Ponderings

THE DAY OF A KILL

2009-04-18T10:37:00.007-04:00

It had been a very mild October. Most days, I didn’t even need a jacket.

The day seemed ominous from the start. I awoke at five thirty that Friday morning, as I did every work day.

Maybe it was just the heavy rain that made the day feel like something bad was going to happen. Maybe it was the idea that there had already been nine murders in three weeks so far, but there hadn’t been a kill in two days, so why would anyone think today would be the next one?

Being alert had become a way of life for everyone from Montgomery County, Maryland to at least Spotsylvania, Virginia. Anytime you were out in the open, you were a target. You were constantly aware; always looking. What would you see? No one had seen the shooter yet. What would make you think you would be the one to see him; to be able to avoid that piercing, hot bullet that could end your life?

For three weeks, every time you exited your car to fill your gas tank, to drop off dry cleaning, to go to the grocery store, to do anything out in the open, your thoughts were of survival. Anyone could be the shooter.

It was October 11th. It was pouring rain and would be all day. I got on I-95 and drove the twenty one miles south to my job in Fredericksburg. I worked as a corporate assistant for a property management/land development firm.

Our office was celebrating National Bosses Day, as many offices were. Although in past years, the staff had either made and brought in something, or given money to buy the extras for the Bosses Day Brunch, this year we had all decided to do a lunch instead, and we all donated money for the lunch. A few of us had met earlier and ordered a cold cut tray, a fruit tray and salads. Whoever was least busy would go to the store and pick them up.

The morning was quiet. Our company was in the process of building a shopping village, but you can’t build in torrential rain and when there’s no outside activity, office activity also slows down.

I was the one who pulled the short straw, so to speak, so I had to go out and pick up the grocery items for our lunch.

It was about nine thirty as I headed out the door to the Food Lion grocery store about a mile and a half away. After I got on the road, I called my husband at his job and asked him if he could meet me at the store and help me load everything into my car. He said he would.

The traffic was heavy and slow, but I made it to Food Lion in about ten minutes. I zipped through the store and picked up paper plates, plastic forks, knives and spoons, plastic cups, potato chips, the food trays we had ordered and some various odds and ends. Just as I was going through the check out, my husband came in. I was really glad to see him. I was not looking forward to loading all those items in my car by myself and wearing wet clothes at work the rest of the day so I was glad for the help.

Once everything was loaded in the car, we said our good-byes and each of us headed back to our job. I drove the short distance back to Mine Road and headed toward Route 1. Mine was the fifth car in line at the traffic light. On my right was Holiday Inn. On my left was the Exxon station. Ahead, at the intersection were police cars as far as I could see. I had no idea what was going on. Since it was raining in torrents, I assumed there had been a traffic accident, but there were an unusually large number of police cars for a traffic accident. No traffic was moving in any direction.

I turned and looked toward the Exxon station to see if I could turn around and go back and find another way back to work. I had a back seat full of food and needed to get back in a reasonable amount of time.

As I began to make the turn, I noticed what I thought was a pile of laundry laying on the pavement of the gas station. There were two men standing next to the ‘pile’ and someone kneeling down next to ‘it’.

I continued on my way and went to the next street over to try to get back to Route 1, but there were just as may police cars at that intersection. What was going on? Instead of turning left toward Route 1, I turned right. As I traveled down Route 2, there was hardly any traffic. What a relief. Even though it was the long way around, I might get back to work faster that way.

My cell phone rang; it was my daughter. “Mom, where are you?” I replied, “I’m on Route 2, trying to get back to work.” I briefly explained to her what was going on. “Mom”, she said in an excited tone. “Haven’t you had your radio on? There’s been a shooting right near your office. They think it’s the sniper again.” She said, “I was worried about you. I called your office and they said you were out on an errand.”

“I saw it”, I said. I could feel the blood draining from my face. “I saw the shooting victim on the ground at the Exxon station, but I didn’t realize it was a person. I thought it was a pile of laundry.”

“Mom, why would laundry be laying on the ground at the gas station”, she asked. “I don’t know”, I said. “It’s just the way my mind interpreted it. I’ve never seen a dead person on the ground before.”

We talked for another minute or so and then we ended our conversation with my daughter admonishing me to be careful and me promising to call her when I got back to work.

I continued on Route 2 to Route 17 and headed back to Route 1, but my nerves were totally shot. I felt like crying. I felt like vomiting, but I had to hold myself together and keep driving. The cold food items on my back seat must be getting warm by now.

I decided to call work. They must be wondering what’s taking me so long. It was nearly noon already.

Tara answered the phone. “Where are you? Are you ok?” She sounded worried. I briefly explained what had happened and assured her I was fine. She already knew about the shooting. She had her radio on and had seen the traffic back-up on Route 1. I told her I was about ten minutes away from the office, but I didn’t know how long it would take me due to the situation.

It actually took me another forty-five minutes to get back. I pulled my car up in front of the door and went inside. It must have been obvious how shaken I was. Everyone gathered around me and wanted to make sure I was ok.

One of the guys went out and started bringing the groceries in. Someone told me to sit down. The relief of being back in a familiar place and being with familiar people allowed me to let my guard down. My body started shaking and I was unable to hold back the tears of relief.

Everyone was so kind, so concerned. Someone handed me a box of tissues. Someone got me a glass of water. Everyone got busy and set up our luncheon. They thanked me for going out to get the groceries and apologized for the trauma I had endured while I was out. I thanked them for their concern.

I was unable to eat lunch, but I sat with the group while they ate. They tried to keep the mood light, told some silly jokes and bantered back and forth; anything at all to relieve the seriousness of the day.

Once lunch was over and we had all helped with the clean up, the company owner gave me the rest of the day off. He told me to go home and relax and get a good night’s sleep. He said, “Try to put this out of your mind.” I thanked him and left for home.

It wasn’t until I got home that I had the presence of mind to call my daughter back and let her know I was fine.

My husband and I exchanged our stories of our difficulties getting back to our respective jobs, although my attempt at getting back was much more difficult than his. Once he got north of the Massaponnax area, it was smooth sailing for him.

Although that traumatic day finally came to a thankful end, the shootings continued another eleven days. The last person killed by the ‘D. C. Snipers’ was a bus driver in Aspen Hill, Maryland.

As you probably know, the snipers were captured October 24th while sleeping in their car at a rest stop near Myersville, Maryland, but the emotional effects on the area lasted long after that.

As a final twist of fate for me, my daughter was in school at the time all of this occurred, getting her master’s degree in forensic psychology. As part of her course of study, she did her internship in the office of attorney, Michael Arif, who was assigned to defend Lee Boyd Malvo, the younger of the two snipers and she assisted in the research for the case.

It’s mind boggling how things tie into things. I guess it’s that six degrees of separation theory.

THE SECRET LIFE OF COWS

2009-04-11T10:24:00.001-04:00

As I have mentioned previously, my family and I live in a very rural area of New York State.
Many people who live in the New York City area and many who live in other states don’t realize there’s more to New York State than New York City. Surprise! The topography of New York State is very diverse.

Allegany County is mostly a farming community. There is a farm down the road from our house where they have cows. I’ve seen “the girls”, as I call them, every time I drive down the road for the past three years.

I’ve really felt sorry for them. Every time I see them, they’re either standing in one spot, staring at nothing, or laying down, staring at nothing.

I’ve done a little research because of all God’s creatures cows seem to have the most boring life of anything on earth. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t feel sorry for them. I’m finding out that cows have a secret life.

Eating, of course, is the highlight of their day, but I found out that on their own, cows will organize their days into blocks of time, about three hours per block.

It takes them a little while to get moving in the morning. I can relate to that. Once they finally are up and moving around, they eat for about two to three hours. A breakfast that long would absolutely kill my diet. Then, it’s time for a big, long drink of water.

By mid-morning, it seems they’re finally awake enough to ‘challenge’ passing vehicles to race. This is the time they also like to snoop around and see what adventures they can find, such as chasing a piece of newspaper or a plastic bag, blowing across the field.

It appears they’re very curious creatures and are compelled to investigate anything of interest within their immediate area; birds eating, squirrels scurrying, or a running herd of deer.
After such a busy morning, anyone would be ready for a nap and Bessie and Elsie are no exception. Nap time is about two to three hours. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?

During the years that I worked out of the house, I usually got a thirty minute lunch break. Many days, ten minutes were spent eating lunch in my car and twenty minutes were blocked out for a much needed nap. It wasn’t much, but it got me through the busy afternoons.
After completing their nap, it’s time for ‘the girls’ to eat again. Since they aren’t interested in watching their waistlines, it’s time for a snack.

Dusk seems to be another exciting time for them. They play, explore, snoop around and discover all sorts of things interesting to them.

Now that they’ve had a busy day, they’re pooped and ready for bed…well, sort of. They actually sleep for a few hours, wake up, eat a snack of hay or grass, socialize and then go back to sleep until dawn.

Betcha didn’t know cows have such an interesting life. Neither did I.

Research for this article:
Helga Tacreiter
http://psyeta.org

THOUGHTS ON RAMDOM THOUGHTS

2009-04-05T09:57:00.001-04:00

Aaah, spring! I’m so excited that spring is finally here (on a day-by-day basis). I went out to do a little yard work Thursday. I love to work in the flower beds because it gives me the freedom to solve all the problems facing our country by the time I finish whatever task I’m working on.
Sometimes my thoughts seem to run away with all their little buddy thoughts. I don’t really mind though, as long as they find their way back into my head by the time I finish my task.
My Min Pins were playing in the yard, enjoying one of the first sunny, warmish spring days so far. They reminded me of two little pre-school children without a care in the world. It occurred to me though that, at their age, eight years (that’s 56 in dog years), it’s really time for them to knuckle down and learn some things. For instance…

*Rolling on dead things in the yard and then wanting to be held is not cute.
*The trash collector is not stealing our stuff.
*I will not leave my toys outside in the rain and then bring them back in soaking wet.
*I will not lick my master’s face after eating something disgusting.
*I will try to remember barking dogs and door bells on TV are not actually in my house. I will not bark at them.
*I will not play tug-o-war with Daddy’s underwear when he’s sitting on the toilet. (Don’t ask.)
*My head does not belong in the refrigerator.

It seems like a lot of learning for such little dogs, but c’mon, they’ve had eight years. They’re really good little dogs though, so I guess I’ll continue to let them learn at their own pace and get on with more important thoughts.

Look out President Faux pas. Here I come.

AFTER THE FALL (Down the Stairs)

2009-03-28T09:41:00.004-04:00

I suffered a fall in my house last Tuesday. I've heard that expression before and always thought it to be a strange statement but, take my word for it, if you fall down nine out of thirteen non-carpeted steps and land upside down on a non-carpeted landing, you really do suffer.

I'm really not sure what happened. My daughter said our resident ghost pushed me. Nevertheless, in one instant I was gingerly stepping down the stairs and in the next instant, I was snowballing down the stairs, hitting every inch of each step with every part of my body. Hoooleee cow; does that ever hurt!

Fortunately, The Frontiersman was in the kitchen as I made my grand descend down the stairs and somehow, by the grace of God, he actually heard me tumbling down.

In his never ending quest to be my helpful, loving All American Hero, he rushed over to me (while I was still trying to figure out what the hell happened and what planet I finally landed on), scooped me up under my arms and dragged me backwards, bumping my butt on each of the remaining two steps.

Once I was finally on the carpeted floor, in one fell swoop, The Frontiersman hoisted me up to a standing position and I immediately responded by passing out, so he tells me. Not to be deterred, he hoisted me to my feet again and I heard him say (from someplace far away), "We've got to get you to the couch." I was dazed and had no strength, but I was trying to find enough strength in my Jell-O legs to walk as he half-dragged me over to the couch. He plopped me down on the couch and hurried to get a blanket for me.

As soon as he covered me up, I said, "I have to go to the bathroom." One of us got the blanket off me and he helped me into the bathroom. After depositing me on the 'throne', I asked him to go upstairs and get some clothes for me.

Again I passed out, this time falling off the toilet. I awoke in a heap on the bathroom floor. I began calling out to The Frontiersman. "Help...helloooo...help." In my fog, I realized he didn't hear my pitiful cries so, somehow I managed to put one hand on the edge of the bathtub and one hand on the wall and haul myself back up and onto the toilet again.

Just as The Frontiersman walked in with my clothes, I greeted him with a projectile upchuck. Talk about a look of surprise. At any rate, I somehow got cleaned up; I don't even remember it but, I was back on the couch and our son, The Computer Genius, was standing in front of me, looking bewildered.

"What happened", he asked, looking dazed himself. "I fell down the stairs", I replied. Jason's thoughtful, intelligent remark..."You better be more careful." I guess that's the best any college kid could do at eight-thirty in the morning.

The Frontiersman was on the phone with 911, The Computer Genius was putting his shoes on and they tell me I was getting dressed. I really don't remember.

In the blink of an eye the ambulance crew was walking through my front door. There were suddenly four people asking me questions and checking out all my cuts and bruises. In a short period of time I was strapped onto a backboard with a cervical collar secured on my neck and people were lifting me onto a gurney and wheeling me out to the waiting ambulance.

I can't say enough good things about the volunteer ambulance crews and especially the crew that showed up to help me out on Tuesday morning. They were absolutely wonderful. They were professional, kind and caring. Each one of them looked like an angel to me.

After arriving at the hospital, the paramedic gave my information to the nurses and told me they were leaving me in good hands. I had no doubt.

Once the nurses completed their evaluation of my pitiful, beat up body, a wonderful doctor came in and talked to me for a bit and then told me he was sending me for a CT scan of my head and neck. I was wondering if they would see the strange little elves that live in my head and make me say and do the crazy things I do.

Thank God for my hard German head. Although battered and bruised, my head and neck were fine. It has taken a few days for the dizziness and headache to dissipate but, other than that, I don't expect any lasting effects. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

Dr. LaMotte came back after he got the results of the CT scan and unstrapped me from the backboard and began to roll me onto the gurney. I let out a howl that was probably heard all over the hospital.

"What's hurting, what's hurting", he asked. I told him it was my left ankle and mid back.. He decided to send me back to radiology for x-rays.

After that, my daughter and son came in to see me. My daughter was very worried because Jason had called her and told her to meet him and their dad at the ER because I had fallen down the stairs and was being taken there by ambulance. Once she had the opportunity to see I was still pretty much in one piece and in relatively good spirits, relief came over her face.

After we talked for a few minutes, Roxanne asked Jason to go find their dad. She needed to get back home and take care of her responsibilities there.

The doctor returned to let us know I have a broken toe and that my ankle was possibly also fractured. My back was just badly bruised.

The nurse came in and gave me a hypodermic of something in my IV for pain. She then removed the IV and brought in the cutest, lightest little cast for my ankle and then a pair of crutches. She showed me how to use them, had me sign a bunch of papers and told us I was free to go.

The Frontiersman went out and brought the car up to the door and Jason stayed with me while I hobbled, on crutches, down the hallway and out the door.

During the past few days, I've had the opportunity to reflect on my accident and realize how blessed I am that, although I'm pretty beat up and a little broken, it could have been so much worse. God is very good to me. I'm blessed to have a husband who acted so quickly to help me. I'm blessed to live in a community where neighbors care about each other and come quickly when their help is needed. I'm blessed that we have excellent hospitals in the area, staffed with professionals who really know what they're doing and I'm very blessed to have wonderful family and friends who love me and take good care of me.

Something like this makes you stop and appreciate the blessings you have been given.

OVER THE HILL

2009-03-21T16:33:00.003-04:00

I've come to accept that I'm over the hill. I don't like it, but sometimes you have to give in even if you don't like the end result.

The Frontiersman has, for many years, been trying to convince me that we're getting a little long in the tooth, but until today, I wasn't willing to accept it.

I had a very busy morning today but the afternoon was lost to me. About one o'clock I sat down to watch Fox News Channel for a few minutes. I had every intention of getting back to work in about half an hour. Ha! I fell asleep...sitting up. Now, I know old people do that, but I'm talking old.

I've noticed a few other stealth indications of age creeping into my life and if you're part of the Baby Boomers Generation, you can just hum along as I mention them. If you're younger, just wait. God has a strange sense of humor.

My son-in-law called last night at nine o'clock and asked if he woke me.

Old people always seem to watch the news channels on TV. If you come to our house any time of day or night, turn the TV on and voila. Fox News Channel.

I was in a grocery store last week (not the ghetto bodega), and a song from the '60s came on the sound system. I knew every word of the song. I can walk from the living room to the kitchen and, once I get there, I can't remember why I went there, but I can remember every word to a song I haven't heard in thirty years.

Ok. I admit it. I really am a recycled teenager. That's one way to explain the way my brain works.

GOD HAS A STRANGE SENSE OF HUMOR

2009-03-16T18:14:00.000-04:00

I had the flu this week. Thank God I’m on forced retirement because I couldn’t have gotten up to go to work even if the Chippendale Dancers were going to be there at lunchtime.

I woke up Monday morning feeling like an elephant sat on me during the night. I managed to get up and scuff my way to the bathroom. I stopped to look at myself in the mirror. Why do I do that? I know how pitiful I look when I’m sick. It’s like it’s not official unless I look at myself. My complexion was the color of a new pair of ecru spring shoes. My eye sockets resembled that of a character from Night of the Living Dead. My eyes had dark circles that drooped down to my knees. As if that weren’t bad enough, the entire crown of my hair was sticking up like the comb of a rooster. God has a strange sense of humor.

As I was sitting on the commode with my eyes closed to keep from noticing that the room was orbiting as nicely as any planet, I then began to feel nauseas. Of course nausea would hit me at that moment. The waste basket was wa-a-a-a-ay across the room, next to the sink. Very funny, God.

“Help”, I called, hoping The Frontiersman would hear me. “Help. Somebody. Anybody.” Did I mention The Frontiersman is nearly deaf? Very funny, God.

I got up from the throne and carefully guided myself the one-half mile or so to the other side of the bathroom, by holding onto the wall. I grabbed up the waste basket and inched my way back to the bedroom. I think the entire trip took about four hours. By that time, my head was spinning, my body was hurting and I was freezing.

Once back in my bedroom, I very carefully placed the waste basket next to my bed and climbed into my warm, cozy bed. I buried my head into my soft, cloud-like pillows, pulled my nice, warm blankets up around my chin and closed my eyes.

Have you ever been almost asleep, but felt like someone was watching you? I slowly opened one painful eyelid. What a mistake. My two little Miniature Pinschers were standing on the bed, wagging their entire bodies and smiling at me. Very funny, God.

“Lie down”, I said with as much sternness as I could muster. “I’m sick. I’m going to sleep.” Now, I don’t know if dogs really understand English or not, but they weren’t buying it. Just as I closed my eye, they moved in closer and began licking my face. I think they were actually trying to pry my eyes open.

“Stop it. Go to sleep.” I called out, weakly. More licking and now they were also beginning to sing at me.

“Dan”, I called out to The Frontiersman. No answer. “Dan.” No answer. Was I really calling out to him, or was it just a dream? I dragged myself out of my cozy little cave and, with my little dogs at my heels, I called down the stairway, “Dan.” I knew he was downstairs because I could hear the TV and I heard him stirring coffee. “Dan.” Nothing. Did I mention he’s almost deaf?

We recently put in a new staircase but we don’t have the railing up yet, so I very carefully descended the stairs while holding onto the wall. This was the first time since we put the stairs in that they gyrated like the ones in a fun house. Ok, God. This is not funny.

As I reached the bottom step and turned, looking into the living room, guess who was sitting in his easy chair, watching TV and drinking coffee?
Me: “Dan. I’ve been calling you.”
Dan: “Huh?”
Me: “I’ve been calling you.”
Dan: “Oh. What?”
Me: “The dogs want to go out.”

Get this. “Ok”, he said, “Let them out.”

I was trying to maintain my naturally calm, gentle demeanor in spite of the fact that I might upchuck at any second.

“I’m sick”, I started, very composed. “The dogs want to go out. I’m sick. I want to go back to bed.”

“You’re sick?” He asked, sounding amazed. “What’s wrong?”

Now, I realize The Frontiersman also wears glasses, but he was looking right at me.

“Are you looking at me?” I asked. I crept my way over to him, holding onto my head to keep it from breaking into pieces and falling to the floor. “My head hurts. My body hurts. I’m nauseas.” I stated. “I’m going to bed.”

“You don’t look good,” he said. (Can you believe it?) I slowly turned around and made my way back to the stairs, hoping to get back in bed and sleep for the next week.

“Hey, Shar”, I heard from what seemed to be coming from a tunnel somewhere. It’s ok, I thought. I’m just dreaming. Suddenly, I felt a hand on me, rocking me back and forth as if a volcano had exploded under my bed.

“Shar.” I slowly opened one eyelid. The Frontiersman was standing over me. “What?” I asked. “What’s for dinner?” The Frontiersman asked as if he expected me to jump up and start cooking. “Dinner, what time is it? I just went to sleep, didn’t I?”

“It’s five-o’clock”, he announced, as if he were the town crier.

“What would you like for dinner?” I asked, opening my painful eyelids.

“I was thinking some pasta with sauce and meatballs would be good”, he replied.

“Good”, I said. “Clean up when you’re finished, and bring me some chicken broth.”

“Right”, he said, disappointedly. He can’t be serious, I thought.

I don’t remember if he brought me any broth or not, but I really didn’t care. I just wanted sleep.

******** ******** ********

I opened my eyes and, miraculously, they almost didn’t hurt. Slowly, I sat up on the edge of my bed. The room wasn’t spinning anymore! I stood up and looked at the clock. It was six thirty, and either getting dark out, or it was getting light.

I got back into bed, propped up my pillows behind my back and sat there listening. After a few minutes, I noticed it was getting lighter outside. I heard faint sounds coming from downstairs. Just then, my little dogs dashed up the stairway, into the bedroom and jumped into bed. All at once, I was being showered with so much love you’d think I’d been away for a week.

I heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and then The Frontiersman appeared in the doorway. “How are you?” he asked. “I feel much better”, I replied. “Good”, he said, “you’ve been sleeping for almost two days and I’ve run out of meal ideas.” Very funny, God.

HAVE YOU EVER HEARD COYOTES AT NIGHT?

2009-03-16T18:12:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I’m not what you’d call a country gal. I grew up in a small town and moved around a lot, living most of my life in towns and small cities. I’ve had my fair share of outdoor experiences though. Somehow this urban/suburban gal met and married a Davy Crockett wanna be so, when I was young and adventurous, The Frontiersman was actually able to convince me to go fishing with him. One time, he even talked me into going squirrel hunting with him. I ended up crying when he finally shot a squirrel, so we decided I’m not really a good hunting partner for him.

We did camp a lot when our kids were young. We started out in a basic tent. If it was good enough for the Davy Crockett types, it was good enough for us, right? Right…until the night the monsoon came. That was the last time I’ve ever seen the inside of a tent, thank God! After that, The Frontiersman knew our camping days were over unless we bought a camper.

For several weeks, we checked out nearby campgrounds, and finally found a small camper that we could afford. For the next several summers, our vacations were spent camping. (Oh the stories I could tell you.)

From 1995-2006 I managed to drag The Frontiersman back to civilization; we lived in Northern Virginia. Two years ago, he decided it was time to think about retirement and getting back to nature. Here we go again. We bought a house on 24 acres of land in a very rural area of Western New York State.

In the 2 1/2 years we’ve lived here, I’ve seen an array of small wild animals, lots of deer and even a real, live black bear. Last night was the icing on the cake. The Frontiersman had fallen asleep down stairs, our college-age son was in his man cave in the basement, playing a game on the Internet, with his ear buds on. I was in bed, upstairs, with the TV on. I had been working on homework for the business class I’m taking, but was nearly asleep when I heard the most ungodly sound I’ve ever heard. I sat bolt upright. At first, in my grogginess, I thought it was something on TV, but quickly realized I had a comedy show on, so it wasn’t likely those mournful cries came from the TV. As I became more fully awake, the sound seemed to encompass the house. Did we suddenly have very loud, very sad ghosts?

We have two little Miniature Pinschers who were both asleep at the end of the bed, under the covers. As the reverberating sound continued, they scampered out from under the covers and sat at the end of the bed, hugging each other, with their ears pricked up, worriedly glancing from side-to-side, as the chorus of howling continued.

Have you ever heard coyotes at night? The sound of their baying is so haunting. It sounds so close and so far away at the same time.

Since we live in a hollow, it had the effect of surround sound in a movie theater. I swear, it scared me so much I thought the coyotes were coming through my upstairs window at any second. I couldn’t even immediately think what to do (I know you want to be near me in an emergency).

As my senses returned, I darted down the stairs to find The Frontiersman snoring to the point of sucking the walls in, so I continued down the basement stairs. My son, the computer genius, was completely involved in the game he was playing and didn’t hear a thing. How can you not hear a sound that is making the entire house vibrate? I called to him in a breathless, scared-to-death voice and asked him if he had heard the coyotes. He shot me a look that not only told me he hadn’t heard them, but that he thought I had been dreaming. He did, however, manage to unglue himself from his chair and meet me at the open inside basement door. We stood there for a few seconds, listening for that frightening sound, but it didn’t come again. I instructed him to close the door and to put a nearby 2″ x 4′ piece of wood under the door knob to ensure the coyotes weren’t going to come barreling through.

All I can tell you is that if I never hear the sound of coyotes in the night again, I’ll be happy as a clam.

If you’ve had this experience, tell me about it.

IN PRAISE OF DIRT ROADS

2009-03-16T18:10:00.000-04:00

In all my life, I never thought about living on a dirt road. I’ve always been more of an urban/suburban dweller, and if anyone had told me that at some point in my life, I’d be living in the country, I would have replied, “You’ve got the wrong gal.”

Well, here I am. Not only living in the country, but living on a certified dirt road. Wait a minute. Did I just say that?

In the two and a half years my family and I have lived here, I’ve actually learned a couple of things about dirt roads.

1) You can plant trees in the big potholes and then decorate them at Christmas time, giving off an air of peace and joy.
2) The Easter Bunny can hide in the potholes and watch the kids hunt Easter eggs and Easter baskets.
3) You no longer have the expense of washing your car because there’s no use in trying to keep it clean.
4) You get the thrills of riding on a roller coaster, but you don’t have to wait in line.
5) There’s no salt and little sand on the road in winter, so the trees (that you planted in the potholes) stay healthy, thus enhancing the neighborhood.
6) The ruts get so deep that you no longer have to steer your car. Just press the accelerator and your car stays in the rut, automatically steering for you. This frees your hands up for more important things like balancing your checkbook, applying mascara, or other important things that need to be done during this hands free time.
7) In hot, dry weather, the dirt billows from the road when a vehicle passes by. It looks so much like a sand storm, you have the experience of a trip to the desert without the travel expense.
8) Also, in hot, dry weather, the windows facing the road get so dirty you don’t need drapes. This obviously saves you money.
9) You also never have to bother painting the house. It is always brown.
10) …and in the wet weather, your kids can go swimming in the potholes!!

Unfortunately, dirt roads are on the endangered items list. Far too many of them have been paved. The world will be too quiet when the sounds of stones pinging off the fenders of passing cars and trucks are silenced by pavement.

Dirt roads force people to slow down and remember when…

Colonoscopy Primer

2009-03-16T18:03:00.000-04:00

I had a colonoscopy the other day; two days before Thanksgiving to be exact. What a mistake. From now on, I will always look at the calendar before setting a date for any procedure.
As you probably have heard, the prep is worse than the procedure. Much worse.

The day before the colonoscopy, you’re required to be on a clear liquid diet. Basically, if you can see through it, you can have it, except if it’s red or purple.

You have to drink this horrible crap that tastes like ocean water with a poor excuse for lemon flavoring added in. Once you prepare and drink this disgusting concoction, you better plan to hang out within inches of your toilet.

At this point, allow me to interject some thoughts for the well stocked bathroom. You will want to have the softest, strongest toilet paper on the market. The ones that are infused with aloe and vitamin E are best, and buy a large package of the double rolls. If you’ve thought ahead, perhaps you were clever enough to buy one of those soft, puffy toilet seats. After a few hours, you’ll really appreciate this purchase.

Since you will be calling your bathroom home for several hours, you’ll want some creature comforts. Have some magazines, mail order catalogs (You could actually do all of your Christmas shopping during this time.), or a good book within reach. A crossword puzzle book will keep your mind off your troubles, too. Of course you’ll want some nicely scented candles and some wonderfully scented body wash for ‘later’. Have a big mug of ice water handy too. If you have a way to haul your TV into the bathroom, that’s not a bad idea. Who knows, the weather could take a turn for the worse while you’re occupied and you’ll want to stay informed.

After your several hour toilet stint, you’ll really appreciate the nicely scented candles and the delicious smelling body wash. Believe me, you will want to take a shower! A large glass of white wine is good at this point, but take your shower first and head for your bed, taking the wine with you. You’ll feel very weak.

Don’t move anything when you’re finished because you’ll need to repeat this whole process early in the morning. Yeah.

The hospital admission and the procedure are pretty mundane. The recovery room, however is quite a circus. The nurses attempt to wake you up as soon as you’re rolled into recovery. The first thing you hear is a nurse asking, very loudly, if you’d like cranberry juice, apple juice or ice water. My woozy response was, cocoa. Who knows where that came from.

After a few minutes, a nurse returns to try, once again, to wake you and get a reasonable response. I wasn’t giving in so easily. My co-pay was $75.00. I planned on taking a nice, long nap at the very least.

Then, I got my wake up call.

“How you doing at expelling that gas, Mr. Jones?”

What was that?

Then, I realized I was in the middle of a flatulence festival, full of groggy patients, emitting random blasts of gas to release the air that was pumped into them during their colonoscopy.

“Nurse…check, please.”

“Mr. Jones”. the nurse called, “remember there’s a wall behind you. Try not to blow a hole through it ’cause they’ll make me repair it.”

Just then, my husband came in, my IV was removed and my wheelchair magically appeared. Yeah! Time to go home.