Having first be-churched ourselves this morning just the two of us, off we went to a bit of the old brunch. Then it was back to the homestead where two teenage daughters lay abed with an out of school 21-year old midshipman – himself but recently returned from the Elysian fields Downunda – serving as a kind of role model, like. Separate beds you understand, our family being close, but not as who would say “that close.”
Not like that.
By the time we had returned they had sufficiently bestirred themselves to wonder what might be for breakfast. Sandwiches, in the event, bought from the local, a place commonly agreed to be most suitable for the purpose. After dropping the Biscuit off to grab what’s left of summer at the beach in Del Mar it was time to take the Kat off to Bonsall, for to go to camp.
Rawhide Ranch is the location, courtesy of yourselves as it were. For which we once again give thanks. All studied up too, and it’s high hopes we have that Wrangler status is soon to be conveyed. I guess I should share with you that your generosity was sufficiently superabundant for to sponsor eldest daughter’s visit to a camp of her own last week, which otherwise might have come to naught, things being as they are. So, it’s passing the baton they’ve done, with the net result of one less daughter here at home than a perfect equilibrium requires but it is the summertime after all, and were we not ourselves once young?
We were. Believe it or don’t.
I’d have pictures too, herself all smiling at the dropping off, except for the fact that the widget which connects the camera to the computer has gone adrift so for the meantime you’ll have to take my word for it. As you will for my description of her camp counselor, a striking Australian Amazon of mebbe 6′5″ vertical clearance, blessed as she was with the face of an angel and proportions that would on a man of similar height be called “lanky” but which were, on her, elsewise evocative.
The Lady and ourself had a bit of a convo on the RTB, discussing the wonder that is man, or in this cases woman, in all of his (her) variety. Right shocked we were that such as she had not been scarfed up for to stride on some Parisian fashion runway or else make teh glowering faces for glamor shoots in Manhattan, like. For does it not strike you as passing strange, gentle reader, that the “modeling” set is by and large made up of such extreme rarities such as she, women of physical construction so unique as to nearly defy the archetype? Pattern them by height against heft with points on for cheekbones you could shave with and I’d bet you’d find yourself in the statistical region of perhaps one in ten thousand.
Perhaps less.
And yet these are represented to us as “models.” As though this were the standard from which the rest of womanhood deviates.
We have been deceived.
Which conversation then segued us into a discussion of the kinds of $3000+ dresses one might buy at such a fashion show. Who is it, we wondered to ourselves, who was both so genetically endowed to fit into such accoutrements on the one hand, and sufficiently well-heeled to afford it on the other? In attempting to understand the economic underpinnings of this market, something came to mind about the multiplications of already impossibly small fractions. This is not to say that there are not many several legions of strikingly tall, lean and chiseled 20-something Australian ?
Hmmm. We are nice people, aren’t we?
Some of us nicer than others of course but still…
Oh those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer…
Yeah, I know. I best keep my day job.
I was just wondering about the horse camp…
I think your thoughts are dangerous…
Your daughter is going to horse camp, nothing more… She will return to you.
Stop waching endless reruns of The Devil Wears Pravda…
Ahh, those gorgeous unattainable “models.” Kate Moss, the famous runway queen, once observed, “There’s darn few women like us. We’re genetic freaks.” I guess she’s right. There’s no one like that in this house,.. or ever was. But my goodness, they’re fun to look at.
Marianne Matthews
Good luck to the Kat…I just got my little one back from SpaceCamp in Huntsville. She loved it of course, and I’m glad, but mostly our family is just happy to have her giggles back at home.
So…
All y’all started missing her on the trip back home, right?
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
If she wants the full experience I’ve a barn that isn’t cleaning itself, nossir, and with My Good Wife expecting our firstborn I sure could use somebody to stack bales as the third cutting of alfalfa approaches. Somehow I always knew buying the horse was the easy part.
Once she leaves Rawhide Ranch a full-fledged Wrangler (of course — her father wouldn’t have raised her to accept failure to meet a goal lightly) might I suggest her next stop be Custer State Park in South Dakota, there to help corral the largest herd of wild bison in the country for auction? She’d be helping a noble cause, and get to ride like a real wrangler. Sort of put all those lessons to use, like. I mean, it calls itself a ranch, right? Can’t be a wrangler on a ranch without riding in the round-up. That’d just be, you know, un-american.
‘Sides, the bison only weigh about a ton each, and can’t out-run the horse after that first quarter-mile. It’s not *that* dangerous.
Seriously, I had a grand time, so I recommend it to anybody who considers themselves a rider.
– Max
Like Babs, I’ve also been wondering about the Kat’s further equestrian pursuits. Timing is everything and you saved yourself an email from moi. A treat for the Biscuit as well is not so bad. That Woodleaf Camp looks like fun for adults too!
“…underpinnings of this market…”
And that’s really a whole nuther subject isn’t it…
Just picked my kids up from summer camp last Friday. 4 weeks away. They are both tan, fit, and smart mouthed like you read about. We missed them and it is good to have them back.
Camp is a wonderful experience, I’m glad kids get the chance.
N
A few years ago, my little one was riding and was beginning to jump and she and the horse became confused, and arse over teakettle went my little one. The horse strolled up to her laying there and looked her her quizzically as if to say “what are you doing on the ground?”
My brave little one (broken wrist and all) climbed back aboard the paint and proceeded to jump everything in sight. Of course it was only after the lesson had ended that she complained and we found out that she had broken her wrist. I think that sorta ended her enthusiasm for riding.
BBB
Shakespeare was the wise choice for the evening, Lex, as our own Seahawks plundered your Sandy Eggo Bolts. What a choice you had for evening entertainment: Shakespeare or NFL?
BTW, our son and youngest, Navy Seaman Alex became a true Submariner as he received his Dolphins today.
I plead guilty to being “the VERY proud father” as our four now number (youngest to oldest) : Submariner, Registered Nurse, ex-Army Captain & now Doctoral in Physical Therapy student, Captain in Army Medical Corps now stationed in Germany.
Four kids, three of them girls, the youngest a son … and he’s earned his DOLPHINS after first patrol… yes, we’re PROUD!!! Idaho, I agree with you. We still love their “giggles” when they’re home!
Growing up and moving out not far ahead, Lex.
Change is good! I keep telling myself that when times get tough, as a mantra. Sort of helps.
Summer camp was great when both SNO and DNO went to separate camps at the same time. It was good to relax and know that neither would be killing the other out of our sight. Now they are all grown up and married and even having a grandbaby soon for me to steal once in a while (I hope).
Oh yeah. Change is good. *sigh*
Congratulations!
I’m impressed, Peter. Care to write a book?
I’ve always thought these young’uns really should come with an instruction manual!
Cap’n, et al,
The Lady Katherine has been riding since she was younger than Kat is now. Over time, she has confessed to a certain desire to regain her equestrian skills. Now she is the proud owner of a beautiful paint gelding. Slowly, ever so slowly is the Lady and her new mount learning to trust each other.
The lesson here is simple. Much like the thrill flying faster than the speed of sound, once the riding habit gets into the blood it cannot be purged. I’m afraid that there is more to come out of yours and hers combined wallets.
Thanks, Michelle… I’ve been waiting for someone to ask! Seriously, though, I probably have more than enough for just one book.
One thing I’ve learned, borrowing from William James, is that raising kids is really “the art of knowing what to overlook”… and, of course, what not to.
Gunn, you turkey, If you want to hang your hat on that preseason effort, I’ve got a betting proposition for you. How about we bet every game of the season. If the Chargers win, you owe me $100. If the Seahawks win, I owe you. Of course, if both win or both lose it’s a wash. I may even offer you double or nothing in the playoffs, if Seattle makes it.
Casca… I’ll take you up on your wager… if you’ll limit yourselves to the same players they used last night.
Of course, that would mean NO Ladanian! Hey, Seattle came back, give ‘em their props for one pre-season game, wilya? I’m not betting on that Frenchman surviving his jump, nor am I silly enough to bet on the NFL one game into the pre-season!
Sorry, Casca… I think your Bolts will do well this year and the ‘Hawks will too. If you want to bet, call Vegas.
Glad to help out with the camp thing, Cap’n.
Back in the day, living with the Grand Parent’s on the outskirts of Stockton, I would get sent up to the Gold country,Colombia area, to help out on the farm.
Animal husbandry,field work and prospecting after the chores were done.
Good way to keep occupied and out of trouble!
LMAO, it’s harder to find a sucker there.
Oh, on the question about who are the good-lookin’ wimmin; all I have to say about that, is that my Sweety is rather short and wide by “model” standards, though she may yet put a Gold Dot, which I bought her, through my liver for saying so.
Ah, “model” means, like, “pretend”, that is, not exactly like the real thing?
I am glad she was able to enjoy camp. I love the way your write..
Shelly