My MS mindspace.

This blog was originally titled, We All Enter At A, which is a paradressage euphemism for “we all put our pants on one leg at a time,” because all riders, disabled or able-bodied, start a dressage test by entering the ring at “A.” I stunted this blog by constricting it only to horses and my conversion from able-bodied hunter/jumpers to paradressage. The title MS Mindspace is literally both the space for my brain, where my MS resides, and also where my mind and identity dwell, harboring my ever-changing id, ego, and superego.

I adventure to emulate a New York Times blog I love. I admire its scope and rhetorical nature. The motif is food, but it wittingly promotes literature, music, people, and movements the author, Sam Sifton, finds worthy. Its appearance in my inbox is always cause for celebration.

Over the weekend, I spectated at a dressage show at Morven Park. It was a glorious day for a horse show. Spring is unveiling – hymnal birds, impending blossoms, life-reviving sunshine. Nimbus, my mobility scooter, and I rattled along the gravel drives and parking lots, anything but subtle. Presumptuously, I parked myself with the indoor ring steward and watched from the ingate. The rides were delightful; precise and stoic upper-level tests and lower-level tests which were clumsy, yet jubilant, in comparison. Eagerly, I envision myself bumbling through Intro A next month, my jaw already sore from the grin.


Morven Park has attempted to make the grounds handicap friendly. I was elated to see a ramp mounting block for paraequestrians. However, a four-inch step to the ramp for the indoor arena’s viewing area is not accessible for wheels. The number of times accessibility efforts fall short is astounding, not that I condemn anyone for it, it just doesn’t occur to most able-bodied people. I sent an inquiry via Morven’s website and hope to get an apologetic and action-promising response. I encourage you to do the same if you ever observe a similar oversight.

It’s almost garden planting time! I am vaguely aware of necessities like watering and weeding, but only just. Last year’s yield from our raised, micro garden (so named for its dwarf crops, not its acreage) was less than plentiful, nourishing mostly the wildlife. I have hopes for this year’s plot, equipped with my in-laws’ rototiller, high fences, and an automatic water. Is that basil I smell?

A coconut cream pie, fajitas on the grill, and an Easter egg hunt are on the docket for this weekend, I’ll let you know how those go. Hopefully by next week, the kids will be ear infection free and the rain will have stayed away. Humor as promised: Does February like March? No, but April may.

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