Year of the Fire Horse

Each zodiac year combines the animal with one of the Five Elements. Fire Horse is the most intense Horse type, and the Year of the Fire Horse begins today. After doing some research into the meaning of the Fire Horse and how it may impact my world, I saved some of the results here.

There’s a lot to ponder as the year unfolds. I just returned from my annual trip to the Winter Equestrian Festival in Wellington, Florida, where I touched base with many friends and connected with some who might become influential in the near future. (I took a hiatus from daily posting while there due to the busy schedule.) I know it sounds cryptic, but I’m still not sure how many changes I’m comfortable making this year and how it will all transpire. But whatever happens, the Year of the Fire Horse will be one of change.

Fire Horse traits:

• Extra boldness and passion

• Strong leadership energy

• Willingness to take risks

• Big ideas, fast movement, decisive action

• Fire amplifies the Horse’s natural traits — for better and worse.

• Why Fire Horse Years Are “Famous”

Historically (especially in East Asian cultures), Fire Horse years have had a reputation for being: disruptive; transformational; full of major social or personal shifts. This belief comes largely from the 1966 Fire Horse year, which coincided with political, cultural, and social upheaval in parts of Asia.

Important note: This is cultural astrology, not destiny — many Fire Horse people are highly successful, creative, and influential.

What 2026 May Feel Like (Collectively) Fire Horse years tend to emphasize:

• Change over comfort

• Action over planning

• Courage over caution

It can be an excellent year for:

• Reinvention

• Creative risks

• Entrepreneurship

• Leaving what no longer fits

But it’s wise to avoid impulsive decisions, pace yourself and think long-term before acting.

If You’re Planning Something Around 2026, whether it’s a creative project, a business launch, a symbolic theme…the Horse + Fire combination is powerful, energetic, and very on-brand for momentum and courage.

Listen Between the Lines

My horoscope for the week was quite interesting.

“Your inner dialogue becomes more reflective and less reactive. You may notice thoughts drifting toward meaning rather than logistics. Writing, speaking, or teaching takes on a more intuitive quality. Information arrives through observation rather than direct or loud answers, making this is a time to listen between the lines. You refine how you communicate without forcing conclusions. And please know that Insight emerges naturally when you stay present. Mantra: I allow understanding to unfold with absolute ease.”

I’m traveling to Florida to work, and I always enjoy the road trips for the quiet time to think. Sometimes I listen to audio books, and other times music, but often I just drive in silence. For as long as I can remember, driving has been a way for me to dig a little deeper into my head. It’s my time to meditate, especially on the long hauls down I-95.

While I’m at the horse show, I’ll keep this advice in the back of my head and see what materializes. I’m open to new thoughts and ideas right now without Ink Horse Publishing. It will also be a sad anniversary, for on this trip last year I had my last conversation with Michelle. Maybe her spirit will inspire me to forge a new and different path. I will do my best to listen..

Making Sense of Sense and Sensibility

The novels by Jane Austen have never been on my bookshelf until now, when I purchased a three-book collection before attending this play. Over the years, I’ve heard the hype and maybe even did read one during high school, but, honestly, I don’t remember.

But when a member of my semi-dormant book club asked about going to the play Sense and Sensibility, of course I replied with an enthusiastic “Yes!” I absolutely love going to live productions, whether it be opera, symphonies or plays. I was 13 on my first trip to Broadway, and I fondly remember so many details of the night, from our trip up to the top of the World Trade Center for an early dinner at Windows on the World, to the yellow taxi ride to the theater and then sitting mesmerized (in the second or third row center) watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs performed under the lights. It was life changing.

On this night, the three of us enjoyed a fantastic meal at Sorelle on Broad Street in Charleston before traversing the crowded streets to the Dock Street Theater. It happened to be the first Friday of the month, which is the Charleston Art Walk, so the galleries were open and people were bundled up and walking, some with wine in hand, to enjoy the art and night out.

Our seats were fantastic (thank you Theresa!), third row center. We were close enough to see the actors’ facial expressions clearly and even hear them breathe. The costumes were period appropriate, and the stage and backdrops were fun and well done. But the play itself left us a bit confused.

Fortunately for me, I’d started reading the book last week, so I could follow the first act and into the second (I will finish the book now that I know the ending). But Kristin was lost quite quickly when several actors began playing dual or triple roles. It took me a few minutes to understand the situation, too, even with the costume changes. It was unfortunate that there weren’t enough actors to fill the stage; one matron later in the play was even brought in as a mannequin without a head! Weird. After the intermission, the entire row to my right remained empty…a sad testament to the confusion I believe.

But we stayed until the end, enthusiastically clapping for the actors as they took their bows. Maybe it wasn’t a Broadway-level performance, but I still enjoyed their enthusiasm for their work and art. As I gazed behind me during the final bows, I even saw some patrons offering a standing ovation. And that’s what I love about art. It’s not a one-size-fits-all. Each of us have different preferences and see things through our unique perspectives. Kristin gave it a B-, and Theresa and I agreed, but I still give everyone who performed an A for effort.

Yes To The Moon

Tonight I had an interesting conversation while at a friend’s dinner party. At the end of a wonderful meal, and after several bottles of nice red wine were consumed, one person at the table mentioned that she didn’t believe astronauts had ever landed on the moon.

I’d heard about those who believed in conspiracy theories surrounding the moon landing and moon walks, but I’d actually never met someone who said this out loud in a conversation. I was intrigued, as were our other dinner companions. She firmly believes that it was all a hoax and that it all took place in a TV or movie studio somewhere, perhaps in California.

It certainly gave me something to ponder as we drove home. And, ironically, when I did sit down to write this post I realized that today (thanks to my random facts calendar) was the anniversary of the Apollo 14 moonwalk back in 1971! How crazy is that?

I had just met this lovely person at the party, and we had a fun conversation throughout the night. I enjoyed her company immensely, so this revelation was a bit of a surprise. Not that a few hours is enough time to get to know someone well, but maybe in the back of my mind I expected conspiracy theorists to be ignorant, dumb rednecks. And she was far from that—a well educated, traveled and accomplished professional.

I barely remember the moon landings or walks since I was in pre-school at the time, but I do recall how my parents were glued to our black-and-white TV and so excited to watch the breaking news specials with Walter Cronkite. In a hazy memory, I also remember sitting in a big classroom full of children while we watched the live broadcast on a TV that was wheeled in just for the day. That may have been the 1971 mission.

Even though there are doubters out there, and obviously some that will surprise me, I’m going to keep believing. And when I Googled it, there are even videos online to rewatch. This was the moon landing where Alan Shepard hit two golf balls he’d brought with him with a makeshift club. How would anyone have thought to make that up?

Goodbye Washington Post

I’ve read the Washington Post for most of my life. While growing up in the Maryland suburbs when my father worked in Washington, D.C., WaPo was a fixture on our kitchen table, and over meals we regularly talked about articles or news that we’d read that day.

For me, the paper was also an inspiration growing up. As a budding photographer, especially through high school, I would study the images taken by the photojournalists and learned a lot simply through studying their composition and viewpoints even without knowing their camera settings or having the quality equipment they did. My professional photography career was definitely influenced by their many Pulitzer Prize-winning staff members.

Therefore, it was so disheartening to learn that today Bezos fired nearly 1/3 of the WaPo staff, including all of the staff photographers—while concurrently, he spent millions of dollars promoting the Melania documentary that Amazon funded.

I was conflicted throughout the day and into the night as I considered how to react. On the one hand, I subscribe to three daily newspapers to keep abreast of the news and read different viewpoints while supporting the journalists and photojournalists who continue on in the business. However, when Bezos purchased WaPo, I wondered how that would change the freedom of their reporting. Now I know.

Over the months, I kept paying my dues each month, but today was the final straw. I canceled my subscription. I’m one small subscriber, but I imagine there are many others like me who clicked that cancel button today.

It’s a sad day in journalism when one of the richest men in the world chooses and has the power to change the narrative of one of the country’s flagship newspapers from reporting the news to becoming a PR machine.

As the the National Press Photographers Association said: “Every time a photojournalist and picture editor is laid off in our profession, it is one less set of eyes to document a reality that often challenges official narratives. And we grieve with all of our members who have seen their staff positions upended over the years. To have this happen in our nation’s capital, at a critical time when accountability has never been more important, is deeply troubling. Our association is committed to supporting independent visual journalists, and we will continue to do so as the news business model continues to struggle through economic crisis.”

One Soul in All

“The majority think that only they are important and others are not.” That’s Tolstoy’s thought for today.

Wow, that truly hits home this morning after I awoke to an update on the president’s plan to close the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts for “renovations.” According to the Washington Post’s reporting, Trump is planning to mostly tear it down just as he did to the East Wing of the White House.

“I’m not ripping it down. I’ll be using the steel,” he told reporters.

After digesting more of the article, I clicked on the comments, which resulted in even more angst. One commenter wrote: “Does he not know that the Carrera marble was a gift from Italy, the chandeliers were from Austria and Norway, the silk stage curtains are from Japan…all gifts to the United States from countries around the world to honor President Kennedy. The building is not just a performance center, but a memorial to a slain leader loved and respected around the world! He has no right to arbitrarily make any changes and certainly absolutely no authority to destroy what was so lovingly built and cared for over the years!”

And another added that major renovations to the building were completed in 2019, costing more than $200 million, so it’s not in shambles or dilapidated as Trump claims. We’re not stupid. We know the true reason that he’s closing the Kennedy Center and likely tearing it down is because he cannot control the fallout from adding his name to the building in front of Kennedy’s. With many artists and patrons boycotting the Center, he’s decided to close it altogether to avoid the embarrassment of empty seats and canceled performances.

It’s hard to convey my emotions. I feel for the Kennedy family and the Center’s staff who must stand by and watch as this autocratic leader plays with our history and people’s livelihoods without a care. And, I must admit, I feel bitter hatred toward our “leaders” who do nothing while allowing this crazed individual to demolish our republic and the institutions that our predecessors worked so hard to establish.

I reread Tolstoy’s words just now, which do bring some comfort. “There are, however, kind and clever people who understand that the lives of others and animals are as important as their own, and genuinely care about others.” Yes, they are out there, but, sadly, they are being killed and deported and silenced by a minority that holds power.

Humans have a long way to go before Tolstoy’s words ring true, if ever they do: “You will understand this l life only when you will see yourself in every person.”

The Artists Make the Kennedy Center Great

Once again, the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts is in the news. I awoke to read that the president has decided to close the Center for two years for renovations. He said in a tweet last night that it’s closed for “Construction, Revitalization, and Complete Rebuilding.” He continues, “This important decision, based on input from many Highly Respected Experts, will take a tired, broken, and dilapidated Center and turn it into a World Class Bastion of Arts, Music and Entertainment, far better than it has ever been before.”

My heart sank. The Kennedy Center is not meant to showcase a building and all the (fake) gilded accoutrements that Trump surrounds himself with in the now ridiculous Oval Office. Its role is to showcase PEOPLE and the ART they create. It’s a backdrop to allow the performances and the creative arts to shine, rather as plain white walls in museums are designed to allow paintings to take center stage and sculptures to stand without distraction.

The memories of the Kennedy Center of my youth are grand because of the scale of the building and the simplicity and grace of the design. I love the red carpets and the elegant light fixtures, which welcome you inside and provide a hint of the main attraction—whether it be classic tuxedo-clad orchestra players or elaborate, glittering costumes of the opera singers—which awaits you beyond the glass doors.

“Far better than it has ever been before”…are Trumps words. For more than 50 years the Kennedy Center has hosted thousands of the world’s best artists in their respective fields. How can that be improved? Those who put their hearts and souls into their performances and lived a life of creativity to entertain and educate the rest of us are WHO make the Kennedy Center great. Their talents allow us to immerse ourselves into the amazing, stretch our senses beyond the norm, and revel in what human beings can do and create. We then exit through that classical “white space” as we leave the building and slowly soak in what we’ve just witnessed. It’s that slow release—without gilded distractions—that allows us to create our own special memories and feelings that may last a lifetime.

No matter how the Kennedy Center is transformed in the years to come, I’ll always savor those memories I made there. I’ll especially recall the red carpet that carried me down the stairs to my seat and into the minds of those remarkable people who took the stage and made magic happen right before my eyes.

Snow Day

Well, it wasn’t the storm that deserved all the hype it received. Nevertheless, it was fun to watch the snow fall last night and wake to a white world, the second consecutive year Charleston has had a snowstorm with measurable precipitation. Last year’s storm was much more significant (maybe six inches?), but even with much less than anticipated, it was a a great excuse for a “snow day.”

Poppy and I were up early to play and take photos before the melting began, and throughout the day her dog friends (and my human ones) came over to run around and chat in our long, black Patagonia and North Face coats. In between the outdoor forays, I read and practiced taekwondo, deliberately avoiding actual work on the computer. It was a peaceful day, which reminded me of the many snow days of my past.

Since living here, I’ve struggled to sit down and relax during the days I should have off. I always feel like I need to be working (making money), working out (staying fit), cleaning (endless), doing laundry (endless again), cooking, walking the dog or running errands. I remember the many days at Huntland, in Ohio and in Paris when I could sit without guilt and simply read the newspaper a magazine or a book for hours. Today, I forced myself to do just that, and it was lovely.

I’ve now finished both of my February book club books (Parable of the Sower and The Correspondent), and will be starting Sense and Sensibility tonight in preparation for the play on Friday night of the same name. I’m grateful that snow became my great excuse today to take a break from the “real world.” Or, at least the one I envision I should be creating every day.

Love is Hard

Tolstoy’s thought for today is love. We are supposed to find contentment and joy in loving God and all other people.

“In order to be happy, you need do only one thing: love others.” While this is a gallant mission, here in these United States it’s pretty much a lost cause. Sadly, hate and divisiveness are the two predominant themes when one reads the news and follows politics.

Today, I worked at my desk most of the day, alternating editing articles for the magazine and reading the newspapers. I’m trying to be optimistic, but it’s difficult to believe that our world is going in the right direction and that love will prevail in the end. Unfortunately, hate is on everyone’s lips. If you’re not on the “right” side, then hate is the result.

My friend Howard called tonight and suggested a few articles for me to read, including an opinion piece by David Brooks called “Time to Say Goodbye.” I read it multiple times, trying to soak up the wisdom, history and direction he imparted. It’s a dense piece. I will save it for future reference and reread it again when I feel cynicism seeping back in. But, my one big takeaway is that there’s hope for a better tomorrow.

He says in conclusion: If America could once again restore its secure emotional, material and spiritual base, maybe we could recover a smidgen of our earlier audacity. Oscar Wilde joked that youth is America’s oldest tradition. Maybe it’s time the country matured, and combined youthful energy with the kind of humility and wisdom that Reinhold Niebuhr packed into one of his most famous passages:

”Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as it is from our standpoint. Therefore we must be saved by the final form of love, which is forgiveness.”

There’s that word love again. It may be struggling for a foothold in our country at the moment, but hopefully it will endure.

Besties

One of the best things about living in this neighborhood is the dog community. We’re so fortunate to have nearly a dozen dog friends to play with on any given day. From the newest member, Fife, to our pals Kricket, Rusty, Boone, Theodore, Tito, Cookie, Katie, Coomie, Cheeto and others who drop in now and then.

Our yard is affectionately called the “dog park” since Poppy invites her friends over to swim in the pool during the warmer months and chase one another through she shrubbery. We’re also across from the Common Lot, which is our neighborhood’s unofficial off-leash playground.

The black super mutt Fife is Poppy’s newest pal. After Winston moved away in November, Fife joined our pack on a regular basis, and now he’s near the top of Poppy’s favorites list. Poppy is fond of going to Fife’s house, since he has a pool with a ledge, which she’s leaps in regularly during their playdates.

It’s wonderful having a best friend when you’re young. Mine was Julie, who now lives in Asheville, North Carolina. I don’t see her as often as I’d like, but we still keep in touch and have been friends nearly our whole lives. Whenever I pick up the phone and call her, it’s like we talked just yesterday. Those are special friends to cherish for life. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time I give Julie a call!

Added Sleep Pressure

The latest Apple IOS update included an addition to the Health app. A sleep score. At first, when it popped up on my phone in the morning I was thinking, “OK, this is kind of cool. I get a grade on my sleep.”

But then, when I received scores in the 60s for three consecutive days, I wasn’t as pleased. Did I really want to wake up in the morning to already be nearly failing? The app decides how well you slept, how close you were to your prescribed bedtime and whether the time you slept was sufficient.

The big question in my mind as the weeks progressed was, “Do I want an app pressuring me to make my bedtime when I had two chapters left in a book I couldn’t put down? Or, who decides if my chronic wakefulness in the middle of the night when Poppy has to go out at 3:13 am is bad?” Shouldn’t I take care of my pup’s needs before my own?

In any case, I’ve kept the app on my phone, and I do look forward to it in the mornings I’ve had a good night’s sleep. On those other mornings, I just pretend it’s not there.

So, it was especially gratifying to finally crack into the 90s this week. And, in truth, I did sleep great and wake up before my alarm. The score of 96 was a surprise, though, since I’d struggled with more 60s earlier in the week and didn’t expect to leapfrog up the scale that much.

I’m still on the fence about keeping sleep score going. I do think about it when I prepare for bed now, which isn’t a bad thing necessarily. So, I suppose anything that encourages better sleep is positive for your health, but at the end of this first quarter if I can’t at least score a B, I’m going to drop this class.

Snow Prep

We are still days away from the predicted snow storm this weekend, but the hype is already starting here in Charleston. I went downtown today to get my hair cut, and King Street was abnormally quiet. I’ll admit, though, it’s cold for here—temperatures in the 40s with a brisk wind off the harbor. Nevertheless, I walked to Buxton Books, as is my habit, and picked up a new book from the New York Times bestseller list. I love to support our local bookstores!

But, when I stopped at the grocery on the way home, I noticed the shelves were already starting to empty, especially the milk and bread. Thankfully, I wasn’t there for those items, and I went through the store finding just what I needed, including a nice BOGO on a good bottle of wine.

So, as we progress toward what could be the second consecutive year of a measurable amount of snow in Charleston, which would be a modern record, I’ll prepare accordingly. (I’ve been here for all four major snowstorms since 1989. Yes, that’s correct. Just FOUR times it’s snowed more than a couple of inches.)

The best part of the waiting is observing the neighborhood kids as they pray for a snow day. Last year, we gave them our two boogie boards to use as sleds, and it was entertaining to watch them slide down whatever slopes they could find, including the front steps of their house!

Time will tell if the forecast comes to fruition, but I’ll be prepared. Another trip to the grocery is on the agenda today—the BOGO on a nice Paso Robles Cab is hard to pass up!

The Eyes Have It

You don’t mess around with eyes. I’ve learned that over the many decades having horses and dogs. When something seems amiss, an eye is draining, squinting or puffy, you call the vet. Pronto. In fact, just last weekend I judged an IEA horse show that included a one-eyed horse. I don’t know how he lost his eye, but I imagine it was something that could have been prevented with proper care earlier in his life. That horse is now a cherished member of his show stable—and did remarkably well jumping around—but it reminded me again of the fragility of eyes.

When Poppy’s right eye began to have noticeable discharge a few weeks ago, I monitored it, cleaned her face and carefully observed any changes in her behavior. But when she began rubbing her eyes with her paws and shaking her head more often, I knew it was time to take action.

So, yesterday we took her to Cam’s vet clinic, the Animal Eye Institute, for a check. I was relieved that all the many tests were normal (much like a human eye exam with a Schirmer tear test, corneal stain and glaucoma pressure check. They suggested a nasolacrimal irrigation, which we did to be sure there was no blockage (there wasn’t). So, the end result was a mild case of conjunctivitis to be treated with antibiotic eye drops for a few weeks.

Poppy didn’t seem too stressed about her trip to the clinic, and I think having Cam there to hold her and be by her side comforted her. She went home a little groggy, but it was a small price to pay for a clear diagnosis.

Two Tons

Two tons. That’s a lot of books. Today I received my remaining books from the Ingram warehouse, which now ends my connection to PGW, the company that we worked with to distribute Ink Horse Publishing books.

It was a bittersweet day as I sat in the parking lot awaiting the tractor trailer to arrive and drop off the pallets. Two hours to think about Michelle and all the plans we had to create a business to help writers, especially equestrians, make their publishing dreams come true. It was a great four years. We had a small stable of writers moving their projects forward, and I had two books in progress, as well.

While I sat in my car, I cracked open a new book club book. It felt so good in my hands, the thick hardcover with a beautiful dust jacket, and the aroma of fresh ink and paper wafted upward while the seat heater no doubt contributed to the flow. I’ll never tire of the feeling of a book in my hands. I’ve tried reading on a Kindle and iPad, but it’s just not the same for me. Audio books, too. I do listen to them when on long trips, but much prefer the tactile feel of a book.

With the help of my husband and son, we offloaded the 25-pound boxes of books from the pallets to the carts to the storage unit. As I gazed at the boxes stacked tall inside, I wondered how I will sell these on my own and if so many other people would still cherish the feel of a brand new book in their hands…if they will click on the ad or the social media post and push the buy button. I guess I will soon know as I begin the next chapter of selling the books on my website without a distributor. It’s time for me to begin yet another tutorial on advertising and algorithms. I’m fortunate that I enjoy learning and accept the challenge with open arms. And each time I box up another book for a reader, I will hope they find excitement and education within the pages and notice the fine smell of ink on paper.

Happy Heavenly Birthday

Happy Birthday, Michelle. I wish I were able to celebrate it with you. It’s the first birthday you’ve had in years where I didn’t send you a present, text or call and share in your celebratory day. The day you came into this world, which was a blessed one.

I remember last year on this day. I sent you a plant arrangement, thinking that it was so much better than flowers that die so quickly. With your green thumb, it would live a long life and allow you to enjoy tending to it for the foreseeable future. I thought that maybe when you watered it you’d think of me and my inability to keep anything green alive.

Looking back, at this time last year I had no idea how far your cancer had spread, and we were still talking and texting every day. The previous day I’d edited Chapter 1 of Elizabeth’s book, and I was preparing to send it to you to review. You were feeling better after your session with Chris the day before but still a bit sore and sleepy.

We talked about crafting an email together to Elizabeth about the edits needed and how we were mapping out our plan to have it finished in the next couple of months. I was taking the first developmental edit, and you were going to fine-tune it on the second when you felt better. We made such a great team.

Our conversation was typical. We talked about what you were having for dinner—mushroom ravioli with pink vodka sauce—and watching the football playoffs. It was great having you as a best friend and sharing the minute details of life. I’ve missed that.

January 25th will always be a day of remembrance, when I think back about our decades together and the publishing business we built that had so much promise. It was an exciting four years, and we had accomplished so much. Ironically, tomorrow the remaining books are supposed to be delivered to my storage unit from the Ingram warehouse. I just couldn’t keep Ink Horse alive without you; it was lonely and hard without your creativity and support.

So, I wish you the happiest of birthdays wherever you may be in this universe. I hope that you know how much you are missed by those who love you. Knowing how you believed in a higher power out there, I have a feeling you do.

Brrr at Bellroy Stables

See that small covered judge’s booth in between the two rings? That’s where I spent today judging the Bellroy Stables IEA Horse Show. I realized on the drive home that I’d not remembered to take a photo from my spot overlooking the ring as I usually do, so this one from their website must suffice. One reason was that I was most concerned with keeping my hands warm, and my gloves were on most of the time with my phone tucked in the pocket of my much-needed battery-heated coat.

Despite the frigid weather, it was a fun show to judge, with six schools represented and very friendly officials and hosts. I hadn’t worked an IEA show in several years, so when they asked and I was free, I accepted the job. It was a two-hour drive each way, and I enjoyed the relaxing time in the car with the good fortune to time it just right to listen to the Top-40 countdown from 1976 both ways. I had to laugh thinking that the parents cheering on their children showing were not even born in ‘76. Wow, am I old.

Judging IEA shows is quite different than my usual shows, but they are a good reminder about the breadth and depth of our sport. Unlike USEF competitors, most of these riders will never be able to afford to own their own horse. But the IEA program allows them to compete on borrowed horses at shows hosted by schools and private stables where they compete on teams. Their camaraderie is refreshing, and it brings back memories of how I started riding and showing school horses before I had my own. I hope that some of these riders go on to enjoy horses beyond their school years and that their IEA experience ignites a lifelong passion for horses. They’ve enriched my life, and I’m so glad that I can flash back now and then to my youth and remember where I began on similar, scruffy Appaloosas, crossbred ponies and off-the-track Thoroughbreds. They may not beautiful or athletically gifted, but they are blessed with hearts of gold.

A Walk to William Pitt

“When law ends. Tyranny begins.”

Today, I walked with my friend Howard to the Charleston County Judicial Building to visit a sculpture he’d recently discovered there of William Pitt. The statue stands alone in the long corridor that visitors use to enter and exit the building. Its imposing presence, along with Pitt’s wise words, give you the impression that he’s overseeing all that happens in this plain brick building and that law is being carried out as intended in our constitution.

I was only here once before, and, unfortunately, I don’t recall noticing Pitt. But I was preoccupied with the role I was playing that day as a witness to a divorce proceeding. It was an emotional day, and I was there to support a dear friend as she finalized her marriage contract and gained her freedom.

But, in today’s political climate, Pitt’s words are even more meaningful. We as a country are being challenged daily as the line where law enforcement begins and ends is pushed beyond the norm of the past three or four decades. I wasn’t alive during the Civil Rights movement, but from what I’ve read we’re seeing flashbacks to those times where normal Americans are standing up for their rights.

As I studied the plaques and the history of this statue that arrived in Charleston in 1766, prior to our American Revolution, I thought about what freedom means and how fortunate I am to be born in this country. The United States has fought many wars since this sculpture of Pitt arrived and was placed in the center of Meeting and Broad streets, where he was later damaged by cannon fire during the Revolution and relocated to safer locations until finding his way to the Judicial Center. Our laws are intended to retain our freedoms and uphold the constitution. I hope that as 2026 continues toward the November midterm elections, we remember Pitt and law does prevail over tyranny.

Big Storm?

So, for the past three or four days, we’ve been inundated with maps and models predicting the '“storm of the century,” that will encompass the East Coast. I’ve been watching the Capital Weather Gang, my go-to meteorologists, and they’ve even gotten into the hype.

When we lived in Virginia, we had some quite memorable show storms, including a handful when we were snowed in for days and even up to a week. During the lead-ups to those events, it was hard not to get caught up in the excitement and anticipation. The grocery stores would be packed, with bare shelves of bread and milk, and it was almost a game to try and wait until the last minute to prepare.

Now that we’re in the South, we can observe from afar and reminisce about all of those crazy times. The likelihood that we’ll receive even a bit of rain had dwindled to 10 percent. Instead, we’ll observe our home from the cameras and hope that the power stays on so we can see how much snow actually falls on the mountain.

While I don’t miss the cold, I do kind of miss the snow days when we could huddle around the fireplace and have a great excuse to do nothing but read and relax. Maybe on Sunday I can pretend it’s a snow day and pull out a book while having the Weather Channel on in the background. Or, I could take Poppy for a walk on the beach? Whichever I choose, I’m glad to be in the South!

Our Bubble

This image a friend posted on Facebook this morning truly stopped me in my tracks. I’ve often felt like I’m living in a bubble when I’m tucked cozily in my horse show world and focused on my sport and my career.

This morning, though, I listened to the president speak at Davos while I worked at my desk. I rarely if ever spend time watching TV or live broadcasts of politics, but I do subscribe to three newspapers and pick and choose articles to read each morning. I want to know what’s going on in the world to be informed, but most of the time it’s not specifically relevant to my daily life. For that, I’m fortunate.

More and more often over the course of the past year I’ve felt that my bubble was close to bursting. I’m straddling the line between wanting to live my normal life that, admittedly, is pretty comfortable, and being empathetic to those who are struggling and wondering how to help. It’s becoming clearer to me that our horse show bubble won’t keep us safe if our world changes dramatically.

Today was difficult. Listening to what’s happening in our world was frightening and downright devastating.

Inner Child

Some days it’s hard to be an adult. There are so many commitments, tasks, work and projects that need to be done that it’s overwhelming. Daily life becomes crossing off each item on the list, a goal that feels good when it’s accomplished, but there’s always another to-do list waiting for you the next day.

Yesterday, Cam and I finally talked my mother into painting. Three months ago, she’d expressed a wish to paint again, and the three of us took a fun trip to the art supply store in downtown Charleston for canvas, paint, brushes and knives. We placed the sleek tubes of oil paint next to her easel and set a canvas upon it. There they waited. And waited.

Cam and I decided to take the initiative and talk her into painting with us. We set up two easels and a drafting table, and the three of us spent 2 1/2 hours throwing paint on canvases. Once she was sitting down with everything in front of her, my mom took up her knife and went to town painting from a photo I’d taken in Alaska.

As we were cleaning and organizing her studio over the weekend, I found some drawings I’d created as a very small child. My mother had used them as stencils to make pillows for me, and I’d loved them so much I’d decorated my college bedroom with them.

While my mother and son chose gorgeous mountain landscapes to paint, I decided to channel my inner child and see if I could once again become that creative soul I once was. Even back then, all I thought about were horses. I have pages and pages of similar drawings, some becoming more realistic as I aged, but always done with creative colors and free flowing strokes of the pen and crayon.

How did I do all these years later? It’s definitely a work in progress. I used to love to paint and draw, but I haven’t picked up a brush in decades. As I sketched out the horse on the canvas, I tried to let my mind go and allow my hand to take the wheel without thinking too much. The colors I chose to start with will likely change slightly during my next session, but I’m pleased with the start. I see some similarities to my younger years, but I still need to focus less and play more.

As the afternoon sun drifted behind the trees and our sunlit room dimmed, we all three paused to check each other’s work. We agreed it was a great way to spend time together, and the hours passed by way too quickly. What was most rewarding was my mother’s enjoyment and excitement at creating again, and she laughed and smiled brightly at her paint-covered hands as we took photos to commemorate the day. We may never have our work hanging for others to see, but these paintings will remind us of special time spent together.