Ventured home to Pennsylvania for Easter, the first time I’ve been home since I squeezed in a two-day visit before Christmas. Miles, hardly knowing his cousins, his grandparents these days. Life seems to have gotten too fast, too harried for trips home.
Miles jumped right back in, like he had seen them yesterday. He wrestled with Katie, the puppy, fell waist-deep in a stream, got bitten by a tick behind his ear, hunted Easter eggs, ate pizza, played with the rabbits (“I call that one Peter Cotton Tail”), started a hide and seek game in the Indian fort, read new/old books, slept on a blow-up mattress and basically made everybody laugh for two days.
Dad just came in the house and asked if we had time to ride. Not really, but yes, we do. Off to ride Simon while my 78-year-old father rides Lear Charm and ponies Diversified. So far, Dad has told me former jump jockey Jack McGee was his hero, nobody rides like Mike Smith, Kelso is the best there’s ever been, he should have gotten more out of Money By Orleans and that Mario Pino once drove past him after he had run out of gas, turned around and asked if him if he needed any help, “And I had never even ridden him on a horse.” This is all before we go riding for an hour.