Wednesday, 07 January 2009
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September 2008 VOLUME 37 © HORSES For LIFE Magazine
Miss Manners My August contribution to Horses For Life was well under way. I was in Denmark vacationing with my family, but I still grabbed a few minutes here and there to write a few words. The article was going to be about the necessity of manners and discipline in relationship with our horses, in, but especially out of, the saddle. The subject and setting had me reflecting on my parents and my childhood at great length. My mother, herself an avid equestrian, had always been my greatest fan and supporter, and had never let me give up on my passion for horses no matter what challenges we faced along the way. When a riding instructor thoroughly demoralized me at the tender age of 11, it was my mother who reminded me of my great love of horses. She asked me for courage, and taught me never to let anyone take that love away from me. And good manners and the work ethic had always been emphasized in my upbringing. Until I was about 9 years old I still curtsied as I shook hands firmly, of course with strangers. I knew how to set a table with multiple forks, spoons and knives, which glass went with which wine, and how to fold a napkin. I could arrange flowers and carry the tray with fingerfood. My elbows were off the table, I chewed with my mouth shut and I knew better than to talk with my mouth full. With a few days and a few paragraphs to go till the magazine deadline I boarded the plane to return to my home in the US. However, once in the US, I had not made it from the airport to the front door before my brother called with the devastating news an hour after dropping me off at the airport, my mother had been struck by a massive brain hemorrhage and now lay in a coma. I needed to come straight back home. Twelve hours later I was on my way back to Denmark. Fate struck again this time kindly and out of 300 passengers, I found myself sitting next to a young man headed home to Ireland for the exact same reason I was heading back to Denmark. Our stories were almost identical. Our conversation kept us both sane on the long flight home. We vowed to keep in touch. The similarities ended as we parted in the Danish airport, he boarding a flight to Dublin, me met by my sister-in-law to be rushed to the hospital. His mother is making a solid recovery, and my mother
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