Michael Bloomberg rescues American dignity. Georgina Bloomberg rides at Devon.

Yesterday the Washington Post (among others) reported that Michael Bloomberg flew to Paris to assure the United Nations that, in the absence of U.S. presidential leadership, Americans would keep their commitment to our planet.

From the story:

Former New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg has promised to provide up to $15 million in funding that he says the United Nations will lose because of President Trump’s decision to pull out from the landmark Paris climate deal.

The billionaire’s charitable organization, Bloomberg Philanthropies, on Thursday pledged to shoulder the United States’ share in the operating costs of the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change, the organization’s climate negotiating body in charge of helping developing countries fulfill environmental requirements under the 2015 pact.

“Americans are not walking away from the Paris Climate Agreement. Just the opposite — we are forging ahead,” Bloomberg said in a statement. “Mayors, governors, and business leaders from both political parties are signing onto a statement of support that we will submit to the UN — and together, we will reach the emission reduction goals that the U.S. made in Paris in 2015.”

Bloomberg was speaking on behalf of all of those Americans, the great majority of Americans, who recognize that we can't put up walls and live fiefdoms. We share this world, this air, this water. Climate change is real.

Downcast by so much of the news, Bill and I went to the Devon Horse Show last night, where Georgina Bloomberg, the former mayor's daughter, has been a frequent guest. In a field of 37 horses, she earned jump-off round status and a yellow ribbon, one of which she gave to a child in the crowd. Rooting for her, I was also rooting for her father, and for all of those who are standing up and saying, No. America can still be great because American citizens are.

This is Georgina, above. I was lucky to have a standing spot right at the gate.

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on looking past the work we've made and, also, the opposite (in Decatur)

The Devon Horse Show grounds are empty, but the gates are open. No, not empty, we discover; there is a single contractor working within. With his permission we walk, in and out of the stables, the new buildings, the old ones. I find a ladder and Bill climbs it into a secret place. I think an abandoned sink is lovely. Also a discarded, woven hat. Also emptiness as countered by the milk of contained light.

In the sun it is hot. In the shade it is perfect.

What are we searching for on this Labor Day?

I have been reading Olivia Laing. I have been reading (I seem to endlessly circle her) about Virginia Woolf. Her ecstasy. Her mourning. Her river and her pocketful of stones. I have been reading, too, about artists, jealousies, rivalries. Bacon and Freud. Manet and Degas. I have been thinking of the panel I was on, just yesterday afternoon, at the exquisite AJC Decatur Book Festival, and all the things I didn't say, and the friends who came to see me, and the ease of our stupendously fine moderator, Terra Elan McVoy, who brilliantly coined perfumes for us and wove a silk thread between stories for us and wondered about our books as films and decided This Is the Story of You isn't really a film, not yet a film, though perhaps it is an Indie. Yes. Always. I am, will be, the Indie. Slightly out of step and over to the side and stewing inside the next act of making something, my preference, always, for the thing that is not yet made, as opposed to the thing that is.

Do we read our books after they are published (beyond when authorial responsibility calls us to), we were asked. No, I said. No, emphatic. For there is no fixing the book then, no new chance, and I always wish that my books were better than they were, and I am always trying, until they are printed (ask any editor of mine) to make them better than they are, than they will be, but yesterday, when I was feeling, I'm not entirely sure why, sad, there was a girl in the line after the panel who asked me to sign her books. "You are my favorite author," she said, and I was stunned by it, set back, this gesture of hers, this kindness extended. Words that pinned me to the present time, for that present time, in that moment. With me on one side of the table and this beautiful girl on the other, for just that moment or two, I was me, with the books I have made, in the present, in the moment. I was not looking past them.

Not in that split of time, anyway.

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the tantalizing before

Before the horses arrive, before the crowds set in, before the big hats and the prance of dogs.

I like to be alone inside the tantalizing before.

Sort of like writing a book before the critics weigh in.

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Clydesdales, Georgina Bloomberg, Cowboy: Scenes from the Devon Horse Show

Ever since I was a little girl, the Devon Horse Show has swept me in. It has been gray here, misty, but that hasn't daunted the horses or those who love them.

Last night was the Grand Prix. Leading up to all of that was this—anticipation in the stables, an entertaining cowboy, Clydesdales on the grounds. The first jumper of the night was Georgina Bloomberg.

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The gorgeous Jessica Springsteen rides at Devon. (And happy news about the Glory Days proposal.)

My deep admiration for Bruce Springsteen is well known.  I won't repeat myself here, not tonight.  I simply wish to say this evening how happy and proud I am to be joining April Lindner, Jane Satterfield, Ned Balbo, and Ann E. Michael for Glory Days:  A Bruce Springsteen Symposium, to be held this coming September.  Our proposal (April planted the seeds) was accepted.  We'll sit together to reflect on the impact this great artist has on the way we think about words and storytelling.  And we'll listen to what others have to say (and how they sing).

I also wish to say that I had the privilege, hours ago, of standing at the rails at the Devon Horse Show and watching Jessica Springsteen, Bruce's daughter, float above her gorgeous horse.  She is a distinguished rider and person, this Jessica Springsteen.  She made it to the jump off, rode last in a tough, brave field.  Here she is in a bold attempt to best a toweringly fine time.

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in the stables, on the grounds: early morning

Early this morning I slipped out of the house and down the quiet of the street toward the horses. 

They were waiting for me.

They will be gone in a few days.

I miss them already.

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the horses are back in town (and a small bit from THE HEART IS NOT A SIZE)

Those who have followed this blog for at least a year know that, come the end of May, I begin to spend at least a few hours most days at the Devon Horse Show, prowling around behind the scenes with my camera in hand.  My long-time love for this show (I first began to visit as a child) inspired many passages in THE HEART IS NOT A SIZE, a book about two teens whose best friendship is tested when they make their way to Juarez.  Before they get there, however, they head on down to the horse show.  I conveniently gave my protagonist, Georgia, a version of my house in which to live.  I transcribed my personal experience into Georgia's tale:

The next day I woke to the quadruple clopping of hooves, the slamming and latching of a pick-up truck.  Boots on asphalt.  I grabbed my glasses, sat up.  From my bedroom window I could see them best—the long line of trailers that had arrived overnight, from California, Connecticut, New Jersey, from every state that claimed a horse with the heart or brawn to win.  The trailers were nose to rear up and down my street—some of them posh as limousines, some with room to spare for the polished carriages and sulkies that would be paraded later that week at the fairgrounds two blocks north. 

The horses were like kindergartners being let out of school—shuddering and tossing their tails as they reverse-walked down the grated ramps.  Their eyes were big as purple summer plums, and all I wanted to do right then was breathe the horses in, press my cheek against their cheeks.  It was early, a Sunday; I called Riley nonetheless.  The horse show came to town only once each year, in May, and the show was a Georgia-Riley tradition.

            “Riley.” I whispered, so that my brothers couldn’t hear.  “They’ve come.”

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Time for a little Carson Kressley

I am now taking time from my regularly scheduled blog life (which is never regularly scheduled and which is not technically speaking a life and which is still, four years in, trying to figure out what it is meant to be) to share with you two photographs taken one summer ago at the horse show extravaganza that happens once each year two blocks from my home.

A blue ribbon to those of you who recognize the rider as Mr. Carson Kressley, who gained fame on "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" and is now defying the odds with Anna Trebunskaya on "Dancing With the Stars."  But in between those two TV appearances, Mr. Kressley rode this horse to first Devon Horse Show placedom with considerable style.  The horse itself, a majestic creature, was stabled in the back corner of the show grounds, and after the win, Carson kindly entertained the crowds and signed a fistful of autographs.  What struck me at the time was how incredibly serious he was about his riding—and how stand-out gifted with a horse. 

Which means, I'm saying, that, though he has us laughing on "Dancing," and is in fact the reason I tune in, there is much to him that the cameras do not see.  He's gracious in person and he cares about what he does.  And see how the horse listens to him.

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The Wells Fargo Wagon, Tattoos, and a Brief Snip of an Olympic Horse

Thursday night is the big night at the Devon Horse Show, and so, after negotiating a tres crowded dance floor to learn a new waltz with Jean, I rushed back home and ran down the street to meet my husband, who was taking real photographs (with a tripod and all) among the crowds. Here the Wells Fargo Wagon is getting things started as I stand among the crowds.

In the final image box here I share a brief video snippet from the show itself. These are Olympic horses and riders on an Olympic-caliber course. I'm standing on an overturned bucket and can only capture but part of the course with my little hand-held Sony. But what is really so spectacular is the voice of the Devon Horse Show, to which I've been listening many, many years—it booms at me all day long these two weeks of the year and late into the night.

Photos only ever tell part of the story. This micro-video tells some of the rest. You have to buy a funnel cake, a lemon stick lemon, and a melting ice cream cone to get even closer to the truth. Then you have to take a carousel ride.

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Peaceable Kingdom

Today a breeze makes its way in through my window as I work, and so do the sounds of the horse show, two blocks away. My son sends daily reports of his adventure in London. I have a new book brewing.

That's peaceable in my kingdom.

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My new screensaver

and my thanks to those of you who have so kindly commented on the photographs these past few days. I am a peaceful person, when I have a camera in hand, when my only responsibility is to see. To wait for the horse to find me, to wait for the child to laugh, to wait for the sun to fall to just the right place. Photography slows me down. It forces patience. And I love having an outlet for it here, on the blog.

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Rumblers and Waltzers and Heartfelt Thanks

Many exquisite things trundle and waltz by my home on Memorial Day weekend. There is, for example, the annual carriage parade. There are the dogs of the famous dog cotillion. And then there are my fabulous, witty, smart, and loving neighbors—so entirely and brilliantly in love.

Exquisite things waltz into my world as well, and this morning I would like to send my heartfelt thank you to Florinda, for this especially moving post about our time together at BEA. Caribousmom, I thank you, too, for including You Are My Only in your Book Buzz: Fall Reads; you've assembled an immaculate list of titles, and I'm so grateful to have my book included on that list.

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A few things that are making me happy

I am stealing a meme from dear, so-talented, and missed Eating a Tangerine with this up-to-the-moment report on what is making me happy.

First, the cherished memories of my trip to the BEA this past week. Thank you, so many of you, for being such an integral part of my adventure, thank you Armchair BEA for the love, and thank you Florinda for the conversation.

Second, the news that Dangerous Neighbors has been chosen as the summer read by a lovely local private school. I have so wanted that for this book of mine, and I am grateful.

Third, the happy reality that, after allowing myself to stall for a few days (as I imagine most authors waiting to hear about circulating manuscripts do), I have found my way back to my prequel-in-progress to Dangerous Neighbors. Research proved to be the key. I have lucked onto something astonishing and juicy—a little known fact that will give my story heft, suspense, momentum, and (I'll toss the word in there) thrills. I have myself a riveting something. Now I just have to write it.

Fourth, spending time at the Devon Horse Show, taking photographs of horses, children, riders, and the big jumpers. Today I'll be photographing the carriages that are rolling down my street (two just did, so I interrupted this blog to catch them) as well as the famous puppy contest.

Fifth, spending an hour with Kim, my former student, at the show yesterday.  There she is, petting a three-month-old mini. Both are, I think, beyond words.

Finally, receiving and reading the richest imaginable e-mails from my son, now in his fourth day in London. The Brits are treating that great guy of mine exquisitely well, and he is turning most every hour into something worthy of a story. In exactly two weeks I'll be there, in London, too. Laughing, I'm certain. And listening.

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The children of the show: a suite of portraits

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Four Young Riders and an Even Younger Buck

Scenes from the Devon Horse Show.

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You know how I talk about the beauty of my students?

Well, you see?  I never lie.  Here is Kim, glorious Kim, walking the Devon Horse Show grounds with me.

Thank you, Gareth, for sharing her this afternoon.

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The Beauty Shot: One Horse, One Show

From last night, at the Devon Horse Show. The competition had begun. The crowds were beyond. It was just this horse and me and a wide angle lens.

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Just a month and days away from the Devon Horse Show

and there are the grounds, off in the distance.  I walked through the open gates yesterday afternoon.  Sat on a bench, waiting for horses.  One lone soul with a big truck was moving the mountains of new white sand around.  Like snow beneath a magnolia sky.

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And then it ended

I was afraid of losing the light.  She sat up high, against the sun, gave me one photo more.

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The Unionville Rider

It was her first trip to Devon; she'd only just begun riding a few months ago.  And this was her horse, braided by a friend, saddled up, readied for adventure.  "Will you take our portrait?" they asked, and so I did, beneath the greenish light of the secondary stables, where I have spent many hours this past week, leaving my own life for all of theirs, which is the first lean back toward fiction.

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