I woke up introspective on my last full day in Paris. It’s the same way I wake up at home. I got ready to leave for the day and wrapped a scarf around my neck. I started doing that after my first Paris haircut forty years ago, and have been doing it ever since. Fashion has finally caught up with me.
I started walking with no destination in mind, bittersweet that my time was nearly up. I tried to memorize the air, the streets, the skyline. When my feet began to hurt, I stopped for petit-déjeuner. That’s what generations of my dogs call it. They’re bilingual like I am. I had omelette aux champignons et café crème and as always, lost myself watching people, which is just the same thing as thinking about life.
Some people think I’m brave to travel solo, but I think it gives me a clearer view. I’m more prone to talk to people. Solo travel means no bickering or trying to placate anyone. No one telling me to slow down or speed up, no one handling me. Besides, I’ve never felt in danger on this trip, or the 22k miles Mister and I have traveled for work since Covid. My father once blurted out that I walked like Eleanor Roosevelt. His tone made it clear it was not a compliment. Maybe that’s my secret.
Strolling on a few more hours, crossing the Seine, browsing bookstores and vintage shops until I had to use a toilette et repose mes pieds again. I found another sidewalk cafe and ordered Du vin rouge, s’il vous plaît, in my ever-consistent lousy French. I will savor this day, savor each of these days, which will never happen again. The memories of Scotland, England, and now Paris will live on much longer than the time it takes to pay off the trip. Besides, I’ll get to smile when I send that monthly payment. It’s been lovely to have time away, but I don’t see trips like this in my future. At this moment, I fell in love with my life all over again for the first time. Of all the things we should say yes to, this! I lifted my glass in a toast to, well, me.
(See video at https://vimeo.com/954454423?share=copy)
Okay, that was a little thick. Now let me share the other part. My “family farm” has some tough days ahead. Sebastian is my last llama standing. He is so old he feels like steel wool to the touch. He walks on fallen fetlocks and is losing sight. But he runs to the sound of the hose. No one likes a shower more.
Arthur, the goat, has a bad limp. He has over-used this leg to compensate for the leg my Grandfather Horse broke years ago. We have no goat vets nearby, so I bandaged it like I would a horse. Even before, he had the gait of an eggbeater, and this won’t help. He likes to have his horn nubbins scratched, lays in the sun most of the day, and hardly butts me at all anymore.
Two of our horses are past twenty years old. Doing the math, at ten tons of manure per horse/per year, I’ve mucked 320 tons of their manure. I’d do it all over if it meant they could be youngsters again.
My eldest dog is wobbly on his hind half, sliding into a sit when he slows down. But he never misses a trip to the bathroom with me. His eyes are clouded and he’s nearly worn out his voice, we’ve lived inside of each other for so long. There will never be anything sweeter than an old dog.
Just last week, while I was in England, I got a text that Edgar Rice Burro couldn’t put weight on one of his legs and was lying down a lot. This isn’t my first emergency text like this. When the soundman at Equidays in New Zealand was attaching my microphone for my presentation, I got a text from home that a different donkey was on the ground and couldn’t get up. Being helpless and 8000 miles away, all I could do was breathe and send a quick reply. And I tried to bargain with the Universe. If I do my job well, could my animals at home be spared, please?
Then, I walked into the arena as Juan Manuel Muñoz Diaz exited. Is the name familiar? He was a crowd favorite, riding an Andalusian named Fuego in the 2012 Olympics. He shook my hand, using both of his, kindly, as he always did. This yin-yang life, I thought.
Now it was Edgar, who brays and runs raggedly to me every time he sees me. Edgar, who keeps time and manages my herd. He is my moral compass, but he is losing confidence. He wears his years like an oversized winter coat. I texted back, saw a couple of painful strides on video, and got a second set of eyes on him. I worried, gave hopeful instructions, and waited. And waited. They told me he was mostly better the next day. Edgar isn’t better, though. He has a degenerative disease, something I had been watching. I knew it was a flair-up of the thing that would kill him. This was a warning shot over the bow.
I’ve been so ridiculously fortunate to travel the world working with people and their horses. I’ve learned more than I could have ever dreamed of from my little farm on the flat windy prairie of Colorado. Those horses graze through my mind every day. But it hasn’t been free. It’s taken a toll on me and my animals.
Selfishly, I wanted to slip this decadent vacation in, to fortify myself for the years ahead. I know I’m needed at home. I am the one with the eyes. I am the one who knows what to do.
You see, it’s not my death I’m concerned about. I’ve had to make friends with death, it’s been such a constant in my life. It’s just that death is so ordinary. Not a thing special about it. It can feel like the world is a bottomless pit of grief after someone passes over. It’s natural to howl at the moon, burn the eggs, and cry in the feed store, but we need to be careful not to worship death. To not let loss eclipse the wonder of life. Now more than ever.
I’m walking again, crossing the Seine, past Cathédrale Notre Dame. It’s covered with scaffolding to repair the damage caused by a fire that threatened to collapse the whole medieval structure. The span of one life is pretty insignificant in this neighborhood.
I decided to eat in my room. I had a sweet melancholy and an early flight. There were lots of restaurants, but I asked my GPS for a food store. I changed my search a couple of times and finally located something that might be like a Quick Stop. When I got there, it was a tiny door on a corner of a back street. Only GPS could have found it. But this is Paris after all and I came out with chocolat noir, abricots frais et une petite bouteille de champagne.
Entering my hotel, I had a sentence ready for the concierge. “Bon soir, Monsieur. Je pars demain.” He handed me the key with a smile and said, “Oui, Madame.”
My room had the usual tall windows that open wide, with no screen, to an inner courtyard. On my first trip, my room was on a lower floor and stray cats climbed up to visit and share my cheese. This trip I’m in a tiny room on the 5th floor. I’ve seen larger bathrooms in travel trailers. But the view was entrancing because I was in the kind of mood where everything felt like an allegory for life. Even a fire escape.
I have already over-shared, why stop? I got rid of my shoes and underwear, in that order, and put on a cotton thing that passed for pajamas. I wedged a chair between the bed and window and pulled the tiny bedside table close. There was no plate, so I arranged my dinner on a hand towel. Then I poured some champagne into the glass from the bathroom and pulled my computer to my lap. Whatever comes, there will always be words.
The arc of a life is like a teeter-totter. When we’re young, it’s hard to push off the ground. In the middle years, we have the time and leverage to have ups and downs. Life happens. We decide to live with possible regret, or pick ourselves up and take another risk. At this ripe age, some choices are limited. It’s a little harder to get into the air, but I’m nearly impossible to embarrass, so it balances out.
Resolution: I’ll plant some flowers and paint the house trim. Eat dessert every day. Hold steady for my loved ones. Pull my baggy-skinned and half-lame body to full height. (It annually shrinks in equal proportion to the growth of tar and grit added.) I will not, as they say, “go gently” anywhere. Not while I have a bad accent and a spark of joie de vivre left in this bruised and lumpy heart.
…
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I have sad/happy tears in my eyes as I write this. I always feel, Anna, like you visit my soul and write is there so eloquently. I know you will shepherd your beloved animals to their trip across the rainbow bridge in the most dignified way possible. Each loss at this stage of our lives (I am 71) is more and more poignant, isn’t it? Keep on walking like Eleanor Roosevelt through your life. Your father may have meant it unkindly, but I think it is a very beautiful compliment.
Thanks, Jane. Some of the best compliments aren’t meant to be, I notice. Thanks for reading along.
I believe that being compared in any way to Eleanor Roosevelt MUST be a compliment (no matter how it was intended!
The trip sounds wonderful – but I know the coming home part is the best. I’m sure you were missed by one and all.
I find that I worry far more about my animals getting older than I do about myself as time passes. And boy oh boy does time ever pass!
I hear that, Maggie. Time is accelerating.
Glad you have enjoyed your trip! I also much prefer to travel alone – hands down there is nothing better in my book. Getting away and disconnecting from day to day life for a spell, is much needed for most but at the end of the trip, there is no place like home. I can almost feel the joy & relief of your 4 legged companions when they realize you did come back after all! Yes, their world is right again.
Thanks, Sueann. This time coming home was bittersweet, but not for Edgar.
To my fellow aged traveler,
Thank you for bringing me along with you on this , your last trip to Europe. I am not actually a fan of traveling because I can’t bare to leave my animal friends for more than a few days at a time. But I got to travel with you through your delightful and humorous travelogues. Your people watching and insights sound an awful lot like my own musings and I’m sure we would be great friends should we ever cross paths. I’m in north Idaho though and at 70 years old and about to begin building my 6th home (and hopefully my final) I doubt I will be venturing out anytime soon. My two mares, two dogs and two cats have gone through this with me numerous times and seem to accept this as a way of life. I, however, never thought that this would be something I would do when I built my first home 33 years ago. My mom said she believed I was part gypsy inherited from my great grandmother and I would have to say she must have been right. I look forward to all your blogs and encourage you to continue for the sake of all your friends out here who need and enjoy your “visits”. Thank you again for sharing your life and loves with us! Susan Boyd, Annie, Claire, Little Brother, Wyatt, Bubba and Harry
Thank you Susan. And here’s to your herd and the new house. And I am the same, I can’t bear to leave, but I also need to work and I have a job I love. Still, it’s always hardest to leave.
Almost all of my horses are young, which creates a somewhat different scenario, but I agree that our own personal death is not really the scary thing you think it is when you’re younger. But the transition you’re describing is just from one lifestyle, albeit a beloved and comfortable one, to a new one that we have no way of predicting. My life totally transformed at age 70 and now I’m closer to 80. It has lately dawned on me that myriad big changes lie ahead, but anticipating them is less possible than it ever was. Every day is new even though I do the “same thing” every day (ha!)
Thanks for commenting, Susan. So true, every day.
I am reading this on a morning when I will be assisting one of our eldest geldings, whom we have nursed through painful arthritis and then a dreadful eye injury only to be diagnosed with advanced cancer, to cross over. At the end of a week living vicariously through friends who are keeping me posted on one of my oldest friends in another state who is in hospice care with inoperable brain tumors. The same week in which we began to transition a young miracle horse, who came to us mostly blind two years ago but seems to have outgrown his congenital cataracts, to life at liberty with a herd. Life. Crazy. Hard, and beautiful. Thanks for taking us with you, and keep walking like Eleanor Roosevelt.
Oh Susan, this yin-yang life. It sounds about right. Thanks for sharing yours. Here’s to Eleanor and horses.
Dear Anna- I so enjoy your blog, your insights and your writing. I am an aspiring writer and have just started a blog. I love your simplistic, classic format so much I’ve tried to emulate it in my blog. Like you, I am coming to the end of many things, such as keeping my horses here (I had to relocate them due to my new role as caregiver of my husband). My aging small animals surround me.
I visited Paris when my daughter married, and I enjoyed reliving the visit again through your words and impressions. Thank you so much.
Oh Joyce, this is the walk now, isn’t it? Best wishes to you and your family, two legs or four. Keep writing, no matter what. Writing is the light at the end of the tunnel but also the light leading us there.
Dang woman! “I know I’m needed at home. I am the one with the eyes. I am the one who knows what to do.” That’s me in a nutshell. One that is occasionally cracked.
Yes, Lauren. Not the most fun job, but this the important one.
brava! thanks for this peek into Paris and into life
Thanks Kate. Not sure the view is all that different than our pastures, but it was good.
Loved your ‘rendition’ of Paris! I traveled to Paris several years ago, too, and the view out your window was quite similar to mine. My wonderful horses are now both 23, and my main guy has a pulled tendon so no riding for several months. I hope your trip home was good. Give Mister & his buddy a hug for me.
Thanks, Susan. Mister ignored me for a few days after I got home. Preacher has seen me come and go, but it was Mister’s first betrayal. I continue to apologize.
Anna, reading your Blog is like taking a deep breath of good air.
Whatever the topic, you always seem to get right to the heart of it. It brings me back to earth and often moves me to tears..
All the best for your Animal Farm and all it’s residents!
Pat
Such a compliment, Thank you Patricia.
Anna!
Chris!
I love your writing, your world view, how you’ve made me consider all my animals’ viewpoints more, that you introduced me virtually to Elaine and Mark, taught me to BREATHE for everyone clear through the end. Maybe someday I’ll get to take a solo vacation to other countries; that would be a dream come true but since it is a dream I know better than to be devastated if it never becomes reality. You convey the bittersweet quality of life so well. And being compared to Eleanor Roosevelt in any way? Priceless!
It is a yin-yang life, but Eleanor is someone I have always respected. I’ve had a quote of hers up on my wall since high school. “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” And BOOM!
Magnificent piece Anna. I to know of what you speak.finding my own way at this time in my life and making it count. On my own terms as I can. Also seek solo travels with out considering anyone’s agenda except the ever changing turn of a new corner or interesting bench or bistro. Sublime
Thanks, Kim. You and I have both done some more youthful travel. For me, so much sweeter now. Best wishes.
To fall in love with your life all over again, that’s the ticket.
Amen to that. It would be sad to end up regretting our lives.
Beautiful, eloquent as always, and timely.
thankyou!
Thanks for coming along, Diane
Ah what wonderful writing, once again. I too agree that traveling alone is very freeing. You can do whatever you want whenever you want. But yes, always in the back of my mind, if a horse is off, will my spouse see it.
Thank you for taking us along on your journey.
We don’t travel far, but Red and I are off tomorrow for 5-6 days of camping and trail riding in central Oregon. Our favorite annual trip. ❤
Thanks, Helen. I just love that you two get to do that annual trip… Bon voyage!
Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart
Eleanor Roosevelt
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Eleanor Roosevelt
I would so own that comparison! And happily. However she may have walked, it was with great courage and integrity.
Loved traveling with you!
Thanks, Cathy. Eleanor was amazing, much more influential than other first ladies. And lots of people didn’t like in her day, like my father. Not much has changed, but she was courage and integrity.
Yes yes yes Anna, you know how to express things just right! You capture the kind of thoughts I have about life in this blog, except I could never put words to it like this. So nice to reminisce about Paris too. And I’m at home in little old NZ with an ageing pony too. The circle of life – so normal and common and ordinary but each of our journeys are profound and meaningful in their ordinariness. God has it all in His hands . Bless you, I love reading your blogs 🙂
I don’t know, Tania. You describe it well here, and in fewer words. Thanks for your comment.
Marcher comme Edgar, Arthur et tant d’autres passés et présents…
Marcher Paris pour nous qui ne pouvons pas…
Marcher comme Eleanor, contre vents et marées.
Prita, thank you. Such a beautiful comment. I confess I had to check a couple of words, your French is better than mine!
Translation for others:
Walk like Edgar, Arthur and so many others past and present…
Walk Paris for those of us who cannot…
Walk like Eleanor, against all odds.
Thank you so much, Anna, for sharing your last full day in Paris with us. As always, I so enjoy your humor mixed in with the wisdom. After all, if we cannot laugh, we might as well already be dead, or that’s my opinion anyway.
I agree, Sarah. Humor is a survival tactic for ordinary days. Yin-yang life. Thank you.
Anna – Ann and our dog & I have moved to Iowa to be close to our daughter as we age. I miss my horses but my wonderful trimmer found them a good home together. We are doing well in our new home next to a lovely pond. I think of you and my horses frequently and am thankful for our time together.💜
Barb, don’t you love having a pond? I think of you often, too. So much fun over the years. Tell Ann I’m wearing support hose, thanks to her.
I’m sure the horses are fine and that you are still a horsewoman, that part of us never leaves. Take care my friend.
Anna, your comment about death being so ordinary got me thinking. Clearly I see death as inevitable, perhaps difficult, and a loss. Because it happens to every living thing I concur that it is ordinary. Birth on the other hand is seen by most as miraculous and full of possibility. But birth leads to life which has inherent struggle. I wonder if we reframed death as miraculous because the struggles are over, it would be easier to integrate in our lives. Forgive my musings, my accumulation of years along with recent deaths have forced contemplation on this subject matter.
Do you realize that your blogs are so rich in every way that you may well be responsible for slowing the cerebral changes that can accompany aging? You are so gifted and I am truly grateful for all you share.
Maybe I write to slow my own cerebral changes! Writing being more interesting than crosswords. Thank you Laurie. I hope we find a way to celebrate each of our transitions, since there really isn’t much choice about them happening. Thanks Laurie.
I’ve had my fill of death in recent years. Now that you mention it, fresh apricots, champagne and chocolate would be a lovely substitute. Having it in Paris with Nancy would be a bonus too. Thanks for the inspiration. : )
Oh, yes. It sounds just as delightful to think of the two of you there, John.