After days without power, one would think I'd be running around like Mrs. Tittlemouse trying to get things done, but one would be wrong. It was Saturday, a day filled with cooking shows and, after recent deprivation, I watched every one, even two with Martha Stewart and her tedious recipes. Lidia Bastianich is always the last for the day and, before getting up and getting going when she was done, I flipped through the guide and found, ta da!, the Breeders' Cup races. Well, I wasn't about to miss those (any excuse is a good one), and I settled back down in the chair.
Men, and now women, have raced horses since caveman days. Horses compete for speed in the pastures and in the wild even without riders. What disaster has befallen Santa Anita racetrack that so many horses have died over the last year? It was stressed over and over yesterday that extreme measures have been taken, including at least 30 on-site vets and multiple daily inspections, to protect the animals. Still, in the last race of the day, a horse broke a leg and had to be put down. A very sad ending to what would have been a great day of racing.
Kathy V. was right (she usually is). The clocks have changed and the sun still came up this morning. Well, whoopee-doo. It, and I, might be up an hour "earlier." Ask me how I feel about that when the sun goes down early tonight. I dread the long, dark nights of winter.
I'll go into Mrs. Tittlemouse mode today. I promise.
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I read Mrs. Tittlemouse to my little guys about a month ago. She is a BIT more fastidious than I would hope to be, but she does keep a clean abode - or tries. My cousin's husband, who grew up primarily in San Gabriel, but has long since lived in the Pacific Northwest, made a trip down for the Breeder's Cup...not because he is a horseman, but because it is an age-old tradition with him and his buddies who grew up in the shadow of Santa Anita! Have a grand Sunday!
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