My Old Kentucky Home...

This Saturday marks the 131st Kentucky Derby. I won't be there. Chances are I might not be able to watch the race on TV. My bet's for Greeley's Galaxy. I always pick a horse, every year, whether I tell anyone or not. I've never picked a winner. Not once. It's a little known tradition I've had for a long, long time now. It started when I was a kid and as a family we would watch the race. Or, on occasion, watch the TV, to see if I could spot my parents who attended a few races in past years. On these family event days, I'd pick a horse and watch 'em run. Strange as is sounds, the Derby to me was always a delicate thread connecting me back to my Kentucky roots. I was always proud I was born in Lexington, horse country. I didn't see much of my Kentucky family while growing up nor have I been a model cousin, nephew or even grandchild in that respect since. So I always looked for ways to connect me back to something, to the Bluegrass state. And now, like the Indy 500 has also become, the Derby, manages to make me pause, and smile, feeling, if even for a few brief moments that I'm still somehow part it all.