Spelling Bee Complex Conquered

There are some real estate bargains in our neck of the woods. I was stalking that ranch you see pictured above just this afternoon. It is for sale, but it's probably not one of the great deals vultures -- I mean investors -- are snatching up. I figured, if I had to ask, I couldn't afford it. At least it's confirmed I'm no vulture.

After torturing the girls by stopping at every autumnal photo op between chess class and home, I had to pull out the camera bag one more time as we pulled in to the big stables to feed Seven:

Seven is at the rear of that race to the barn. Willy is the grey in the lead. The pony is valiantly pounding hooves in second place.

Funny. I would have bet on Seven.

When I was growing up, I competed in a lot of spelling bees. You know in spelling bees there are a lot of wins in a row before, for most kids, a devastating loss. That's how it goes. You win time after time, in the classroom and then the district. The county and then state. Maybe you make it to regionals. But if you pull in second at regionals, and you're a funny little child from the boondocks....

If you're a funny little child with two brown braids and big green eyes and your best friend is a horse, second at regionals feels like humiliation and death. You think to yourself as you put on a brave face that Teri W. from District 4J (I STILL REMEMBER) must have been clued in to the 'onomatopoeia' finale. You think to yourself as you pose with the second-place trophy that her mother had cocoa with the committee. You don't really have a conspiracy theory (because you're 10) but you could spell it.

I'm trying to say: It's all relative. Or maybe I'm trying to say, for the past day or two, I've felt 10 years old. I've felt as though everyone else had the answers. I was memorizing the Spellex cover to cover even though the final word probably wasn't in it.

When you're in your late 30s, you should know by now that you win some and you lose some. Life's not a ladder, it's a meandering path. That occurred to me as I watched the fastest horse loping in to the barn in third place.

Yeah, I'm slow that way.

(There's Dewey to take your mind off my point about what winners we all are. Dewey's named after the "Dewdrop Inn," a long-shuttered stage stop a half mile from us. And he's never last for dinner.)