1416 words. Older niece and Man in the Hat arrive from the south, with happy dog. Sun shines. Red mare is utterly adorable in every way. Good HorseBack work.
Eat green soup, for health. Brain feels stretched and addled but I bash on. Vaguely cross that there is no time to watch the racing at Galway because there is still too much work to do. Remind myself that it really, really is not the end of the world.
Then I read a comment on the blog. One of the Dear Readers writes: ‘That is the most beautiful horse I have ever seen.’ I want to cry.
She is not the most beautiful horse, I think. (I must cling to the remaining shards of reality that live in my horsey mind). But I love that someone said so. Nobody has to write anything like that. It is not an imperative, in a busy life, when there is so much else to do. But someone thought the thought and took the time and wrote the words, and sent a shaft of sunlight into a long day. Even though I am so tired my fingers can hardly move over the keyboard, I am smiling as I write this.
Say the thing, I think. If you love someone’s eccentric hat, tell them. If you think they are doing well in trying circumstances, congratulate them. If you adore their chicken soup or like the way they do their hair or are lifted up by the quirky way their minds works, tell them.
I think some people are almost afraid of giving compliments, as if it is a bit goofy or sappy or uncool or even, most oddly, a sign of weakness. It is true that some people, especially if they are British, may not be awfully good at accepting compliments, and instead of smiling and saying thank you so much will laugh, in a mocking manner, and say something like ‘oh, this old thing’, or ‘are you mad?’, or just mutter incoherently and scuff their feet along the ground. This can feel like a small rejection.
I think: risk it. Say the thing. Say the kind thing. Make someone’s day.
Even if it is a bit uncool.
I’ve been uncool for years, so I’m very much resigned to it by now. I did try to be hip and groovy, in my younger days, but it never took. There’s something quite liberating about coming to term with this in my middle-age, because now I can give as many compliments as I like. I sometimes gush. I don’t care. Say the thing.
Very quickly, as I still have miles to go before I sleep:
Not the best pictures I ever took. But there is an awful lot of sweetness in them, so I don’t mind. And sorry there is no time for captions.