Musings

So, I’m off to Las Vegas this evening to visit Carl, and get a tour of the MGM City Center construction site. This is the largest privately funded construction project in the Western hemisphere. I don’t gamble, and the sight of all those people shuffling down the strip, clutching their beer bottles, and searching for the big win, I found to be unbelievably depressing. Sort of a zombie apocalypse lit by neon. We’re going to try and see Ka and that’s exciting. I’ve only seen the Cirque de Soliel on television.

I’m looking forward to a trip that has nothing to do with writing, but I also hate to leave my horse. I spent a long time just standing in the stall, resting my head against him, and stroking and scratching him. He had his eyes half-closed, and his upper lip was quivering because it felt so good to have me getting to the itchy places. Occasionally he’d swing his head around, and press his forehead against my upper arm. He is the best horse in the world. (But then I’m biased.)

Okay, so before I get a substantive post over in the Hollywood/Writing categories I wanted to burble about my amazing horse.

On Friday evening I got to move Vento to the barn that is two and one half miles from my house. I am a very happy human to have him this close, I can tell you. A five minute drive versus a forty minute drive one way. Anyway, so he would be calm and tired before the trailer ride, I turned him loose to play, and he ran and bucked and ran and bucked. He finally wound down, and I entered the indoor to catch him. I thought I might have trouble because he was so wound up, but he came trotting straight to me, and stopped about three feet away.

I walked up to him, and he maneuvered himself until he was standing on my right side with his head right at my shoulder. I decided to try a little experiment. I walked about ten feet, and he walked right beside me. I stopped and he stopped. I retested — same result. I set off walking again, and made a sudden turn. He stayed right with me. We started making serpentines through the arena, and frequent changes of direction, and frequent stops. He stayed with me every step of the way.

I swear, my dog doesn’t heel this well.

Friday was a hectic, busy day. We began at Mark’s at eight for breakfast. In the midst of a raucous meal with some twenty people, the power went out. This offered a real challenge for Dr. Alberto Rojo who was going to give a power point lecture about the “Physics of Jumper” at 10:00 am. Alberto is handsome, charming, a physicist and with a beautiful Argentinian accent that was like warm syrup. He asked if he could tape our conversations so he could write articles for a newspaper in Argentina. We all agreed, but I’m not sure how well we acquitted ourselves. When you’re with a bunch of writers the conversations range from the sublime to the ridiculous. At breakfast we were more on the ridiculous side of the scale.

Since we didn’t see any reason to just sit in the dark we headed over to the university, and just before Alberto’s talk the power came back on. We all sat in on his lecture, and it was great — all about teleportation and entangled particles interspersed with writings from all through history that seemed to hint at an understanding of these issue of quantum mechanics.

Next we were off to the luncheon where Connie Willis served as our master of ceremonies. Steve Gould made a charming speech as did Christopher Stasheff. The luncheon ended with an announcement by Patricia Rogers that she’d convinced JPL to begin naming features on Mars after famous science fiction writers. Some of the first two were our own Jack Williamson and Roger Zelazny. It had most of us in tears.

I bought Steve’s book REFLEX, and now it was quarter to two and time to retire to the Golden Library, Special Collections for an afternoon of panel discussions. Joan Saberhagen was being honored and our first panel was in remembrance of Fred and how much he had given to the field. When you watch a Terminator movie, or the Sarah Conner Chronicles you have Fred to thank. He was the first person to have an interview with a vampire. He was an amazing man. He and Joan helped me find my voice as a writer, and I’ll miss him forever.

After that Connie and agent extraordinaire, Eleanor Wood, were doing a panel on trends in SF and Fantasy. Walter and I got pulled onto that panel too.

The day ended with a panel on From Books to Film (which was the only panel on which I was actually scheduled.) Steve Gould talked about his Jumper experiences, Ed Bryant, who has worked in Hollywood and had stories adapted discussed his time in La La Land. Craig Chrissenger discussed his work as a journalist for Starlog, and I talked about my time in the trenches. Basically we were talking or listening from two o’clock until five twenty. I was exhausted.

But we still had one more wonderful event. Gene and Jeannie Bundy???? were hosting a dinner for all of us, and the as many of the Williamson clan as could attend. We drank wine and ate lasagna, and talked and talked and laughed and remembered.

There was one distressing moment in the evening. I was sitting at the dining room table with Alberto and the topic of race and America came up. He asked me if I thought things had changed in the country, if I thought things were better, and if Obama had a chance. Thankfully, I didn’t make a sweeping statement about how much better things were. I said, I wasn’t sure. The overt racism I witnessed when I was a child and we’d go to Oklahoma to visit my grandmother seemed to be gone, but the stain was probably still there.

And then Alberto told me about being at the Portales Country Club. He was sitting at the bar having a drink and visiting with a gentleman. Now remember, Alberto was teaching at ENMU. The man asked where Alberto came from. When Alberto responded, “Argentina”, the man said, “Oh, I thought you were a beaner.” It had Scott and Ed and I fumbling to make apologies. Alberto shrugged if off. He’d never heard the slur and didn’t know what it meant. When he said as much to the man, the man became uncomfortable and left the room. Another time at the same country club Alberto heard for the first and only time the “N” word used, by a young man.

I was tired after a long two days, and depressed about Jack and Fred and Rick, and these stories just left me devastated. Maybe we really haven’t come as far as I’d hoped. Which brings me to an editorial in todays New York Times that I recommend. It’s Bob Herbert cutting through all the crap about Obama’s “bitter” comment. Herbert’s contention is that Obama tied himself in knots to avoid answering the question of why some working class whites won’t support him. Rather than give the true and obvious answer — “Because I’m a black man.” Obama tried to parse and he ended up talking himself into a hole. Anyway, here is the link. It’s worth reading. www.nytimes.com/2008/04/15/opinion/15herbert.html?hp

Despite that brief moment of shame, it was a wonderful evening. I wanted to keep talking, but exhaustion won and I returned to the hotel. We all gathered for one final breakfast at Mark’s on Saturday morning, and then we all scattered to our various homes. It had that sad, letdown feeling you get at the end of a convention. You’ve spent time with all these people that mean so much to you emotionally and intellectually, and now you’ll part again for months, maybe years.

Fortunately I had company for the drive home. I gave one of my fellow Critical Mass members, Emily Mah, a ride to Albuquerque where she’d left her car. I returned home late on Saturday afternoon to find that the dog hadn’t eaten, but the cats had cleaned their plates. I have strange animals.

I’ve just spent two days riding in a clinic with Christine Traurig. She was on the U.S. Olympic team, and won a bronze metal, which was the best any American rider had ever done up to that time. Dressage at the World Cup and Olympic level is dominated by Germany and Holland. Our Olympic team has also been dominated by German riders — Christine, Gunter Sidel — and now we’re starting to win. Great cars (both my cars are German cars), great horses, great riders and great composers. But I digress.

My coach rode Vento on the first day because she wanted some help with his flying changes. He has a single change, but some days they get muddled as if he can’t figure out what to do with his legs. Christine watched the ride and her conclusion was that he’s just a baby (he just turned six on March 11th), and he doesn’t have the strength yet to hold the canter in a balanced way so he can effect the change. We just need to do more strength training. At one point she had Lauren slow the trot and he started to do a baby passage without any training. Christine says the Spanish horses just take naturally to the piaff and the passage.

But before Lauren rode into the ring we had a little psychodrama. Vento had had a belly ache on Friday so we stopped working him after fifteen minutes, and had the vet out to give him some pain killer. After he got to feeling better I gave him a bath, and walked him dry, then put him in his blanket. Well, Saturday morning the workers at the barn took off his blanket. I checked him and he was still nice and clean. Then I got fascinated watching several of the rides, and when I went to get Vento he had turned himself into a chestnut. The dirt out in El Dorado is very red, and Vento had found a real dust place and just wallowed.

I vacuumed him, I brushed and brushed, I tried spot remover and all that did was turn him into a red muddy horse. There was no time to bath him or even hose him off again. Lauren was furious. Fortunately it’s dark in the indoor arena so he didn’t look too awful unless you got up close to him. Then he was just gross. I was about to run into town to buy him a stall sheet when my friend mentioned she had a sheet that wouldn’t fit her horse anymore. She gave it to me which was very generous, and Vento and I went back into the wash rack for another session of bathe the horse. He pouted — a lot.

Once again I walked him dry then put him in his blanket. Sunday morning I raced to the barn at 7:30 so I could be the one to take off his blanket and put him in the sheet. Again I got the horse giving me the elongated upper lip, because rolling in a sheet just isn’t as much fun. It doesn’t lead to me bouncing up and down and making squeaking noises.

Sunday was my ride. I was nervous because Christine never yells, but she is very, very blunt and she never pulls her punches. We really worked on the canter/walk transitions which teaches a horse to balance on their hind leg and not just fall onto their front end. We also took the outside leg out of the equation as a cue for the canter, and just used the inside leg and seat(hip) to lift him into the canter. By the end of the fifty minutes we were really doing well. I also learned something about the half-pass which is that you send your weight straight down the inside leg into the stirrup. I was trying to push my inside seat bone forward and it was interfering with his movement.

There were a number of people observing my ride. (All women, of course. A straight man in this community would make out like a bandit). They all wanted to see the amateur rider on the six year old stallion. At the end of my ride they all applauded, and one woman told me she wanted my horse. Everybody wanted my horse. They can’t have him.

I don’t want to sound arrogant, but I’m a really good rider. There was a young woman riding in the clinic who has set up as a trainer and instructor. She’s a fearless rider, and will hop on any young horse, but she really doesn’t know very much. Yes, you can get a horse to accept a rider, but if you don’t understand the outside rein, throughness, elasticity, acceptance of the leg, moving from the seat, etc. etc. you’re not really training the horse. Unfortunately this young woman had a bad weekend. I talked with her some, and offered sympathy and recommended that she ride with my coach. I totally understood how she felt. I’ve had some bad weekends too in clinics.

I probably have said this before, but dressage is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And I’ve sung opera, and danced point in ballet, studied piano, and got through law school. This is the most intense combination of physical strength and coordination and mental agility. I love it, but I swear it’s a sport for people with OCD.

But my boy was a star and I learned a lot. I also learned he trailers like a dream, and that’s a big relief. Fighting to get a horse in a trailer is the worst thing in the world.

So tomorrow I’ve got to take part in a meeting to decide what to do with one of the gas wells, and get to work on my story for the Rio Hondo writers workshop, and of course, keep riding.

Some of you may have seen the Clinton/Obama struggle seen through the prism of Frank Herbert’s DUNE courtesy of Snarkyboys.com via Walter Jon Williams www.walterjonwilliams.blogspot.com. (I’m not linking to the Snarky Boys because I’ve been searching for their website and keep getting an error message and I don’t want to pass it on to any readers. If anybody has the correct address for the Boys, please share it with the class.) Anyway, I’m going to reproduce it here

The Dune Theory of Democratic Politics, Revised

We were wrong; Barack Obama is the the Democratic Party’s Kwisatz Haderach. He is the shortening of the way, the one who shall give meaning to our lives and make our planet anew.

Like Paul Muad’Dib, his youth was shaped by the untimely loss of his father, who was not of this land. He has been rigorously trained, and recently endured a painful test at the hands of a Bene Gesserit Witch. He achieved a surprise victory in his first combat and it is said that his greatest power is his voice. By some reckonings, he has come before his time.

His enemies consider him a lightweight and dismiss his followers as religious fanatics, prone to chanting his name over and over. Though he has inherited powerful advisers, his wife is counted as a liability.

His true enemy is accused of launching a preemptive war to secure a precious resource in a desert land. Though this enemy has now left the stage, he has been succeeded by a battle-tested champion. Soon, they shall meet in single combat, and the victor shall take the reins of power.

So, on Thursday morning Ty Frank and I were chatting over cups of coffee and I happened to mention that it sure would have been nice if Bush and the NeoCons had read DUNE before they started on this Quixotic mission to remake Iraq. And we were off to the races. We started riffing over how Iraq could be brought to a satisfactory conclusion a la DUNE. I said Bush would have to go to Iraq expecting a victory, and end up captured and have to offer one of the twins. To Muqtada al Sadr, Ty sang out, and I had to struggle to keep from doing a spit take with coffee.

So, now every time I hear some talking head pontificating about old Muqtada, and start to giggle, though god knows he’s no laughing matter.

We’ve become an MTV culture. We aren’t taking the time to get the full story about anything, and when the problems that face us are vast and complex it would be behoove us to make a deeper study of issues. As evidence of that I’m posting a couple of links that Daniel Abraham has posted on his blog. You’ll find them interesting, and a clear example that things are rarely just black and white. (A phrase that can be viewed as unfortunate or right on the money, depending.) ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2008/03/21/the-full-story-behind-rev-jeremiah-wrights-911-sermon/ And here is the second link ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2008/03/21/the-full-story-behind-wright’s-“god-damn-america”-sermon/

I’m not posting these because I’m an apologist for the Reverend Wright, but so people can see the full context of what was said rather than an endless loop on the Fox network to push their agenda. Some of the more heated remarks, were deplorable, but far less deplorable when read in the context of the entire sermon. And Obama was right — context is everything. The context of a life spent first under Jim Crow and then the fury and violence that followed integration.

Also, as I’ve posted elsewhere. There have been times when I have been so deeply ashamed of my country, and wanted to curse it too. Watching film of policemen in the South loosing dogs on peaceful protesters, and blasting them with water cannons, the McCarthy hearings, Chicago in ‘68, the bombing of Cambodia, Abu Ghraib, the My Lai massacre. The reason these events infuriate me and break my heart are because I know the promise and greatness of this country. I want to see us match our ideals. But I will not just blindly support my country. I’m going to challenge myself and my leaders to live up to our those ideals.

I should of worked this morning. Instead I watched the telecast of Senator Barack Obama’s amazing speech about issues of race in these early years of the twenty-first century. I think it was one of the most amazing speeches I’ve ever heard, and I think it will rank with King’s “I have a dream” speech. It was both thoughtful and practical and soaring when it needed to be. He did not play it safe. It was a gutsy speech both as a black man and as a Democrat. He invited people to have the discussion — to talk about their anger and resentment _one both sides_. He acknowledged the anger of whites against busing and affirmative action. He acknowledged the anger of blacks, particularly black men, against decades of Jim Crow

Just as we’ve been fighting the Vietnam war over and over again between Bush and Kerry, we’ve been fighting the civil rights struggles of the 1960’s over and over again. Obama is inviting us, urging us to see how far we’ve come, accept that we have a distance to travel yet, and join forces to make that journey.

You can read the speech, but I urge folks to watch it and read it at www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/03/18/obama-race-speech-read-t_n_92077.html

I wanted to give an alert to any readers of my blog about a very worthy fund raising effort. As some of you may know, the wonderful author Terry Pratchett has been diagnosed with a form of early on-set Alzheimer’s. Terry has donated one million dollars for research, and is asking that people match his donation. You can donate and get all the details at www.matchitforpratchett.org

No one should have to suffer the indignity of this disease, and there is promising new research. Let’s help with the effort.

Thanks,

That I love my horse. Except when I want to kill him. Like today. I had a great riding lesson, and he seems to be accepting my refitted saddle which is a big relief. I did not need to buy a new saddle right now. Well, great might be a bit strong. I learned a lot, but he was lazy because I could tell he needed to pee when I was saddling him. I left the saddle off to try and get him to urinate, but he just stretched out and then looked at me, so the saddle had to go on and we had to ride. When he has to pee he doesn’t like to really move — which is understandable. When I finished riding he started to stretch under me so I hopped off, and pulled off the saddle and just turned him loose in the arena to roll, and… oh,… pee. But he just kept standing at the gate flirting with Lauren and me.

I then learned from Lauren that a big article is being written about her and about Lusitanos as dressage horses, and the woman is coming to interview her and take photos on Friday. Lauren wants me to ride Vento for the photo shoot because an amateur rider on a six year old stallion (BTW, he turned six yesterday) says it all about the disposition of the Lusitano. So, I’ve got to be at the barn at 8:00 am, and on the horse at 9:15, and out of there by 10:00. Boy is Friday going to be a long day.

Anyway, the cold and snow and mud has meant that Vento hasn’t had a bath and he’s very dirty horse. But he has to look great for his close-up on Friday so he needed a bath. We were actually above sixty degrees this afternoon, and the wash rack has a heater on the ceiling so I figured I’d scrub him with my blueing shampoo. We got through the bath with only the sleeves of my sweater soaked. (Usually when I bathe a horse they manage to soak me from head to foot.) I put a wool cooler on him and took him for a walk in the sunshine. He was blindingly white, just beautiful.

He was dancing around, because he _still hadn’t peed_, and making it hard for me to walk him. He was pretty dry so I took off the cooler and turned him loose in one of the turn-outs. Which are footed with sand. Very find sand. He gave a little grunting whicker, and hit the ground before I could react. I’ve never seen a horse roll that fast. When he got up he looked like he was breading himself in preparation for a run through the deep fryer.

He got another bath. Then he stood under the heater while I cleaned tack. And then I locked him in his stall where it’s just sawdust over rubber mats. He was not happy with me. I got home at six o’clock. Because my horse thought he wanted to be a hush puppy.

I’ve been really good, and haven’t burbled about Vento for several weeks. But… have I mentioned I love my horse? Today I’ve got a riding lesson in the morning, and a saddle fitting in the afternoon. I’ve been riding in borrowed saddles since I got my boy, and it hasn’t been fun for either of us. Finally we tried a Legacy that my friends owns, and it fits him wonderfully, but then I’m having to make sure I don’t overlap with her ride times, and we don’t get to ride together.

A lot of people don’t realize the importance of a good fitting saddle. They just throw the same saddle on different horses, and ride off. That’s why most horses are going through life with chronic back pain. I’d never get that far with Vento — he’s the horse version of the heroine in Once Upon a Mattress (which if you don’t do musical comedy is a retelling of the Princess and the Pea). Anyway, if I put a saddle on him that doesn’t fit right he tightens up his back, closes his shoulder so his strides get much shorter, and eventually he starts bucking when I try to canter. The Iberian Prince will not tolerate an ill fitting saddle!

The saddle we are adjusting was custom made for my horse Pi. Fortunately on a Schleese saddle the tree itself can be adjusted. Which is good because Pi’s back measured as a medium width, and Vento wears an extra-wide saddle. For those of you who have never done this I’ll give a little background. First the saddle technician just stands in front of the horse and behind the horse and looks down his back. Then they measure with a flexible piece of metal. If they decide to go all the way they pull out this device that fits across the entire back like a saddle, but it has hundreds of soft pins in it. When you lift it off you have a three dimensional picture of the horse’s back. Horse’s are generally left footed so often the right side of their body is not as well developed as the left.

Once that is done the technician takes my saddle, and cuts open the leather. She then expands the tree, and reflocks the saddle. Usually a saddle is stuffed with lambs wool between the tree and the leather. She flocks based on what the pin measure showed, so there will be more padding on the side of his back that is less developed, etc. The goal is that the saddle sits level on his back, doesn’t pinch and impede his shoulders or pinch or put pressure unevenly on his back. Saddles are now made with really wide gullets (the channel on the underside of the saddle that runs down the middle of the horse’s spine) In the old days they were very narrow, but now they realize you don’t want to have anything pressing on the horse’s spine. If you do it impedes the swing of their back, and that’s what gives you those big floating steps.

Anyway, now you’ve heard more about saddles than you ever wanted to know. But maybe the other writers will find it useful. And I got to talk about my horse — because when I’m not riding him I’m thinking about when I get to ride him again.