Perfect....................................

Deciding that lazing by the pool was not her only purpose in life, Mum focused on getting out and about the general Santa Barbara area more and more as the days progressed.  Since her release from the St Francis Hospital, mere trips to the Pharmacy and Marina, a day at that Zoo and a walk down Main Street (Wheelchair providing respite) , had proved entertaining enough but further investigation of the local area was required, given all Mark and I had told her.

So, out came the map and following my elder brother Mark and my reconnaissance missions, some choices were offered; a trip to Solvang, the quaint Danish community out through the hills on Highway 154?  Perhaps a drive down to northern Los Angeles, Rodeo drive and Hollywood? Or the Santa Ynez valley and the wineries?

Solvang, the nearest to Santa Barbara was her choice, as Mum wanted to hear my attempts at ordering lunch in a Danish Accent at the Deli, which had Mark in fits of laughter and which has to be heard to be appreciated I am told.  Solvang was her decision, so with meds packed, wheelchair in the trunk and the Factor 30 to hand we set off.

The drive to Solvang along 154 takes you up through and over the higher hills surrounding the City, then down towards the valley below, the road winding past farms and ranches.  As readers will recall this was long ago Chumash Indian country, a farming tribe, no doubt easily overcome by various Mexican, Spanish and American invaders on their land.  The Highway is called the Chumash Highway in their name.  The landscape, beyond the impact of farms and horses, had likely not changed in hundreds of years and way back in 1988, was yet to be invaded by that horror, the Wind Turbine and Mobile Phone Mast.

High up in the hills the county had provided Vista Points (View points), where we stopped to take a picture or two, look out across the hills and valleys and generally take a chance to appreciate the land.  We drove down into the valley and approached the Lake Cachuma Recreational Park, a vast expanse of reservoir and waking trails, fishing and boating the main pursuits and plentiful camping land.

Mum looked across the lake and said we have to stop here; I want to get out and walk.  We drove the gates, where Mum once again used her charms to escape the entry fee, and it was pretty obvious we were not long stay, no trailer hitched or tent packed.  He waved the fee and said we had an hour.

Driving past the Clubhouse and slipways, the obligatory coke machines and picnic tables, we turned back towards the highway and drove along a dirt track, running between the Lake and Highway.  I stopped the car at a small parking place and Mum was up and out of the car and down to the Lake, even before I managed to open the trunk and get out her chair.  Seeing that she did not need it, I ambled down after her, finding that she had moved some way along the shore, strewn with small pebbles and rocks, lying over the sand and had found a nice big boulder to sit on.

I watched from afar, her faced turned up to face the hills, warmed by the late morning sun and no sounds, save for the slap of small waves on the shore and the call of birds in the trees and scrub behind us.  It was a new life, another chance to feel the sun on her face, the wind in her hair and to hear the simple sounds of the world, beyond the clutter and noise of the city.  I wandered across to her, smoking the obligatory Marlboro and kicking stones before me.  Mum turned to look at me, smiled, her hair, windblown and tangled, was being tucked into her straw hat with the purple band and moved a touch across her rock, to make room for me.  Nothing disturbed us, it was peaceful and quiet.

Eventually, the sound of horses drew our attention away from the lake and I found that we were holding hands, (mum was a hand holder supreme).  We stood and walked back to the car and I drove further along the track until we came to a clearing, short dry brown grass and across from us, a small series of barns, paddocks and nearby, a picnic table or two.  An older couple sat watching “real” Cowboys herding horses into the Corrals and so we wandered across and asked whether we could sit with them.

It transpired that the couple were the parents of the cowboys, who had brought a herd down from Montana for the summer.  They’d arrive mid July and stay the summer, before heading back.  Colts had been born along the way and were dashing around the parents, and a cowboy sat astride one colt, his feet nearly touching the ground, as it scampered across the grass and into a corral.

Mum had introduced herself and me to the older couple, who were the parents of two of the cowboys.  We sat and watched at these guys corralled the horses and they then hopped the gate and walked over to us.  We shook hands and they sat with us, as we drank their coffee and talked about our reason for being in Santa Barbara, with Mum taking their compliments as graciously as ever.

Mum had not stopped smiling since we’d gotten to Cachuma and the surroundings seemed to have a profound effect on her wellbeing.  One of the cowboys asked me if I could ride.  I had never been near a horse except for two occasions, firstly watching my brother Richard getting kicked by one my sister was riding back in our lives lived in Leicester.  The second time was when I was confronted by a mounted policeman near Buckingham Palace in 1987, as recounted in blog http://jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/all-roads-lead-to-rhodes-and-police.html.

So my experiences with horses did not count well in my favour and I was not expecting to be asked whether I’d like to go for a ride.  I was wearing my usual get up of Cowboy boots (Crocodile skin black) and Levi 502’s, along with a t-shirt, so looked the part from the waist down I suppose.  So never one to opt out of a new experience, I agreed and was kitted out with a Stetson and a horse, a big bugger as well.

“We’ll take the trail that crosses the highway and leads off into the hills, stick with me, do as I ask and you’ll be fine” he said.  I was boosted up onto the horse, took the reins in my hands and off we went, side by side, across the highway and off along a trail through rough pasture, and brush.  Mum shouted out “be careful” as we sauntered off.  We headed uphill for a while at a leisurely walking pace until the trail widened as we reached a plateau atop the hill.

Whilst we walked he showed me how to change and hold the reins, how to sit comfortably and told me how to talk to the horse, to change to canter, trot and steer etc.  Basically the word was “Hah” and a jab in the side with my boots and a slap on his neck with the reins, (you know, you’ve seen cowboy films).  So there I am trotting (yes trotting) along, we’re chatting away about life in general, when he says (and I paraphrase here)”d’ya wanna ride him then? I mean really ride him, you’ll be good, long as you do as I say, and do, it’ll be fine and you’ll like it” he said.  “Go on then” I said....

My mouth therefore had done what it normally does, which is speak before my brain is seriously engaged with the task at hand.  So whilst I am saying yes, my brain is saying, shit, twat, no thanks etc. “Hah” said my moth, going entirely against standing orders, again, and aiming for a serious telling off by the brain once we got home and if we survived.  No change of speed came about though, so I relaxed a little, until my mouth said “Hah” again and more loudly as instructed to by the cowboy who shouted “Hah” at the same time as me. And off we went.

When I say off, its not in terms of a gentle pick up of speed and get yourself comfy type off, it was as if someone had shoved a rocket up the horse’s behind.  I was being thrown all over the saddle, “Lift your ass off the saddle, bend your legs at the knee and stand in the stirrups and glide” he shouted.  I was bouncing all over the place, like a baby being bounced like an over enthusiastic older brother.  “How” I shouted “how do I stop”, “Aint no need for stopping son, git” he shouted. “Git?” I shouted (me and my mouth again tsk!!) and we seemed to pick up even greater speed.  All I did know was that I was going to punch my mouth right in the face when we got back, the bastard.  

My horse sped on as we crested a hill and sailed down the other side, “Hah” I shouted (?) as I suddenly started to float above the horse, my knees acing like shock absorbers and my body leaning slightly forward. “You got it” he shouted and I believe I had got it.  IN fact I got it so well,  I said “Hah” and “Git” again for good measure and so we sprinted on, my mouth laughing and shouting “This is great!”

We rode like that for some time, around a long loop to our starting point and the highway crossing, through dry creeks and trails.  As his horse slowed, so did mine, no need for words, it matched his for pace until we were walking again, the horse panting as we let their heads drop, my hands on my thighs holding the reins loosely, “let him catch his breath” he said.  

As we padded back he said that for a first timer I did ok, “Make a cowboy outta you yet” he said smiling.  I asked that of all the commands I’d given the horse, how many he had obeyed? “Oh, I’d say none of em; He’d go when I’d go, stop when I’d stop.  Mind you he’d enjoy you shouting out once you’d gotten the hang of things”.  I guessed as much and said I’d no choice then? “None” he laughed, as I plotted ways to kill him as we rode back to the stable.  Back at the tables, Mum was in deep conversation as I slid of the horse with a bump and hobbled over.  The cowboy hitched the horses by a water trough and went into the barn.  I sat down and told Mum of the ride and various ways in which I played the cowboy, riding the range!  My compadre came over with a couple of beers and handed me one.  We sparked up a Marlboro and sat on the long grass away from the table.

Looking at my Mum then, she was in her element, her face alight with smiles and laughter.  Given all she had recently been though (see http://jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/my-mum-and-her-myocardial-infarction.html), the collapse, the heart attacks, the ambulance rides and resuscitation, (seven times), medicines, the loss of her dignity; there were no signs, beyond her tussled hair and tired eyes.  But her smile, her laughter, her ability to talk with anyone, her proud self worth and beauty, were enviable.

I lay back, the early afternoon sun beating down.  I could have lain there forever, listening to the sound of my Mum’s voice as the recent weeks turmoil’s slowly slipped off our shoulders.  The horse's called across to us, another beer arrived, and I propped myself on my elbow, crossed my feet and looked across at my mother, alive and well, merely feet away from my arms, Perfect..............