Job's Sister in Law

foundering

2005-09-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

My head hurts almost as much as the cave in my chest.
God, where are you?
What do you want me to do?
Can't you give me a signal, a sign, a map, anything?
I am foundering, drowning....

Can't you send something to fill up this emptiness I feel inside?
Please.

Catching up

2005-01-06T20:56:00.000-08:00

For Halloween, I dressed my daughter as a fairy, complete with wings and tights. I also braided her hair. Her braids stood straight up with the help of coat hangers. It was hilarious. My son went to a haunted zoo, but he said it wasn't very spooky.

My mother-in-law died two weeks before Christmas. It was a sad time. We cooked Christmas Eve dinner here for my father-in-law and it went reasonably well. I used one of his mother's apple recipes for dessert.

The Heartbreak

2005-01-06T20:40:00.000-08:00

Today, the mother of my seven year old's best school friend decided to put her in another school. They called to let us know she wouldn't be there tomorrow and to see if it is still on for tomorrow night. She's supposed to come spend the night and I'm taking both of them to a birthday party on Saturday. I think the sleepover is needed now more than ever.

After having her friend tell her on the phone she is going to a new school, my daughter cried and cried. Made no difference they would still see eachother at church. It wouldn't be the same, she said. She was right. It won't. I told her it would be different but it would be ok.

Tomorrow, I'm going to the school to eat lunch with her. I don't know any other way to help. Hopefully, the sleepover will help take some of the sting out.

I don't know the master plan in this. But, I'm willing to just go with it to see what happens. I didn't tell her it wasn't going to hurt. It is. I did stress the things that would remain the same like still seeing her friend at times and still having her other friends at school. Heart wrenchng sobbing might as well be a knife sometimes.

Passing of the Guard

2004-10-26T20:44:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday was a black day. I got up and noted Callie, our collie had thrown up a hot dog she had eaten the night before. It wasn't digested. I looked at her sleeping and wondered what the problem was. I woke her and the other dog up and put them outside in the fence while I took the kids to school. I called the dogs in when I got home. It's been a habit. The chihuahua would search out the sofa and Callie would lay at my feet as I worked.
I knew something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong and all I could say was, "Callie, No, not yet."
When she walked to come in, she was listing to one side with drool hanging from her mouth. I cleaned her up and brought her inside. I got her fresh water and she tried to drink, but she kept missing the water with her tongue.

She had had a stroke. It was a painful day to watch her. She grew weaker as the day progressed. By nightfall, I took her out and she stood in the yard just standing. I could tell she was in renal failure. She was gone by morning.

That fast. Too fast. Too fast to end ten years of herding us all. Ten years of loving everyone she met. She was gone.
She was buried out behind the barn in my favorite glen. My daughter picked flowers and placed them on her grave. Breathing became painful as I went through the motions of the day of consoling the kids.

If you are lucky, you have a few good dogs in your life time. She was one of those. She was loving and patient. She never minded how many times the kids dressed her in hats. She never bucked when they were playing Dog Show and leashed her and ran her , head held high, in the ring that was a back yard. I never realized how much I depended on her until my youngest was going out to play with her cats. I almost caught myself saying, "If you go out of the fence, take Callie with you" knowing she had always stayed with the kids no matter what.

The rest of the week and weekend was a blur. I no longer felt safe. Locking doors.
I tried to look at other dogs, but it was painful. They were not a collie. They were not Callie. They came up lacking. They would not herd us, not follow us, not wait on us and love us individually as she did. There are traits of a collie that ruin you for any other breed. You appreciate the others, but in the back of your mind, you smugly think, "That dog is nice, but it's not a collie."

After a few days, I finally decided, I would get another dog. I thought maybe a short haired or smooth collie. They would be less brushing. But, in studying this I discovered the trait of short hair in a collie is a double recessive trait. You have to take the other problems that come with them, mainly glaucoma. I don't think I could take dealing with glaucoma with a dog.

I have to have a dog. It's like in Women Who Run With the Wolves. There is a need for a canine companion that is just as strong as the urge to take off shoes and with bare feet dig in the garden to plant pungunt tomatoes. We dig with our hands and our toes, going back into the roots of Mother Earth, needing to feel her close. It is the same for me with a big dog. Without one, I am lost.

I was almost glad for the double recessive trait. Pondering, I knew I would always be thinking in the back of my mind, "You are half a dog. You don't have a coat." The coat may be a problem sometimes. Sometimes, it had to be shaved as in Callie's case. Cockleburs and sticks jumped on her as she walked by. Still, she sat quietly or lay quietly on the stone floor each time I shaved her and did not offer resistance, even if the clippers came to close.

When I felt my heart bursting and could stand it no more, I thought of Job. Job, losing all and keeping faith. I half wondered if Job were not in shock as everything around him fell apart. I could not stop crying. I could see her, could even hear her at times. The pit became deeper and darker until, like the man in the Tell-Tale Heart, I confessed it to myself. I wanted another collie.

I found one. He is a fine guy. I could not bear to have another girl. He is fat and young. He is not Callie, will never be Callie. But I cannot live without a dog. For now, I will live with a puppy biding my time. It was bittersweet to see him for the first time. His blaze does not stop at his chest but goes down encompassing his left front leg. He is not a show dog. Neither was she. But he is here. Here to watch over us just as Callie watched over us all these past years. The ache in my heart for her has not stopped. But, there is hope.

It is like Job.

The tooth fairy

2004-10-19T23:30:00.000-07:00

My son did not stop believing in the tooth fairy because another child told him she didn't exist. He stopped believing because I failed Tooth Fairy 101. I admit it.

The last time he believed, he was almost five. He lost a tooth. We went through the timeless rite of passage and put the tooth under his dinosaur shaped pillow. He was worried she might not find it under such a fat stegasaurus so we put the tooth in a baggie. I inwardly patted myself on the back, just knowing this idea would probably make me Mother of the Year in Ladies Home Journal. Maybe, they would even have a parade in my honor! I could see it now...me riding along on top of the gleaming tooth shaped float doing my best aristocratic wave with just the right nuance to the wrist movement. It would make an AP moment at the very least and I would be immortalized.

He fell asleep and I told myself I needed to wait until he was REALLY asleep. What mother wants to be caught in the act of being tooth fairy? So, with the tv on, I sat and waited. Sat and waited and promptly fell asleep.

The next morning, I had forgotten about the tooth fairy until I saw the look on his face. Not pretty. I explained, "Well, maybe the baggie confused her. Tell you what, let's leave it on the mantle with a note explaining that she is to take the tooth and leave money."

This worked. Note written, tooth on the mantle, he went on to bed the next night. He kept getting up. Things. He needed things. Water, bathroom break, water....
and each time he got up for things, he was checking the mantle. I ignored his glances torward the tooth baggie.

Later, he was asleep and I had planned to put the money on the mantle and hide the tooth. I really did. Then, I started writing a short story and again, my oldzheimers struck. Next morning. He stood there accusing. The jig was up. I knew that he knew. I just knew it. Suddenly, he blurted it out, "THAT TOOTH FAIRY IS A GYP!" How I managed to keep a straight face is a moment only fit for the Academy Awards.

"Listen son, why don't you just let me buy that tooth from you?"

It worked. He was in it for the money anyway. But, he never believed in the tooth fairy again. This must have pissed her off and all these years, she has bided her time, knowing that revenge was a dish best served cold.

This morning, I ran into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The mornings have grown dark now and I have a hard time waking up without sunlight. I reached into the basket where I keep the toothpaste and pulled out a tube, smeared it on the toothbrush and started at it. It took a few seconds for me to really wake up and realize something drastically wrong. I jerked the toothbrush out of my mouth and yanked the tube up from the sink holding it up to my eyes.

I was brushing my teeth with 1% Hydrocortisone Ointment.
I would have laughed if the taste in my mouth wasn't so vile.

Later, trying to figure out how I was going to get all the things I needed to get done today, I did start laughing. I figured, maybe tooth fairy revenge; maybe not. Maybe the Good Lord figured I needed to be awakened and shakened. It worked.

Slow Week.

2004-10-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

Went early to the church on Wednesday to get the room ready for the kids coming in for Discovery Time. I move the chairs in the room and get the puppet stage set up. The other leader takes it all down afterwards. The sound guy set up sound system with a cordless mic for me to try because I was complaining how hard it is to scream in a voice like Chuckie the Rugrat or squeal like Elmo. You've never lived until you've had to spray throat spray and hold two puppets and scream through your nose. I do puppet skits each week for the kids to show how the week's Bible Story can relate on a six or seven year old level. This week, the girl puppet wanted to be a pirate.

The greatest thing about this week, was I didn't have to simultaneously work two puppets and scream the whole time to be heard. I had no idea how great a sound system can be. It's the only way to go! After the puppet skit, the lesson this week was about a woman named Deborah who went into battle when asked to go. The story is in Judges and between you and me, I think General Barrak, the one who asked her to go, was kind of reluctant and thought she'd say no and get him off the hook. It was the first time I've ever been able to join in at storytime and dress up. Usually, the other storyteller, a guy, is the one who usually dresses up. He's big on dressing up like Moses.

I got to wear a tunic and breast plate with a headpiece. I got to carry a sword and shield. It was great! The kids were not told who this warrior was until the end of the story. Then, they were told the warrior was there tonight to greet them. They never dreamed it would be a girl. It was hillarious to see their faces when I came running in the room rushing at them with a sword and shield, telling them about the battle and why I had gone. My toes are still a little purple. I told them I was wounded. Not exactly following the Biblical script...I called it Biblical poetic license. The funniest part was later, when I asked my daughter how she liked my dressing up. I was thinking she would say, "It was Great, Mom! I didn't know women in the Bible could have a sword!" What I got instead was, "When you came running into the room, I thought you were going to put somebody's eye out with my brother's sword." Now, I know. You can fool yourself into thinking you're great at thinking like a seven year old, but the truth is, best to stick with what you know. I know middle age pretty good...

Did absolutely nothing today except rest. It had been a long week at work. I'm still trying to reach some people on Florida to see how they are. Some phone lines don't have an answering machine going anymore so I think some of them are elsewhere or in the shelters. I hope they are ok. There are a couple I'm about ready to send out the dogs to find because I know they were not doing so well even before Hurricane Jeanne blew in. I find I watch the weather now for Florida as much as I do for NC these days. Seems like no matter where Florida is hit, the hurricane turns to a tropical depression and heads for NC. We get tornados and flooding here. If it keeps up, our mountains are going to be washed away. Some passages are already closed for the flooding damage.

Threat of tornados makes you do crazy things. I think a drop in barometer leads to a drop in IQ. It squashes your brain cells and makes you do and think strange things. I watch the trees outside the windows to see how far they are leaning in the winds. I keep on shoes at all times. I gather up the guinea pig and keep her with me. I figure, the dogs and cats are on their own and would be hard to run with anyway. The guinea pig is small, I could run with her. I half thought of the iguana and how he would be if a tornado came, but since he decided to poop on me the last time I tried to hold him, he is not exactly my first pick to run with. If a tornado does ever hit, I can see the headlines: Nut-so Woman Found Running From Tornado Carrying Guinea Pig. Film at 11.

Most times when the hurricane warnings come, the kids are at school. They think all the tornado drills they have been having are just drills and I don't see any reason to tell them any different. We had one night last summer when a tornado touched down near here. We were at home and the power had gone out. About that time, a train decided to come down the tracks outside and for a fleeting second my husband and I gazed into eachother's eyes by candlelight and that was not romance causing the immediate glazed over glint in his eyes. If the train had not blown its whistle at that same instant, it would have been into the hallway closet for the four of us. Now, I know how people have chest pain during hurricanes and tornados. I have also purposely taken a lot of stuff out of the hallway closet.

I've seen the spider that was partly crushed by the coke bottle. I've seen him (or his cousins) twice since then. I figure it this way, he's harmless and probably crippled so I am leaving him be. I looked him up on the net again and yup, I was right. Wolf Spider. I also have been reading where all the rain in NC has caused spiders to seek higher ground. Can't really blame them and since he isn't poisonous, no reason to bother him. I'm hoping he eats whatever it is that makes the cobwebs on the corners of the walls appear and I figure if he can out maneuver two kids, two dogs and two cats, I ought to leave him be. He has enough stress.

At least it is not as bad as the years we lived on a farm and had mice come in every fall. There is a thing they did on the farm called burning off the fields. They did not burn off the wheat fields, but the guy who owned the place burned off the field that had the old apple trees in it every year. And, every year, all the mice on the farm would find their way into all our homes. I was not as kindly toward the mice as I am the wolf spider. I set traps and gave the cats a disdainful glance. They were falling down on the job, in my estimation. I hate mice. I hate mouse traps. It's a mystery to even me how I can change a dressing on an amputation and not even blink, but a dead mouse in a mouse trap sends me retching to the nearest container.

So, I have a spider running loose in the house. It's kind of been like in the movie Home Alone where the tarantula runs through every now and then. Things are still wet here and the rains are still coming off and on. I look around at one husband, two kids, two dogs, two cats, an iguana and guinea pig and now a spider, all of us in one house and I think....Here we all are in this ark.

The Paraplegic Spider

2004-09-27T18:49:00.000-07:00

Went to see the orthopedic doctor. I called them this morning. Normally, when you call a doctor's office for an appointment, you have to go through "the routine." First, you call and make the appointment, telling the receptionist what your problem de jour is. Next, you walk in and wait until you get to the little examining room where you have to tell the nurse what the problem is. Last, the good doctor walks in and asks and you have to tell HIM what the problem is. It almost makes you wonder, are they trying to see if you will change your story? That didn't happen today. I told the receptionist about the horse when I made the appointment. Got there, the nurse asked, "What foot did the horse step on?" Doctor came in, first thing he asked was "How long since the horse stepped on your foot?" Evidentally, you don't have to do that "tell everyone fifty times" thing when a horse is involved.

Toes are not broken. Crush injury and they tell me my toes will wiggle as soon as the swelling goes down. My eyesite must be getting worse because I didn't think the toes were swollen at all. Course, I was looking at them from about a five foot elevation. Feet thoroughly xrayed and checked for lacerations and brasions. Now, HOW the good doctor thought a horse's hoof would even fit between each of my toes is still a mystery to me, but it was a possibility that doubtless had to be painfully ruled out. In the meantime, he wouldn't rule out stress fractures so, I have to keep wearing the hiking boots. He saw no reason for a cast since the hiking boots are working. I was so worried about not being able to dance and exercise. Shouldn't have been. Now, I am wearing five pound boots every step I take. God works it out again. HA!

I was working at my desk today and my sixth sense told me to look on the floor. Heading straight for me was the largest spider I have ever seen. I thought it was a wolf spider, but I wasn't sure. I've only seen enlarged pictures of them in books and have never seen a actual-size photograph. Seeing that enlarged one was enough for me. This spider definitely had eight legs like that one. Yup. Wolf spider. Sure of it. I looked around on my desk to find something to squash him with. Nothing there I thought I could spare cause who wants anything that's been covered in spider guts?

I would have to cross over the spider to get to my shoes. I sit cross legged in a chair while working so my feet were safe for the minute. I half-way thought about leaving him to crawl on his merry way but I was afraid I would be on the phone and would feel him crawling up my neck. In the back of my mind, I could hear David Carradine from Kung Fu saying, "In a fight, Grasshopper, do not choose to kill but choose your own life." I chose me. I looked on the desk again. This time, I figured I could spare an almost empty bottle of Diet Coke. I put it down on him. I forgot Diet Coke bottles are not flat on the bottom. So, when I brought the bottle back off him and tossed it in the trash, his body was still wiggling. I figured he'd die soon so I left him and went on working. A few minutes later, I turned around and he was gone. Great. Just great. Now somewhere in my house is a paraplegic spider limping around. I'm not sleeping in that room tonight. I'm sleeping on the couch.

This still wasn't as bad as the time my dad went fishing and came back with a king snake. He brought it over to my house. My brother later informed me that my father had spent about two hours trying to catch the snake because he knew I would like it. Maybe. Or maybe it was guilt from killing the snake of my childhood that drove him onward, stick in hand, through the tall grass to catch this unsuspecting fellow.

When I was younger, there was a house around the block that wasn't really a house. It had burned down years ago. The chimney was still standing and you could still go down the cement steps into what once was a basement. We gave it wide berth when crossing the field, knowing whatever lived in it couldn't be good. One spring day, my brother ventured down into that vast darkness. We were just about to think we would never see him again when he re-emerged with a hand full of snakes that he swore were garter snakes. Quite a find if you are a second grade boy. Being the entreprenuer he was at the time, he put them in a jar and took them to school to sell. I got one for free, family connections being what they were and all. I took mine upstairs to my room. I pulled out a shoebox and kept him secured in his new abode with a heavy book. Every day after school, I took him out and let him crawl around. I would hold him and he didn't seem to mind. After I'd had the snake a few days, I begged my dad to come upstairs to see the trick I had taught it. It would now start at my hand and climb all the way up my arm without me having to touch his tail but maybe a few times to get him going. My father finally came up the stairs to my room. I will never forget the shade of pale he turned. I never realized before that moment that a face can actually drain its color from the top on down like that. It was like the water rushing down a tub drain. One minute, I am holding this snake and trying to get it to crawl up my arm like I had taught him. Next minute, he was Dad fodder. My dad killed the snake FIRST then explained my "pet" was a copperhead. I was not the brightest bulb on the marquis, but I knew enough to not tell him his only son had taken a whole jar to school and made about five dollars selling copperheads for fifty cents a pop. I didn't think he had enough color left in his face to spare.

Anway, on this day, he brought me this king snake. We were scientically sure it was a king snake because we all knew the rhyme, "red touch yellow, kill a fellow; red touch black, don't jump back." I graciously accepted the olive branch snake.

We put him in a ten gallon aquarium. I had one of those fancy screen lids you put on tanks when you want to house a mouse or something like that. Just to be sure, I added the biggest rock I had to the top. He seemed ok. He would reach up to the top of the tank and push a little on the screen but he didn't appear able to get out. There was only one mishap during those days. We had taken him out of the tank to watch him wiggle around, this being our pre-cablevision-starved-for-entertainment-days. We were watching him wind his way across the kitchen floor when all of a sudden, he found the drainpipe hole where the previous renters had kept their washing machine. He was half-way down the hole when we noticed him trying to make his escape. I can still remember how my husband dive-bombed across the floor and caught him just as his tail was about to dissappear down the hole. We put the snake back in his tank. That rushing tackle to re-capture the him was enough quota of entertainment for the night. Besides, it's hard to really keep an eye on a snake when you are busy holding your sides laughing.

Next morning. No snake. Tank was empty and the screen was slid slightly askew. Our only reminder of Mr. King was his old skin. Well thanks a lot, buddy; a snapshot would have sufficed. We tore the house apart. Took the stove apart, took the couch apart, checked every drawer and cabinet, but no snake. For weeks we never slumbered without first stripping the bed linens and giving them a snake-proofing shake. We shook our shoes before putting our feet in them, just in case. My theory is he sat there in his tank, knowing that shedding his skin was going to make him bionic. Yep, he was biding his time and making his plan to escape Alcatraz. He had already crawled from the room holding his tank cell to the hole in the kitchen, so he probably already had every little slither memorized. I never saw him again.

And now, instead of a snake, there's a paraplegic spider loose in my house. A big one. God has a funny way of listening sometimes. I felt bad immediately after I pushed down the Diet Coke bottle on him. I figured I really should have gotten up and got a piece of paper and a glass and caught him and put him back outside. It was too late after it was done. Too late and I felt bad. I guess if he shows back up, I'll put him in a jar and call that rehabilitation counselor for assistance. I figure he owes me one.

Drive by pooping.

2004-09-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

Saturday, that same horse was out again! Someone else was trying to catch her this time. At least she had the decency this time to choose another neighbor's yard to be eating grass in. Course, we mowed the front yard and pasture here, too. No green grass pickings here. Anyway, someone else was already trying to catch her. This time, the guy trying to catch her got out of a horse trailer and already had one horse in the back. All we had to do was make sure he knew who she belonged to. He did. She wasn't acting too crazy about the halter he was trying to put on her. My husband told the guy to just lead her and she would follow. She did. I swear she thinks she's a dog.

I spent Saturday limping to the store to get a gift for the baby shower and getting clothes for my seven year old. Toes are still not swollen, but some of them are the color of a grape. It must have bothered me more than I thought to see my toenails turning black at the edges. You know that commercial for Lamisil where they show the ugly little cartoon monsters who set up camp in the space under the toenail? Last night, I dreamed they were living in my fingernails. It was so real! This morning, I checked my fingers first thing...just to make sure.

Sunday morning.
We couldn't find the brush my son uses for his hair. He was looking for it and his dad sent him out to the car. I was busy getting the seven year old ready and me ready, so I wasn't paying much attention to his search efforts. Evidently, he went out to the car and looked. Came in with it in his hand and I noted my husband was no where to be found in the house a minute later. I should have gotten suspicous then.

Finally got everyone ready and we went out to the car. I always drive my car when we go most places, mostly to keep the peace because when my husband drives, I scream a lot. Yes, My name is Grace and I am a passenger seat driver. It's a hard addiction and since there is no 12-step program for this, I end up driving...a LOT. We got in the car and I thought I detected the odor of Fabreeze, but I dismissed it.
MISTAKE! Again, I should have been suspicious.

We were at the end of the driveway when my daughter asked,
"What is that SMELL?????"
I had not noted it until that same second. It was AWFUL! The car reeked.

My daughter and I were trying to figure out what the smell was. Meanwhile, my husband was very quiet.
Finally, he came out with it.
"When our son came out to the car to look for the brush, he discovered one of the cats had pooped on the front passenger seat."
"And you didn't TELL me??????"
"Well, I didn't want you to be upset. Besides, I cleaned it up and sprayed Fabreeze on it."
"But HOW did the cat get in the car?????"
Lucky thing for any cat on planet earth that I was in the driver's seat today. See? That's how God works. Even being a screaming passenger seat driver has its advantages sometimes.

I am a stickler for NEVER, I repeat NEVER leaving my car windows down. I know cats....
NO one had left a car window down. The only opportune time we could figure was during the time the kids were making trips to and from the car to take all the packages in the house. One of the cats must have slipped in, left the deadly calling card and slipped out undetected. Then, there is that thing about always having all the windows rolled all the way up...as a result, the smell must have grown exponentially overnight. Why not? It was locked in its own automobile petrie dish.

I pondered this. I had to ask myself, was this payback for the horse? Did they notice it was me who led the horse into the backyard last Friday? Surely not. Then a bigger reason for retribution came to mind.
A week or so ago, I went out to go pick up the kids from school. It was raining that day (thanks to all the hurricanes) and four of the cats had sought refuge from the rain by staying under the carport on the hood of my car. A great big barn out back and they pick my car under the carport whenever it rains. Go figure. It kind of ticked me off so instead of shooing them off, I got in the car and beeped the horn. Three of them vacated but one...HE remained. I turned on the windshield wipers thinking the movement would scare him. Nothing. He still sat there. OK! This was getting personal now so I started backing up the car thinking the movement of the car would scare him. He sat there, rode on my car as I backed up, put it in forward and started down the drive. I had to finally STOP the car at the mailbox, get out, and push him off the hood. At the time, I thought it served him right to have to walk back up to the house in the rain.

This had to be the reason for the drive by pooping.
SO what could be lucky with this?

Well. I'm trying to find it. The gagging to and from church didn't do a thing for anybody in the car, so that surely wasn't it. We came home and cleaned the seat again and re-Fabreezed it so it is a lot better now than it was. But I still think I can smell it. Not sure.

The only lucky thing I can think of is the lost brush. Lucky for that cat the brush was in the car and lucky for that cat that my husband cleaned up before I got out there with kids in tow ready to get in the car because I HAD to be at church on time to teach the two year old Sunday School Class. So, I guess, today wasn't my luck at all.

Today, I wore hiking boots to church to keep the kids from stepping on my toes and to support my feet. Guess God was looking out for the cat cause I know me...For the first time EVER on Sunday morning, I was armed with a pair of stiff hiking boots and possible broke toes or not, I would not have been afraid to use them on the first cat that came into range.

Still, I got a car. It may still have the mysterious engine light always lit that nobody can figure out how to turn off or what is broken no matter how many mechanics look at it, and now, it even has a peculiar odor....but, it still runs. So, I guess it was a small wall to butt my head against after all. Corrie Ten Boom was a lady who once was in a concentration camp during World War II. She had a lot of faith, regardless of her circumstances. Once, her sister, who was in the same concentration camp, was appalled that Corrie was praying and thanking God for the lice infestation in their barracks. Later, they realized the blessing of the lice. It kept the guards out of the barracks. So, I guess there is a reason for the cat pooping in my car. But I haven't figured it out yet.....

All I can say for cats is GOOD thing God was looking out for them today.

I Had A Horse

2004-09-25T19:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday began pretty normal. Got up. Pulled covers off the kids and yelled, "GET UP!" Went through the normal hygiene reminders. They remember things like, today is Johnny Appleseed Day at school, need to wear red, mom. They can remember things like, today is Pizza Day at school, need extra money, mom...but...can they remember to brush their teeth or hair? I think not. Dropped them off at school wearing their red clothes and extra money tucked in the lunch bags and went back home to start work.
Working from home has great advantages most of the time. I was planning on recording a four hour marathon of the Wiggles off the Disney channel. I needed their moves. HA! The first and second graders at church look for a song with motions each week during Discovery Time and I am always looking for new motions to songs to show them. A four hour marathon of the Wiggles was a dream come true. Ok, so now we know. I don't dream big. Life is big enough without me dreaming about it.
I had plans for the day. Hook up to the server at work, settle in, and get the day going. Planned to run into the living room at 10am and turn on the VCR recorder and while I worked away at my desk, the Wiggles would be filling out the tape. Ahhhhh. Multi tasking. Yup, I can do it.
8AM and a knock on one of the doors we never use. Dogs barking in the backyard fence and WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! on the door. Great. Choices here...do I go outside and walk around to the door or ignore it. Definitely a stranger or they wouldn’t be banging on that particular door. Maybe they will go away. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Nope, not going away. Ok. Slipping on sandals over the sox, running brush through hair again. Out the door to see who is there.
Standing at the door we never use is a very tall man holding a belt around a very tall gray horse's neck.
"Is this your horse?"
"Uhm...No?"
"Well I found it out here on the road. I drove by while ago and saw a man holding a ratty rope behind his back trying to catch it. I turned around and came back to help because the man would take a step and the horse would take two. But, when I got back down the road, the man was gone and the horse was still in the road. She was easy for me to catch. I just put my belt around her and started walking back to my motorcycle. She wanted to come up this driveway, like she lived here."
At this point, I am thinking...and WHAT were you going to do with a horse and a motorcycle? I am also thinking she probably came up the drive cause she noticed we haven't mowed in the last two weeks and she saw green grass heaven. But, I buttoned my lip.
"Well...she doesn't live here."
"Well, can I tie her to one of your trees out here and maybe the owner will come by? I have to go to work and I am already late"
Oh NO! He was playing the "help me" card. And he was using a horse to do it! Sheesh. My sisters have horses and the yard was big enough to hold her so...
"Sure, I'll get a rope."
Got the pieces of rope in the back yard and tied them together to make a long one. “Pieces” of rope because I have kids who know how scissors work and decided not long ago they needed leashes for the dogs to play dog show. Rope in hand, we tied the horse. She really was quite pretty. Grey with white feet and white blaze on her face. I laughed inwardly in the irony because I always tease my one sister that I want her paint horse who is black and white and has the same white feet and blaze along with the rest of her spots. We tied her to a Bartlett Pear Tree. Immediately, she started winding round and round and we saw this was not going to work. Next idea, please. We looked to tie her to something low on the ground. I spied the pipe for the gas going into the house, glanced at the horse and immediately ditched that idea. Ahhh. The basketball goal. We unscrewed the ground holder to it and screwed the ground holder into the ground in the front yard. Not the best laid plan of mice or women, who are now late for work. The horse started getting hooked into the rope on the ground. I knew she was going to fall. We undid the rope and got her untangled.
At this point, the tall man was handing me his cell phone so I could call my husband at work.
"Hey! Can you come home?"
"No."
"Well there is a man here with a horse and he has to leave and he wants to leave the horse here in case the owner comes by.""WHAT?" Obviously, he didn't believe me. Nope, he did because he began a litany of things that didn’t really help until I finally screamed into the phone,
“Either come home and help me or call in for me at work!”
I was screaming because there was a train coming down the track and living across the street from the train at a crossing, I knew the whistle was about to blow. I was wondering how the horse was going to take it.
Nothing. She didn’t even flinch. Ok, first clue. You definitely live around here and are acclimated to the train whistle.
Meanwhile, the tall man is handing me this business card and asking me to call him and let me know how it turns out because he is late for work and is leaving. Hmmm...He is a rehabilitation counselor according to his card and now there he goes, rehabilitating down my driveway leaving me standing in the front yard holding a rope with a strange horse on the other end. Life was so normal an hour ago.
Again, I tie the horse to the tree and make a mad dash in the house to the phone to call in at work. Operator answers.
“Is my boss in?”
“No.”
“Is her secretary in?”
“No”
“Is another boss in?”
“No.”
“Well, Good Lord, WHO is there?”
“There’s a computer guy at his desk showing available.”
“Well, let me have him.”
He answers.
“Hello guy! This is Grace. Tell my boss that a stranger just dropped a horse off in my yard and I will be in as soon as I can figure out what to do with it.”
“What?”
“Never mind, just let my boss know I am unavoidably detained and I will be online as soon as I can.”
Running back outside to see how the strange gray horse is doing. Wrapped around the tree again. Around and round we go again and I retie her to the tree and make another mad dash to the carport to get a bucket. She might be thirsty. I run back around to the front of the house and use the front spigot to fill up the bucket and take it to her. I unwind her...again, and make another mad dash into the house to call my husband again.
“Hello, let me speak to my husband.”
“He’s not here. He already left about five or ten minutes ago.”
“Thank GOD!”
“Do you really have a horse in the front yard?”
“Yeah, but she isn’t mine.”
I run back out to the horse who is again twisted round the tree. One more merry-go-round move and now, I am standing in the front yard while people drive by and slow down, looking in my direction. I know what they are thinking. I would be thinking the same thing, WHO is the nut in socks and sandals with hair going any direction but down standing there like a wild woman holding a rope with a horse on it? For a brief moment, I wonder if this is anything like Women Who Run with Wolves, but in my heart, I know it is more like, Crazy Women Who Get Sucked into Taking Strange Horses.
My husband is coming down the drive now and looking at me, shaking his head and asking,
“So, what was the plan? Stand there until the owner drives by?”
“Well, it’s the best plan I have at the moment.”
“What if the owner is at work and doesn’t even know she is gone? You gonna stand there all day?” I let my eyes and eyebrows do my answering. He drops it and concentrates on the horse.
“Well, she’s pretty anyway. I’ll clear out the back yard.”
“We’re putting her in the back yard fence?!” I wailed.
“You got a better plan?”
“No”
“Then lead her around to the back.”
I lead her. She is very tame, like a dog and doesn’t even try to pull away from me as I start walking. But I note she keeps walking closer and closer to me and I have to keep pushing her over. At the gate now and he is already in the back throwing all the loose toys on top of the trampoline. He comes to open the back gate. At this moment, I learned a valuable lesson. I was so busy watching him remove the bricks at the bottom of the gate we use to keep the Chihuahua from getting out that I wasn’t watching the horse. Evidently, she wasn’t watching me either cause, she stepped on my foot. All I could do was scream as calmly as I could because I didn’t want her to rear up on my foot. Inwardly, I am praying like mad, “Please God, DON’T let her bear any more weight down on my foot cause if she walks forward, I’m a gonner.“ Funny how adrenaline takes over when you’re being stepped on by a horse. Time slows down and though it was only a few seconds, I think I probably had time to recite the Gettysburg address. Through clenched teeth, I hear me screaming,
“She’s on my FOOT! She’s on MY FOOT!”
Lucky for me, she didn’t bear all her weight on it and picked her foot back up. Course, I had a horse AND stars in my vision field at that moment. I removed the rope and she went on her merry way in the back yard fence proceeding to eat the grass that had not been mowed in the last two weeks.
“Are you ok? Try to keep your feet out from under her.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll put it on my plan. How are we going to keep her off the porch? I don’t want her to get near that picture window.”“I’ll rope it off. She won’t go past the rope.” So, he ropes off the porch. Horse is happy walking around eating grass and sampling the bushes so he puts a sign on a tree in the front yard that says, “Lost Horse?“ and leaves me. An hour later, I am showered, horse is happy, and I am listening in to a meeting I am hooked up to at work. I have already called my boss and told her about the horse and after she stopped laughing, she said,
“This is a lot like the time you had to call in because the neighbor dropped a tree across your drive and you tried to drive over it.”
“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t my fault, either. I really thought I had a good shot making it over that branch.”
I settle into the meeting and I keep hearing this Bam! Blang! Bam! WHAT is she DOING out there! About that time, I note all the cats are coming by the window that I sit by. The banging is every one of the cats vacating the back yard. There about 6 of them out there, if you don’t count the two new litters of kittens. They put up with the Chihuahua. They tolerate the Collie, but they have their limits. Hmmm. Wondering if this is enough to make them run away from home? Wouldn’t exactly break my heart. My daughter is the cat person here, not me.
I hear the sound of an engine in the drive way. Great! God has answered my prayer already! The owner saw my sign! I am delivered!
No, not even close. The tall guy on the motorcycle is back. He has signs with him and wants to put them up, too. Twenty minutes later, he is gone again and I have signs in my yard and on the telephone pole. One says, “Lost Horse?” and two others say, “Found horse.”
Calm again for another hour and I am finishing up work started late last night on the computer. Stomp! Stomp! What NOW? I look out the picture window and there is a huge butt in it. NOT cross the Rope he said, yeah, RIGHT. She DUCKED! She ducked and went under the rope! Now, I have to go back outside and take the rope down. She follows me off the porch but goes right back on it when I go out the gate. THIS is not going to work! I call my husband again.
“Hello?”
“She went past your rope barricade.”
“Well, lead her off and put it up again double-stranded with the lower strand about as high as your knees.”
“Ok, and I guess I don’t need to tell you to come straight home after work?”
“No, and make sure when you pick up the kids you tell them we did not buy them a horse.”
Oh NO! I forgot about the kids! If you were a seven or eleven year old, what would YOU think if you came home and there was a horse in your backyard fence? I didn’t want to go there. Foot throbbing as I pulled on my son’s hiking boots and went back outside. I led her off the porch but every time I went to re-tie the rope, she came right back on it. Flustered now. I left her on the porch and went in to call my mother, knowing my nephew was there.
“Mother, tell Dom to come help me! There’s a horse on my back porch and I can’t get her off!”
My mother is priceless. She didn’t even ask.
“Nick and Dom will be there in a minute!”
OK! Help on the way. Not only are my nephews young and strong, they have grown up around horses! Ahhhh, the catbird seat at last.
They finally drive up, shaking their heads, and listen to my litany of Day of The Horse and are looking at the horse, not me, as I stand there and explain HOW I happened to be minding my own business when this horse showed up...and the man on the motorcycle just LEFT!
They were inside the fence, one petting her and one inspecting her when I got to the part of about her stepping on my foot. Immediately they are backing away from the horse as I quickly explain she didn’t do it on purpose. They step back up to bat. As one holds the horse with a belt, the other one tries tying the rope across the porch posts again. It won’t stay up. So, I go in the house to get the duct tape. I’m a firm believer in duct tape. I might run out of shampoo, but I will go to Walmart in the middle of the night if I think my duct tape supply is running low. I tape the ropes in place and one of my nephews is shaking his head telling me that won’t work. A few minutes later, we have a barricade. The rope is still up and under it, on the porch now sits my dog house, my picnic table, a half cut barrel that used to be a fish pond till the kids tried to wade in it, and an old upholstered chair that I didn’t like anyway. Porch barricaded, they leave and again, I go back inside to work. It’s time to pick up the kids from school.
I get to the school and am limping across the parking lot to get the kids. They are very astute and the younger one asks,
“What’s wrong with your foot?”
“A horse stepped on it.”
“Daddy stepped on it?”
“NO! A horse stepped on it. Get in the car, kids. We have to talk.”
Going back across the parking lot and one of my friends drives by in the car line.
“Hey, Grace! I saw your signs! You lost a horse and found a horse?”
“Yes, there’s a horse in my backyard.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I don’t kid about horses in the backyard.”
People are driving up behind her now and she drives on, shaking her head. I have to remember to email her and explain this. In the car, I tell the kids who really don’t believe me until we drive up and there is a gray and white horse in the backyard. My son is telling me how he knows how to ride bare back and my daughter is asking,
“Where are my CATS?”
I tell him NO and tell her they are in the yard, just not in the fence. We go inside and I tell them what windows they can look out of and how close they can sit to the window.
About this time, the tall man drives up in the drive. Again. He is like a bad penny. He leaves the horse but insistently keeps coming back. He is at the fence, petting her when I finally get outside.
“I found the owner. I drove up and down the street asking and finally found two old men who knew her and said she gets out all the time. Here’s the owner’s phone number.” At this point, the horse is getting frantic because he is no longer petting her and she is pawing at the fence. I look at him with “THE LOOK” I use on the kids when they are in public doing something disapproving and I can’t really scream at them. He takes the hint and leaves.
Work hours finally over. Yeah, right, like I really got much done today. I sign off and go to get the kids ready. Of course, this cannot be a regular night. We have to go to the church tonight to have a family picture taken for the church directory. It just gets better and better. I have been calling the number every ten minutes since the tall man left. I go to shower...again. Husband comes home, calm, like it is a regular day. He is holding the shirt I told him to stop off and buy for tonight’s picture taking and telling the son NO, he can‘t ride the horse. Course, I also note that by buying said shirt, he did not pay attention to that “Come home straight from work” thing I said earlier. I let it go. I was already banging my head into too many walls.
He comes to the bathroom door.
“The owner is coming to get the horse.”
Thank you, GOD! All day, I’d been praying, “Please, don’t let my foot be broken and please get whoever to come get this horse out of my yard!”
Husband is still talking,
“That was a strange guy on the phone.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah! I asked him, are you Mr. So-in-so and he said, yeah and I asked him, are you missing a horse? and he said, No. So I said, well, do you have a gray horse with white feet and white blaze on her face? Yeah. Well sir, you’re missing a horse, and I’d kinda like for you to come get her, if you don’t mind. Then he asked me where I was and I told him. Turns out, he’s a few doors down. I told him his horse was at the yard with all the lost horse/found horse signs in front. He THEN asked me where the horse was. I told him she was in our back yard fence. THEN he wanted to know what kind of fence it was.”
I didn’t care if the man was a little odd long as he came and got this horse. Phone rings. A friend asking if I can fill in and teach the two’s and three’s this week in Sunday School. I finally say, OK. Go to brush the seven year old’s hair and the phone rings again. Other friend, reminding me of a baby shower this Sunday at church. I have to ask her to tell me again WHO I am getting a gift for cause I think the pain in my foot was getting to my brain and suddenly, I couldn’t remember. I get off the phone, put the finishing touches on my daughter’s hair and go outside to see an old man putting a halter on the horse. He is on foot and leads her down the drive and out of my life. She was here....then she was gone. I whisk the family into the car and we get to the church for pictures just in time to sign in and sit to wait for almost an hour because they are backed up. I was not surprised in the least. I had a horse. The horse went home. I still don’t know if one or two of my toes aren’t broken, but they haven’t turned too black and I still can walk with a limp. Not too happy that I didn’t ever make it to the VCR to tape the four hour marathon of The Wiggles, but dancing is definitely out right now anyway. On the upshot, my back yard doesn‘t need mowing and the hedges don‘t need to be trimmed so, all in all, God was good.