Horse Farm

Once upon a time when Herself was in the early stages of grade school, she (like so many other young girls) was enamored of horses.  She had a collection of model horses, and she used to cart her box of them up to Jenny's house two doors away to play.  They would arrange the horses lovingly, with the tiny ones together and the larger ones in their own collection.  The few rare ones that came with accoutrements such as saddles or reins or little horse blankets would receive extended and preferential treatment. Herself loved her horses.

One summer, a family trip was planned.  Her parents intended to drive with Herself and her siblings down from their New England home to visit relatives along the eastern seaboard.  On the return trip, they were going to stop by The Horse Farm to look at the horses. Herself was pleased. Horses!

Unfortunately, once they had arrived to the state of the relatives, another distant relative (elderly and frail) took a sudden turn for the worse. The remainder of the trip had to be canceled so that Herself's parents could rush home to attend a funeral. "We'll go to the horse farm another time." Herself was disappointed, but she understood that some changes to plans cannot be helped.

In the years that followed, they never did visit The Horse Farm.

Herself grew up, lost her interest in horses, and put her toy horse collection away.

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Herself thought about The Horse Farm yesterday.  After multiple weekends of attending to various things, she had declared yesterday evening to be the domain of What She Wanted To Do. What would she most like to do? That proved to be much more difficult to assess than she'd realized.

She doesn't like to make plans, first, because - like The Horse Farm - fate, or the needs of others, so often intervenes.  If one doesn't have plans, one cannot be disappointed when the plans do not take place.

Moreover, and possibly more crucial, there's no point in her being solely responsible for making plans, if she would like company while executing the plans.  For she cannot enjoy what she is doing without knowing that the pastime is also relatively enjoyable (or at least painlessly tolerable) to the people whom she would like to have there. Unless those involved actively participate in the planning process, she cannot be certain how they will feel, and it's quite important to her that she not subject her favorite people to unpleasant activities. She will not impose. Her wants aren't that important.

The end result, though, is that no particular plans get made.

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Ultimately yesterday evening, Herself decided that going out to dinner would be most likely to be acceptable to those involved.  Most people find it pleasant to go to a decent restaurant and have a good meal. It was indeed a good meal, and it perked Herself up a bit. She hopes her companions of the evening enjoyed the meal as well.

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 Ninety-five percent of the time, Herself enjoys -- or at least does not mind -- taking care of everything.  She likes to look after Things:  to make sure that the house is tidy and the bills are paid; that the laundry is done and the larder is stocked; that the errands have been accomplished and the chores finished.  Everyone, human and beast, should have the things that he or she likes to eat and to wear, and a comfortable, safe place to spend time and put all worldly cares aside.

Every now and then, though, Herself wearies of being responsible for All The Things. What she'd really like, somehow, would be for Someone to plan the adult equivalent of a trip to The Horse Farm. And then, make it happen.

Perhaps she just needs to learn to be her own Someone.

One of Herself's favorites was a dappled gray, a bit like this one, found here:

https://www.etsy.com/listing/87715726/sale-vintage-breyer-horse-dappled