SPECIAL MOMENTS IN LIFE

Me and My Dad and 'Roughy"

          Since my life slid into my seventies like an oiled snake through a keyhole, I've become a septuagenarian and I sometimes think of myself as being old, broken-down, dilapidated, forgetful, etc., etc. A friend of mine that I converse with rather regularly via email who is residing in Mexico told me, "We who are no longer young, tend to refer to ourselves as "old" and I wonder if we should stop doing that. We could use other words, like, experienced, or well traveled, veteran. I feel that every time I refer to myself as old, it is as though I am making an excuse for just being me." There's a lot of truth in those words and when I think about it, a lot of the things that still plague me, for instance, my lack of memory, has been happening throughout my whole life. I don't really think that I'm anymore absent minded than I was before. Actually, mind-wise, doesn't seem to be much of a problem, but my tiring body, achy joints and stiff muscles are quite another matter; pain can be a constant reminder of age. And besides, since I've reached this age, it's not that I'm overly absent minded, it's just that I have more things to forget about, which may have been put on the back-burners of my mind over the years.

          I can remember as a boy, enjoying myself so much with friends that I never wanted the day to end. And, as I grew, other special times came into existence as well. However, as profoundly special as these moments were and I tried to hold onto them, the clock kept ticking away and I was forced to move on. Since I've sort of bounced around during my life, took the path of least resistance even if it turned out to be like a precariously high waterfall zooming over a steep cliff to the rocks below, I've experienced different eras and life-styles, which predominately related to me. For example, when I not too cautiously took that first big step out of my boyhood nest, spread my wings and soloed, I found myself working and living at a racetrack in Vancouver. That was a great time, basically just me and no real responsibilities and more importantly, still a home to retreat to if things didn't work out very well. I had some great friends back then who said as I walked out the gates for the last time, "Once a racetracker; always a racetracker, he'll be back," but I never returned. And yet, although the odor of fresh manure, a sweating thoroughbred, fresh hay and golden straw escapes me, I only have to see a horse and rub its muzzle and I'm back at the track; it's early morning, dawn just breaking and I can hear the thunderous hooves as they gallop around the track and upon their return, feel their hot breaths on my cheeks from their flaring nostrils as they catch their breath. Still today, even at this age, like my racetrack days, there are special moments that I wish I could cling to, embrace and cherish but as tightly as I grasp them, like water, they too seep through my fingers, leaving only slight residues of their memories.

          Since I enjoy writing, hence this blog, I've been thinking about writing a series of short stories about my time at the racetrack. Not only was it a time that brought me closer to my dad who was a horse trainer, I also worked for other trainers, bumped shoulders with millionaires, befriended jockeys and placed bets with bookies. And although they were very colourful characters, many of the horses I worked with were equally colourful, each having its own distinctive personality. It was a wild and crazy time in my life, gambling, boozing and partying at the forefront. And yet, there I was smack dab in the middle of a huge bustling city surrounded by horses. It was as if I'd been magically transported and living on the fringe of country life when I found myself walking down a shedrow, horses sticking their heads out of the stalls and nickering in the early morning air. I wonder how many of you reading this blog have a strong attachment to horses? Although horses were too large to be lap pets, many of the horses I worked with still enjoyed being petted and wouldn't hurt a fly - well maybe not a fly, flicking at them with their tails was a daily commitment. In any case, before I begin writing "Horse Tails" or should it be "Horse Tales", I'm hoping to get a little feed back, see if any of you would be interested in buying such a book, might give me some incentive to write it.

          Well...it's such a nice day outside, I can hear the birds chirruping, see the sun glinting off the snow, I think it's time to take a wee walk and later, if the temperature rises somewhat significantly, take my bony ass outside,sit on the deck for a short while and sip a near-beer...peach, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link.