April in DC is usually one of the months that makes me glad I live in this area: Although there are hordes of tourists, they tend to stick to the Tidal Basin area, a section of the city cleverly designed to keep people searching desperately for parking and never wandering beyond the confines of the Mall. Occasionally they get as far north as Metro Center, but the rest of us are left largely in peace. Allergies notwithstanding, seeing everything burst into bloom is fantastic: All the trees are hazed with green, the redbud starts to open up, forsythia become conspicuous, and the dogwood and azaleas start to warm up for a long drawn-out flurry of colors that would be spectacularly tacky if they weren't actual flowers. The air is warm, everyone gets all romantical, and generally you feel that the Magnetic Fields' "Washington, DC" gets it right about the spring.
All of which is to say, I hate this weather. The weatherdroids are working themselves into the usual state about our current storm fostering a classic nor'easter for our neighbors up the coast (sorry, Seesterperson! wasn't my idea!), it's pouring and dreary here, and I can't help wondering why the Wilson bridge is suffering from standing water. Maybe they were hoping for a dual water-traffic aqueduct and didn't quite get the balance right.
What with the cold, the rain, and the general misery of this weather, the horses have been all over the map. My gentlemanly gelding partner was so full of chilly weather beans on Monday that I gave up on riding and just chased him around the ring ("whooshing," the barn term for making sure a horse stretches out a bit); on Thursday, he was calmer, but the sucking mud of the ring was so bad that we kept it to nothing faster than a jog. I did get to try out another student's QH/Arab cross, a zippy young gelding, and after I got used to the OMG MOVING! speed of his walk, I had a terrific time. I rode him when he first came to the barn, when his settings consisted of slow and aieee, so the work his owner has put into him was beautifully evident. He's still boss hoss--first through the gate, first in the line, don't grab his mouth--but he bends and adjusts his speed and backs a treat. Mental note: win lottery. Buy pony.
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Apparently one can visit the Buckingham Mews, the oldest operating stables in England. http://www.royalcollection.org.uk/default.asp?action=article&ID=31
I love the word "mews."
This learned on one of the unbelievably lovely sunny days in London earlier in the week. My sister in law just sent me pictures of her house in the midst of a snow. My sister has been suffering the Noreaster.
One of the women I met in Argentina takes lessons with the Horse Guards; even she can't quite figure out how she managed to end up getting training at a facility guarded by serious teenagers with automatic weapons.
We're just starting to get back to lovely spring weather. I woke up worried that I had overslept; it's been that long since I woke up to see honest sunlight as opposed to dreary clouds. No Seattle moves for this cat.
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