Ah...rest

: 'Why Can't I?' by Liz Phair
: Rested

It was nice to just go home and get some sleep last night. But as a result, I didn't blog about the most exciting part of Friday--Santa.

Okay, really, I wasn't so much excited by Santa (who really was there to visit the kids at work). I was excited by Santa's horses. Well, really, don't you think he gives the reindeer a rest? They have a big night coming up next week.

So every year, Santa comes with Clydesdales. You would think, living in Lexington, ahem...the 'Horse Capital of the World' (but not ™,which can't be exclusive anyway, so you'll see others who make the claim) I'd get to see lots of horses. And to some degree that's true--we have mounted policemen, horse statues, horse farms, two racetracks (Keeneland and The Red Mile), but every year I get to pet Santa's very, very large horses and it fills me with glee that only a horsey-girly-girl could appreciate. Nevermind that I'm allergic to these wonderful animals. Nevermind that I'm (slightly) terrified of their size. For years I read books and drew horses and generally went ga-ga virtually over them (even completing a 4H project despite never getting to actually touch or get up close to a horse), so getting to go up to them is a great thing.

Of course, in retrospect, one of the stallions seemed a little spooked, and now that I think of it, I know better than to approach a stallion when you're on your period--having heard many stories from women who worked in the industry--but it never occurred to me yesterday. Figures. I needed sleep, you see. Fortunately Aladdin had a wonderful handler and the others weren't spooked at all. Which considering one of the other horsey-girly-girls out petting them (only women seem to do this) is like eight months' pregnant, I'm glad he didn't get to spooked and kick. That would just spoil the whole horsey-girly-girl dream thing. Of course, it's been my limited experience that the big guys are generally more gentle than ponies, who tend to bite. I think all small versions of a species know they should be taller, and it makes them a little testy.

Anyway, I had fun. I would love to actually learn to ride and work with horses, and of course, I'm in a great location to do that, but I'd probably have to go through yet another few years of allergy shots; horses tend to send me into an asthma attack almost immediately, especially if I'm in a stable or near a field where they congregate. I even have trouble going to meetings at a local centre that's surrounded by stables. A horse or three out in otherwise non-horsey environment seems to work, though.

This is somewhat ironic, too, since my father is actually listed as a horseman up in Minnesota. They raise quarter horses. Although we don't speak anymore, I do keep tabs on him via Google occasionally. They've moved from the place where my grandmother and I went up to for the wedding, and now they have a horse farm. His wife has always worked in stables and training horses. His step-daughter is a farrier. So I guess I might have gotten my love of horses genetically. I do wish he'd post an update on one of the broodmares, Phyllis. (That's my mom's name, you see). If she had a filly, we're wondering if it was named after me. My family had a hoot with that one. John figures he came out the better getting my mom, rather than a horse with her name. Anyway, they both seem to be in situations that they're suited for, and I guess so am I, since John has a lot of my father's good points but not the bad points, so I finally feel like I've got a dad. (I'm sure he has some bad points, mind you--we all do--but I don't really ever see them, and my mom seems really, really happy in their relationship. Which just makes me think he's the best thing since sliced bread.)