In honor of Andres Rodriguez and Sophie Walker
Sunday nights in Wellington, "love of life" is the dress code.
Polo players, dressage competitors, and Olympic-ready Grand Prix riders hit it. Then they hit it again, harder.
Binge drinking is the new bottled water.
Dawn yawns then flickers in.
Monday is horses' day off, but they still have to be fed, hangovers be hanged.
When young equestrian newlywed Andres Rodriguez and his friend, amateur jumper, Sophie Walker died in a tragic accident near the Palm Beach Polo grounds this week, WelliWorld wept real tears. Andres was likely to compete on the Venezuelan Olympic team in the upcoming Games in Rio. Married for a few sweet weeks, it was said that he was looking forward to "his best year ever."
The media swooped and stampeded in, another photo op opted for the tabloids, who puke out private morsels cashed out by deadline.
Thank you Wellington Taxi, big time. You have saved me from folly and potential tragedy more than once. From rides home from the player of all players: the Players Club, to morphing into my chariot through my misadventures at all hours, you are treasured for insuring that what goes on in Wellington stays in Wellington.
I lived up my Wellington life, divied into chukkers, wild nights and Argentine polo players, bordering on illegally gorgeous.
The best of the best polo was book ended with real live ambulances on both side of the polo fields, and helicopters ready to dive into rescue mode.
For the most part life whispered "get back on the horse."
I played polo, cheered polo players on, and soccer-mommed into overdrive when my polo pony, Max (Perfect Guy), put his hoof down, and quit polo for a chance in the show ring, as a hunter. He aced one formidable Wellington championship, and then another.
My mare, Diosa, won a best playing polo award in the Women's tournament in at the International Palm Beach Polo Club.
Then there was Pepper, who played high goal polo in his twenties, and wouldn't allow me to miss a polo ball.
My horses.
Life was smokin' hot good to go, leg up not included.
I moved into my dream complex: the superstar one.
Bruce Springsteen, Glenn Close were on the same street; polo legends Julian Hipwood and Mike Azzaro practically next door; a New York mayor's daughter a block away and international show jumper, McLain Ward several strides apart.
Buzz had it that Bon Jovi was living there, but sunglasses and hats do not a "spot on identification" make.
I loved my home with the perfect view of the horse show, private, secluded and across a lake.
The best seats in the house were reserved for me and my golden retriever, Holly.
I bought my house when it was still in construction. Palm Beacher Terry Allen Kramer was rumored to have rented it for her daughter Toni Goutal and her family.
Toni and I went to school together, back when.
Her daughter, Clementine, a competitive member of the horse show world, married Andres Rodriguez, just weeks ago.
My deepest condolences, Clementine. We weep along with you.