An update

Things at the carriage job are going pretty well. Not only do I have a pretty rockin' farmers tan going on, but I'm finally speaking the tours while my trainer drives. I'm happy to have a break from the driving because honestly, I can't feel my right middle finger any more. I didn't realize how much strength was required to handle a couple of one-ton horses, so let me tell you--you need a lot. It's nice to feel muscle building back into my body again. My husband said I've finally stopped giving 'girly' massages. Apparently my job is also enabling me to give 'man massages.'

While I despise the nights I have to work as a groom (which means taking the horses temps--that's right, I'm getting horse farts on me all night long; dumping the diapers--the memory of which is enough to make me want to hurl; and watering the horses--or rather, getting soaked while the horses splash the water around like a couple of babies in a bathtub), I am actually gaining some valuable skills. Like speaking. If you know me, it's hard to believe that I took a job that requires me to be communicative at the top of my lungs all day long. I'm a listener, an observer. It's what I do best. I think my husband is pleased that I am having to learn how to talk to different groups of people, figuring them out and adjusting the material I spew accordingly. Honestly, I hope I can learn to do that well. I've never been the most verbose, and that usually works against me.

My first time speaking was this morning, the 9AM tour. I had my notes sitting next to me for a tour that I knew how to drive the best, and my throat began to close. I drank almost a whole bottle of water before the tour even began, because my head began to pound and my hands began to shake. I was scared. This is about as out of my comfort zone as I've ever been, and that's including the time I had to walk around the Berlin airport with a huge allergic reaction on my face that made Elephant Man look handsome. I stumbled over my words, every syllable clutching to my dry tongue and birthing through my mouth like that alien bursting through that chest. I'm pretty sure that if I paid enough attention, the looks on the tourists faces would have been akin to Sigourney Weaver's as she dreamed about the alien in her own body. I tried not to stare at my notes constantly, but it was almost impossible not to. Finally, about twenty minutes in, my throat had enough. I croaked out a final word before asking my awesome trainer, Beth, to continue while I tried to regain composure, and my voice. I was pretty upset with myself at this point. I felt like nothing I said made sense, and I was pretty sure that the people in the back row couldn't hear me at all, though that seemed more like a plus for them. At the end of the tour, Beth looked at me and smiled, "You did great!" I stared at her, uncomprehending. Obviously she had been on a different tour, and I told her as much. She laughed and said that I did fine, though I needed to learn to project my voice more. She said that obviously I would learn the tours better as I gave them. The second tour we gave was to a group of young Girl Scouts (Savannah is the home to Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of the Girl Scouts of America; Savannah is like Mecca to them), and I found myself having fun. The young girls wouldn't question anything I said (though I do try my best to sort out fact from fun tales in my tours, I refuse to give false information), and their leaders were very lighthearted. I enjoyed talking to them, and I gave the whole tour myself, Beth only chiming in when I couldn't answer a specific question. I found myself looking less and less at my notes, giving them a few more romance and ghost stories than I normally would. It's fun when your audience shrieks at the idea of bloodletting and skeletons being discovered in the walls. My third tour didn't go as well, and Beth had to help out again, but I am definitely feeling better about talking to complete strangers. By the fourth tour my throat hurt so bad that I asked Beth to do all the work so I could relax and take in more of her tour stories.

I still have a long way to go, but my initial fear is gone, so now I can go back to focusing on learning the history of the city. Not all of the horses are my biggest fans--Beau and Flynn seem to have it out for me, though I have fallen for Jeb and Murphy, a couple of misfits that actually seem to enjoy snuggling. And in fact, the hardest part of this job, aside from the memorization of dates and names, is working with very large, very alive, animals. I've never worked with horses before, so I'm trying to learn the characters of each horse I work with, as well as what spooks them. Jeb has an intense fear of tarps. We even have a horse that is a little racist. Murphy likes to dance on the way home. I'm not kidding, he actually dances. It's the most hilarious thing I've ever seen an animal do, aside from O'Shea's tendency to flap his lips after drinking water, making a great popping noise. Most days I really enjoy working with the horses...but then there are days that make me want to shoot them. Beau and Flynn were a nightmare one Saturday, literally trying to poop on me whenever they had the chance. By the time I got home, I had to go directly to a shower and scrub scalding water over my body. I was covered in almost every fluid a horse can excrete. I was in tears, wondering what the hell I was doing...but it made me more determined than ever not to let them push me around. Though I have become convinced that owning horses is more trouble than it is worth, I'm definitely having an interesting experience. Maybe I'll even have some great stories to write about by the time it's all said and done.