy! Bring soap and water!  Lots of it!”

“I thought they smelled like peaches,” said Quill.

Geodry slapped the bay familiarly and started removing the horse’s gear. “You smelled right. Next time you should trust your sniffer. Might save your life.”

I looked from one man to the next, “I don’t understand.”

“Shahoyan Raptors,” explained Geordan. “They are large, territorial, and pathologically hungry birds. They love peaches.”

The boy appeared with a large bucket of greasy looking water in each hand. He started to work scrubbing Quill’s bay while Geodry untacked Hook.

“Someone must have it out for you back at the City,” commented Geordan, moving to join his brother. “No one brings peaches through the badlands except in sealed crates. It’s a pretty well known fact that the birds aren’t careful about collateral damage when they are hunting for peaches.” Geordan chuckled like he was warning us that water was wet.

Quill and I exchanged glances. A saboteur? Already?

Wace shifted uncomfortably. “I need to wash my clothes.”

I leaned over and sniffed Quill’s shoulder. “I think we all do.”

Geodry let me use the wash room in the tavern and the men used a tub behind the smithy. It took far too much time to scrub the smell from our clothes. Geodry and Geordan were adamant that every whiff of the sweet scent be eradicated before they would let us leave. It gave us time to ponder why we’d been painted with a death scent before being sent on our way. We lost two precious hours of daylight before we were mounted and riding toward the foreboding black monoliths of the badlands. Safely on our way to good, honest, danger.

Copyright 2012: The Legend of Zare Caspian is an original story by Abigail Cossette for The Raven's Landing.  If you enjoy the story, please share and link back! Please don't copy it. Contact me if you would like to publish a portion of it in any way, shape or form.

DIY Raw Honey Face Wash

Go to the store
Buy a jar of raw honey.
Use it to wash your face.

Yes. It's that simple.

No, it won't make your skin sticky.

I've only ever used Mary Kay facial cleansers before this--well, and one bar of locally made soap that was made with clay--and I really used as little as I could because I dislike spending $12/bottle. Also, if I washed my face, I had to use the moisturizer because my skin was extremely dry afterwards. Extremely. But, deep down, I knew that because I wore make up most days, I really ought to wash my face, and I knew that you should never ever use regular soap on your face.

With all this hullaballo about chemicals in beauty products, and how much I disliked buying these products in the first place, I wasn't sure what to do with myself when I ran out of my MK face wash.

So when a friend of mine told me she'd been washing her face with honey for a year and really liked it, I figured I would give it a try. Lo and behold, I liked the honey too. It's easy to use, and it does a good job without draining your skin of moisture. It also does a good job removing eye make up (even the waterproof kind) and whatever it doesn't get I get with my coconut oil (which, incidentally, also works way better than my man made eye make up remover).

Honey has a variety of beauty benefits, including being antibacterial and a source of antioxidants. Practical results? Your skin is soft, supple, and less prone to acne. Honey also helps protect the skin from the sun and helps it rejuvenate (ie: look young).

You know how I said it doesn't suck the moisture from your skin like all other cleansers? That's called being hygroscopic--it actually helps trap and seal moisture into skin and hair (this means you can use it in your hair, too, I think I may try this next...) this leaves everything soft and happy. And, of course, if your honey is local (within 50 miles of you), it'll help with your allergies too.

That's just the beginning. The list of medicinal benefits is impressive, too. Do some research. Honey is good for you. (I started at this site.) Buy it raw so the good stuff isn't cooked out (same basic principle as cooking veggies in water, if you do that, all the good stuff will cook out into the water, which most of us throw away. Leaving us to eat veggies with no redeeming qualities.)

So. Next time you need to buy face wash, go buy some raw honey--local, if you can--and smear it all over your face at the next opportunity (and then rinse it off, goodness, I shouldn't have to tell you that part!).

lessons

Since Navarre is a genial soul, he gets to pack around any visitors I bring to the barn. Except that he's not always down with the "around" part. He'll pack anybody, but he only adds "around" if he really believes them--and they need to believe themselves before he'll believe them.

 Navarre is one of those horses who definitely teaches you to ride the hard way. Not everyone can learn on a difficult horse like him. He doesn't do anything bad, he just knows in half a second you don't know what you're doing, and you're not sure of your commands, so he's going to stand in one spot and ignore you. I am not sure yet if these are ideal conditions for mandatory confidence building, or if they are adverse...it might just depend on who you are. I feel, too, that there must be some deeper lesson from this peculiarity of his, but I'm not sure how to articulate it.

 That said, my friend Pinon, is doing pretty well! She's now officially ridden twice in her life, on Navarre both times, and while he makes her work, he'll work for her, too.

 Here is Pinon with her daughter, Mouse--who you'll remember as the girl Dusty met. I don't know what we'll do when Dusty leaves...

Confession

So I had kickboxing class last night, as usual. When I got home I stared at the fridge for a while trying to figure out what to make for dinner. (Hotdogs: The Last Resort) Then I ate dinner with Zorro--who was working on his Spanish homework. Then I started flipping through a Western Horseman magazine and got sucked into a couple articles (one about laying a horse down, which I had never heard of before, and the other about starting a colt under saddle). Then we spontaneously had Zorro's family over for ice cream (they were driving by)....

....What's the confession?

I didn't write you a post.

I have a couple posts in the works (usually do) but I just wasn't done with them yet, so they will just have to wait. (One of them, which may be divided into two, is about how my dabbling in the film making world changed the way I watch movies).

So, I'll just leave you with the reason I don't get laundry done in a timely fashion:


Rose is Rose



A (nuther) Day at the Races

Did you watch National Velvet when you were a kid? I always loved the moment when Pie first cleared "Beechers Brook" with ease.  Steeplechase is still a big deal some places. Usually they are run on plantations, rather than a full time race course. The course is marked out around the plantation, and the areas for spectators are fenced with already-present-fences or snow fences. The tracks are so big that in order to have some hope of keeping them clear during a race the local foxhunting clubs provide mounted crowd control for each event in the circuit. The outriders wear their dress clothes: this means hunt coats/show coats, breeches, tall boots...the horses are spittin' clean and their manes are braided.

Since Jon and Krasi foxhunt, I get to help with crowd control. The last three years I rode Dewey, a beautiful gray pony. She was older, and last year she died shortly after the races due a tumor in her guts. It was so hard to say good bye to her.

Mountain Dew (2010)

This year, with Maverick a tad green to spend 5 hours under saddle Jon and I shared Midas. He rode for the first three or so hours of the day, I rode for the last 2 (which was about three races worth).

 I got up early and went out to the barn to braid up Midas' mane.

It took about an hour, and a lot of hair gel. Midas stands like a gentleman (for the most part). Maverick, with nothing better to do, took the opportunity to tickle and even nip at Midas while he was tied down and could do nothing about it. Sneaky little child.

I forgot how much I enjoy the peace and calm of the barn first thing in the morning. I had also forgotten how much I enjoy braiding. Midas's mane was also very cooperative this year, the braids laying flat like they were supposed to when I was done. I felt very accomplished.

Mom, do you recognize that hair clip? It was yours...

 All finished: Took about an hour.

 And here is a random picture of Conner looking adorable in a field of dandelions:

When I arrived at the races Jon and I switched places. Not before I conned him into posing for a picture.

 This is me running around shooing people on the race course to hurry up because they called riders up in the paddock. Riders up means that the jockey's are officially allowed to mount their horses.

 Once they mount it's mere moments before a string of amped up thoroughbreds jig onto the field raring to go. Pedestrians must be off the course, just in case.

 This is Midas making a beeline for a child who was standing on the fence. Midas loves children standing on fences. They are most likely to have carrots. He was so tired by the time I got on him all he wanted to do was schmooze. Let me tell you, he is GOOD at schmoozing! He'd walk the fenceline, bolding sticking his head over the fence, greeting men, women, children, tolerating the cameras, begging for handouts...And if they weren't prompt on the handouts he could reach...well, I stopped him from raiding the potato chips several times. He was even bent on finding out what was inside the closed plastic deli tray (it was deli sandwiches, I was extremely curious myself to know if he could get it open and what he would think of the sandwiches, but I felt duty bound to dissuade him).

 Past they go.

He definitely made the day for a bunch of little girls. He also got called a Quarter Horse, a Pinto, a girl, and a couple other amusingly off-base things. As long as he got carrots or grass he was happy. By the end, he has so many fans that I couldn't ride him down the fenceline without being stopped every few steps by people wanting to feed him carrots or an apple. He had people swooning over him. I've never ever heard Midas called "sweet" so many times. Midas is many things, but I've never thought of calling him sweet...he was very sweet to all the children, most of them were about the size of his head and he never nipped at anybody or even pushed anybody over accidentally. I've also been impressed with his tolerance of the occasional shrieks (you know how kids shriek when they get licked by a dog? They do that with horses, too). He even handled it well when the boxer (the dog) freaked out at him. Midas behaved like a saint.


Midas and I

 He was a good boy. I love riding in open spaces like the racecourse. There is nothing like space to run! Since running is one of Midas's favorite things, even when tired, all this space was wonderful. After riding for two hours with my heels down my toes were actually getting numb...

It was a good day.

12 - The Counsel That Wasn't

(Episode 1- How It Began. Episode 2-Lavinia . Episode 3-Gambling . Episode 4-Fortune Favors Episode 5-A Little Fire 6-Quill 7-the Gig 8-Southward Ho 9-City of Color 10- Water 11-Dinner for 34)

 12-The Counsel That Wasn't

There was so much food at our little feast in the lesser banquet hall that it felt as if the end must simply be declared at random since there was no hope of actually coming to the end of the meal. After so many weeks of light fare the feast was a delight, but I was beginning to wonder if we would have to roll our mercenaries to the badlands and threaten the thieves with death-by-squashing.  Eventually one of the orange-clad guards entered and summoned us to our counsel with the Marshal. More corridor counting, and then we walked into a room that felt small. The ceiling was not vaulted, and the walls were dusky blue and covered in maps. There was a huge table in the center of the room with an equally huge map of Haim and the lands to the west spread upon it. I noted other smaller tables, and shelves full of little model ships and soldiers—evidently the toys of tactical meetings.

The Marshal was standing at the table, propping himself up with it. He straightened as the guard presented us and left. “Welcome to the counsel room.” He gestured to Quill and me to join him at the table. This time I studied him. He was lean, with a nose like a hawk’s beak. His hair and beard were black and trimmed close: Perhaps to downplay the thinning which betrayed the age his strength denied. His air was strictly business. I suspected our presence was actually insulting to him, but he was a soldiering type and was going to soldier through.

“In two days a large caravan of fruits and silk is taking the road through the badlands. Forty of my men are going with it to ensure that it arrives.” The Marshal dragged his finger along the map to demonstrate the route. “We are hoping that such a large caravan, so well armored, will not be accosted at all—though it’s unlikely.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Even camels must rest sometime; often the thieves will strike at night. Sometimes they attack, other times they just sneak off with this or that—considering some of the horrors small caravans have faced, that is a small price.” The Marshal shrugged. “We place guards each night—you needn’t doubt that—but as I’m sure people of your trade are aware, it is sometimes simple to get past guards.”

“Have you never considered following the bandits to their lairs?” asked Quill, ignoring the veiled insult, “Surely the jackal must rest somewhere.”

The Marshal almost smiled. “Have you ever been in the badlands, Quilleran?”

“I have only been a little ways in.”

“Then you can be forgiven for thinking it is as simple as following them to their lairs. The badlands are impossible to navigate if you leave the marked trails. The rocks are massive, jagged, and so identical that countless men have gone in and never come out.” The Marshal was stern. “The outlaws have a simple task to elude or kill any marshal that went into the madness after them. I have lost many men to the outlaws; I have no interest in losing more.”

“The outlaws are men like us,” I said, “There is no magic to the badlands if they can move through them without getting lost.” Of course, if thieves were born and raised in the chaos, they would likely have a ridiculous advantage. I could understand that. I resented not having it myself… “We need to go look at the road and the rocks ourselves before the caravan leaves,” I declared.

“I agree,” Quill leaned forward and squinted at the map. “You’re right, Marshal, that we have an inadequate lay of the land. We should scout tomorrow. Perhaps we can get a feel for how they might attack.”

The Marshal looked hard at us. “You are out of your minds. I take comfort that you are unlikely to survive even scouting in the badlands–then you will not continue to con the Grand Master into thinking that you are miracle workers.”

Quill straightened. “I hardly think this qualifies as a miracle, Marshal.”

“You will not endanger any of my men on your escapade,” warned the Marshal. “If you are not back in time to leave with the caravan it will not wait for you.  I will not search for you if you do not return at all.”

“Give us any maps you have,” replied Quill, coolly, “and provisions, and we’ll be back in two days to save your caravan.”

“Very well.” The Marshal straightened, “May God guide your journey,” he bowed. “You are dismissed.”

Quill and I left the little map chamber and started back down the halls—our first time without a purple clad servant. “If they can find their way through this palace, I would think they could find their way through the badlands,” I griped.

“It’s not so bad—the palace, I mean.” Quill winked at me. “That Marshal sure is a friendly fellow.”

“And extremely helpful and burgeoning with useful information,” I replied. “I should have liked to ask how long they’ve had these bandits, and if there were any cargoes they favored above others…”

“I can answer the first: As long as there have been badlands, there have been bad men hiding in them.” Quill motioned for us to turn down a green corridor. “As to the second…I should like to know why you think that’s important.”

“I don’t. But it might be if there was a pattern.” We walked in silence until we reached our chambers. One sweet night on a bed.

“Two of my men are trackers. I think we shall take one of them and the other can come search for us if we do not return. I shall ask Azbar if he has any recommendations for local guides,” Quill turned to go. “I don’t think I’ll miss the help of the Marshal if his men are as cheerful as he is.”

I smiled. “Indeed.”  It was less complicated when one worked with ones’ own men anyway.

Copyright 2012: The Legend of Zare Caspian is an original story by Abigail Cossette for The Raven's Landing.  If you enjoy the story, please share and link back! Please don't copy it. Contact me if you would like to publish a portion of it in any way, shape or form.

Alliance

 It's been a bit of a crazy week, so instead of regaling you with stories about how weird my bettas are, or my life as a writer, I'm leaving you with serene pictures of Dusty and Midas grazing together.

It's only a tiny bit of a cop out--because they are cute pictures. This was the day Charlie came, I think they were conspiring. They are both a bit mean to Charlie--though not constantly. It's just a weird pecking order thing, I think. Or maybe they find his low key personality insulting...horses are so strange.

The variety in creation warms my heart. That little old Dusty could be Midas's senior by 10 or so years is pretty amazing.
I'm entertained by this picture: If I didn't know that Dusty was 9 hh and Midas was 15hh I would think they were the same size. Forced perspective is an amazing thing.


From this angle they look the same size



Cupcake Conspiracy

I do not know who invented the cupcake, but I find the modern girl's obsession with them a bit peculiar. Though it's not unreasonable to suppose that I am the peculiar one.

Don't get me wrong: I like cute things, I like pretty things, and cupcakes are both cute and pretty. The possibilities and clever tricks for decorating cupcakes are practically endless, and I think that for the most part this is the real appeal. And they are small. Small versions of big things are inherently cute, which endears them to the hearts of women everywhere.

I guess I would feel better if I felt like the world acknowledged that it's the cuteness of cupcakes that they like, because while cupcakes do taste yummy all the fuss would make someone think that they weren't made of the same ingrediants as a regularly sized cake. What's more, they are a heck of a lot harder to eat with anything resembling dignity.

The showier the decoration, the bigger the WOW of the gushing masses, the harder it is to eat.
My bias might be related to the fact that it looks like torture to decorate more than one ornate cupcake.


via


Or perhaps the fact that my favorite cake is a cake. My other favorite cake is a cake, too. Lets remember that cake cake can be cute and pretty too. I don't mind people being enthusiastic about cupcakes....but cake cakes are not inferior!

This does not mean that you can't make me cupcakes. But it does mean that I will cut your cupcake in half and make it a frosting sandwhich in order to eat it in something resembling a dignified manner--or I'll ask for a fork. I'll probably just ask for a fork.

Ulta Nail Polish Review

While in St. Louis Chrissy and I stopped in Ulta--a massive salon supply store. They had large selections from dozens of make up providers (Urban Decay, Bare Essentials, that sort) and dozens of hair care products, finger nail this and that....not to mention the bells and whistles of the latest fashion trends for hair and nails.

I was able to pick up some phalate-free-parabens-free shampoo and conditioner (by Burt's Bees--so far so good with it, too!)--and I also splurged on some nail polish. Their store brand nail polish was 2/$6 (not bad) and was missing the big three chemicals (of which I can only pronounce and recall formaldehyde) which are controversial right now. As an ever growing fan of things without chemicals (or with as few as possible) I decided to give these a try. Revlon polishes are also "big three free" and work reasonably well.

Yes, this is the best polish *ever* looks after a week on my fingers.

So far, though, I'm impressed with the Ulta polish. It survived a week of daily life looking halfway decent! I only touched it up once. It lasted a lot better than nail polishes usually do for me--even my OPI polishes don't last worth a darn. OPI actually lasts worse than my others, peeling off the next day, or mere hours after application. Maybe it's old?

All that to say; ladies, if you have an Ulta near you, their nail polish is safer than others and works great!

P.S. This article here is a fascinating look at cosmetics. Considering that not too long ago women were poisoning themselves with their face powder (between that and the corsets, that is why they really were as weak as stereotyped), I'm inclined to think that we really are still poisoning ourselves with cosmetics.

Along Came Charlie

It came about rather suddenly. Bijoux, the friendly white cat belonging to Krasi-who owns the horse barn, had been very sick off and on for some time, and then passed away last weekend. While writing a thank you note to the Humane Society from whence Bijoux came 15 years ago, she happened to see a bay colt who was a spitting image of Thornton as a baby. Thornton as a 27 yr old is cute enough, imagine him as a baby! Well....several trips to the Humane Society later and Charlie came to live at the barn.


Charlie

 Charlie is the youngest. He's only 1 and a half--a true baby. He's very sweet, and low key--even though he was excited while we were there because he wanted to be outside and he was inside.

He came from an animal hoarding situation--there was some neglect but no abuse. The good news is that he's very ok with other animals! Conner brought out his ball and was startled when Charlie expressed deep curiosity about it. So Conner stood back and barked at him while Charlie tried to decide what the bright green ball was for and if he really wanted to touch it.

Since we girls visited on Charlie's second day, he hadn't met all the other horses yet. So we got to be a part of his first encounter with Thornton, his lookalike. I think they'll be friends. Thornton is a very gentile soul.

Maverick, however, was turning inside out because there was so much going on and he was not the center of it. It is far too soon in his estimation for him not to be the youngest!

This is Maverick's desperate "What about me???" "What's going on???" "Who is that???" face. He would run from one side of the barn to the other, stopping in his stall sometimes to make faces and scream.
He was extremely put out that we took Thornton out and not him....and he scolded Thornton when we put Thornton back in with him (don't worry, Thornton was not phased).

Even with all the tantrum throwing, I think he actually wants to be friends with Charlie. He doesn't actually make nasty faces at him--this is Charlie out with Navarre and Maverick keeping as close to him as possible.

The other funny thing about Charlie's arrival is that all the horses have reacted differently. Dusty doesn't really like him, Midas makes mean faces until Krasi yells at him--I don't know what Wellie thinks yet. But Navarre, who wanted to beat Maverick up from the moment he saw him, really likes Charlie.

Maverick, posturing.

Navarre barely lifted his head to say hi to Charlie--he wasn't about to pass up his chance to eat grass, he wears a muzzle all day--but didn't mind his presence at all. Who knew?

Maverick's curious and watchful eye on Charlie, the new baby.

So there you have it, folks! We have another baby to train!