This was gifted to me by my good friend, Sharon Miesen. It’s a first edition, printed in 1955. I love old books like this one. Love the way they smell, feel, and the way they make me feel. It’s books like this that remind me why I want to be a writer.
This book has seen a lot in its time. It’s been handled and read by many people over the years, mainly young girls most likely. Girls who dream of having their own wild Arabian stallion who loves them the way Flame loves Steve Duncan. I’ll bet this book has heard laughter, tears, and everything in between.
Books can take us to any time and place. Books like this helped me to continue to dream of possibilities in spite of the often-dark circumstances in which I found myself as a young girl. Hope truly is a powerful thing.
My very own Flame (gelding though). Dreams can come true!
I’m currently reading the 1943 edition of Thunderhead, by Mary O’Hara, which originally belonged to my Granny, Frances Grimes, who passed away in 2014. What’s weird though, is even though she knew how much I love horses, she never mentioned her love for them. She also owned, My Friend Flicka, the first book in this three horse book series. I just finished reading that one and will soon post a review. It had been so long since I had read these books that I forgot the herd stallion, Banner, was half Arabian. And even the wild stallion that they call the Albino is said to have some Arabian blood. It’s amazing to me how Arabians seem to show up everywhere in the horse world, in one way or another!
I titled this entry, Fortitude, because of a passage in this book where, Rob McLaughlin, is talking to his son, Ken, about the boy needing to learn how to handle disappointment in life and he references a quote from a book called, Fortitude: “It’s not life that matters-it’s the courage you bring to it.”.
Even though I’m not a big fan of the character, Rob McLaughlin, because he’s often stubborn and overbearing, I was struck by that passage. It is very difficult to react well when things are going wrong.
I’m currently quarantined because I was in close contact with someone who is now struck down by Covid-19. I’m on the fourth day of said quarantine, and the first three days were not handled well by me at all. The first day was the worst, because I allowed my anxiety to take control of me the whole day, and that night I couldn’t sleep because my heart wouldn’t stop racing. I’ve wasted three days of prime writing time just waiting to get sick. I kind of snapped out of it a little yesterday; did a few household chores and worked out, but no writing…
Well now I’m writing this, so I guess that’s something, even though I’m reaching the end of the fourth day. To quote Scarlett O’Hara, “Tomorrow is another day.”
Dreaming of Arabians 