Into the Fire

The home where I lived from the age of two (I think) through the seventh grade was on Motor Place. The telephone number there was Melrose 2-5077.

My two best friends while I lived there were Debbie Kuhn and Verna Sorlie. Debbie, like me, loved horses. Verna, unlike me at the time, loved cats. Debbie and I got to go to the dude ranch together for a week our first year in the summer after fifth grade and then for two weeks the next two years. Verna and I used to build blanket tents in her small backyard or mine and read novels or write stories during the summertime.

The names of the horses I rode for those three years at the dude ranch were Minnie-Ha-Ha, Dude, and Friday. Friday was a young horse and he managed to get me off once earning me a “Bite the Dust Club” ribbon.

When I was working to save money for my trip to Europe after my first and last year at the University of Washington, I bought some boots I saw first in “Vogue” or “Harper’s Bazarre” magazine. They were black calfskin and went all the way up to the top of my thighs. All the way. I loved those boots.

My first horse’s name was Honora. She was an 18 year old broodmare who had produced stakes winners (quality Thoroughbreds) after having a distinguished racing career in California. The vet at the breeding farm where we worked was going to put her down because she hadn’t had a foal in four or five years. We rescued her, and eventually she had two more colts. She lived to be almost 32 years old.

Father, thank you for my life. Thank you for the lessons. Thank you most of all for finding me in the mess I made of it. I love you, Jesus. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.