That’s my teaser title excuse for getting the blog up late today. I don’t have jury duty.
For some of the employed, including me, today is a holiday known as Presidents’ Day. I’m sitting on the couch, listening to BBC-Radio 3, contemplating these late winter Monday holidays. Do people still buy cars on Presidents’ Day? Maybe I need a new Jeep.
Yesterday, some good people in my town hosted a fundraiser called “The World’s Greatest Sleigh Rides.” There are lots of draft horse people in Maine, apparently, and the owners of these amazing animals haul their teams to a big snowy field at the edge of town, hitch them up to sleds, and offer rides through the woods. It’s a good exercise in learning what words and expressions like “whoa,” “hold your horses,” and “horsepower” mean.
I enjoyed my ride and yet I found myself wondering “can’t these horses pull this sled any faster?” Why was the pleasant pace not fast enough for me, given it was Sunday and I had no particular place to go? This disturbing dissonance was my Sunday afternoon contemplation. I have never known anything but the speed of an internal combustion engine. I was taken by automobile in utero to the hospital where I was born; I’ve been moving about this way my whole life. I know nothing else but the need for speeds greater than that of a horse. After all, animals led or driven are not allowed on the Maine Turnpike.
Perhaps I will never be able to slow down. That’s a depressing thought for a sunny Presidents’ Day, yet the cars outside my window go whizzing by.
Hail to the horse.