Kristine E. Brickey

Wednesday began beautifully, an early trip to bring Chad back from Sparrow after his successful surgery the day before. It was a great morning, and in early afternoon the sun broke from the clouds to warm the outside air and begin drying muddy pastures. Eager to enjoy the unusually warm March weather, my steps were light as I went to my horse tack stored in the trailer, grabbed Cinder’s halter and lead, and headed to where she stood in the center paddock.  She always lets me approach, but I’ve noticed lately when I have the halter she isn’t as bright eyed and excited. I want her to come to me, for it to be a mutual connection, so I took my time, allowing her to walk her one or two steps before moving around her shoulder and urging her to draw to me. For awhile, Cinder stood at the back fence, calm, yet not ready to commit. Rather than rush her, I released a sigh, breathed away any negativity, and stood beside her watching the back fields together.  All was calm until her inqui...

     Dreams are bringing my lost ones back to me this week. It has been wonderful and difficult and each night fill my heart with soft melancholy and joy.       Sunday I spent a beautiful day with my Aunt Judy. We relaxed and chatted, laughed and remembered Robbie. She sent me home with a framed multi-photo that I'd given to my sweet Polish Grandma years ago. There are six pictures with Katie, Robbie, and I and each makes me smile even as I write this post. I wondered later if this visit was the catalyst for my dream.      That night I dreamt of Robbie. He was young, maybe 8 or 9, and we were together searching out a new martial arts gym for him, debating one over another. In the dream, Robbie was thoughtful and charming as he used his 'but Ma...' skills to convince me it was worth driving an hour each way to the gym he preferred. It was in Linden. I have no idea where these details came from, but in my dream it didn't matter. I woke, an...

          Today I am feeling rather lost and mucked down. Literally, mucked down in my pasture earlier this morning when I went out to take care of my horse and donkeys. As I pushed my feet into muck boots I could feel the angst. I shouldn’t have to wear these in February. I shouldn’t need to fight my way through sucking mud one step and the next fight to retain my balance as my skating rink pasture tries to land me on my ass.      Ironically, the inside of my barn is oozing water from around the south wall, my donkey’s stall floor seeping water from beneath, and yet…my water source, the red handled pull up never failed me yet well yielded nothing. So, insult of all universal insults, I had to tromp back through the mucky, ice slicked pasture to fill buckets with water. Normally, water inside the barn isn’t needed because my equines prefer to stay outdoors; but today, because of the warm wet downpours Mother Nature shared yesterday, I needed ...

Fair warning, I need to be brutally forthcoming today. Please read or don’t read as necessary.  I’m not ashamed to admit that this post has been a victim of procrastination. Today is the two year anniversary of losing my brother to suicide. I am not ashamed of that either. Shame is, by definition, a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior. Shame is, in my opinion, why my brother got so wrapped up in and twisted by his thoughts that he lost sight of everything and everyone positive in his existence. Overcome by shame, he was unable to focus on all of the reasons he needed to stay. There is no logic in his death, though he must have logically felt he had no other options. Shame is tied to Guilt (the wasted emotion of a previous post). Shame is felt for things we do that we wish we could retrieve. When we shame ourselves or try to use it against others, it is a controlling device, an attempt to prevent future behaviors that c...

A couple weeks ago, I was urged to create a series of 'Emotional' posts after sharing my draft about Grief. Shame was thrown at me, as a topic not as a tool for persuasion. Last week I struggled day after day to write the post. I tried to force my ideas onto the page, yet nothing was clicking, so I finally decided to leave it alone and wait. Which brings me to this morning. After a convergence of 'wow, last week has been a bag of suck' from fellow artists, friends, and even my husband, I decided that today I would forge ahead, get back on the proverbial horse. Though I hadn't written my Morning Pages in ten days (a daily act according to the Artist's Way by Julia Cameron), I made myself pick up my pen and journal as soon as I rose. Next, the procrastinated Chapter 3: Recovering a Sense of Power. I'd intended to read it last week, but as I've admitted, ended up unmotivated. It was as if the Universe collided with my doubts and set about, as my dad used t...

Lately, the topic of guilt has come up too often for me to ignore. Time after time, my lovely, kind, put others before themselves friends have shared situations that leave them guilt ridden.  For instance:       I need to visit my (mom/dad/grandparent/friend/etc.) but I'm really dreading it because (they treat me so horribly/I really can't afford it/they never appreciate me/etc.) but if I don't go I will feel guilty.       I have to (fill in the chore/task) for my (fill in the relationship) or they're going to be angry and I feel guilty when I tell them no. My normal response to friends who lament feeling guilty about something is to profess, "STOP IT! Guilt is a wasted emotion."  I say this confidently. I say this with conviction. I say this with the firm understanding of an incredibly important point: the only people who seem to feel guilty about things are the people who shouldn't feel guilty. The actual guilty parties flit onward, ...

*Today in our Mid-Michigan Word Gatherers meeting, one of the prompts was to rewrite a fairy tale, setting it in 2020. This version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is authored by my very talented daughter, Katie. She was kind enough to let me share. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did this morning! Seven little men mourned for Snow White.  There was no witch’s apple,  she never took a bite. Covid struck the princess, put her in a snooze,  but since they were all quarantined,  the prince never got the news. A messenger did finally spread word,  but in today’s day and age,  no one speaks the language of the birds. So in the woods Snow White waits, in her coffin full of grace,  until the day comes at last,  when we put Covid in the past.