Kristine E. Brickey

...BUT IT IS SO MUCH MORE! It's Robbie's blue hat, one of the few things I have of his. I wear it, and feel him with me when I need it most. I feel him watching over me, especially when I need it most. This morning, I readied to go out for chores, grabbed my quilted flannel shirt off the hook, and reached for the blue hat. I always hang it on the hook above the flannel. I grabbed for it without having to look, but no hat. Slight moment of panic, but this has happened before. It is exactly why I now ALWAYS hang it on the hook. Deep breath. Calm yourself, Kristine. My hand reaches into the deep front pocket of the flannel (second storage spot). Nothing. The other pocket is searched. Nada. Panic. "I can't find my blue hat!" Chad turns from where he is standing in the kitchen. He knows it is more than a knit cap that keeps my head warm in winter.  Frantic, I rush into our coatroom, searching the cubbies, the hanging jackets and coats, their pockets, even though I know

Recently, a number of friends reached out to share a post written by a former friend and business acquaintance. Each person who brought it to my attention did so with the best of intentions. They were angry for me, wanting to protect me, and hoping to keep me aware in case of future, well, attacks is the best way to phrase it. Their love and caring was much appreciated. I should have simply left it there, but I made the mistake of reading the post anyway. As I read, my muscle memory brought me back into the feelings of sadness, betrayal, and disappointment that ultimately led me to disassociate from the author of the post. It would have been incredibly easy to fall back into a pit of negativity, to feed the desire to defend myself, or follow the urge to point out the falsehoods being revived. For a few minutes, I'll admit, these were all pulling my fingers toward the keys; but, as my heart raced and my blood pressure rose, I paused. Responding was not going to resolve the break or

I've needed to write this piece for weeks. It's evaded me, my pen, slipping away like smoke in the wind until this morning. I heard the words, replayed the segment three times to make sure I heard it correctly, felt the rightness of it. Reached for my writing tools. Finally. Grey's Anatomy . Season 4: Episode 9- "This day, this day, you feel helpless...this day makes you grateful you have a chance to do anything at all. Take it in."  Robbie died May 16, 2010. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Near the end of Grey's Anatomy , the season with the mass hospital shooter stalking McDreamy and doctors and surgeons.  After Robbie's funeral and all that roiled around in association with that terrible, awful, horrible time, a friend warned me off watching the remaining episodes of that season of  Grey's , possibly my favorite show. She had watched the episodes she knew I dvr'd. She did not want me to witness death after death, gunshots, bullets, and blood. There was

Last November I decided to stop traditional Pressure/Release training (R-) and move to full Positive Reinforcement (R+) with Cappy. This set Cappy's progress back a few weeks as I gave him the choice to say No, and he took his time making sure I meant it. Since then, I've done most of his work at Liberty: sans halter, no lead rope, just us on this new journey of learning and becoming a true team.  Despite how far Cappy has come, one thing I have noticed is that even though he now chooses the halter, when I work him with it on, whether a lead rope is on or off, Cappy's anxiety initially rises. Why does this happen? Though I can't know for sure (Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful if he could whisper his secrets into my ear!), I believe it comes from his past experiences.  He lived wild until he was around ten years old. BLM aged him at 7 when rounded, but I believe he is a bit older. Within a month he was branded, gelded, and soon after sold with Cinder and a few other wild

Wrote this piece during MMWG this morning based on the phrases in the 'title' above and thought I would share. It's been suggested that I write a book based on the horses I've known in my life. Hmm...might just be the softer, kinder writing I need to work on as I fight my way through the current tougher, emotionally challenging memoir and non-fiction projects.  What do you think? Would you be interested in reading about my equine friends? Please let me know in the comments! Stick ponies, Red Cowboy Boots, & Happy Trails   Stick ponies were never my thing growing up, because I had Johnny, and Charlie, and Shadow and Taffy, and finally, my own, my very own horse, Buck. Without much energy I can recall perfectly the moment I first saw my sweet buckskin Quarter Horse. We’d gone to meet the other equine, a flashy 7/8ths Arab named Joe. Silvery sheen, black dappled flanks, and wide circle eyes flashing white…definitely not the best match for my ten year old self. But his

 This piece came from a prompt taken out of Barbara Kingsolver's “The Bean Trees.”            But what if you can’t find them? They were here somewhere. Words whispered inside my dream. Brushing my face, a breeze warming my skin, a tickle as hairs blew wispy across my neck. Resting against the leafy maple’s trunk, eyes closed, words had arrived, breathed in with the scent of blooming lilacs. Unnoticed for one breath; snapping synapses alert with the next.  Eyes open. Searching. Worrying the words had wafted away into sky blue vastness overhead.  Seeking. Almost frantic. Feeling the words slide further away the harder I searched. Like holding a plume of smoke in my hands. Impossible.            What if I couldn’t find them? A choice made. Deciding to be only in the moment. I settled again, closing my eyes, breathing in, opening myself to the floating words. Inviting them to return, acknowledging their right to say no.   If not today, then perhaps tomorrow or the next.  They would ma