ZOINKS HORSES

nWell, today was a productive-ass day.  This morning I got up early to go to Hannover, where I had my first singing lesson in Germany.  I picked this lady because on the internet she sounded just like my voice teacher in America, and I was more or less right, she was really cool.  The only problem is, it's too expensive to take singing lessons and go to Hannover once a week, because the train costs like 25 dollars.  So I think I've got to find somebody closer.  Sigh.

However, fresh off this particular accomplishment, I decided it was time to face my fear of talking to people head on, and quit my anxiety-induced dry-heaving once and for all. I needed to get down to the barns.  So after much procrastination (and dry-heaving), I got on my bike and went to the riding club.  Instantly I liked it because it's so much like our farm.  The fences have all sat out in the rain one-too-many years, the property is not perfectly painted, the lawns are not perfectly manicured and the buildings were not built yesterday.  But the horses are beautiful.  Like, really, really, really attractive, clearly well taken care of, and very much loved.  A+!  And the best part was that everyone was sitting on the side of the ring drinking wine.

Unfortunately, I have the World's Shittiest Timing, I discovered, because the school horses all go on summer vacation starting Monday, where they sit out in a field until the beginning of August.  Which means no lessons. But I got to watch a riding lesson, and the lady made me promise to come back in August so they could put me on a horse, see me ride, and then figure out lessons.  Entertaining conversation with her:

Lady:  So, how long have you been riding?
Me:  Oh, quite a while, since I was 7.
Lady:  And you're now 13, 14 years old?
Me:  ...23.
Lady:  Oh, sorry, you look so young!  And you're from France, right?
Me:  No.
Lady:  North Africa?
Me:  The USA?
Lady:  Oh, sorry.  You look French.  Or North African.

Do you hear that, Sam Barry?  That counts for two of the six nationalities the bucket list dictates I be mistaken for.  And yes, I am counting "North African" as an ethnicity.

Slightly high off my extended-talking-to-strangers victory, I headed off to the barn down the street from me, owned by a friend of Host Mom's.  When I pulled up, THEY were all drinking wine at the ringside too, so...yes.  I met the guy who owns it (very cool), and his daughter (who is about my age, awesome and we're totally going to be friends), and learned lots of interesting things, like how the son works for the Landgestüt (the Hannoverian breeding place), and how they currently have, on loan from the Landgestüt, two three-year-olds, to put some training into and send back. Which they also hinted I could ride if they deemed me good enough/brave enough (and we all know I have nothing but experience with babies and things that try to kill me). So...that is amazing.

On my way out of the farm I spotted a seemingly empty stall, that, when I got closer, turned out to be occupied, but the pony is too short to stick his head over the door. The pony's name is Elvis, his sire and dam are Michael Jackson and Marilyn Monroe, and among his grandparents, I found Doris Day.  Awesomeness x 100.  I can't remember what the rest of his grandparent were called, but I'll double check.  They were also famous and American.

Tuesday I head back there to watch a few riding lessons and Sunday they're going to throw me on a giant palomino thing that they fondly referred to as the Buffalo.  Just to see what I can do, hopefully.  If I understood correctly (no promises that I did), a new boarder is also looking for someone to take care of their horse a few days a week.  Pick me, please.

Finally, the pieces of my life are starting to come together.

Going to Göttingen with the family tomorrow, to meet the extended family and check out the city, which I am looking forward to.  Adios, friends!