A Fair Warning to August

A quick look at the calendar--not to mention any thermometer--tells us it is, once again, ((((August.)))) Those parentheses, by the way, are meant to denote humidity and a general state of swelter. Stagnant air, oppressive dew points, and ever rising temps do not a happy girl make.

So you can tell I'm not a fan of August, right? Deep, abiding, and august ennui is the only way to describe my attitude toward what I think might actually be the cruelest month, despite what the poets say. But it was not always so...once upon a time I had a much fairer view of the 8th month.

If you would have dropped in on my teenaged life in Minnesota, you'd have found me actually looking forward to August. Back then, a million metaphorical miles from here, I was a city-living 4-H kid and August meant the Olmsted County Fair. The fair was the penultimate moment of summer, only to be outdone by a well-earned trip to the Minnesota State Fair up in St. Paul. The county fair was, for a 4-H kid, the social event of the season. It was where you saw your country friends, where you learned to be wary of the midway and where you shared Tom Thumb mini-donuts or batter-fried cheese curds with your best pals.

The fair was also competition. As I grew older and found my way in the various arenas--thanks fully to my brave parents--I began to formulate increasingly ambitious projects in order to beat out my various nemeses. By the time I was a teenager I knew what I had to make and who I had to beat. I remember very vividly the girls I wanted to outdo with a fabulous Home Environment project or the guys I wanted to one-up with a beautifully built Aerospace project...I was driven, well, kind of.

That "driven" attitude usually appeared in July when I realized that I only had a few weeks (okay, sometimes DAYS) to finish (and/or start) any given project. Understand that I'd signed up for the specific project areas months before and by the time July and August rolled around it was a serious time crunch to complete everything. Sure, quilting or needlework or even a large scale furniture refinishing project sound crazy good and easily done in January...in July, less so. But the competitor in me (and lets face it, the kid in me, too, as there was a monetary value to the ribbons we were awarded) wouldn't let go. That meant having a good lie-about in the sun was replaced with completing an intricate piece of needlework while catching a few rays; it also meant working against the clock--and weather at times--to strip multiple coats of paint from a small side table. (I literally shudder when I think of the chemicals I used to in those days for refinishing!) And my road-trips all those many Julys were 4-H centric as well--I roamed high and low, the entirety of Southeastern Minnesota, in search of the perfect old barn or abandoned farmstead for my photography exhibit. Yes, I trespassed now and then in the interest of "my art," plus ca change, non? 

There was considerable upside to all this, though. Not only in all the skills I learned over the years (or the pretty ribbons I won) but all the great and often terrifying experiences with showing and judging. I loved those manic, frenzied weeks leading up to the fair and then savored the rewards--whether it was a corn dog or a state fair trip--once all the competition was over. There was no time--or need--for my somewhat self-indulgent August ennui back then.

My "projects" are a little different these days, to be sure, and there's no state fair trip or purple Grand Champion ribbon awaiting me at the end of them, but there are other late summer rewards to look forward to...things like post-Labor Day empty beaches or the first cool evenings of early autumn in New England. So I'll endeavor to be patient with you, August, in memory of all the good times we've shared in years gone by...but I warn you, don't trifle with me or try to muscle your way into September, that would be very bad form indeed.

The Forward March of March Ennui

After a spring-fever inducing stretch of ridiculously glorious weather, the clouds and rain have descended for a day that I've decided is best spent lying low and staying in. I'm actively engaged in a death/grudge match against my unruly sinuses and that has lead to a minor episode of March ennui. (see also, Spring Sklunklishness...)

I usually save my most robust and lingering bouts of ennui for August...August's august ennui, I like to call it. But this March I find myself feeling a bit like August, where you're trapped between the two seasons and just can't wait to be fully moved into the next one. We're all totally over winter but spring is just teasing us, tempting us with sunshine and unseasonably warm, balmy days.

Right. That's me done whingeing.

So now on to the subject of my March equine ennui. What I can't shake these days is utter lack of excitement over the way the KY Derby field seems to be shaping up. Either/both of you who read regularly know that I'd expressed some interest earlier this year in Jackson Bend as a Derby contender--and he is still on my radar--but no other horses are, at the moment, really piquing my interest.

Typically by now I'd have four or five horses that I'd be watching, (ogling maybe a more apropos term) and they'd move up and down in the little Derby stable I keep in my head. (Don't try to tell me you don't do the same...I know you do.)

This year is different though. And I'll admit I come at this from a slightly screwy angle. (Shocked, aren't you?) I look at many, er, unusual and unquantifiable things when I'm picking a Derby candidate. Pedigree of course, wins and distances of course. But more arcane things like how I feel about the horse's connections or trainer...what their name is (and does it resonate with me?) color he or she is and whether I'd want to ride them. Ok, ok...stop your laughing right now. I'm surely not suggesting that I have any interest in being a jockey, but would I like to take them over a fence or five...or have a good hack on them across hill and vale?

Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind that I (or anyone) would be ridiculously fortunate to ever put a leg over on any of these thoroughbreds. And while I fully appreciate that, it's not the point. Just like with lovely shoes, you don't want just any trite old designer label, you want the one that suits you and makes you feel pretty, empowered. The same holds true for me with the horses.

For example...Smarty Jones and Funny Cide. Loved their stories, did of course cheer them on, but am not really very partial to chestnut colts/geldings. Therefore, I'd not be very interested in hacking about on them. Whereas, say, Empire Maker, Macho Uno (or Macho Again!) or Medaglio d'Oro or *be still my beating  heart* Zenyatta or Rachel Alexandra, I'd practically pawn an appendage to stand within arm's length of them, let alone ride them.

Sometimes it is the horse's name that resonates with me. I'm a fan of the Storm Cat progeny often and other lines who use cat or kitten. El Gato Malo is a horse I'll always have a little thing for, as is true with names like Hold That Tiger or Wishful Tomcat. (And yes, I'd love to have a good long ride through the countryside on any and all of these!)

In really examining the last couple of years of the Triple Crown races, I've been a bit of a contrarian, quelle surprise. While I like Calvin Borel immensely, Mine That Bird (along with all his Bird horse ancestors) never caught on strongly for me and I didn't think the little gelding was all that. I'll also admit to not being overly enthralled by Curlin (though the Snow Monkey LOVED him) or Big Brown. None of them caught my fancy. I was much more intrigued by Desert Party or Pioneer of the Nile and the like. I know it's courtesy and tradition to keep the Derby winner as your horse throughout the weeks of the TC, but that doesn't always work for me. A friend long ago chastised me severely for this "lack of loyalty," but to me it seemed more like bandwagon jumping than anything if I hadn't been with the horse before the Derby.

And I guess that's the long and short of it...none of the present Derby field has even remotely captured my imagination (save, to a smallish extent, Jackson Bend) and so I'm left  to drift in a sea of uncompelling--though very nice--horses, but none is my "glass slipper horse"--no horse is yet, just the right fit. Thus my March equine ennui marches ever forward...

If you want to make a case for "your" horse...I'd love to hear it! Enlightenment and impassioned persuasion are most welcome.