Gwen Petersen: In a Sow’s Ear 6-25-12
I’m pretty sure the world has gone batty … and the bats are winning.
A flyer showed up in my mailbox addressed to Occupant. I read the lead sentence: “Do you want to be healthy and happy?” I was intrigued. I wondered at the phrase “healthy and happy.” It was not only a rather rude question, it sorta sounded as you had to be one or the other. The pamphlet offered more wisdom. It said that I was invited to sign on for a six-week session to “support the whole person: mind, body and soul.”
My, my, I thought. An all-inclusive goal. For some time, I’d been suspecting I’d lost my mind. Was this a chance to find it? I read on. “Yoga fitness” classes were part of the program. As well as “nutritional” and “mental health” information to enlighten me should I seek “whole person support.” These subjects to be taught by persons “who are certified in their field.”
And what might persons “certified in their field” signify, I pondered. Certified in a field of what? Grass? Oats? Wheat? Clover? Leafy spurge? I perused the brochure further and was informed that “certified in their field” means “you can be confident that the instruction you receive is in your best interest.” Well, now wasn’t that special. AND I could “receive” this “whole person support” for only 65 dollars per session, no shipping and handling or taxes added.
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I considered the question of my best interest as I drove my four-wheeler to the horse corral where Sugar, the chestnut saddlemare, and Cherokee, Cheyenne, Cochise, Pretty Girl and Cinnamon, the five miniature horses waited. Sugar hung her head over the top rail and snorted softly – but the snort was certified in her field.
Cherokee is snowball white. His mama, Pretty Girl, is a sorrel and white paint. These two poked their noses between the rails and gazed, big eyed. It was a “whole horse support” moment.
Cinnamon, the color of that particular spice, rested her chin on Pretty Girl’s back and winked. It was her certified method of discussing mental horse health.
Cochise could be called Palomino but he’s really dishwater blond. He has whole horse issues involving low self esteem. His buddy, Cheyenne, a dark sorrel, likes to dance. I don’t know where he learned the steps, but in the mornings he tends to bounce around as if listening to a rock tune. He doesn’t do yoga but he stays fit.
I halted the four-wheeler, turned off the ignition and approached the corral. “Good morning,” I said.
Not one of the equines deigned to answer.
So I flung the gate open and six healthy and happy equines went galloping through to a certified nutritional field of green organic grass.
As for the “whole person” flyer, I made copies and mailed one each to Washington D.C. politicians – from the head honcho on down. I high-lighted the sentence … you can be confident that the instruction you receive is in your best interest. Naturally, I certified the letters.
P.S. If you see a loose mind wandering along, please drive carefully. It might be mine.
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