Are you familiar with the restaurant chain, Ruby Tuesday?  I love the joint, everything about it is appealing to me.  Two years ago, they changed the decor in all their restaurants, and it was lovely.  My friend Marybeth observed, "Now it's a great place to go on a date!"  Indeed.  Beautiful, quiet, great lighting--conversation and genuine enjoyment of dining is now encouraged.

Add to that their inventive new menu full of fresh cuisine, and the best salad bar in the world, hands-down--you've got a winner on your hands.

Why am I doing restaurant reviews, you may wonder. 

Here's the deal:  I just received an email from RT's corporate HQ, offering a free appetizer if I change my customer profile to reflect that I love football.

I don't love football.  I don't even know anything about football.   I'm too old, and don't have the patience to learn about any sport that doesn't have equine athletes.  I just don't care.

It's become a bit of a joke among my friends that unless it has four legs and a mane--or rides someone who has four legs and a mane--I don't know anything about it.  If it ain't a horse or a jockey--its athleticism is in question.  For all I know, A-Rod is the name of a newly-named yearling...

On Friday, August 13th, the (Thoroughbred) Racing Hall of Fame at the National Museum of Racing in Saratoga Springs, New York, will induct four very worthy candidates:  jockey Randy Romero and horses Best Pal, Point Given and Azeri.

Azeri is now 12 years old, and living in Japan, doing duty as a broodmare at Northern Farm.  I don't know if she likes sushi, but I hope that at some point she'll come back to America, perhaps eventually retiring at Old Friends.  (Wouldn't that be a huge coup, for fans to have access to such a spectacular female racehorse at that farm that features great retired Champion males?)

I digress.  Azeri will be inducted into the Hall of Fame on Friday the 13th at 10:30AM, and if you're any kind of race fan at all--especially if you love Rachel Alexandra or Zenyatta--you should be there to give Azeri a standing ovation.

This sport that we love so well is, by its very definition, the sport for genuine speed junkies.  We seek instant gratification:  I could never be a NASCAR fan--I have no time or interest in sitting all day, breathing fumes and counting, "134...135...136."  OMG. 

I'd have to stick hot needles in my own eyes.

If a race isn't over in 2.24 minutes (Secretariat's Belmont time, 1 1/2 mile)--you've lost me...

Last year at around this time, I wrote a blog here on Saratoga.com about the soiree which would be hosted by CAPTAIN Youth and Family Services, a social services agency that serves youths in Saratoga County, New York.  It was the first year for An Unbridled Affair, so the concept was still an experiment.

I was a volunteer for the event, and wanted to give them a little bit of exposure.

Well, you know, that party last year rocked--everyone involved had a fabulous time.  The ticket price was right, and all the elements came together.  I vowed to become involved again this year.

So I did.  This year I moved up from "general/we're-not-sure-what-to-do-with-her-but-she-seems-harmless" and Greeting the night of the event, to Publicity Co-Chair prior to, and Greeter the night of the event. 

I love this event, and I love these people.  And yes, I mentioned this event and the awesome Equine Advocates' upcoming soiree (July 29th) in a previous blog this week.  But I want to give each organization a little extra space, a few days before their respective galas.  So next week you'll read more about Equine Advocates.  (Warning to those of you who might not know me very well:  if I like a person or an organization, I LOVE them and will do anything for them.   If I don't like or trust them--sleep with one eye open.)  (Grin.)

So here's the CAPTAIN gala push:  if you're not planning to attend--WHY NOT?  What is there NOT to love about this event? 

Do you not have the cash to attend, either the VIP reception and the Mane Event, or just the Mane Event?  I understand this--if you can;'t afford it, you can't.  

 

It's on Its way.  Can you feel It?  Does your heart beat a little faster, knowing that It's almost here, and with It, friends and colleagues whom you've not seen in a dog's age?   Is the electricity in the air--the pure, raw energy of anticipation--making you smile a little more broadly?  Are your Facebook notifications and invitations all geared toward It these days?

"It" is the Saratoga meet, graciously brought to life once again by the New York Racing Association, known around these-here-parts as simply, NYRA.  Thoroughbreds--graceful, luscious ballet dancers with a swing in their steps--have been at the Oklahoma since April 15th, doing Plies and Arabesques, their sensual walk inspiring hopes of fortune and the intoxicating, heady experience of standing in the historic winner's circle.

What's making you giddy at the thought of July 23rd?  What does Opening Day--and every day--of the Saratoga meet mean to you?

To some of us, it's the opportunity to picnic in the back, and teach our children about Thoroughbreds, and teach a four-year-old to handicap.   The only racetrack in the country--in the world?--at which the horses actually walk through the yard, itself, past thousands of fans on their way to the Paddock and, perhaps, history books.  That thought, alone, is all kinds of Beautiful.

To others, it's the opportunity to see their horses race for the first time, ever--and at Saratoga, for God's sake!  Still others experience it as a way to make some extra cash:  renting out houses and apartments; parking cars; working concession stands at the world's greatest and most thrilling, 40-day Annual Convention...

Hello, Friends and neigh-bors,

I'll keep this relatively short and sweet.  This is a blatant request, that you horselovers of the world join me in helping a little horse in Florida.  His name is Jack.

In a nutshell:  Jack's Mommy, Dottie, was a long-time therapy horse.  She worked with special-needs children.  She healed a great many souls, soothed frayed nerves and blessed everyone she met.

Dottie couldn't do her job any more, so she was bred.  The breeding didn't take--so they thought--and then, ta-DA!  One day Dottie's humans came to see her in her stall, and there stood Little Jack.

Jack looked just dandy, until you got to his face.  He has a condition called Wry Mouth.  Horses with this condition usually die because they can't nurse.  It looks, well, "unacceptable" in a world where perfection is expected.  Humans are judged pretty harshly if they're less-than-perfect:  animals are treated even worse.

(NOTE:  is it difficult to look at this photo of Jack?  It's even harder to BE him, trapped in a body that features a mouth that won't cooperate and let him eat and drink.  If you think it's hard to see him--imaging BEING him.  And I can't even hear that line that he should have been euthanized at birth:  how many

humans would be left on the Earth if every one of us who was a little ugly at birth was taken out and shot?  Would you have made the cut, BabyFace?)

There are humans who feel that way--thank God, not Jack's humans.  They know that physical appearance has nothing to do with real value.  To God, all horses are beautiful--so we ought to treat them thus.

Jack's humans are trying very hard to gather the cash to get an operation for Jack, surgery that will fix his mouth so that he can suckle and eat on his own.  He'll live--if only he can eat and drink.

That's not too much to ask of the world, is it?  To be able to eat and drink, and to gain the strength to live?  As it is, male foals are at a disadvantage--all male babies of every species are weaker than females when they're born.  So Jack, sweet, loving, beautiful-to-God Little Jack--is at a double disadvantage.

All he wants is to live and grow up, and become a therapy horse, also.  Can you just imagine how special-needs children and adults will feel when they see this beautiful horse, who looks not-quite-beautiful--but who's happy, alive and kicking? 

Yes, that's right:  the population that Dottie (Jack's Mom, as you recall) and Jack will serve are those very people who came into this world with a seeming disadvantage--but who are absolutely extraordinary at loving, and of receiving love.

And in Little Jack, they can see a baby horse become a grown-up horse who didn't have it all going for him at first--and who does not look "perfect"--whatever THAT is--but who is happy, and joyous and loving.  And that, my friends, is what makes us truly rich.

Please join me in sending money to Jack's humans at Project Stable Foundation.  Here's their contact information:

Project Stable
5790 SW 130th Avenue
Southwest Ranches, Florida   33330

http://www.projectstable.org/

And on Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=91084336871&v=info&ref=ts

We can join a million Facebook groups and it amounts to a hill of beans unless we take action based on the inspiration we receive from those groups.  (Hint:   No one actually cares if you think that Mondays are a Drag, or that you just flossed your teeth.)  I believe that the purpose of those groups is to spur people on to actually do something, whether that's to buy a product, join a movement or save a horse's life.   In this case, I hope to inspire you to check out Little Jack's story, and send some cash, Dash, to pay for his surgery and rehabilitation.

As he grows up, he'll bless so many human lives, and equine lives, too.  Isn't it worth five bucks to sleep tonight?

I think so--and so does the mighty Horse of the Year, Rachel Alexandra.  Like a queen who judiciously and kindly surveys her queendom and becomes personally involved--the mighty warrior horse--who is, herself, the epitome of Perfection--looks upon poor, dear Little Jack and has asked us to have mercy on his little life.

Please join Queen Rachel and me:  let's work together to save this dear little man.  The rewards will be far better than the tax deduction you get next year.  Whether you send American dollars, pesos, lira, Euros, Pounds Sterling or Dirhams--let's work on healing this one little horse.  We can do this, and then move on...one horse at a time...and along the way, we can heal human spirits, and maybe even help bring about peace.  One horse, one human at a time...peace and healing are possible, but it's up to us to do The Right Thing.

 

 

 

 

[Photo Credits:  Jack, courtesy of Project Stable Foundation. 

Rachel Alexandra, courtesy of NYRA, the New York Racing Association.  Thank you!]

 

 

Life is funny.  If the opportunities for vocational fulfillment that I'm currently enjoying were presented to me 30 years ago, I'd have realized that it was cool, but I wouldn't have been focused enough to do the jobs to the best of my ability.  I was pretty darned distracted by horses and hanging at the track with my friends--but even though I was a railbird, no one ever talked to me about working at the track, or a career in the sport.  Had someone taken the initiative, they might have helped carve the angel out of the stone.

With no wizened racetracker adult to rein me in and help me find my vocation in the sport, I thought of racing as something I loved passionately--obsessively--but something that I did on Saturdays and Sundays, after a full week of work and summer school.

My confusion about the fact that racing could have provided a career was complicated by the fact that I was distracted by pretty rock star faces whose big buses drove down Union Avenue on their way to SPAC.  I was pretty easily fascinated by those who had mastered Three Chords and the Truth:    "Oooh!  Look at that!  (Think, "kitten with ADD.")

Introduction:  Why am I writing to a Congresswoman who doesn't represent me?

'Cause it's important.

Just one pretty picture in this blog piece.  Horse of the Year, Rachel Alexandra.  Empress Rachel, at Saratoga last year.  The best horse in the best racing environment in the world.  Like Queen Elizabeth II being in residence at Windsor Palace, it's only appropriate.

This brief piece is going to sound like politics, and that is, indeed, the topic du jour.

It's about the politics of the equine industry.

Tra-lee, tra-la, 'tis Derby Day!  The Kentucky Derby, the Thoroughbred horse race that comes packin' over 100 years of history, lore, rituals and fanatics.  With many thanks to the owners of CDI, we acknowledge that this is the one day every year when we're guaranteed that, even those who don't care about horse racing--will at least turn on NBC to see the race, itself.  You never know:  a casual observer the first Saturday in May could end up a devoted fan of the sport by the Saratoga meet.  One never knows what will spark the imagination:  the flash of light in a horse's eye; "The Call to the Post," played with great pomp and reverence; "My Old Kentucky Home,"--for good or for bad, the song evokes something in almost everyone.  It may be the view of a jockery, perched atop a gleaming Thoroughbred, the horse's muscles rippling in the Louisville sunshine...

It was  one of those nights, when I couldn't get to sleep because my brain was working overtime with things I needed to write.  And when I say, "need," I don't mean just deadlines for pieces for which I will be paid.  I mean, "need," as in, "I need chocolate"; "I need a fix"; "Yo te necesito."

Writers need to write like riders need to ride.

I may have been caffeinecrazy:  I knew what I wanted to say but couldn't settle down enough to get it on the proverbial page before me.  I was just plain exhausted:  the words were in my head, but refused to translate through my digits.

Last night I had so much to write that I didn't know where to start.  There are things before me which should be read and edited for others.  There are blogs to write; marketing peripherals to hammer out and editorial content concepts that I want to get down on paper before they fly like a vapor out of my brain and into the air.

So I simply went to sleep, knowing that the words would present themselves to me after Morpheus had cast his spell over me.  I write best in my head, in my lucid-dreaming space.

I wrote a bit last night after I found sleep, but even better--I got organized in that netherland.  I awoke at 6:11AM with the full list, and ready to rock on it.  Even my Palm, without which I cannot move, isn't as organized as my brain on sleep's deep drug.

I awoke knowing that I wanted to write something about the Kentucky Derby--it is upon us, two days hence, you know.  I didn't want to write the statistics, predictions or other yawners.  I knew there was a tale to tell, and, sure enough, it presented itself to me during the night.

Here it is.  Today's offering is Part One, a two-part series which will conclude tomorrow.  One topic:  females in my Life and their Kentucky Derby experiences--and how those experiences touched my being, and have brought me to today.  I would not be a racing essayist without any one of these females, and the influence, encouragement or inspiration.  Sans further ado,  I present, "Every Day is 'Women's Day' in Racing":

S/he who has mastery of language has a tremendous advantage over those for whom language is difficult.  Language is power, and don't you dare think otherwise.  Every day we either raise ourselves or condemn ourselves by the language we use:  how many times have you heard yourself saying, "I can't," or "I'm just--"?  Do you realize the impact of those phrases?

If you believe that you can't do something, or that you're "just" something--then you are right.  You can't do anything that your heart believes is impossible.  And if you believe in your heart that you're "just"  ("Just a woman," "Just a small-time trainer")--then that is precisely what you are, the smallest of your species.

But if you can look yourself in the mirror and state that you can do something that may seem to be impossible or even ridiculous to your detractors--you have power.  And you may not achieve that huge thing--but the result will be a lot closer to the goal than if you started out thinking that you shouldn't even try.

There's no shame in not making the goal:  there is shame in not even trying...