So… this weekend I had a couple of mini adventures, as I like to call them. I suppose it’s my way of finding humor and some excitement in everyday things (either that or I really need to get a life). 😉
Anyway, Saturday morning I went to the barn as usual for my riding lesson. Got my stuff out of the car, said hello to one of my classmates, went to look at the mount list… saw I was riding Danette. Hmm… so were we doing dressage this week? (We usually alternate jumping and dressage, and the previous week’s class had been dressage.) I asked, and it turned out that we were, in fact, jumping. Oh boy.
I can see you’re not quite sure why this was a big deal. Let me explain. Danette (who was apparently named after a brand of pudding) is a 16.5-hand French Saddle mare. And pretty muscular to boot. In other words, big. And she’s notorious for usually being something of a handful when jumping. Riding a big “handful” can be, shall we say, somewhat unnerving. Thankfully, I’d already ridden her quite a lot in dressage, and my sister had jumped with her several times and told me about it, so I had an idea of what to expect. Still, I was a tad nervous getting up into the saddle. Oh, and on top of that we had a new instructor – at least, she was new to me; I think she may have left shortly before I got here and just came back. Anyway, I think you get the picture. And just in case you need one:
Well, wouldn’t you know it, the whole thing actually went quite well. Danette behaved herself, jumped very nicely, and was generally calm. Maybe even a little too calm – the instructor actually had to tell me to get her to speed up some. (I’m sure God was chuckling at this point.) 😉 About the only problem was her tendency to pick up the wrong lead after a jump, but that’s fairly easy to fix. No biggie.
So, lessons learned: don’t always go by what others tell you, and don’t underestimate yourself either. And most of all, remember that God won’t give you more than you can handle.
That was my first adventure of the weekend. Sunday morning things started the same as usual (well, aside from trying to get the projector screen set up – our church just moved into a new building and we’re still getting things set up). Worship was really good, and despite being incredibly sore from the previous day’s ride, I was feeling pretty good. What happened next wasn’t an adventure, but I found it rather entertaining.
That morning we had a guest speaker, an African lady (I don’t remember which country she’s from) named Irma. Very nice, and had some very encouraging things that she shared with the worship team, and me specifically. She then proceeded to confirm my suspicion that there’s a conspiracy among African church ladies to get me married off ASAP. No lie, she asked me in front of everyone if I was engaged (no). Then, if I had a boyfriend (no). Was I interested in getting married? (yes) When? (in a few years) Could I be more specific? (when God says it’s the right time) That’s what they all say… seriously, when? (I don’t know!!!) I kid you not. She’s not the first one to ask me that, and I suspect she won’t be the last. I’m not quite sure why they’re so obsessed with this, though. I definitely want to get married, just not right this minute. I kind of need a guy first (you know, minor detail), and then I need to mentally and spiritually prepare a bit too. Not that I’ll ever totally feel ready, but I hear it helps to not be a total wreck going in.
That was the amusing incident of the day. The adventure came that afternoon, when the carbon monoxide detector in the attic decided to go off for no particular reason and would not stop beeping. I tried to ignore it at first, but after a while it became clear that it was not going to stop. And since I was the only one home aside from my grandmother (who is currently unable to climb stairs), I had to find a way to turn the darn thing off. So I hauled a ladder up from the garage, set it up under the trap door in my bathroom (why did they have to put it there, of all places?), climbed up, pushed the trap door open (getting insulation fluff in my hair in the process), and noted with annoyance that not only was the ladder not high enough for me to be able to actually pull myself up into the attic, but the CO detector was out of arm’s reach. So… I went and got a broom handle and used that to whack the beeping monstrosity. It protested feebly and then shut up. Afterwards I summed it up in the text I sent my best friend: “I beat an obnoxious and malfunctioning CO detector into submission with a broom handle.” She found it most entertaining. 😛
Like I said, some mini adventures. Nothing particularly hair-raising, but they make for good storytelling afterwards. 🙂
And now that I’ve rambled on for much longer than I initially thought I would, I’m going to call it a night. Take care everyone!
PS: Bonus points to whoever knows where this entry’s title came from.