Waiting for a Pony

For years, I have wanted a pony.  I believe that my dad's cousin, Attilio, told me when I was three years old that he would buy me a white pony.  This brought up the hackles on my mom, who believed you should never make a promise to a child that you couldn't keep.  (If my friend, Ken Firl, is reading this, he will now know where this philosophy of mine originated.)  ANY-hoo-how, I spent years wishing in vain for an equine pet.  I wore cowboy boots.  I went on trail rides.  I kept a binder of pictures and articles on horses.  I subscribed, as a child, to Western Horseman magazine.  I dreamed that one day, like the boy in Lincoln Steffens' great Christmas story, a man would come down my street leading a pony, and I would joyfully realize that it was mean for me.  (If you have never read this tale, you should - you can find it here: A Miserable Merry Christmas  I cry every time I read it, or even talk about it.)

Alas, my pony never materialized.  But, still I persevered.  Any time ANYone asked me if I wanted anything ("Janine, i am going to the store - do you want anything?" "Janine, we're heading out for coffee - can we bring you anything?"  "Janine - it is Groundhog Day - is there something you'd like?") I always have replied with, "A Pony!"  In fact, one day while at work years ago, I was sitting next to a colleague who had brought in a set of walkie-talkies that he had scored on Woot!.  He had one on his desk, turned on, and somehow it picked up the NexTel devices of the construction workers out in the parking lot.  The walkie-talkie next to me suddenly squawked, "I'm taking a break - anyone need anything?"  Without hesitation, I picked up the device, pushed the "TALK" button, and said, "I want a pony!"  Pause...silence...then the same voice, an octave deeper, said, "I've got your pony right here, baby."  Funny, but NOT what I was hoping for.

A few weeks ago, sometime before my recent 56th birthday, 53 years after I first asked for a pony, my lovely Ron asked me what I'd like for my birthday.  "A pony," I said, and we both laughed.  He reminded me (for the 4,677th time, as he does every time I ask for a pony) that our subdivision has CC&Rs that restrict the ownership of anything other than "normal household animals."  Usually, I then say, "an alpaca? a llama?  an emu?" But, ever the practical lawyer-type, he has to tell me that I cannot have any of those, nor a springbok, a dik dik, or a nilgai.  Believe me, it's a looooong conversation some days when he asks if I want anything from the corner market.  He ended up getting me a really cool scrapbooking tool, and I thought that was that.  My birthday came and went, and nothing earth-shattering happened.

Then, the next day, he handed me a card and said he had reserved it for the day after my birthday because he thought my birthday had been a challenging day for me (long story), but that the 23rd had been a banner day (true, but a separate long story).  The front of the card's envelope alone was awesome, because, well, it looked like this:

It's just so cute.

The card was lovely, the sentiment perfect, and then, at the bottom inside, after his signature, was a promise to take me to two riding sessions.  I could keep both for myself, or he would accompany me for one joint session.

So, in addition to building me a house, taking really good care of me, agreeing to support me (and my scrapbooking habit) so that I could semi-retire this year, and being a steady source of joy in my life, the man gave me (in a small way) a pony.

Happy Christmas, everyone.  I hope you receive that super special thing that is your own pony this year.

Peace to all of you!