The Weekender

I’m in Astoria until Monday. With some rare exceptions, I’ve pretty much never liked Astoria, and that is true even know. I am really. Freaking. Bored. So whenever I get a chance, I’m going to be on this old clunker, perhaps with some updating of my blog.

Since I’m so frustratingly bored it’s making me angry, I can’t think clearly, but I am considering putting up a list of all the good movies I’ve seen. Because what the hell else do I have to do. If it’s quiet enough, I’d like to write. But since I haven’t assaulted you for a while, buy my shit:

Golden Sugared Lemon Glycerin Soap

Bird of Paradise Glycerin Soap

Navy White Cashmerino Yarn

Colonial Striped Child's Sweater

Eden Soaps and Knits


Stu’s neighbor’s have horses. It started many years ago with one white one, following in the last year or two by a black, and then in the last year by two great chestnuts.

I was happy to finally see the black after its absence this afternoon. I had been near it before, with my two girls. Cassie sniffed at it with cautious friendliness, tail wagging, and the horse was very interested in Cassie as well. As before, today Cleo stood back. When we approached the fence on our walk, the white immediately took off away from us, but the black came running. He seemed very interested in what we were up to, and when I cautiously put my hand out, he put his nose in it gladly. Next the head went down to nuzzle at a rock, and then he ran his lip over my bare toes, which I pulled away with a giggle.

I pet and talked with the animal for a few moments. I haven’t been around horses for some time, but I’ve always loved them. Armand promised to buy me one as a wedding present, which I told him was a very silly wedding present, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t want it to happen. Horses are incredibly beautiful to me. Even the smell is beautiful. Dogs and cows smell – but horses smell of the earth and an oatiness and a word that can only be described as horses. This animal was not all that much taller than me, small enough that if we were the only two creatures in existence, I could have held the mane and mounted the back and felt totally secure.

The moment didn’t last. A much larger chestnut, with white socks and a blaze down his face came charging over and I backed up cautiously. He seemed to want to make sure everything was alright with this stranger over, but the black met him nose to nose, speaking with a raised lip to communicate that I was alright. Yet after that, while acknowledging my outstretched hand, the petting was over, as he didn’t come back again.

So with a sigh, I continued the walk with Cleo – but called out “Thank you for talking with me” over my shoulder. Horses have a quiet and intelligence that I will always appreciate. Many animals do, and we often forget that. Their souls often run deeper than our own.


About emilydnelson

A recent graduate of Hofstra University with a B.A. in anthropology, Emily is like every other twenty-two year old on the planet - trying to figure out what the hell to do now. Follow as she struggles with writing, her social work job, and bopping from coast to coast.
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