Mrs. Teabody Falls in Love with a Horse

Good Morning from Chez Teabody where Mrs. Teabody sits admiring the barren woods of Meadow Grounds Mountain pasted against a background of pale blue mountains from her little perch in the east window. A few telltale crumbs are all that remain of a lovely buttery, ethereal  croissant purchased yesterday at the closing note of a truly memorable day-long visit in NYC with Mrs. Teabody's youngest sister, Lady Shumleywinks. In celebration of Lady Shumleywinks'  special birthday, Mrs. Teabody had purchased tickets to  "War Horse", that stunningly beautiful, award-winning play at the Vivian Beaumont Theatre in the Lincoln Center. And that is where Mrs. Teabody fell in love with a horse . . .





Mrs. Teabody cries easily. At this stage of life there is little point in holding back positive emotions, and she made no attempt to restrain her feelings from the first sight of the foal getting his legs in the imaginary pasture field of pre-WWI Devon England. His ears twitched, his hoofs lifted fractionally, his head tossed, he made little snorting noises, and through that miracle of human thought - - a willingness to suspend disbelief - -Mrs. Teabody handed her heart over to a man-made representation of a horse operated by three humans - -"Puppeteers" hardly seems adequate - - who disappeared within a few minutes' time. "Joey" was as real as the floor beneath him, and as the love and trust grew between the youthful Albert and this miraculous creation, folks watching-- those escaping the effects of Hurricane Sandy, those newlyweds, those groups hastily assembled in Bismarck and Birmingham, and those two pairs of sisters from Pennsylvania sitting shoulder to shoulder  just a few yards from it all - - had no choice but to fall in love, too. When the fully-matured Joey burst past the foal, there was an audible gasp.

By placing the story of the enduring mutual love between Albert and Joey against the horrors of the war that was to end all wars, everyone sitting in that huge auditorium, that diverse representation of who the world truly is now, one could not help but recognize the pointlessness of war and mourn the sacrifice of lives. THIRTY-SEVEN MILLION human beings and  EIGHT MILLION horses lost their lives.
As Mrs. Teabody writes this, all across the planet humans are letting their hubris rise to the surface, allowing their feelings of hatred to have dominion over their feelings of love. There are PARENTS with little children watching for their example who are seeing their parents use every drop of their energies for destruction instead of for creation. And as much as Mrs. Teabody weeps joyfully for the beauty and power of human creation she can find in the arts, she weeps longer and harder for the human failure to realize that love is a more valuable emotion than hate. May every Gentle Reader find peace.


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