Friday, May 20, 2016

The Hard Way

If I were to write an autobiography, I believe I would call it "The Hard Way."  Ever since I was a little girl, my father has expressed his frustrations and amusement with many of my actions by saying "You do everything the hard way!"  He was not wrong.  He continues to not be wrong- at least in this particular area.  What can I say? This is how I learn!  Try first, read directions when your first (or second or third) try does not work.

Before I begin the farm stories, I wanted to share a little background for those who do not know me well.  I was fortunate to be raised by two loving parents in a wonderful neighborhood with my big sister Stacy.  I had a rather charmed childhood, although, like most children, I never appreciated it at the time.

Although I give them a hard time, my parents both always support me, even when they disagree with my choices. My dad, who has a strong dislike of horses and my riding, has always made sure he is at every event to cheer me on.  My mother who worries constantly about me being alone is always still pushing me to enjoy life and not take anything for granted.  My sister has grown to appreciate my farm life as she thoroughly enjoys a farm fresh egg every morning!


Us- (im the one making the first of many awkward faces.) plus a friend of the family.

As easy as it was for me, I am afraid my childhood was not easy on my parents. My father's hair went gray prematurely, and nobody had any doubts as to who caused that.  I inherited my mother's big heart, independence, sense of adventure, in addition to her daydreaming. I also inherited my father's infamous stubbornness and laser focus on getting what he wants. I look at my friends and their kids now, and find it so entertaining to watch them argue with mini versions of themselves, and wonder if that is how my parent's friends saw us.

I've always had my own way of doing everything.  I threw tantrums.  I never wanted to go to school. Not because of anything specific that I can recall, it was just because I was told I had to.  My sister was always the perfectionist. She listened and took advice before trying anything. She was responsible with her money, dressed nicely, did well in school and in sports.  She was social and had many friends.  I preferred to wear whatever was around (usually riding pants and a hoodie,) having 1-2 close friends, participating in non team sports (riding) and working hard to earn money just to spend it.  Often times that money was donated to an animal rescue or on horse things.

I'm the bald one
All of the above still holds true for both my sister and me.  As soon as I began to dig myself out of debt, I immediately began to foster horses and donate to local rescues rather than save for the future.  I no longer buy expensive riding clothes, just shoes for the horse and acupuncture for the dog.  Do not ask when the last time I purchased new shoes for my feet or went to the doctor for myself.  Some things never change.
Trouble
Rather than being satisfied with allowance for doing my chores, I took on cleaning stalls and working at the farm to earn my riding lessons and to have as much financial independence as a 12 year old could.  I have never wanted to feel like I owed anyone, or that something could be taken from me...if I earned it, it was mine.  (That being said, I frequently had barn time taken away when I did not keep my grades up etc. which caused even more tantrums to be thrown.)  My parents would have rather given me everything I needed and have me focus on school, but that seemed easy, why would I want to do that?

 By 16, I was working at the local saddlery, pet sitting, and working at several barns in addition to my riding and taking care of my mother and helping my trainer as they both went through chemotherapy. This is not one of those stories where a kid overcomes all of these first world struggles and goes on to be a Nobel Prize winner. That is not me. That would have been easy with all of my resources. Nope. I wanted to party with friends and skip classes and be a normal teenager.  I did manage to pass my classes and never got into too much trouble (or at least I never got caught.)   By 18, I was living alone on a farm, working full time and attending college.  Again, my parents would have preferred me to stay at home and not work, just focus on school...but I wanted pets and independence, so off I went!

I never wanted be told what to do or how to do it.  In fact, I always took it as a challenge when someone would tell me how I should be doing something.  I aimed to get the same results but in my own way.  As an adult, this has continued.  I will accept my GPS' directions (usually,) but when they say arrival time in 17 minutes?  Pshhh, I can easily make it in 13.  Challenge accepted!  Live in an apartment in a city close to work and have no physical work to do or move to the country and constantly have projects and things to do and drive super far for work?  Sign me up!

My loving family has finally come to terms with my choice of lifestyle, although I can always manage to get an eye roll when I tell them how I meet people in empty parking lots to hand off eggs, and how sometimes I cannot talk because I am chasing a rogue hen back into her pen at bedtime.  Explaining how the horse needs his teeth floated and his hooves trimmed and shod and his coat clipped and cared for always brings on a barrage of questions. I am always just as curious about how they sit in traffic all the time and deal with meetings and big contracts. We may speak different languages but we never run out of things to discuss in our family!




Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Welcome to my crazy life!

Where do I begin?  At the beginning I suppose!  Why am I doing this? What is this? Where will it go?

I am beginning this blog for a couple of reasons.  The first reason is by request.  Weird, exciting, terrifying, and hilarious things seem to happen to me, near me, or because of me...and my relaying the details of my life's adventures seems to bring others joy.  I am certain the same things happen to many people and it is just my perception of these events that makes them entertaining.  As many of my coworkers, friends, and family members will attest to, I am always happy to recall any story no matter how embarrassing if I think it will make someone smile.  I long ago made it my mission to make at least one person laugh so hard that they snort or pee a little every day.  Some people are easier targets than others...you know who you are.

The second reason is as a therapeutic outlet for my brain.  As many of you know, my career has taken a sharp turn (which I am excited about) but I no longer have my normal daily interactions with those I would normally share my insanity with. Baxter just snores through my stories which is not good for my self esteem.  As much as I cherish my alone time, I have recently discovered that keeping all of my crazy to myself may not be the best thing, and lets be honest, I am depriving the world of so much laughter.  I simply cannot be that selfish.

What is this blog?  I am still sorting through that myself. I guess it is best to start with what this is not.  I am not a professional writer, so this is not a perfect collection of essays.  There will be typos and grammatical errors.  Until someone volunteers to be my editor, it shall remain as such.
This is not a place where you will find me venting about the things most people complain about such as work, family, and friends.  I will most likely have moments of lamenting about situations I have put myself in, but there is no whining on this page.  I hope.  Again, I guess I shall see where it takes me.  This collection of stories will never include politics or religion.  I am a firm believer in individual's rights to think and believe in whatever they want and will not tolerate any type of hatred or negativity on this page or anywhere in my life quite frankly. Lastly, this will most likely not be chronological.  I have 33 years of stories built up, and will share them as I recall them or as they are requested. Everyone seems to have a favorite "Andrea" story.  Usually they involve falling down or manure of some kind, the best stories involve both.  The old will be mixed in with the new adventures.

I have covered what this isn't, so what is it?  This is a place where I will share my experiences being a single girl raised in the suburbs who has followed her heart through many trials and tribulations to be a part time farmer and maintain my full time mess status.  This is a place where readers are encouraged to laugh both with and at me.  I hope people are able to roll their eyes, groan, laugh, and cry along with me.  This is a collection of honesty.  Farm life is often not pretty, has some interesting smells, and well, there is the circle of life thing going on.  I will share my losses along with my rewards to give you the full view into this part of my life.  I promise to keep the bad things vague, as I have been told I have a habit of being too forthcoming with details.  I am a vet tech and a horse person, I cannot help it!  I will try to keep this kid friendly, although, sometimes farm life requires a colorful four letter word here and there so that will probably happen.

Where will this go?  Maybe nowhere.  Maybe I write this for a month and nobody finds it interesting or funny.  Maybe I will not find it as therapeutic as I thought I would.  In that case, I will stop.  However, if I receive feedback that it makes one person smile, I will continue.  I will continue as long as I have stories to tell!

Thank you for reading this far!  Glove up, here we go!