tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33605753996576962622024-03-20T00:35:46.113-07:00Mystic EquusTerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-16301110829918393722010-06-25T07:37:00.000-07:002010-07-11T13:13:30.925-07:00SURVIVING NANNY~ Gardenias & Best FriendsAlong with the addition of Oliver B. Greene to my life, that whole year was one of many changes.<div>I just thought he to be the worst thing to happen to me that year. I was wrong.</div><div>Chico died sometime after my introduction to Rev. Greene. I don't understand what happen to her. She just got sick one day. </div><div>I remember Papaw trying to take care of her. I remember it was very hot outside. I remember he telling Nanny he had to bring her inside, under the air conditioning. I remember Nanny having a fit about no filthy animal coming into her house. Then , to my shock, I remember Papaw shouting bad words at Nanny, slamming the back door, gathering up Chico in his arms and bringing her inside.</div><div>I remember Nanny retreating to her bedroom. I could hear her praying and crying. I remember thinking, "Good, let her cry."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Papaw and I made a pallet for Chico in the middle of the dining room floor. This was the coolest room in the house, as the large window unit hung from this room's window.</div><div><br /></div><div>Chico struggled to breathe, her respiration uneven and erratic. As soon as she rested under the cool air, her breathing improved. I loved my Papaw so much at that moment.</div><div>He pushed water in her all day long. Told me she needed to get to a vet, soon. Papaw never had had a driver's license, Mama and Daddy were at work, we had no extra car. I begged him to call Mama and make her come home. Mama could take her to the vet. Papaw said no, we could only call Mama for emergencies. Well, this sure seemed like an emergency to me! Still, he said no.</div><div>I prayed harder that day than I had ever prayed in my life. Sometimes Chico would seem better, then she go right back to fighting for air. I continued to pray.</div><div>Mama finally got home. I didn't wait for her to make it to the front door, rather I flew outside, down the hot walk, screaming at her that Chico was bad sick!</div><div>She raced inside to find Papaw leaning over her body. She was breathing but her breaths had become rapid and shallow. "Get her to the car, Daddy!!" Papaw swooped her up in his arms and placed her in the backseat of Mama's car. Then, they were gone.</div><div><br /></div><div>Papaw and I returned to the house. Don't think either one of us had eaten all day; still I didn't feel hungry. Papaw insisted we eat something. Nanny was still hold up in her room, hadn't seen her all day. Must admit, she had been a pleasant miss.</div><div>Papaw found something to throw together, and we ate in silence. Sensing my worry, he assured me we had done all we could do for her, and I had made a real good assistant doctor.</div><div>"But Papaw, what if she dies?" I could feel the hot tears burning, but I refused to cry.</div><div>"Well now, you are old enough to know nothing lives forever. She's getting to be an old dog and she just might not make it. She has had a real good life, and that's something to be thankful for.</div><div>I want you to remember that."</div><div>As much as I wanted to be mad at Papaw for speaking so casually of Chico's death, I couldn't be.</div><div>He just had a way of stating fact, with little emotion, and this made bad truths less scary.</div><div><br /></div><div>We cleaned the dishes, put them away, and waited.</div><div><br /></div><div>I heard a car pull up outside and ran to the front window. It was Daddy, home from work. Again, down our walk I ran, the concrete now cool to my bare feet, long shadows had replaced the baking sun. I quickly explained to Daddy where Mama was and why. I don't think he even came inside, just turned and went straight back to his car. In seconds he was gone. Going to check on Chico.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was dark when Mama and Daddy finally came home. Papaw and I had waited the whole time in the living room, mostly in silence. Neither one of us had much to say, which for me was unusual. Papaw never talked much. Daddy said if Papaw did open his mouth, you best listen.</div><div>He'd have something important to say.</div><div>Both Mama and Daddy slowly pulled up to the curb and parked their cars. Papaw asked me to switch on the porch light. I strained to see if they had Chico with them. I could see Daddy carrying something in his arms, my heart soared. Maybe Chico was home!!!</div><div>I took one look at Mama's face and knew better. Her face was all red and swollen, no doubt she had been crying. Daddy didn't look much better. All he had in his arms was the pallet Chico had rested on for the day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Papaw rose from the rocker and announced he was going on to bed. The stairs creaked with each slow step he took, until I heard his bedroom door close.</div><div><br /></div><div>Me, Mama and Daddy all looked at one another, waiting for someone to speak the horrible words. Finally, Daddy spoke up. "Pal, (that was the only name Daddy had ever called me) Chico didn't make it." I knew that. I knew she was gone, just from Mama's face. Still, hearing it out loud made it real. I felt the floor open, my head swim, knees buckle. I wanted to scream, Noooo!!! but knew it was true. For some reason I ran to Daddy, not Mama. Maybe I needed to borrow some of his strength. Tears came then sobs. Daddy, rocking me back and forth, stroking my head, whispering, "I'm sorry, Pal". Over and over and over, til it became a mantra.</div><div>Mama was crying again, her sobs mixed with mine, like a two part harmony.</div><div>I don't know how long we stayed like this. Guess as long as we needed. Eventually I had no more tears. </div><div>I climbed from Daddy's lap and kissed his stubbly cheek. I knew Daddy felt the same loss for he loved Chico too. </div><div>"Where is she, Daddy?" He paused, then explained they had left her body at the vet's. She had gotten very sick and was suffering. " The vet gave her a special shot to take her pain away and to help her get to heaven."</div><div>"So do you think she is in heaven now?" Daddy assured me she was, then added, not to listen to anything Nanny might say about this. Chico was in heaven, period.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mama asked where Nanny was, as she usually stayed in the thick of things. "Oh, she and Papaw got mad at each other over Chico and Papaw said a <i>whole bunch </i>of bad words to her and she has been in her room all day." "Jesus!" Mama exclaimed. She headed upstairs to Nanny's room.</div><div><br /></div><div>Daddy was left to tuck me in. He found clean pajamas for me, slid me under the cool sheets, then kissed me goodnight. "You sleep tight now, Pal." "Daddy, you think you could open my gardenia window?" Papaw had planted gardenia bushes underneath my bedroom window. They were in full bloom. On warm summer nights their aroma would fill my room. Daddy slid the wooden window up, pushing the stick in place to hold the window open. "Thanks, Daddy."</div><div>"Daddy, could you do one more thing?" Daddy nodded. "Could I please sleep with Chico's pallet?" I wanted to smell her. "You know Nanny will have one more hissy if she finds that dog pallet in a clean bed. Dang it, Pal. You are gonna get us both in all kinds of trouble."</div><div>"Please Daddy, just for tonight?" He turned, mumbling words I couldn't make out, to go get Chico's bed.</div><div>Daddy had rolled the pallet up tight, then stuffed it in an old pillow case. He explained maybe we could convince Nanny most of the dog hair and filth would stay in the pillowcase. We both knew this was a long shot, maybe she would appreciate the effort.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hard to believe when I woke in the morning, Chico wouldn't be outside waiting to play. I tried to get used to the idea I would never see her again. Odd to think someone so loved, so much a part of my daily life, could just be gone so quickly. Harder still to believe I would never see her again. It just didn't seem real. Nothing about the day seemed real.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe all of this was just a bad, bad dream. Maybe I will wake in the morning and Chico will be in the backyard, just waiting on me. The day held the feel of a bad dream. Just maybe the sooner I fall asleep now, the sooner I will wake to see her.</div><div><br /></div><div>I held her pallet tight against my body and inhaled deeply. Her smell was strong on her bedding.</div><div>I squeezed the pillowcase closer, pretending it was Chico. It smelled right, but lacked the rhythm of her breathing, the weight and warmth of her body.</div><div><br /></div><div>I grew sleepy, willing to fall into the black ink of sleep. Tomorrow I would wake and find my dog in the backyard, bright pink tongue hanging out, black tail wagging at the sight of me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight I would fall asleep with the two aromas which brought me the most peace, my Papaw's gardenias and my best friend.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-73032301661783887822010-06-11T09:32:00.000-07:002010-06-23T15:11:09.600-07:00SURVIVING NANNY ~FREE!!!! FOR $5!!!!!~ PART4The next morning turned out much as I expected. Nanny did not whip me; she came up with a punishment much worse. I had to listen to her radio preacher every morning with her. She told me I wasn't getting enough training from church. Her hope being Rev. Oliver B. Greene and his messages could straighten me out. His program came on five days a week, airing from 9-9:30 each morning. His theme song was Blessed Assurance. In the past, when I heard the first note, that was my cue to run to the backyard and play with Chico. No more.<div>I hated the thought of spending more time in the house with Nanny, listening to yet another preacher. I came right out and asked for a spanking, just to get it over with. She said no. Mama didn't want me spanked, not for speaking my mind, and while she believed I needed a good wearing out, she couldn't go against Mama. </div><div>I begged her to whip me. Told her I deserved a whipping. I<i> needed</i> a whipping. I wouldn't even tell Mama, it could be our secret. She reminded me that would be lying, and the devil was using me to tempt her. No, there would be no whipping.</div><div>She yanked out a wooden kitchen chair and plunked me down. She explained I was to sit still, not talk, act just as if I were in church. "yes, Ma'am," I knew when I was beat.</div><div>Looked as if Oliver B. Greene and I were gonna become well acquainted. Thank goodness his program only lasted 30 minutes! Don't think I could bear a full hour of his screaming. He preached nothing like Preacher. No, not at all. Preacher kinda started out soft and slow. 'Bout mid way he'd grow louder, maybe start pacing, maybe even pound the pulpit. Get everyone whipped up into a full fervor. Then, he'd bring it back down, real slow like, sometimes whispering, "Brothers, Sisters, have you found Jesus?" Usually the organ player would slip from her seat to the organ. For the invitation she would most always play Just As I Am, or Softly and Tenderly.</div><div>Again, sometimes crying, Preacher would ask again, "Have you found the Lord and Master? Have you found Him? Have you <i>found Jesus?!</i></div><div>I sometimes looked around to see if anyone was gonna answer. I had no idea he was lost!!</div><div>I wanted to ask if anyone had checked the Krispy Kreme, but thought better of it. I'd bet money he was at the Krispy Kreme with Daddy. That was Daddy's favorite place to go on Sundays. Daddy would stop and buy a Sunday paper, drop me and Nanny off at church, then read his paper at the Krispy Kreme until it was time to pick us up again. There he would come, pulling up to the church curb, donut glaze smeared all around his mouth. Then try and tell me he hadn't had any donuts. Daddy would then wink at me and surprise me with a different choice each Sunday. I understood I couldn't have it til after Sunday lunch. He never forgot me.</div><div>I was just thinking since Daddy loved the Krispy Kreme so, maybe Jesus did too. He and Daddy could be sharing donuts together for all I knew. And, if Jesus could be found there, it wouldn't hurt him any to buy a newspaper and get caught up on this Vietnam war either. It stayed in the news all the time. Poor boys dying in the jungles of Vietnam. Walter Cronkite gave the body count each day on the evening news. I used to watch the news with Daddy, but I wasn't allowed to any more. I would cry for all the dead soldiers and their Mamas; just get myself all kinds of worked up. Finally, Mama said no more Walter Cronkite for me.</div><div>Anyway, if Jesus happened to be at the Krispy Kreme, maybe Daddy could talk to Him about the war. Then maybe Jesus could talk to God about this war. The whole church had been praying for an end but the fighting kept going on. Personally, I don't think God was listening. Jesus might could get through to God. Maybe the war could end that way.</div><div>It was worth a try. Meanwhile, I would ask Daddy if he had seen Jesus hanging out at the Krispy Kreme.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, as I was saying before I got all sidetracked, Rev. Greene didn't preach anything like Preacher. Nope. He was like a Thoroughbred race horse bolting out of the gate. He started preaching hard and didn't let up til it was time to beg for money. He preached and begged for money each program, five days a week. I have no idea what he did with</div><div> the money; he called it a love offering. I just figured it could get mighty expensive loving Rev.</div><div> Greene. Lots of people loved me, but I sure didn't see anybody throwing money at my feet.</div><div>Nanny said there were things I just wasn't old enough to understand; guess this was one of 'em.</div><div>All I know was it wasn't free if you had to send in $5. He was always giving his tracts and such away for a donation of $5. I tried to tell Nanny she was still out the $5, no matter what he claimed or called it. Free for $5 ain't free. Even I wasn't that stupid.</div><div>Plus, it wasn't even her money. It was Papaws. Some times she would ask him for the money; other times she'd sneak to his room and take the $5 outta his calf hide wallet. I loved his wallet. Made out of real calf skin with the hair still on it, black, brown and white with black leather whip stitching around the edges. Some times he would let me pet the wallet, as I tried to imagine the cow it came from.</div><div>Anyway, it sure looked like stealing to me. She knew my suspicions and one day attempted to explain her actions. Said it really wasn't stealing as she was married to Papaw <i>and</i> it was going to a good cause. I never said a word; just stared at her. Again, even I wasn't that stupid.</div><div>I reckon it was okay to steal if you were stealing for Jesus. Nanny could certainly say, then do, some odd things. Best to keep my mouth shut. If I had been able to keep quiet about hell and animals I wouldn't be in the mess I was in now. No, if I questioned her behavior at all it could lead me into all kinds of woe. Best to agree and move on. But I <i>will</i> say it here, sure looked like stealing to me.<i> </i></div><div><br /></div><div>I listened to Rev. Greene until I started kindergarten, over a full year. Nanny was legally blind and only had a 4th grade education. Back then there were no special programs for children with challenges. When her sight became so poor she could no longer see to do her school work, she was sent home.</div><div>My job was to address the envelopes with Papaw's $5 in it to Rev. Greene. I used a pencil so I could erase any mistakes I might make. By the time I did start school, I knew how to address an envelope properly, and write a simple form letter. That's how many times I had written Rev. Greene that year before kindergarten. I knew his address by heart, without Nanny ever having to tell me. I scrawled in my best print:</div><div>Rev. Oliver B. Greene</div><div>Box 2024</div><div>Greenville, SC 29602</div><div><br /></div><div>I addressed all of the mail to him for Nanny until his death in 1976 or 77, by this time I was in high school. Nanny grieved for months. Me, I was thankful I never had to hear his name again.</div><div>Finally, I could forget him and his address!</div><div><br /></div><div>After 45 years, I remember.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, the things the mind holds on to from childhood.</div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-74743198871970429242010-06-10T12:33:00.000-07:002010-06-23T15:15:13.558-07:00SURVIVING NANNY~Watermelons & Winged Horses~part3I had fallen hard asleep under the grapevines. Hadn't intended to, but I guess all the big hoop-la of the morning had tired me out.<div>Mama had come out to find both Chico and I, curled up, sweating like pigs. Caked in dirt, my clothes wet with sweat, Mama hollared for me to get up outta there. My grapes squished in my pocket.</div><div>She had her mad face on, but I could tell she was shinning me. "You know what you need,</div><div>Missy?!" Now she was trying not to smile. Across the yard she ran, grabbed the water hose, and </div><div>turn on the spigot, then sprayed me clean! The water felt almost too cold, but good, nonetheless. Rainbows sparkled in the spray, beautiful, dancing rainbows. As soon as I reached for one, it would be gone. Within a minute, my body had grown used to the cool water; it felt heavenly! All too soon Mama said it was time to cut the water off, we were running up the bill. I begged her to play just a little longer, but she said no. </div><div>I guessed it was about going back to church time anyway. I asked Mama which dress she was gonna put me in. "Oh, Nanny isn't going this evening. You can stay home." My heart sank. This had to be bad news for me. Nanny never missed church, ever. She would go sick even. The only thing to keep her outta church was the beauty parlor. Now, if she didn't go to the beauty parlor,</div><div>she absolutely would not attend services.</div><div>Once, before I was born, Nanny messed up her hair. I mean really messed it up. Daddy said Easter was coming and she wanted her hair colored. Wouldn't pay the beauty parlor lady to do it either. Her prices where sky high! Had Miss Mildred, our dear friend and next door neighbor, do it. Daddy said he wasn't quite sure what color she was aiming for, but she got purple. He said it was a most beautiful shade of Easter purple, but Nanny cried.</div><div>Poor Miss Mildred tried to fix it, but the next do-over came out pink!!! Bright pink!!! Nanny was wailing at this point. Daddy, in an effort to comfort and calm her(?) told her" Now Sade, at least you staying with an Easter theme." More tears. I think it had to slowly wash out. She missed several Sundays,</div><div> not Easter though. She and her pink head were in Church Easter Sunday. Not even pink hair would keep her from church<i> Easter Sunday!!!!</i></div><div>My point being, things couldn't be good if she wasn't going to church. I considered not asking but Mama would tell me the truth. "Why is Nanny skipping church?" Mama answered, "Well, she just let herself get worked up over what you said at church this morning. She has taken a nerve pill and is resting." I felt awful. I wished Mama would yell at me or something. Maybe give me a good spanking. <i>Something! </i>Instead, she remained kind and forgiving. "Terri, I know you didn't mean to do any thing bad at church today." All the while nodding my head in full agreement. "I want you to understand something. That church your Nanny goes to is a crazy church. You just can't believe everything you hear there." This struck me as odd. "Well, Mama, why do I have to go?" She paused then chose her words carefully. "You do need some kind of religious training. Lord knows, I'm too tired to take you to church after working all week. Just easier to let Mama do it." Sometimes Mama would forget and call Nanny, Mama. Well, Nanny was her Mama.</div><div>"Just try to mind your Nanny, and not upset her, okay?"</div><div>Mama just didn't understand how easily Nanny got upset. All I could do was to try extra hard.</div><div><br /></div><div>We went inside where Mama found me dry clothes and combed out my wet hair. I found myself wishing she didn't have to work. I wished she could take care of me instead of Nanny. We had already talked about this and I understood why. Still didn't make me stop wishing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dressed in clean,dry clothes, I approached Papaw's door, hoping he could talk to me about the animal/soul thing. He was leaned way back in his recliner, reading his Bible.</div><div>"Papaw, can I come in?" There was that smile, the smile he saved only for me. He didn't have a tooth in his head, but smiled like he had a mouthful of dentures. Well, he did have dentures but he wouldn't wear them. Said they hurt. So, he kept them in a glass of water in the bathroom. The dentures scared me when I was real little, but no more. They were just Papaw's teeth floating in a jar. He just had a mouthful of gums.</div><div>He patted the arm of his recliner welcoming me to take a seat. I jumped up on the arm, then slid down, falling into his side. Laughter from both of us. I giggled til I bout wet my pants.</div><div>"Papaw, do you think animals have souls?" I waited, breathlessly. His brown eyes searching mine. "Well now, do you mean like people?" "Yeah, I guess. Enough soul they go on to heaven?</div><div>Cuz Preacher said that animals have no souls. None! Then I started thinking about Chico and her dying and going to hell and I got so worked up I couldn't think and that's why I blurted out what I did." By this time I was crying. Couldn't hold the stress of the day any longer. I told Papaw I just knew Nanny was gonna tear me up for what I had done, but I wasn't being smart-aleky. Really!" I was sobbing now. No holding back. Papaw held on to me til my storm passed.</div><div>"I can't recall any where in the Bible that says animals have no souls." This made me feel some better. " I can't imagine a Heaven without animals. They are His creatures too, just like us. Had Noah build an ark just to save'em. Bound to be important to Him. Don't think he would've had Noah go to all that work for nothing. Yeah, I believe they go on. Heaven? Now, I ain't so sure about that. I ain't sure I believe in the Heaven we're told of in the Bible, either. Pearly gates?</div><div>Streets of gold? No, what am I gonna do with any of that. Spending eternity on a cloud with a harp? Naw, that don't sound like Heaven to me. Sounds boring. </div><div>God knows me better than anyone. I believe I'll be given the Heaven right for me. Maybe a plot of fertile soil, where every thing grows. Perfect rains, perfect amount of sun, just a perfect garden of vegetables, fruits and flowers. <i>That</i> would be my heaven." </div><div>He was lost in thought, dreaming of his Heaven. I prayed maybe his knees and back wouldn't hurt in Heaven too. God said there would be no pain. Be nice for Papaw to tend his garden without hurting.</div><div>"Well now, I know your Heaven will be filled with animals! And horses! Why, you gonna have a horse of every color in the world! Maybe some of them will even have wings. And you can grab one of your winged horses and fly over to my garden patch. We can share a perfect watermelon </div><div>together. Don't that sound fun?!"</div><div>Yes, it did sound fun. Maybe that's what heaven will be like. " Ain't nobody knows what heaven is like til we get there. We got to go on faith; that's all we got. I figure whatever it is it will be perfect. We both just need to believe that and go on. No sense in worrying about it. That sure don't help nothing. Just gotta trust God knows what is best for all his creatures. Especially us."</div><div><br /></div><div> And again, my world was righted. That's all it took. My Papaw's wisdom.</div><div><br /></div><div>I made another silent observation. While Nanny went to church all the time, and was a Christian, no doubt about that! she had no faith. None at all. She worried all the time about every little thing. And if she didn't have some thing to worry about, she'd hunt some thing up. </div><div>And nervous! Why some days she reminded me of a little frightened mouse. Scurrying about and wringing her hands. She always thought some thing bad was about to happen. And her worry rubbed off on me too. If Mama was late getting home from work, Nanny always thought the worst. Couldn't be she was stuck in city traffic, oh no. Nanny would be convinced she was dead in a ditch some where. Then, if I didn't worry with her, she would tell me I didn't love Mama. By the time Mama did get home, we'd have her dead and buried. I would be an orphan and have to go to a special orphan home, cuz Nanny couldn't raise me by herself, and Daddy didn't have enough sense to raise an umbrella. By the time Mama <i>did</i> get home, I'd be in tears, so thankful to have a Mama and not have to go to the orphan home.</div><div>And every night before bedtime we all had to race around the house picking and straightening up, just in case someone was to get sick during the night or even die. We couldn't have the ambulance men coming in thinking we lived in filth. I thought if one of us died during the night, we would be too upset to be worrying about what strangers thought. I never shared this opinion with Nanny though. This was how my Nanny thought.</div><div><br /></div><div>But not Papaw. He never worried. Well, if he did he kept it to himself. No matter how bad things seemed, he would say, "It's all gonna be alright, you'll see." And it always was alright.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know how I knew this or even why. But the thought came to me........."The emptiest wagon always rattles the loudest." That suited my Nanny to a tee.</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-55129020397586836102010-06-09T10:44:00.000-07:002010-06-23T15:09:15.774-07:00SURVIVING NANNY~Grapevines & Bed Springs~part 2Mama allowed me to go outside after lunch. Daddy explained maybe it best to not go to the pony place that afternoon in light of my outburst at church <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">that morning. I would have just as soon gotten a whipping and gone about my business than stay away from the pony place. There was nothing I could do to change Daddy's mind, so stuck I was, at home, waiting for Nanny to get over her case of nerves.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When she did get better, things would not go well for me. She had a way of always getting the last word in. This was not over. Mama and Daddy might believe so, I knew better. I had publicly humiliated her and in some way I would be punished.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">No sense in worrying about that now. Nothing to do but wait. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">In the meantime, I asked Mama for the bone outta the roast, for Chico. She loved bones and could spend a whole day chewing on a new one.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I took the bone and ran toward the back door. Throwing the screened door wide, it closed with a hard WHACK! I could hear Mama curse, then, "Terri, you're gonna ruin that door!!!" I had forgotten again. "Sorry, Mama!" not sure she even heard me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I called for the black cocker, and she came wiggling out from underneath the house. That's where she usually stayed in the summer. Daddy said it was cool under there for her. He kept the little front and back door built into the foundation open during hot weather. Said this created a cross breeze for Chico to help keep her cool. In the winter it had to closed tight or the pipes would freeze. I wished she could come inside the house, but Nanny would never allow that. Animals were filthy and everyone knew how she felt about filth.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Chico and I found a cool spot underneath Papaw's grapevines. This was one of my favorite places in the yard. The vines were dense, blocking most all of the sun. He had planted them years before I had ever been born; they had grown huge. So large in fact, Papaw had taken a full sized bed spring, made tall posts, and allowed grapevine to take over.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mama about had a fit when she came home from work to find a suspended bed spring in her backyard. "Dammit Daddy, we look like white trash!" I heard her say. Papaw just laughed at her, promising the vines would cover it in no time. Papaw never did give much thought as to what others thought of him any way.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Chico and I curled up underneath the thick shade of Papaw's grapevine. She busy with her bone, me busy with worry. Try as I might, I couldn't stop worrying about Nanny being so angry with me. I don't believe I had ever seen her that upset. Maybe I would get lucky and just get a fly swatting. Maybe I was getting tougher, or Nanny getting weaker, I wasn't sure. But when she did whip me with the fly swat, It didn't hurt near like it used to. I still cried and carried on, so she would think I was suffering something terrible. But most all of that was for show.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Guess that was a form of lying, which I knew was a sin. Still, I continued to play that part out, all for her benefit. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I looked up through the vines, searching for blue skies. The vines, so thick blocked all view. I had picked a small bunch of grapes for dessert but felt full as a tick. Ate too much roast. I loved Mama's Sunday roast. The smell filled the whole house.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I had to finish the grapes I had picked. It took a big lot to make Papaw mad; wasting food was something you just didn't do around him. Now this could make him yell! He said he raised a family during something called a depression, and <i>nobody had enough to eat!</i> Said he went to bed a plenty of nights empty as a drum just so Mama and her sisters could eat! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">No, I knew better to waste anything in front of Papaw. I pushed the rest of the grapes deep into my pocket. I could put them in the ice box and eat them later.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I continued to study the wide leaves of the vines, thinking how right Papaw had been. The rusty bed springs were completely hidden by his beautiful vines. No one would ever know they were there, unless they climbed underneath and looked up. I was the only one to crawl beneath them. I was the only one who could see the ugly. A grown up would only see the beauty of the vines and the delicious grapes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This made me think of Nanny for some reason. She was like the grapevine and the bed spring.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Everyone who met her saw only her beautiful vines and sweet grapes. I knew better. Beneath all that beauty was nothing but an old rusty bed spring.</span></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-52859043920469544122010-06-02T06:50:00.000-07:002010-06-23T15:17:14.900-07:00SURVIVING NANNY~Hell Fire & Dalmatians~part 1Nanny had appointed herself in charge of all things religious. She handled our spiritual training with no humor and believed our blood would be on her hands if we weren't brought to Jesus. This she was not about to allow. As if Jesus himself kept a score card on each of His followers. Could explain, why as a very young child, I always envisioned Him in a referee uniform. Jesus, his long beard and hair, feet in worn sandals, in a ref uniform. Given a guitar he would have favored a member of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ZZTop</span>.<div>I think Mama and Daddy attended a Methodist church when I was a baby. Somehow, church fell by the wayside and Nanny snatched up my soul shaping like a gold coin found on a asphalt parking lot. She had tended to my older brother's spiritual training and he grew to be a fine young man. Her intention was to mold me in much the same way.</div><div>Now let me explain. Nanny was a Free Will Baptist, of the strictest order. Southern and Primitives were far too loose and liberal for her. I learned early on it was faster and easier to list actions which were not a sin, than to list those that were. Basically, if you weren't praying, singing a hymn, sitting in church or witnessing, or reading the Bible (only King James version) you were sinning. Oh, and foot washing! That was not a sin, but I was too young to participate. Guess they were right about that. I had no idea why folks waited to come to church to wash their feet. Seemed to me it would be just as easy to wash your own feet when taking your Sunday bath. There was much about church I didn't understand, but had no one to ask. Maybe if I ever received the Spirit, the answers would come to me.</div><div>Anyway Nanny's list if sins was 'bout as long as a laundry list. According to her I stayed steeped in sin and always felt dirty.</div><div>This made my 4 year old life even more confusing. There was Nanny, telling me how bad I was in the eyes of God, then Papaw. My Papaw. He made me feel I shone with goodness. Told me I had the sweetest heart of any child he ever knew. Praised me for my thoughtfulness and kindness. Thus began a very <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">schizoid</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">existence</span> for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>So concepts of good and bad, right and wrong, profane and divine were very twisted in my young mind. A loving God? never mentioned. God was to be greatly feared. I pictured Him on a throne, like Santa, who only worked the Christmas season. Santa brought gifts to good children. I was always surprised Christmas morning to find gifts, seeing how Nanny reminded me almost daily what a bad girl I was. God worked full time, all the time. And could read my thoughts and see my heart. Nanny said I couldn't hide my ugly from Him. Funny thing was, I never felt mean or ugly until I had to spend time around her. She brought the Devil in close. Some times I wondered if she might be the Devil, dressed up like a grandmother. I never asked this out loud but I did often wonder. The was a song on the radio, "Devil with the Blue Dress On." Nanny had a couple of blue church dresses. Made one wonder.</div><div> God asked I be perfect, expected me to at least aim for perfection. Had I been allowed to play cards (also a sin) I would have certainly felt the deck stacked against me. These notions formed how I saw myself and the world around me.</div><div><br /></div><div>My dear brother, with whom I am very close, is amazed at my memory of these times. He remembers very little, while sometimes I feel I remember far too much.</div><div><br /></div><div>One Sunday sitting on the second pew, far right, (while not marked, everyone knew that was Nanny's spot) we had gotten through all the preliminary activities and Preacher was ready to preach. I may have been four, no older. Nanny had pulled me out of the nursery long ago; convinced I could sit through a full sermon. I tried to listen to Preacher, but most of the time I had no idea what he was talking about. When I got too squirmy, Nanny would allow me to look through a hymnal. I already knew the alphabet and the sounds each letter made. I also knew many of the old hymns by heart, like What a Friend We Have In Jesus. Having the lyrics memorized, I was able to find each word, study it, then spell it. In this way I taught myself to read. Also, coming from a hymnal, I learned of suffixes and prefixes. I came to love words and reading. To this good day I feel this to be my most worthwhile activity during my church going years.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had ample opportunity to enjoy studying the song hymnal as Preacher could drone on forever. I hated and feared when he became filled with the Holy Ghost. First and foremost, I was afraid of ghosts. Secondly, this meant he was gonna preach even longer than usual. The Holy Ghost usually led to Preacher crying, sweating, pacing and pounding on the pulpit. All of which frightened me. I found the sheer emotionality of his crying and shouting outbursts to be overwhelming. At these times I prayed for Preacher to hurry and wind down. Mostly, I wanted Mama.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, back to this particular Sunday. Preacher was on a roll. I figured the Holy Ghost would strike most any time. I prayed his preaching to be louder than my growling stomach. I sure was getting hungry and my belly was rolling. I picked up a hymnal in an effort to take my mind off my empty stomach. Amazing Grace! one of my favorites! I had moved up to learning how to use the table of contents.</div><div> Preacher was talking about how we were made in God's image, how that made us special above all other living things. I continued reading the song book. I wasn't sure what a wretch was but I learned to spell it and I could ask Mama. She would know.</div><div>About the same time I was memorizing the word wretch, Preacher said the most horrible thing I had ever heard!!! Man was different and held dominion over all animals. The main difference being He had blessed Man with an eternal soul so we could go to heaven. Animals had no soul.</div><div>Then he went on to say there would be no animals in heaven!!! Heaven was reserved for those made in His own image and accepted Jesus as their Savior.</div><div>WHAT??!!!! Preacher was wrong!!! Of course animals had souls!!!! All he had to do was look into my Chico's black eyes! Why, I could see my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cocker's</span> soul!! He just didn't know my Chico!!</div><div>I loved my black <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cocker</span> Spaniel more than anything in the world, except Mama, Daddy and Papaw. I had to love Jesus <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">cuz</span> I didn't want to burn in the fiery pit. I should love Nanny, but the truth was I didn't. And as she always said, "the truth was welcomed in heaven." No sense telling Jesus I loved her when he could see in my heart. I worked hard at liking her, and most days that was a chore.</div><div>I could hardly keep my seat!!! Preacher had my full attention now. I wanted to stand and call him LIAR!! at the top of my lungs!!! How could he say such?!</div><div>I worried about my Chico and where she would go after her death. I already understood animals died. One of my little dime store turtles had gotten out of his plastic bowl with the palm tree and we found him days later in the kitchen. All crusty and dried out and very dead.</div><div>Daddy said he went to turtle heaven, with real waterfalls and palm trees and all kinds of turtle friends. While I was sad my turtle was dead, I figured he was happier there than in his cheap <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Woolworths</span> plastic bowl. Did Daddy lie to me? Did he believe in turtle heaven? I wanted to believe Daddy instead of Preacher. He was a good turtle. If animals can't go to heaven, then they must go to hell. My four year old reasoning could only come to <i>that </i>conclusion. </div><div>The thought of Chico going to hell was more than I could bear. I wanted Preacher to shut up so I could go home and ask Papaw. Papaw read his beat up Bible every day. He never preached at me the way Nanny did. Never told me I was a bad girl and God didn't like bad girls.</div><div>I would just have to get home and talk to Papaw. He would know.</div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't hear another word of the sermon. Too busy worrying about Chico and the soul Preacher claimed she didn't have.</div><div>And what about horses? I loved horses most of all. Well, I didn't own a horse, but Daddy took me to the pony place almost every Sunday after lunch. There I could ride my favorite pony around and around the dirt track for as long as Daddy had quarters. Sometimes, after we were out of quarters, the pony man would let Daddy and me inside the pen, under the shade of the giant pines, and we could pet the ponies. I loved this as much as riding them. They smelled <i>so good!! </i>The smell would stay on my hands until we got home. I remember cupping my hands over my nose and inhaling deeply the whole drive home. Then Nanny would meet us at the front door, fussing at me to get in the tub and wash that filthy animal smell off of me. Nanny thought a lot of things I loved to be filthy. This added to my doubt as to my ever making it to heaven. God didn't like filth either and according to Nanny, I was always filthy.</div><div>I just knew horses had to be in heaven! In my opinion, they were one of God's most divine creatures. It couldn't be heaven without horses.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, like a toy wound too tight and wearing down, Preacher, still crying, started begging all the sinners to come forward and get saved. "Just as I Am" began playing in the background. We were on the home stretch now. Soon he would pray the last prayer and meet the congregation in the vestibule. Then I could get home and ask Papaw about animals in heaven! I knew better than to ask Nanny. She always agreed with Preacher. My Papaw liked to think for himself and he knew <i>everything</i> when it came to animals.</div><div><br /></div><div>Soon enough we were in the vestibule, in line to shake Preachers hand. It was customary to thank him for the wonderful words or something similar to that. Nanny stuck me in front of her, I suspect to make sure I said the right and appropriate farewell each Sunday. Normally I would shake his soft, fat hand and say, "Thank you, Preacher." </div><div>On this particular Sunday I intended to say just that. Instead, without thought or warning, I opened my mouth and out flew the words, "Well Preacher, if there's no animals in heaven, I reckon I'll have to work on going to hell."</div><div>The second this utterance hit the air, I wanted to catch those words, like fireflies on a summer's night, and tuck them deeply away in an amber jar, lid twisted tight. I couldn't. The words flew about my head, invisible, out of reach but not out of earshot. Preacher, like many adults in the vestibule, laughed nervously; unsure of the proper response to my outburst.</div><div>Nanny however, did not laugh. I looked up. She had blanched paper white; her blue eyes swimming behind her thick glasses, eyes glazed over with the most horrid look on her face!!</div><div>She shoved me forward, past Preacher and all of her church friends. She made a straight bee line for the door, slung the doors wide and continued to push me toward the curb. Thank goodness Daddy was waiting for us! Better to get my butt whipped at home than on the curb of the church house.</div><div>She slung the back door of the Rambler station wagon open and I scrambled in, careful to tuck my tail tight lest she get the first lick in.</div><div>She took her seat up front next to Daddy. Before he could even shift the old wagon into DRIVE and pull away from the curb~ she started. The color of her face began to change. Her pasty white countenance soon mutated into a crimson red. The red didn't stop at her face either, but</div><div>melted downward, filling her neck. Even her ears were bright red!</div><div>When she finished the whole agonizing tale, Daddy slammed one palm onto the steering wheel and was laughing to beat the band! This seemed to infuriate Nanny even more! She began to swell up like a toad. I was certain she was gonna explode all over the windshield, blinding Daddy until he was unable to drive, then smack straight into a tree and we'd all die. Nanny would go to heaven, of course. The jury was still out on Daddy. I, most assuredly, would land in hell. Mama would be left a widow, without a mother or child. All because of me!</div><div>As this fantasy played out in my head, I heard choking. Nanny had not exploded, no. Daddy had laughed so hard he had gotten choked. Now he was almost as red as Nanny! I adjusted my fantasy to the immediate situation. Daddy choking to death while driving, running smack into a tree, we all die. Same outcome, still all my fault.</div><div>I waited, holding my own breath. Finally Daddy took one huge gulp of air and the choking stopped. Only then was I able to exhale.</div><div>Whew!! Nanny didn't explode. Daddy didn't choke to death. Rather, we made it home just fine.</div><div>Daddy pulled up and parked in front of our house. He walked around the car to help Nanny out.</div><div>He was still chuckling. "Sadie, you just got to make some allowances. She's just a child. You know she didn't understand what she was saying. And you know yourself how she is about animals, a plumb fool. She' not turned like Gary, not this one. She's gonna speak her mind and don't you go messing with that part of her. Ain't nothing hurt here but your pride and I '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">spect</span> </div><div>you'll live through it."</div><div><br /></div><div>Nanny stormed into the house proclaiming to no one in particular she was taking to her bed. </div><div>Would not be down for Sunday dinner. A bad case of nerves had come over her.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her nerves would have been fine if she could have worn me out. That's what she intended to do.</div><div>By Daddy telling her not to mess with that part of me, well, that was his way of letting her know he would not stand still for her spanking me. She had Gary afraid to say BOO to a goose. He didn't want that for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mama helped me out of my good Sunday dress. I told her I would be getting a spanking but I guessed I deserved it. I shouldn't have upset Nanny so. She promised she would talk to Nanny and I would <i>never</i> be spanked for speaking my mind.</div><div>I could hear Daddy and Papaw rattling plates downstairs, laughing. Papaw's voice~ "I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">woulda</span> loved to have seen Sadie's face at the church house this morning." Then Daddy~" yeah, she was fit to be tied when I picked them up. Red as a beet!" My Papaw~ "she is one more mess, that girl. Afraid she's gonna give ole Sade a run for her money."</div><div>Suddenly my hunger returned and Mama's roast smelled so good my mouth watered. It was my turn to say grace but I sure didn't feel like talking to God. He had to be plenty put out with me, just like Nanny.</div><div>I wished Nanny could see how hard I tried to be good. How I wanted her to tell me just once I <i>was a GOOD girl. </i>But at four, I was beginning to understand she could only see all my nasty bad. Everyone else in the family saw good in me, but never her. And <i>why was her voice the easiest to believe?</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I figured I was a lost cause. My only hope was for God to love me like Papaw did, understand I was just a little girl, like Mama did, have Daddy's sense of humor, and be far more forgiving than Nanny.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-23183892703490408852010-06-01T12:54:00.000-07:002010-06-23T15:18:55.714-07:00Life Lessons<b>I was raised as an only child. I do have one brother, but there are many years between us. Mama, pushing forty when I came along, never made me feel unwanted or unloved. She did however, proclaim upon learning of her "delicate condition, "a driving desire to stick her head in the nearest oven. This proclamation tipped me off into believing perhaps I may not have been planned.</b><div><b>My brother started his first year of college in September while I arrived in October. You see why I was raised as an only child <i>and</i> why my mom threatened to stick her head in an oven. </b></div><div><b>All parents make mistakes. The one thing my parents <i>did right</i> was to allow animals in my life. Though my growing up years were spent in the city, I was blessed with dogs, cats, rabbits, turtles, birds, hamsters and fish. Mama and Daddy drew the line at a skunk, which I believe showed true wisdom on their parts.</b></div><div><b>These animals became my best friends and siblings. I understood I walked on two legs, they four. Aside from that, I saw little difference between myself and my pets.</b></div><div><b>I felt a connection with the animals in my youth. A deep connection I continue to feel with animals today. They have been my true teachers in life. They are the ones who taught me how to <i>be.</i> For those who have gone on, know I will never forget you. For those with me now, know I treasure each day. For those I have not met.............I await your arrival.</b></div><div><b>For all who have taught me well, I thank you.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Heidi, the St. Bernard of my childhood, the lesson of loss.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Annie, an adopted basset, for giving me the courage to love again.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Clyde, a rescue basset, you proved it is possible to move through life with grace and dignity, even at the end.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Sam, a beautiful Siamese, the painful lesson of betrayal.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Sleepy Redbuck, an amazing quarter horse stud, the lesson of trust.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Cat Moore, my first quarter horse mare, the lesson of true responsibility.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>To Poco Levi, my first foal, the amazement of birth and the excitement of first steps.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Zeus, a giant of a horse, the ugly lesson of greed.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Flame, my little cutting horse, that animals, just like people, can come into the world fractured.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Ghost, a gray reiner, fear can be a far more dangerous emotion than anger.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to our Max, the ultimate family dog, and rescue, a quiet and calm presence adds strength to a home.</b></div><div><b> So much like Lonnie.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to my Brumley, a rescue schnauzer, the lesson of healing. Proof that love is the only true healer. I will forever miss you.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Flash, yet another basset and rescue and true comedian, for pulling me outside of Self and making me laugh out loud at least once a day.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to the Schnauzer sisters, Gin and Suki, patience which can only come with age. Regret my children did not enjoy the same patience.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Myre, a rescue llama, yes, I said llama! What was I thinking?!!! The realization that I am not a llama person.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Lex, a rescue Cockatoo, sharing the experience of showering with a jungle bird. Your screams of joy all but shattering bathroom glass and my eardrums!! Allowing me to understand we are all driven by our most primal DNA.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Pepe', a little cockatiel, the power of hope. The lengths a mom will go to to teach her son the same lesson.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Chloe, a buckskin mare, the letting go of offspring with grace.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to Scratch, her baby man, the keeper of all dreams equine. How to live with a broken heart. It was an honor my young man.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>to the nameless black shepherd running wildly down highway 820 in Ft. Worth, we live in a society where life has little meaning, especially animal life. I was not alone that day or I would've stopped and gotten you to safety. After harsh words, we did turn around to help. I couldn't find you. I pray a compassionate soul removed you from danger. I will always wonder.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>finally, to Maggie,the horse of a lifetime and my mirror. For all the lessons I have learned about myself, I thank you sweet girl. For the lessons still to come, may I remain open to your teachings.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>For those who have not yet found me~ I wait.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-73393192334131233532010-05-26T18:43:00.000-07:002010-05-27T10:13:57.556-07:00The One that got Away~ Final Installment # 21The phone jolted me awake. I had been in a dead sleep when the annoying ringing had begun. I struggled to see the clock. One o'clock! I looked over for Lonnie; his side of the bed empty. My heart quickened with fear. No good news ever came at this time of night. Cobwebs filled my head, my thoughts fuzzy and confused. <div>On ring eight I picked up the receiver, speech slurred with sleep; mind racing with fear.</div><div>"Hello?" "Lonnie?"</div><div>Lonnie's voice on the other end. "Yeah, it's me." What a relief! "Are you alright?" My voice shook.</div><div>"I can't find the house. I'm sure I've passed it. I may be a mile or so down our road. I'm not sure."</div><div>Hot fear washed over me for the second time that night. "What do you mean you can't find our house? What's wrong with you?! I thought of my Dad becoming lost on his way home from the farm. A road he had traveled since he was ten. Seventy-three years he had traveled that route. Then one day, with no warning, he couldn't find his house.</div><div>Suddenly I was wide awake, remembering the evening. Remembering Lonnie calling me to say not to wait up. He had left San Antonio late, would be very late getting home. He had missed the snow. Most of it anyway. We had spoken just a moment and I agreed to go to bed and not wait for him. He seemed fine during <i>that</i> conversation, just tired. What had happened to him in the last five hours? On our road and couldn't find our house? This certainly did not sound good. </div><div>"Have you lost your mind?!" I shouted into the phone. " What is wrong with you! <i>Tell me!"</i></div><div>The fall had left me forgetful, easily confused. After thirty years of tending to household finances, I could no longer stay on top of things. Lonnie had taken that chore over the day all cell phones and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">electricity</span> were disconnected. Lord, we both couldn't be weak minded!! My heart pounded wildly; the racing sound filling my ears. </div><div>Finally, he answered. " It's this fog!! I have never seen anything like it!! I've been fighting it for miles! Have you not looked out a window?!! Turn the big outdoor lights on! (they were on.) You are gonna have to stand at the end of our drive or something. I think I've missed the house again!!"</div><div>I turned on every outside light on the place. Walked to the picture window, pulled the curtains back and could not believe my eyes! My truck, pulled all the way up to front garage, was gone! Swallowed in the fog. I could see nothing!! Freezing fog! <i>This was freezing fog!!</i> I had grown up on the Chesapeake Bay, then spent two years on the Texas coast. I knew fog. I had been blessed to spend a week on the Oregon coast. Watching the giant grey wall roll in off of the Pacific. So large, so thick, some evenings I was certain I would be swallowed, lost forever in the damp, grey mist. I had never witnessed anything like this!</div><div>"Put your lights on bright so I can see you. When you reach the mouth of our drive, I'll tell you to turn." The thought of standing outside in the frigid cold held no appeal. Lonnie agreed to try this method.</div><div>Soon enough the lights of his truck pierced the gray wall. "Turn, turn, turn, now!" Barely missing the roadside mailbox, he cut the truck sharply, kinda hitting the drive; enough to make it down the long driveway, rolling toward the garage. Whew!! So thankful he was home and safe.</div><div>He unloaded his luggage, dropped it in the middle of the living room floor, made his way to bed and collapsed. Asleep and snoring before I could say a word. He looked <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">soooooo</span> exhausted. I had no idea how long he had fought this fog, how many miles, but it had to have been a miserable trip home. Again, simply thankful he made it home.</div><div>I crawled back into bed, pulled all covers up over my body and fell back into a hard sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>At 3:30 Flash woke me, whining. This happened to be my cue to rise from the warmth of my bed to take him out. I swear the basset had the bladder of a pea! I felt low level aggravation building within me. I did not look forward to leaving the warmth of the bed. However, I didn't want to deal with the results should I refuse to take him outdoors. When we were going through house training his nickname had become Flash Flood, with good reason. His whining was becoming more frantic. Best get up and head outside. </div><div>I pulled on layers of clothes, grabbed my coat, slid my feet into boots, grabbed gloves then searched for a leash. All the while complaining to Flash. He answered with a hardy wag of his whip like tail. Oh, who was I kidding? This dog knew I would walk through fire for him. I believe all animals know when they are dearly loved.</div><div>Remembered where I had left the leash, rigged him up and out the door we shot.</div><div>We walked outside into the freezing fog; my first experience with this type of weather.</div><div><br /></div><div>This was the same night I experienced ice crystals. The night the crystals floated and danced all about me. The night my camera had not been at the ready. The same night I frantically scrambled to capture that perfect shot. The night my Dad's voice rang in my ears. The long night the perfect shot had been lost. It was the one that got away!</div><div><br /></div><div>Whether aliens or light and ice crystals, I had not felt that drive or single mindedness since I closed my business. The sheer challenge of chasing that perfect shot!! The overall "rightness" of the entire experience. While I missed the shot, the sheer excitement which filled me was staggering!</div><div><br /></div><div>The visit to Jan's had played a major part in my shift within.</div><div>The move from the town I loved, the death of my Dad and ensuing legal battle and finally the accident. All of these events, compressed in a relatively short period of time, had taken a toll on me. </div><div>Being with Jan, who knew me so well, loved me as only she could, had been healing. Jan accepted me, flaws and all. Reminded me to laugh at myself. Sweet Jan, who took the time to help me remember who I used to be. She made me believe not all of the best parts of me were lost. To have the courage to return to living in wonder. All these gifts given freely and unknowingly. All while we talked, giggled and cried surrounded by the love we shared for the other.</div><div>Jan, horrified to learn I had stopped writing years ago. I felt I had nothing worthwhile to say any longer. I argued this point but to no avail. </div><div>Jan, who believed in me when I could not believe in myself. Who reminded me writing had once been a part of my soul. Silly Jan, setting up a blog for me and telling me,"now write!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, because I had been with Jan just a few days earlier, I could look at the last two years as a blessing. I had been given the time and opportunity to explore writing, just refused to see it.</div><div>With the healing of my body, I had been blessed with the time to return to the two activities I loved most as a young person; writing and riding. </div><div><br /></div><div>Somehow over the last two years I had lost my way. The overwhelming grief of losing my Dad. The anguish of the following lawsuit. The fall from the gray horse, causing physical pain and frustration due to my newly limited lifestyle. All of these events had made a profound impact on my very core. Yes, I had lost my way.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until now. I had missed my shot, true. Clearly, <i>that</i> shot was never meant to be captured. I had been pulled outside for other reasons. </div><div>I turned toward the house once more to visit the beauty of the tree, light and freezing fog. Within seconds this story came to me. Almost instantaneously, this long tale shot through me and was written before I made it to the front porch. Most all of these 21 installments flooded out of me in a matter of a few days. I knew the title, themes, characters before I found the warmth of my home. This story, while true, came from a place not of me. It wrote itself.</div><div><br /></div><div>I understood fully I was the one that got away. And on a cold night in February, lost in self doubt and freezing fog, searching for that perfect shot, I rediscovered myself instead.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <b><i>Epilogue</i></b></div><div> </div><div><i>Several weeks ago Maggie and I got lost, I mean lost! in the Grasslands. I had intended to ride maybe a couple of hours. Instead, I was in the saddle almost seven hours! We slid down steep sandy slopes, swam through many deep water crossings, climbed up steep rocky inclines and found ourselves in dark, cool woods.</i> T<i>he day was magical. </i></div><div><i>I thank God for the profound physical and spiritual healing I have undergone.</i></div><div><i>For those of you who have stayed with me through this long tale, may God bless you as well.</i></div><div><i>Thank you for helping me feel I do have something to say. Stay tuned. Many stories to come and many many blessings I wish to share. ~ with love~ TB</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-88398039350610926642010-05-25T20:07:00.000-07:002010-05-25T20:11:21.029-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49kmgzQcuZJzTDPAEaqBYzhGMqRf_bO-WUIkMzBi170VxtgWLGPg4eyk2n8fWUDCyFGszb7aLsmJxtKtWhdwQRxGIQJV3YWVi-FA4jNqzq5-sDgNEAx_94Fs6r0MTGjcTEu08ZXokz2_y/s1600/DSCN0484.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49kmgzQcuZJzTDPAEaqBYzhGMqRf_bO-WUIkMzBi170VxtgWLGPg4eyk2n8fWUDCyFGszb7aLsmJxtKtWhdwQRxGIQJV3YWVi-FA4jNqzq5-sDgNEAx_94Fs6r0MTGjcTEu08ZXokz2_y/s400/DSCN0484.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475410628852909906" /></a>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-67176998568120144342010-05-12T17:55:00.000-07:002010-05-22T20:36:21.724-07:00The One that got Away~ SNOW! part 20Heading east the weather remained dreary. No hard rains, just bleak. Gray and bleak. I remembered all too clearly why I hated West Texas, also known as the ninth ring of hell. I spent seven long years at the base of the Panhandle and pray I am never asked to do <i>that </i>again. Coming from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Carolinas</span> and Virginia, the flat, treeless plains looked more like a war zone to me. <div>I don't know why anyone would choose to live there. The people I suppose. Some of the best people on earth live in that part of the world. It sure ain't for the scenery.</div><div><br /></div><div>The dogs were restless most of the way home. They had been good where it counted; certainly hoped Jan felt the same. They followed my rules, all business outside, don't tear up anything. No telling how many of Jan's rules may have been broken. Maybe not too many. Flash made quite the impression on Jan's family. Think he ended up being <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">every one's</span> favorite. They are basset folks to begin with. In fact, my first basset came from Jan. That too is another story.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trip going flew by! Returning home drug on and on. I simply didn't get my visit out. </div><div>Didn't help that I stopped at every little town. I flat did not want to go home. I had been in that house for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">soooo</span> long. Just can't tell you how wonderful it was to get out. Even if it was to West </div><div>Texas!</div><div>My body felt good as well. My neck felt tight, but no pain. I iced at Jan's but no more than I would had I stayed home. It was too soon to call it, but I felt confident the trip did me more good than harm. </div><div>About an hour before sundown, the sun came out. My mood lifted as I watched the most amazing <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Rising Rainbow </span>peek through the clouds.</div><div>It's colors <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">brilliant</span>! I might have about an hour of sunlight, which I oh so needed. I am easy. Look to the sky and that's the color Terri you'll get for the day. I can only go without sunny skies but for so long. My brain needs sunshine. It's that simple.</div><div>Though I was dragging tail about getting home, I did the right thing by leaving when I did. I had checked the weather for our area. The forecast called for heavy rains turning to snow. We had had a crazy winter, with more to come it seemed.</div><div>Lonnie was home preparing for an annual band convention; due to leave in the morning. He would be heading south so snow shouldn't be a concern for him.</div><div>I finally got home! Seemed to take forever! I have a big hole in my memory. I don't recall anything past Mineral Wells. But I trust the remainder of the trip to be uneventful. </div><div>Obviously I got home. I'm sure I fed and checked on Maggie. I know the dogs didn't miss a meal or their night walk. I<i> know</i> I must have shared my visit with Jan with Lonnie. Probably in far too much detail for him. Just no memory of any of it. Well, I did fall on my head ya know! </div><div><br /></div><div>I<i> do</i> remember Lonnie leaving in a downpour the next morning. We were under a winter storm warning, but again, he was headed to San Antonio, away from the worst of it. I offered thanks for this. He can be a fool when it comes to driving in bad weather. Oh, he is an excellent driver, no matter the conditions. However, I have seen him strike out in weather that a thinking person wouldn't dare attempt to drive in. Before cell phones I could worry myself silly. Now, not so much.</div><div>Soon after he left, the rain turned to sleet. I had gotten busy helping Lonnie finish last minute packing, trying to help make sure he had everything he needed for convention.</div><div>I hadn't fed the outside animals. I grabbed my coat, slipped my feet in my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">muckers</span> and out the backdoor I went.</div><div>In that short amount of time the sound of the sleet against the windows quickened.</div><div>It stung my face, pelting down with no mercy. The sting so sharp it felt more like bee stings; so very cold my skin perceived heat. I attempted to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">shield</span> my face with one arm and run. Never a good idea for me anymore. By the time I reached the hay barn my fingers were bright red and numb. So numb it was hard to get the door open. <i>Why had I not grabbed my gloves?!!</i></div><div>Got everyone fed and made a bee line for the house. Lord, it was cold! Decided my bed sounded good, awfully early anyway. I could get in an early morning nap.</div><div>I crawled back into the bed, making a cave of the down comforter. Flash was still curled in a tight circle sleeping; I pulled his body up to mine in hopes of stealing his warmth. He grunted, releasing a long moan but that was it. Dead to the world. Soon the schnauzer sisters and Max joined us. Old Max, circling and nesting, searching for the crook of my legs. This had been his place to nap for years. The sisters ended up on my feet, which felt good. Once they tried sleeping in Flash's spot, near my head. He warned them with a low, menacing growl. A sound unlike any other I had heard before from him. He seemed willing to share food, toys and bones; guess he had to draw the line some where. His spot had been right by my head, sometimes on my pillow. On this issue he refused to budge. </div><div>I counted on another hour of sleep, then up to start the day. Instead we all had slept an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">additional</span> two and a half hours!! I woke to puppies licking my face. Their way of communicating they needed outside. Soon Flash woke, jumped from the bed and realized his bladder to be full as well. All three squirming and dancing to go outdoors. Hung over with sleep, I crawled out of bed, searching for leashes. <i>Why couldn't I ever put the leashes in the same place?!!! </i> The leashes were buried under my heavy coat; rigged the babies up and we were rolling. Opened the door to <i>Snow! Big Snow! Flakes as large as my fist! Beautiful snow! I hadn't seen a snow like this since I left Virginia!!!</i> Puppies made it to the edge of the porch, but refused to leave. Better there than in the house. Back inside to get Flash, who didn't mind the snow at all. Max continued to sleep. He'd get up eventually. </div><div><br /></div><div>The snow continued to come down. So heavy the hay barn was barely visible! The red trim allowed me to make out the outline of the building. That was it! Too bad we had had so much rain. No way would we get any accumulation with the ground so wet. I reminded myself to catch the noon news, hoping none of this would turn to ice. Ice storms could get nasty in north Texas, nasty and dangerous.</div><div>The noon news indicated we could receive between 7-9 inches of snow! Despite the wet ground, it was sticking. The whole place, now covered, looked like a post card. Pulled on all of my heaviest outer wear, including gloves, grabbed my camera, and off I went.! I wished Lonnie could have been here! Hated he missed this snow!</div><div><br /></div><div>Ended up with some beautiful pictures. The snow kept falling well in to the afternoon and early evening. I tuned in to the six o'clock news. Ten inches had been called in for our little community. Maybe, just maybe some would be left for Lonnie.</div><div>Fed after dark and while the snow still fell the temp didn't seem quite as bad. Wrangled supper up for myself, fed the dogs and prepared for the last walk of the day. The puppies were becoming braver with each trip out. By bedtime walk they actually played in the snow! Diving into deep drifts, only to disappear then reappear. Snow clumps packed in their little beards as well as the rest of their furnishings. What a mess! oh, well, they would clean up. </div><div><br /></div><div>By ten o'clock we had broken many snow records for north Texas. We had received an official</div><div>12.2 inches!! Didn't sound as if it would last long. Temps for tomorrow were to reach the mid 50's. This was Wednesday night. No chance of Lonnie seeing this record breaking snow. He wasn't due home til Saturday.</div><div>By the next morning the snow had started to melt. Still much on the ground and I was able to get some great photos, but clearly things would be a mess in another day.</div><div>Sure sorry Lonnie wasn't here to enjoy this with me. Couldn't wait for him to return home. Perhaps he would enjoy the pictures and most of the slosh would be gone by Saturday evening.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was always that hope.</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-68645165538473713162010-05-10T07:55:00.000-07:002010-05-22T20:36:40.119-07:00The One that got Away~ Road Trip~ part 19The thunderstorms varied in intensity as I made my way west. At times the steel gray skies dumped torrents of rain, others barely a drizzle. <div>The dogs had been unusually good, sleeping most of the way.</div><div>At some point we pulled over at a Dairy Queen for a pit stop for all of us. I don't even remember the name of the town, but I knew I was in west Texas. All small towns had Dairy Queens; a sure sign of being westward bound.<br /><div>The cold rain had slowed to a sprinkle. This being a good thing. I dreaded the thought of traveling with three soaked dogs. Not being a good planner, I had only packed one large towel. Not enough for all of us should we get soaked. I watched the skies, telling each dog to,"Hurry, Hurry, Hurry!"</div><div>Because of the chilly drizzle, they complied. Ready to return to the warmth of the truck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back on the road, I too was thankful to be in the cab of my truck. February rains in Texas could turn nasty. Unconcerned, I continued moving west. As long as I could see the road I knew I would be fine. Should the rain turn extremely heavy my first instinct had always been to pull over. My father consistently had reminded me this to be a dangerous practice. The risk being other drivers inability to see me only to smack square into me. Perhaps the rain would back off, not letting loose into a full blown west Texas thunderstorm. </div><div>Topping a small hill, I looked forward to see my first wind farm. The size of these things were staggering. I felt I might be in a sci-fi movie. The propellers stretched up into the clouds and were difficult to see. As they rotated, fog and clouds were pushed aside to reveal one to two propellers, only to disappear, being swallowed by fog again. The sheer size of these things frightened me, yet I found myself mesmerized. I pulled in to a safe farm entrance and grabbed my camera. Stepping outside the truck, I anticipated the maddening hum I had read so much about. Silence. Perhaps I wasn't close enough. The white propellers were too hidden by the fog and clouds. I knew any shot I took would be wasted. Maybe on the way home skies might be clearer. Perhaps then I could get my shot.</div><div>Back on the road. We were making good time, despite the weather. We could possibly be at Jan's in as little as an hour or two. I could feel the excitement mounting. The dogs were still asleep. Good for me, potentially bad when we reached Jan's. They would be loaded for bear. I prayed they would behave themselves. Passed through yet another small town, noticing my gas gauge. " I should get gas," I remembered thinking. The rain beat down on my windshield, making it difficult to see. I decided to wait to the next town. Hoping the rain would let up.</div><div>Through the driving, pelting rain I read the highway sign, next town 38 miles. I checked the gauge again. It sat dangerously on empty, not convinced I would make it to the next gas pumps.</div><div>Stupid!!!! I had forgotten how far apart these towns could be out here in no man's land. I thought about turning around yet I had already driven almost 20 miles. Broad as it was long. </div><div>The only thing to do was to press forward, all the while praying I had gas enough to make it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I continued pushing onward, thinking of plan B should one be needed. The safest thing would be to hit a farmhouse, explain my situation, then hope pity be taken upon me and gas shared. I loved the people of west Texas. Most all were willing to help a stranger.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did not have to depend on the kindness of strangers after all. We made it to the next community and I made sure I topped off my tank. We were only 11 miles from Jan's! Wow! It had been a fast trip! I called her cell and let her know I was getting close.</div><div>She talked me in, helping me find her FM road. Dark had caught me. I suffered a mean case of night blindness. I had told her once dark, I would need help.</div><div>Finally, I saw She and her husband, standing on their well lit front porch, waving like fools!!</div><div><br /></div><div>So many emotions filled me as I slowly sought the mouth of her drive. I wanted to forego parking, slap the truck in park, and run to her. I didn't. I've been told my energy is very expansive and can be quite overwhelming at times. Instead, I parked, forgot about running as I didn't do that well anymore, walked to the porch and hugged her. I felt the years melt away with that one hug and knew I had done the right thing by coming. Sometimes when friendships lapse for long periods of time, they can't be rekindled. No matter how much one might prop, strain, work to regain that closeness, it's gone. This one thought had stayed with me during the whole drive west. No, we were fine.</div><div>We entered her home and it felt wonderful. So welcoming. I met the two younger children, who were no longer children. A pang of guilt struck deep. I had missed their entire childhoods. How had I allowed this to happen? I wanted to take them both in my arms; but they were strangers.</div><div>In my excitement I all but forgot about the dogs in the truck! Back to the truck I went, whispering up a prayer for the three to behave themselves. I knew the basset would behave. He has yet to see a stranger, human or animal. The schnauzer sisters were, well, schnauzers. If you know the breed, you understand. Stubborn as mules. Very loving, but strong willed. At six months a day came when they had driven me to distraction! My riding crop just happened to be in the house. I grabbed it, whacked the wall with it and screamed "NO." Then stung two little bottoms. Just one pop a piece.They were more frightened than hurt, but it worked. I packed my riding crop just in case they needed a gentle reminder. Since that day my crop has hung in plain view on the key pegs in the kitchen.</div><div><br /></div><div>After much circling and smelling, the dogs settled in. Thank goodness Jan hadn't a problem with animals on the furniture. All my dogs are cuddlers and enjoyed a good lap on which to lay their heads. Regretfully, I have only two rules. Do all business outdoors. Don't tear my stuff up. That's it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Suddenly I became tired. The road started catching up with me, the initial adrenaline began to wane and I wanted a bed. Jan's face looked pinched with pain. Oh how I knew that look. Not just from the mirror, but from all the years I worked with folks in chronic pain. Yes, time to rest. The kids had school the next day as well. Jan and I could visit the whole of tomorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div>Schnauzer pups made the night just fine in their crate. Flash however, spent his night playing musical beds. Apparently, he began the night with me, then went visiting everyone else as well. Now when I say visiting I mean he literally spent the night going from bed to bed, sleeping with</div><div>everyone in the house. Flash thinks<i> everyone loves him.</i> This could be my fault. He had a rough go of it his first year, prior to being rescued. Wise or not I cut my rescues more slack. They usually have so little confidence; I spend the first year attempting to rebuild self esteem. This took no time with the basset. And while I do my best not to have favorites, he knew. The connection I had made with him ran deep. But that is another story for another time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jan and I spent our days visiting, eating, taking naps, then visiting some more. I wished she had felt better; that being my only regret. </div><div>She pulled out an old high school annual which triggered a flood of memories for us both. There we were, so young, so fresh faced. Smiling up at ourselves with big dreams and raw determination. </div><div>The younger versions of ourselves locking eyes with the women we had become. "Didja ever </div><div>think we would be sitting here at fifty, still friends?"she asked, a look of disbelief on her face. The silly answer on my part was yes, I never doubted it. I always believed we would be friends. I found it harder to believe we had drifted apart. Guess I never really expressed how important she was to me, how loved. If I ever took our friendship for granted, I certainly regretted it now. Jan had always been a treasure to me. A friendship, just like a marriage, must be tended. Perhaps I had stopped the tending. I made a quiet promise to myself to not allow that to happen again.</div><div>She asked if I still wrote and I shook my head no. I made all manner of excuses but the real truth was I had convinced myself years ago I had nothing worthwhile to say. Writing was a childhood dream. </div><div>Oh, I had written some stuff as an adult; most of it landed in the trash. Then I got busy. Told myself I hadn't the time for such anymore. As I repeated this to Jan her jaw slowly dropped. "Never throw away anything you have started! You may revisit it later and all kinds of ideas may come to you." Well that ship had sailed. Too late now.</div><div>"Come here," she motioned me to follow her to her computer. With the touch of several buttons up popped my new blog. She told me she was going to do this. I half hoped she had forgotten.</div><div>She asked some basic questions, all the while striking keys, making magic happen.</div><div>"Now, here is your new blog. You are gonna love this, Terri." She had to be wrong. Then Jan handed me a set of handwritten instructions; how to open, how to close, how to post. My head began to swim. "Jan, you don't understand, I have no computer skills!" She brushed her hand in the air as if to say,"don't wanta hear it." I had seen her in her classroom years ago. She was in full blown teacher mode. "OK, I'll try." I knew she was not going to take no for an answer.</div><div><br /></div><div>I felt I had no sooner gotten there, when it was time to go. I still don't know where the time went. I think I had added an extra day to my trip as it stood. Still, I didn't feel ready to leave. The weather stayed nasty for my whole visit. Gray, damp and drizzly. Other than the weather, it had been tons of fun. I thought about asking if I could stay another day, but then decided I best not wear out my welcome. Besides, I needed to get home. Checked the weather on my phone and we were in store for yet another snow. I sure didn't need to be caught in <i>that.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Had my things packed and back in the truck the next morning. Actually, I started in the morning; I think it was closer to noon before I backed out of Jan's drive. </div><div>I would feel ready to leave then convince myself I had left something behind. Another walk through. Nothing. Again I would head toward the truck, stop, return to the house. I became certain I was leaving something important behind. </div><div>Well, what ever it was, I couldn't see it. Shoot! Whatever it was, Jan could mail it to me.</div><div>I refused to walk through her home another time. I had to get on the road!</div><div><br /></div><div>She stood in the drizzle on her porch, waving goodbye. So much like I had found her just a few nights earlier. I wonder if she knew at that moment, just how much I loved her.</div><div>I learned two things on my trip west.</div><div>I had reached an age that I couldn't make new old friends.</div><div>It sure was nice to have an old friend to help you remember who you used to be.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had driven maybe 50 miles east when I realized what I had left behind.</div><div>I had forgotten a little piece of my heart.</div></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-29218733764503527002010-05-04T07:08:00.000-07:002010-05-22T20:36:53.880-07:00The One that got Away~ Old Friend~ part~18By early winter, I could saddle my own horse, with no help. I could feel the strength slowly returning to my body. The feed bucket I had used as a mounting block had long since been tossed.<div>Now when I say saddle, that is a stretch. Maggie allowed me to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">waller</span> the saddle up her side, then back. I couldn't have asked for a more forgiving horse.</div><div>Our rides consisted mainly of working in the arena. We both needed much reteach time. She had forgotten nothing, only grown lazy. Guess she decided she had reached full retirement and wasn't quite sure she wanted to return to the workforce.</div><div>Some rides we accomplished a great deal. Some she actually acted a fool. I understand I have painted a fairly benign picture of this horse, but she is far from a beginners' horse. I learned early on why lunging was so important prior to riding. Alexis had explained she needed to work the vinegar out of her. I disagreed. </div><div>Every day brought a brand new day for Maggie. She was the dominant mare, my alpha girl. Each day the record had to be set straight. The groundwork provided this for both of us. It allowed me to reinforce the very real fact that I was the true alpha mare. Sometimes I hated the fact this time had to be wasted prior to riding. The times I skipped this step the ride usually ended up being <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">unpleasant</span>. Other times I loved watching her mind work at the end of the line. Oh, the bucking, the kicking, her drama. I found all of these amusing. After a bit, her body would relax, </div><div>accept my cues, and finally, when asked to whoa, that short stop, her spinning to face me, licking, sighing, all but asking, "What might I do for you now?" I loved her most at these times. The last test. Standing completely still, lunge line on ground, holding eye contact with me. Oh so tempted to move toward me, but not allowed. After several minutes of standing and maintaining eye contact, only then would she be cued to move to me. By patting my hand over my heart, this gave her permission to enter my space. At this point, we were ready to ride. At this point she realized I was the alpha mare.</div><div>Winter would soon be here. I understood we were to have a harsher winter than usual. I hated the cold, especially the wild north winds, so piercing, so unforgiving. I found soon enough my body could no longer tolerate the cold. The neck spasms returned, along with deep, aching shoulder pain. It took longer to dress to feed than it took to feed. </div><div>Back into retirement Maggie and I returned. I prayed for an early spring. Instead, winter of 09 became one of our coldest; we even had a white Christmas! Our first in 80 years! Oh, how I wanted to ride in the snow but I knew better. Best to stay inside.</div><div><br /></div><div>The winter days drug on. Again, I had lots of time to think, which isn't always a good thing for me. I felt trapped back indoors. Most <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">importantly</span>, I had to accept the fact that my days of doing bodywork were probably over. This issue I had ignored for months. I had renewed my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">license</span> in October, knowing the whole while I would probably never use them. </div><div>For everything there is a time and a season. I don't know how I knew, but I did. That time in my life was over. It was supposed to be over. Intuitively I understood should I attempt to replicate that experience, I would fail. I had accepted this.</div><div><br /></div><div>I felt stuck. Winter has always been a hard season for me, particularly this winter. I filled the days caring for my animals, kinda cleaning house and running mundane errands. This had become my life. The key~stay busy. I looked about the house. Everything was cream colored.</div><div>I am anything but cream. </div><div><br /></div><div>I started in the living room; a rich <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">earthy</span> red. With the white trim and mouldings, everything popped.I loved the color, so warm and inviting. This was close to the same color I had painted my waiting area. By the time I finished with this room, my legs had gained quite a bit of strength, just from climbing the ladder.</div><div><br /></div><div>I moved to the cream colorless kitchen. BLAH! Back to the paint store. I found the most lovely</div><div>shade of almost periwinkle, named thistle. If you don't have thistle weed in your state, sorry. I don't know how to describe it. It is spot on the color of the thistle plant. Very cool toned and the most amazing array of accent colors can be used with this color. When I climbed down the last time to wash my brush, the waistband of my fat jeans had loosened. I was working off some weight!!! </div><div>Next to the bathroom. I loved the master bath. It was a large room and with the huge mirrors, it tricked the eye in believing it was even larger. It too was cream. Cream had worn me out!</div><div>I found a rich mink brown. This took courage for me. I feared getting too dark, too extreme.</div><div>The brown ended up being perfect. This room also had a large east window; combined with the mirrors it did feel spacious. In the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pre</span>-brown morning light, this room could be blinding. The brown took care of this as well. And like the thistle, so many accent colors complimented the rich mink. And, once again, more weight had been lost.</div><div><br /></div><div>All this painting answered no life questions. Maybe I could hire out as a painter. I must say, I am good. Had an uncle that was a professional painter. He and my dad had left me with tons of pro painting tips. Yes, I can paint, but I am <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">sloooow</span>. If paid by the job, I would starve to death. Besides, I had to be careful with my neck. I had to take many breaks during the day to ice my neck. This added to the time as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nix the pro painter idea.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, what to do? I had always worked outside the home. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">enjoyed</span> people. I loved the stimulation of being around others. I so missed this.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lonnie had gotten an iPhone for me plus opened a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Facebook</span> account. His sweet attempt in helping me feel less isolated. This was for Christmas. I had messed with it a little and knew how to operate the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">simplest</span> of apps.</div><div><br /></div><div>My neck had become sore enough I knew I needed to take a break from the brush. </div><div>I opened the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">FB</span> app and began looking. I think I had about a dozen friends. I began making contacts. Most were casual friends. We could chit chat about weather, current events and the like.</div><div>Let me explain. I came into the 21st century kicking and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">screaming</span> against technology.</div><div>I refused to use computers. I hated them. I believed the more electronically we became connected, the more disconnected we became personally.</div><div>I still wanted paper mail. I wanted to see handwriting, as personal as DNA, scrawled across an envelope. I loved hearing voices on the other end of the line. I still mourned the death of my rotary dial phone!!! </div><div><br /></div><div>I was the original <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">neo</span>-Luddite.</div><div><br /></div><div>Soon I realized if I wanted any contact with my children, I had to learn to text. We all know we will do anything for our kids. Today, I text.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe having <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">FB</span> friends wouldn't be so bad. It might actually be fun. I found myself thinking of so many people I had lost contact with over the years. What had happened?</div><div><br /></div><div>I no sooner had this thought when her name jumped off the screen at me. It was Jan! </div><div>My Jan!! Jan who had been my dearest friend since high school! Jan! My writer friend! She was editor of our little school paper. I was her sidekick. We were going to grow up to be writers!</div><div>We cheered each other on, always had the others back.</div><div>We married within the same year. We had our daughters 11 months apart. Unfortunately, we divorced within a few years of one another, then later remarried and had sons 3 weeks to the day apart. </div><div>What had happened? We had not talked in years. She continued to have children (2 more) and they were very close together. About the same time I was back in school and had moved many miles away. I suppose our lives had become busy. Poor excuse but that was all I had.</div><div>After several postings and a few phone conversations the 15 years melted away. We were caught up and continued to chatter as if no time had passed at all.</div><div><br /></div><div>She had had surgery at Christmas. Continued to be in much pain asking,"When ya gonna come see me?" I think she was half kidding. Too bad. "Let me make arrangements for all my animals.</div><div>They keep me pretty <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">home bound</span>. I'll see if I can board them." "Oh Lord, just bring em. We even have room for the horse." Clearly, she didn't mean it. "Bring them, Terri! They can't hurt one thing!" </div><div>I promised to call her when I had made all arrangements. "We'll talk soon!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I hung up more excited than I had been in months! I couldn't wait to see her, be in her kitchen, see her children, and get out of this house!!!!</div><div>The distance of the trip concerned me. I'd be traveling half way across Texas. Think I was looking at 6-7 hours with 3 dogs. Maybe longer. Well, there was no way to know if my neck would make the trip without driving it. This would be the longest distance traveled since the accident. </div><div>I loved rode trips! I had not been anywhere in so long! Ordinarily I would dread the ride to her part of Texas. Not much to see and nothing to do when ya get there!</div><div>But I was going to see Jan! I could so understand how she was feeling. When I was at my very worst, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">some days</span> I would cry. Just the chronic pain and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">loneliness</span> drove me to tears.</div><div>I prayed my visit would lift her spirits.</div><div><br /></div><div>I left a couple of days later. The guys had full instructions on Maggie's care. Max, the 16 year old mix breed wasn't going with us. This trip would be too hard on him. </div><div>My travel buddies would be one basset hound along with two schnauzer sisters. I figured if our friendship could withstand 4 muddy dogs(counting her one and it was storming) 2 teenagers and 2 old women in pain........well, we could withstand most anything.</div><div><br /></div><div>The rain beat down as I headed west. West to the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">flat lands</span>. West to find her<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"> home on the range</span>. West to find my old friend.</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-33016637977955399282010-04-25T09:29:00.000-07:002010-05-22T20:37:15.747-07:00The One that got Away~Victory Ride~ part 17Four weeks had passed since the second series of injections and no pain. Each morning I crawled out of bed, only to give thanks. Maybe, just maybe.......<div>Strict orders were given by Doc to do nothing for 6 weeks. Back to no laundry, lifting, sweeping, vacuuming, ect. I complied to the letter this time.</div><div>My feet stuck to the kitchen floor( can't believe I am admitting this) sometimes the bathrooms looked more like public restrooms, but I learned not to care. All of my friends worked, and could barely stay on top of their own homes. My daughter at this time was working two jobs. Didn't want to ask her. Checked into cleaning services. They were asking $75 to cross the threshold of my home; from there the prices climbed. So we lived in filth. Sometimes it would get bad enough for Luke to break down and clean, not often, but sometimes.</div><div>I had promised myself no matter what, I was going to get better. If I had to live in filth to do so, so be it. </div><div>The sixth week came, still no pain. I had an appointment with Doc B in a few days. I felt good about this upcoming appointment. I had latched on to hope like a drowning soul would cling to a life preserver. I had visited that dark, hopeless place and never wanted to go back. </div><div>The drugs had long left my system and all visions of men, snakes and alligators had evaporated.</div><div>My thinking had become clearer and more rational. The only med I was on now was a muscle relaxer at bedtime.</div><div>I had to be improving for now I felt good enough to worry about my weight. Prior to this I hurt too badly to care. I had gone from a toned 122lbs. to an unhealthy 164lbs. Most of the gain due to steroids and my new sedentary lifestyle. Before the fall I was riding an average of 10 to 15 hours a week <i>and doing yoga 4 to 5 mornings a week as well.</i> I had trained my body to contort in ways I couldn't have accomplished at twenty five. In the best of all worlds I hoped to resume yoga; I had excepted the fact that probably wasn't going to happen.</div><div>I had to find some way to get the weight off. I had been thin all of my life, too thin at times but always felt good. Doc was starting to encourage me to diet. Apparently huge breasts were bad for the neck as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>After my sixth round of steroids and an additional ten pounds, my brother decided to come see me. I was feeling well enough to meet him at the airport. I was so excited. O how I love my brother and his visit gave me something to look forward to. I didn't even care what condition the house was in. I wanted to see my brother! Just to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">sit with me a while</span> would be gift enough.</div><div>I continued to complain of my weight, however, I think he believed to be listening to his overly dramatic sister. " No really, I'm gonna have to meet ya at the airport carrying a sign which reads ' Your fat sister!' You won't know me!" "Oh Terri, I would know you any where." </div><div>The day of his arrival had finally come. I entered the DFW terminal and spied him far across the way. Would've run had I been able. Instead, I walked as fast as I could to reach him. As I approached, he was bent over fooling with his luggage. He raised up and looked me square in the eye. No recognition at all. I stood for another second, then questioned, "Are you not gonna speak?" The voice gave me away. "Terri? Is that you? My goodness you're fat!" He instantly tried to explain what he meant; the truth was out. I was fat and he didn't know me. I laughed as he tried to back pedal assuring him it was just fine. I<i> still</i> love my brother.</div><div>All of the above to assure you, yes I was fat. If I had to choose between being overweight or in pain, fat would win out every time. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because of my brother's visit I had rescheduled my check up with Doc. That day soon arrived and the check up went well. He lifted some of the physical restrictions, like lite housework. No yoga, well maybe lower body workouts. No riding, yet. YET! Yet meant soon! Yet meant it was in the cards! Yet meant it was a possibility. I could live with yet!!! I wanted to kiss him! I think I did bound from the table and hug him. With YET I could get my life back.</div><div><br /></div><div>My last visit with Doc B was in September of 09. I had been released from his care, only to return if needed. He had finally given his permission<i> and blessing!</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);"> </span>to begin riding again.</div><div>It had been sixteen long months since the fall. I had so much to catch up on! The house was still filthy but that was the last thing on my mind. With so very many options open to me now, I had no idea what to do first. Ride!!! That's what I wanted to do more than anything.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day I planned my maiden ride. I had continued the ground work with Maggie as soon as I was able. Feeling confident she would be fine, I insisted my son stay indoors. Silly, I know, but I wanted this to be a Maggie and me time. Got her shinning like a new penny, reached for her pad, landing it lightly on her back. Pulled my saddle up close, went to lift it and my arm gave way; just like the night I fell. I attempted to saddle many times, til my arm started hurting. <i>Good night nurse!!!!</i> The old Terri would've stood out there and slung that saddle til her arm fell off. Far too proud to ask for help. She would have cowgirled up and got 'er done.</div><div>No more. I had learned to let go of pride and ask for help.</div><div>Luke was inside with a friend. I tied Maggie, went inside and asked for help. He was only too happy to lend a hand. He had her saddle on her within seconds; leaving me feeling as if I had failed somehow. I pushed that thought from my mind, gathered reins, foot in stirrup then stopped. I had to take a moment to give thanks. I attempted to mount; no luck. I tried again, still no luck. I made it only half way up each time and that was it. My legs were weak. My left arm too weak to pull the extra 40 plus pounds I was packing. I retied Maggie and made my way to the house. "Luke, your mother is too fat to mount her own horse. Come give me a leg up."</div><div>I heard a deep sigh,however he met me with a smile. "Come on, I wanta get mounted before dark."</div><div>Back to the pasture we went, me chattering the whole way. I could no longer hold my excitement. We approached Maggie on her near side. She seemed totally confused at this point, with good reason. </div><div>After several failed attempts with the old leg up method, I began to wear out. I couldn't believe how weak I had gotten. Turning to face my son, I informed him I might have one more good hop in me,then I would be toast. " When I hop up, you get underneath my hindquarters and give me one good push!" The kid looked horror struck. "Mom, this is too awkward." His cheeks the color of county fair cotton candy. "Luke, it is just a butt. Everyone has one. We both should be on our knees thanking God you're just pushin' and not wiping. It could have been so much worse, hon." I have been called disarmingly honest by many. While I never intended to embarrass my son, I suppose I had done just that. </div><div>Up I hopped, my strength waning. about the time I was certain I was gonna slide back down, Luke grabbed me, shoved, my seat found leather. "Thanks, Luke." " Well Mom, if you ask me you are crazy. I would <i>never</i> get back on a horse again." Another teaching opportunity. Still out of breath from the exertion, (oh,Lord), I panted; Luke you can never allow fear to cheat you outta something you love, which brings you great joy. I'm nervous right now, but I pray I always find the courage to deafen that fear and move past it." I could see my son soaking in these words; I hoped he realized how profound his mother to be. "Naw Mom, you are just crazy, he responded, smiling.<i> </i>With that he turned and left the pasture.</div><div><br /></div><div>We headed across the pasture in the fast walk. After a few turns and backing, I had to admit to myself all muscle memory was gone. Had I ever been on a horse before? I shifted my weight in the saddle. No better. I looked down at my hips and laughed out loud. I was packed tight in my old saddle. I no longer sat a 15 in. seat, that became obvious. </div><div>Not once during my ride around the pasture did things feel natural. I told myself my balance would return, the weight would come off, the saddle would become my second home again. All of this would take time. Time and practice.</div><div><br /></div><div>I unsaddled and put Maggie away. I struggled with putting tack up; refusing to ask for help with that simple task. I lingered around Maggie a bit longer, knowing it was time to ice my neck.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think I expected a marching band, cheers form all surrounding neighbors, including streamers perhaps some confetti floating down encircling us. None of those things happened. </div><div>I rode off balanced. I rode giving clumsy cues. I rode with my mind in the way, without instinct. I rode with my body braced and stiff. I rode exactly like a beginner.</div><div><br /></div><div>The most empowering of all...........I rode.</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-39602404304671181602010-04-21T07:23:00.000-07:002010-05-22T20:37:29.834-07:00The One that got Away~Alligators and Snakes part 16I took an immediate shine to Dr.B. The energy of his office I found to be welcoming and upbeat.<div>The waiting room read like a who's who of professional athletes; complete with framed autographed pictures of football, basketball, hockey, ballerinas and even some pro horsemen. I felt certain I had come to the right place.</div><div><br /></div><div>I completed all paperwork and within minutes I found myself in an exam room with Doc. I repeated the events of the accident for what seemed like the one hundredth time, with Doc interrupting to ask thoughtful, pertinent questions. Few professionals I had seen to date had bothered to ask questions. Another plus for Doc. He took extensive notes, leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, as if he had not another thing in the day to do. I had become accustomed to the other docs leaning forward, prescription pad in hand, almost rolling toward the door as I attempted to finish a sentence. No wonder he had been voted best doc in metroplex for 02,03,04,05,06, and 07. He actually <i>listens and has time for</i> his patients!! </div><div>Completed my third MRI and made a second appointment to return for the results. He had prescribed a drug for spinal cord injury and nerve pain. The nurse went over possible side effects and potential issues with other drug interactions. Another consideration never called to my attention. Oh how I wished I had found him months ago!</div><div><br /></div><div>I returned to the follow up visit to review MRI results. His first question being," When did you break your shoulder?" What? I had never broken any bone in my body. He disagreed. My left shoulder had been broken in two places, recently. Apparently the healing had gone well, but he showed me the film and both breaks. The other doc had been so preoccupied with the torn muscles he either missed it altogether or never mentioned it to me. Wow! Now wonder it hurt!</div><div>Doc B assured me the shoulder had healed and was fine. However, he thought it odd I knew nothing of the breaks.</div><div><br /></div><div>About a month after I fell Maggie coliced .I found her down around ten o'clock one evening and it took both Lonnie and myself to get her up. I keep Banamine on hand just for such occasions. Ran to the animal med cabinet and grabbed the tube. Most of the time this brings relief but not this evening. Long story cut short, I spent the night in the pasture with her. She was allowed to rest for a bit, as long as she didn't roll, then we'd get up and walk. I spent the night on the ground dozing, hearing her begin to move, pulling her up. No wonder I wanted to cry over the shoulder pain! I had no idea at this point it happened to be broken.</div><div>This went on til the vets' office opened at 7:30! Okay, maybe I had redeemed myself somewhat.</div><div>Think Tom and John Walker would be giving me a thumbs up!! Both men expected me to work and hang tough like a man. I too, expected the same. Being a girl was never an excuse.</div><div><br /></div><div>Doc B thought I was doing well and I ventured to ask the all important question. Will I ride again? I spat the question out as if I were shooting peas through a straw. Ready for whatever answer may come. Eventually a guarded answer came." I will do everything I can to get you riding again. I understand how important this is to you. I can't make any promises. I can promise you two things; I will give you my best and you will have to change the way you ride.</div><div>Your cowgirling days are over. You are going to have to learn to ride like an old lady.</div><div>I didn't even know what that meant. I rode with old ladies; they rode hell bent for leather. One was 72 and still in the show ring with her reiner. Perhaps Doc would write a prescription for a reiner for me. I could just see me explaining <i>that to the IRS.</i></div><div>" Do you hear me?" Doc's voice snapping me back to reality. The ability to focus and my short term memory hadn't been the same since last May. I suppose I had had one too many concussions over the years.</div><div>" Oh sure Doc, just get me outta pain and back in the saddle."</div><div>Then Doc telling me he would like to try another steroid. Great! Just for a week. Another 10 pounds! I now weighed 35 pounds more than I did before I fell. The weight made me feel miserable. I began to object when he interrupted me, promising this would be the last round.</div><div>I agreed to another round of steroids, promised to take it easy, ice three times a day, and stay on current meds.</div><div><br /></div><div>I kept all promises. The last dose of steroids were stronger than any I had taken in the past. I have no way of explaining how my thought process changed. Someone else was in my head, controlling all thoughts and actions. Occasionally I would experience a moment of clarity, only to realize I was not myself. The side effects, much like an ocean wave, would swallow me and the drugs would win out.</div><div>Then there was the man who continued to look through the windows and front door glass. I could see his shadow pass out of the corner of my eye. He was crafty! I could never quite make him out, just his silhouette. </div><div>He had been lurking about for five days, however I never mentioned him to Lonnie. He would just worry. I knew I could take him on, that is, if I could catch him. Finally, one morning early,</div><div>I saw him at the front door. I raced to the door, threw it open, and screamed,"What do you want?" Already he was gone.Well, I had no doubt I would catch him and God help him when I did. He was messin' with the wrong woman!!</div><div>Days later, I went to feed. Coiled tightly on our patio lay a snake. He was the size of a car tire all coiled up. He reminded me of the braid my grandmother wore coiled on the back of her head. I bet that man left him there! </div><div>With or without drugs, I have an irrational fear of snakes. Lonnie wasn't home, but at night rehearsal with the band. Knowing better, I called his cell phone. "We have an emergency! You have to come home, now! Sobbing in to the phone I begged him to come. He turned the rehearsal over to one of his assistants and raced home.</div><div>The snake was gone. We spent an hour looking for him, never found him. Lonnie was beginning</div><div>to doubt there ever was a snake. I know I saw him! He was real! Couldn't convince Lonnie.</div><div>"Terri, I don't think there was a snake." <i>But I saw him! I know he was here! Just as crafty as that man!</i> Maybe now would be a good time to tell Lonnie about the man. We were friends with the county sheriff, perhaps he could help.</div><div>I explained to Lonnie I had been seeing a man looking through the windows for the last week.</div><div>I thought the snake to be one of his antics. We just needed to apprehend the man! Yes, that man had to be behind all of this! He had planted the snake!</div><div>Lonnie, forever calm and understanding, took me to the living room."Terri, think about this. When this man is lurking about the house, what are the dogs doing?" Oh, I saw where he was going with this. We live with three dogs with hearing and 16 year old Max who is deaf. A leaf can't blow across the place without the three dogs going nuts. Two are schnauzers, you can imagine.</div><div>"Terri, I don't think there is a man. I don't think there was a snake tonight. I know you believe what you are seeing; I think the medicine is making you see these things."</div><div>I took the time to gather my thoughts and choose my words."But this medicine works. My neck doesn't hurt. I don't have headaches. I simply am unwilling to go back to where I used to be. It's possible for me to learn to discern what is real and what is not." Lonnie in response,"I think you should call the doctor. Tell him what is going on and let him make the decision. This is the only safe way to handle this situation." I relented, however I didn't tell him <i>when</i> I would make that call.</div><div>Walking back from feeding the following night, there on our patio lay an alligator! I turned to run then realized he wasn't real either. I slowly turned back around and as I suspected, there was no alligator. I had either lost my mind or was having a terrible reaction to the drugs.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning I called the office. Doc was out of town. The nurse insisted I stop all meds immediately. Visual hallucinations indicated a dangerous reaction to the drugs. Doc would be back Monday, come in then.</div><div><br /></div><div>By Monday the old neck was screaming, the head exploding, the stomach churning. I couldn't stand to open my eyes. Every bump in the road felt more like a wooden roller coaster ride. The heat coming off my neck was blazing, though I was traveling with an ice pack. I think the pain had become<i> worse</i><b> </b>since stopping the meds. By worse I mean <i>worse than ever!</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>The nurse took one look at me, ushering me straight back to an exam room. Within minutes Doc joined me. Because of the pain, I recall little of the visit. I remember Doc saying it was time to move on to plan B. Plan B? No one told me of a plan B.</div><div>Time to go for the injections, says Doc. He went on to explain he does all his injections on Wednesdays. He could squeeze me in this Wednesday. "But I have already had injections, six in my shoulder." "Yes but you haven't had any in your neck. I try medication first, which is what we have done. You couldn't tolerate the medicine. Now, we move on to shots." I hurt badly enough I would've let him shoot me in the eyeballs.</div><div>I was given all the pre-op info and made plans to check in at 5:30 Wednesday. Lonnie and I drove down the night before to be sure I checked in on time.</div><div>I was to receive 10 shots in the facets of my neck. I would be under a general and remember nothing, which was fine with me! After the injections, I would be placed in a recovery room, monitored, then discharged. </div><div>Doc B made it so easy! When I came to I was in recovery with no pain!!!! No pain anywhere!</div><div>We were back home by 11:oo that morning! </div><div>The next three weeks were better than I had dared hoped. Limited still in activities, I had no pain. None! </div><div>The forth week came and with it the pain. With no warning I woke to scorching, pulling, spasms</div><div>just like before. This time I cried, the disappointment so great. I cried while I waited for Doc Bs' office to open.</div><div>Another round of shots. The nurse explained it was rare for only one round to work. "Let's get you scheduled for another appointment." Her perkiness seemed to make the pain worse.</div><div>"What if a second round doesn't do it?" I dreaded the answer but I had to know. " Doc B will complete up to three rounds of injections. If you are still experiencing pain after the third round, then surgery will be the next step."</div><div>"Now then, let's find you an opening."</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-91700031069425917172010-04-19T10:41:00.000-07:002010-04-20T15:21:56.456-07:00The One that got Away~A Lost Year~ part 15The trip to the ER, just as miserable as I feared, revealed few answers.<div>Yes, I had yet another concussion. By the time I was ushered back behind the magic curtain, my neck was singing! and no I did not have a broken arm. This a surprise to all. While I had officially lost my title as Velcro Butt, my never having a broken bone record stood. </div><div>Given pain pills, a cervical collar and a promise I would be sore by morning, I went home and fell into bed.</div><div>I woke to intense pain, not only in my arm but ribs as well. Oh did I mention neck and headache?</div><div>Feeling certain ER doc had to have missed something, I made appointment with my family practitioner for that same afternoon. Clearly something was missed in the ER exam.</div><div>Dr. R confirmed I had separated my ribs, only to explain I would have been better off to have broken them. Apparently the soft tissue in the space between the ribs had been torn. This takes longer to heal than broken ribs and easier to re injure. Also more painful. This I believed.</div><div>He thought the headache to be related to the concussion; the neck pain to whiplash. He suggested another film of the arm, which he could do in house. Those results were in quickly, and again no sign of a break. This still did not explain the weakness and pain when attempting to lift the arm. Doc decided perhaps it just a severe sprain.</div><div>Weeks later I found myself back in Doc's office. My condition seemed to be getting worse, not better. I couldn't sleep because of the pain. I had learned to wrap my own ribs, this being a help. Al least my ribs felt stationary when wrapped; otherwise they felt as if they all were floating and shifting around in the thoracic cavity. Upon discovering this, Doc had a fit. Explaining the dangers to me(restriction of lungs resulting in pneumonia) I promised I would no longer wrap.</div><div>During this visit he decided to refer me to an orthopedist. </div><div>The MRI revealed I had a slight tear in left rotator cuff, which explained the weakness and inability to lift arm. The tear, slight enough not to require surgery, didn't seem to concern him.The supraspinatus muscle left him with a gleam in his eye. This muscle was one of four considered to be part of the rotator cuff. If (and this is a big if, as my brain had shut down ) this muscle was ever torn completely in half, I'd be wearing my shoulder around my waist. He continued to explain my shoulder was being held in place with no more than what looked like cobwebs. One more jerk or tear and I was looking at a very complicated surgical repair. I immediately was put in a contraption called a shoulder stabilizer; although it pains me to admit, my shoulder felt better instantly.</div><div>His hope was enough scar tissue would develop over time to take over the task of the actual muscle. At this point, I would start physical therapy.</div><div>How long? He had no idea. No driving, no lifting, no laundry, no vacuuming. I had hit the mother load!!!! I could NOT do those things for months! He even put it in writing, for Lonnie's benefit. whoo-hoooooo! I would cowgirl up and follow his instructions, no matter the cost! Then I could count <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">a cowgurl's blessing </span>and bask in the light of no housekeeping! I was liking this doc more and more.</div><div>He prescribed even stronger pain pills along with a weeks supply of oral steroids. Went over the use and abuse of both and sent me on my way, with the understanding I would come back in one week.</div><div>Steroids worked great for the pain! After the first day I could tell a difference in my arm. My neck, however was killing me! I tried heat, I tried ice. I stretched. I took pain pills; they barely took the edge off. I had concluded the strap connected to stabilizer, had aggravated the whiplash even more. Without ortho knowing, I started sleeping without it. It helped.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm unsure how much time had passed. All I did was run to appointments and develop more symptoms. My arm was feeling much better; wish I could say the same for head and neck.<br /><div><br /></div><div>I had starting having headaches. I don't mean garden variety headaches either. I'm talking curled in fetal position, crying, dark room, throwing up, pray to die headaches. When I could stand it no longer, someone would drive me to Doc R's office, and like putting an animal down, shoot me with something to knock me out. This was the only time I found relief. I always had a headache, the severity was the only thing that varied.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, Dr. Ortho decided to preform another MRI. He was certain the neck pain was related to shoulder injury, referred pain was his bet. </div><div><br /></div><div>The weather was beginning to change. Fall would come a courting soon. The shadows were getting longer; the sun hanging lower in the sky. I fell on May 8. I had missed the entire summer. Time I would never get back. I had gone through three rounds of steroids, only to gain 20 pounds. Each round made me meaner than the last and altered my thinking. Yes, I think a second MRI might be in order. </div><div><br /></div><div>To every one's surprise I had 5 herniated discs in my neck. When swollen and inflamed 2 of the 5 were pushing on my spinal cord. Not the answer I wanted, but an answer. </div><div>Dr. Ortho then went into a lengthy explanation of what would need to be done to remove the pressure on the spinal cord and involved nerves. I listened horrified not fully taking in what I was hearing. And of course, for now, another round of oral steroids and another shot in my shoulder. While the steroids worked all too well for the pain, they were making me mean. Seems with each round I became more nervous and aggressive. Coupled with the additional weight I was sure to pack on, I became less and less desirable to be around.</div><div>Surgery was not an option, no matter how great the pain. I had spent ten years working on back and neck surgeries gone wrong. Usually hearing the pain had only worsened after surgery. No, I was willing to try almost anything but surgery.</div><div><br /></div><div>With the arm somewhat healed, I was able to drive and proceed with a semi normal life. Despite Dr. Ortho's best effort, my neck was still a wreck. It took so little to aggravate and inflame those discs. Dr. O had just about convinced me I would never ride again. </div><div>In the beginning when he brought this subject to the fore, I dismissed him. With every visit I asked,"When can I ride again?" His answer never wavered," Your riding days are over."</div><div>The first time he told me to hang up my saddle, he suggested needlepoint or scrap booking as hobbies. I recall shouting," D<i>o I look like someone who would do needlepoint?!!!" </i></div><div>He was a good man; overlooked my outburst, and can only assume he contributed my behavior to pain and steroids. </div><div><br /></div><div>A year had passed since the fall. I had received six steroid shots in my shoulder and taken five oral packs of steroids, in addition to a couple of rounds of physical therapy. Still the headaches persisted. The forty extra pounds I carried made my knees hurt. I didn't recognize myself any longer. My thoughts were not my own. Whether due to the meds or depression I don't know.</div><div>For most of the last year I refused to believe I would never ride again. I held on to that one hope with dogged determination. Now, I was beginning to be a bit more realistic. </div><div>Maggie had not been ridden in a year. She needed a job. I couldn't even ride in a car for more than an hour without my neck flaring. I felt as if I had failed. I wasn't tough. I couldn't take it any longer. I had so little quality of life.</div><div><br /></div><div>My thoughts turned to John Walker. In his late sixties a horse had stood up and fallen smack on top of him, shattering all bones from the pelvis down. He was told he would walk with a walker or cane the rest of his life. Horses? He certainly would never ride again. Being a man of few words, he responded, "<i> I'll be damned."</i> It took him a year; all docs were proven wrong. John Walker not only rode again; he went back to training his 2 year olds. I never saw him on a cane.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the first time I was glad he was dead. Tom too. Both men had surpassed the most difficult of health issues, only to amaze all of their medical professionals. Me? Most days I could be found sniveling under the covers with ice packs on my neck. Both men would have been ashamed of me. I was ashamed of me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had started having muscle spasms beginning in the neck only to crawl to the right side of my face. These spasms were strong enough to pull my mouth and right eye almost to my temple. Originally I thought I was having a stroke. I was grotesque looking; like something out of a bad Stephen King movie. This pain made all headaches pale in comparison. There was nothing to do but wait for the spasm to pass.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was being swallowed by depression. Oh wait! Another pill. If the antidepressants helped, I couldn't tell. I remained in a cocoon of pain. To be honest, I didn't want to be here any more. I was nothing but a burden to my family. Worse than that, I was certain I had outlived my usefulness. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My thoughts were scaring even me. There had to be someone out there to help me. I remembered one of Toms' favorite docs at Baylor. I prayed he remembered me. I decided to call. </div><div>I was shaking as his office phone rang. A real person answered. That in itself was encouraging.</div><div>His receptionist did in fact remember me and my Dad. I tried to explain why I was calling but instead broke down, crying into the phone. She was wonderful. Waited for me to calm down, fully ready to give me her complete attention.</div><div>" I need the best neck doc in the metroplex." She excused herself to personally ask Dr.C. his opinion. Within seconds she was back on the line, relaying his info. " Dr.C said their is only one doc he would allow touch his neck. That would be Dr.B over at Presby. You will have quite a wait. Would you like us to call Terri and get you in sooner?" "Yes!" was all I was able to spit out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dr. Bs' office called within the hour. He could see me the first week of June. He would complete his own tests, including more x-rays and another MRI. I was to bring a list of all the meds I currently took. The paper work was extensive; come early.</div><div>I looked down at the date I had jotted down. My appointment was exactly 13 months to the day of the fall.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the first time in months, I felt hope stir within me.</div></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-75097387588487094972010-04-14T01:25:00.000-07:002010-04-16T16:31:25.872-07:00The One that got Away~Glassy Eyed,Slacked Jawed~ part 14<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF33;">My garden hat </span>fooled<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF33;"> </span>no one. The instant J saw me leaning against the arena pipes he piped up himself. "Who dumped you?" I had to have looked a mess. Told him it was the big gray and he shook his head knowingly. Maggie would never unseat me.<div>I suppose I simply stood looking slack jawed and glassy eyed for after a moment J asked if there was anything he could do for me. I thought. I had no idea why I had walked all the way up there.</div><div>I never hung around when the guys were roping, although I had been invited on many occasions.</div><div>They were all young and enjoyed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cuttin</span>' loose, which usually involved cold beer. Not that I objected or judged one way or the other about alcohol. I do think it stupid to get falling down drunk and work horses. Too much could go wrong. Course J was sitting a horse and I was walking so I may have blown holes through that theory.</div><div>"Terri, do you need something?" It was hard to think with all the cowboys hooting and hollering coupled with the calves bawling and dust flying in my face."J, I came up here for a reason but I can't think why." The words no sooner left my lips and I remembered. "Oh, Ghost is still running around with my good saddle on. I can't catch him. I need you to come help me and I don't want any razzing about it tonight. You can give me a hard time tomorrow; I can't hear it now." J became respectful, which should have indicated to me things certainly were not right. "Yes ma'am. Can I finish with these calves?" "Why sure, J. Come when ya can. And thanks. I'm sorry I have to ask."</div><div>"No problem. You sure you're alright?" I took a second to answer. "Yeah, I knocked the heck outta my head and I just feel addled. I'll be fine. I'll see ya in a bit."</div><div>Suddenly the walk home seemed endless. I was tired. Fighting that horse had worn me out more than I realized. Well, I had to get home and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">feets</span> was all I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">gots</span> ( as a dear friend would say) so I started <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hoofin</span>' it.</div><div>J just about beat me. In no time he and a buddy rode down and had Ghost penned for me. "You need me to get your saddle?" "No, surely I can do that. Thanks a bunch, J." "Sure thing. Now, tomorrow I can give ya hell, right?" he asked smiling. "Yeah, I'll be ready for it."</div><div>I turned to walk in the pen with Ghost. I was afraid. Hard to admit, however fear filled me. I looked at this horse and suddenly felt nothing but compassion, the fear evaporating. "Buddy, I gotta get my saddle. Tomorrow your big gray butt's going back to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;">29 Black Street</span>. I'm sorry but you can't stay here." </div><div>The sun had long been down and the back pen poorly lit. Sure would feel better if I could see his ears and eyes. I tried pulling leather but my arms were weak, especially my left. Finally pulled everything loose. As I attempted to lift the saddle from his back, my left arm gave out.</div><div>The saddle slid down Ghosts' side, buckles clinking til it hit the dirt. I braced myself for a crow hop at the very least. If the horse so much as blinked I never saw it. The breath I had been holding calmly released from my body. I attempted to lift my saddle and pain screamed up my arm. Instead I drug it outta the pen with my right arm. Back to retrieve my bridle. This too went without incident. Completely used up, I decided to ask Luke to put my tack away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now to sneak into the house. Having no clue as to the time, aware it had been dark for a long time, I thought perhaps Lonnie had already retired. </div><div>I walked through the backdoor and heard the TV blaring. Everything seemed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sooooo</span> loud! Shoot! He was still awake. Maybe I could bypass him and make a straight run for the bathroom. If it were something he was truly involved in he might never see me. One could hope.</div><div>The sound of the backdoor severed Lonnie's TV fog. "Where ya been? I was beginning to think you were gonna spend the night out there." <i>James in a row boat!!! </i>Now why is it if I were dancing naked in front of the TV he wouldn't notice? Turned on the kitchen facet; maybe I could get my face cleaned up. "Could you bring me some ice water, please?" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Geez</span>, I wish we had a mirror in the kitchen. Note to self: hang mirror in kitchen. "Sure, just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">wanta</span> wash up a bit. I washed my face and hands, checked my reflection in the kitchen window, poured requested ice water and prepared to make my post fall debut.</div><div>" Here you go, hon." I handed him the glass of water. Lonnie, wearing a look of shock on his face, "What have you done to your arm?!!!" I was busted. I looked down. My left elbow was the size of a orange and terribly misshapen. Already it was turning a most lovely color of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">noir</span>. Hells bells! No wonder I couldn't lift my saddle. Probably should have had ice on that hours ago. Was it even possible to break an elbow? They didn't teach <i>that</i> in massage school. </div><div><br /></div><div>Soon Luke was front and center, regaling his father of the evenings' activities. And here it came.....Lonnie, much like warming up one of his bands, A one, and a two and a three, and a four....................</div><div>"I told you I didn't like that gray horse. I don't know when you are gonna learn to listen. I knew this was gonna happen! That guy is nothing but a common horse hustler, why........................</div><div><br /></div><div>You get the idea. This is what I was trying to avoid. Not that Lonnie wasn't correct, probably on all counts. Still, did me little good at this point. Really, this was all for his benefit when ya get right down to it. The ranting. He would wind down soon. Only I was feeling worse by the minute. Wish he could join J and put it on hold til tomorrow.</div><div>....................... and Lord only knows what an ER visit is gonna cost. I just hope you are happy."</div><div><br /></div><div>ER visit? Happy? Oh yes Lonnie I am thrilled! I may burst out in song any second now! perhaps dance an Irish jig! All things I wanted to say but knew better. It never paid for both of us to lose our tempers at the same time.</div><div>We had an unspoken arrangement.</div><div><br /></div><div>.............................and get some shoes and head for the truck."</div><div><br /></div><div>What? Where is he going? Why was he going to the truck? Still Lonnie, "Don't you think you need to go to the ER? That arm is broken. You can't wait til morning to have that seen about."</div><div>Finally I spoke. "You are probably right. But I am not going with you if you are gonna fuss the whole time. I've listened to about all I can stand. If you can't hush, Luke can take me. I'm not gonna be penned up in some waiting room with you mad as a hatter. I just can't hear it."</div><div><br /></div><div>My Mama used to say that and I never understood it. She promised if I lived long enough I would. She was right. I suppose I had lived just long enough. It had nothing to do with not wanting to hear it, lack of interest in hearing it or even the refusal of or willingness to hearing it. An honest inability to listen to another word. That was it. I had arrived at that point. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lonnie swelled up, then shut up. I sent Luke out to get my saddle and pad. Grabbed a clean tee</div><div>shirt then realized I couldn't raise my arm to put it on. Guess I'd just go dirty. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Jumping up bald headed James!!!!!!</i> What a long night awaited us!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-64924668356309588072010-04-12T08:58:00.000-07:002010-04-13T15:09:56.103-07:00The One that got Away~The Last Ride ~ part 13Ghost and I enjoyed several great rides in the arena that week. Again, he was fine under saddle, but that seemed to be the only time. <div>An empty hand could completely unnerve him. He did not want to be touched by hand any time, anywhere, on his body. I had never come up against this condition and had no idea how to address it. </div><div>Having been in the bodywork business, I knew there was a condition (now the name escapes me)</div><div>rare, but out there. Too much contact with the body could trigger a myriad of physiological symptoms, including severe headache and nausea. Massage could potentially cause an overload of the central nervous system, thus the resulting symptoms. I only encountered this in one client. That was enough. </div><div>Again, me looking for zebras instead of horses at the sound of hoof beats. I would prefer to think Ghost had some bizarre neurological disorder than think perhaps a hand represented pain and abuse. The latter far more likely.</div><div>Nothing worked. In fact, if I stayed in his space too long, he would sweat, blow and eventually send threatening warning signals. It was if he were telling me he did not want to hurt me, would try not to, but could only stand so much. Watching the struggle within this animal made it all the more heartbreaking. I had never witnessed such behavior. I decided I wasn't equipped to keep Ghost. I would take him back, but only after one last ride.</div><div><br /></div><div>The day had been busy. By the time I was ready to ride, the arena was full of cattle and cowboys. I decided to ride in the pasture. With the sun hanging low there wasn't much daylight left anyway.</div><div>Ghost seemed edgy. As I lifted the saddle up to his broad back, he crow hopped sideways. Second throw I found horse and at this point he became calm. I didn't dare try any fun stuff. My pasture was too hard. We had been in a drought and the earth was packed and cracked ; hard as concrete. No slides or spins this evening. Just one more ride.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the moment I hit the saddle, the fella north of us fired up his welder. BIG FLASH! then a scorched smell filled the air. </div><div>Ghost panicked. I never even found the right stirrup before the rodeo started. Ghost bucked and ran to the farthest fence line. Determined to unseat me. Luke saw the play day from the kitchen window and apparently came running.</div><div>Now, I must say, my nickname among my riding friends was, well, let's say Velcro Butt or VA for short. I have been bitten. I have been kicked. I have been stepped on. I have been knocked over. I do not come out of the saddle. Once I hit leather, I become screwed down. I have had horses stand straight up with me. One crazy, cutter did his best to unseat me; I won out. I am sorry. I do not fall off of horses. No, not me. I had not been dumped in years. Let me stress this point. I DO NOT fall off of horses. Period.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was not afraid. I imagined he would have his bucking spell and calm down. Instead the situation escalated. </div><div>Once Ghost hit the fence line, he ran and bucked with a renewed fervor. Up the 5 acre fence line we raced. That right stirrup still evaded me. Still no fear, not within me anyway.</div><div>I have always known a frightened horse is far more dangerous than a mean horse. Those who understand horses know they are prey animals. Their first line of defense is flee. A response to their most primal DNA. Brain literally shuts down. The only message received is FLIGHT! Ghost was in this state.</div><div><br /></div><div>We made it to the end of the fence line and I released an enormous sigh of relief. Without warning, he spun, two, three, maybe four rotations only to resume bucking and running back down the fence. His power was unbelievable! Still I felt no fear. "Ride it out, stay with him, screw down little girl!" John Walker in my head, with me, coaching me. I was still centered in the saddle, balance good, both reins in gloved hands. Just stay on, my thought echoing in my rattled head. To the end of the fence we arrived. A break from the bucking. Maybe the worst was over.</div><div>Oh no, more twirling then a solid bolt, like a race horse out of the gate. No bucking now. Ghost was traveling at full speed, neck stretched out, bearing down on an imaginary finish line.</div><div>I saw my opportunity. The good old emergency stop, riding lesson #101. At this speed I could not pull his head around too quickly. This would result in he possibly losing his balance, going down almost sideways, and probably landing on top of me. Not good. Instead I had to lean forward, grab the right rein, and ever so gently pull his head sideways, in an effort to slow him and gain some control. As soon as my seat left leather, I lost balance. I slid down his side, my right leg under his belly, my left leg across the seat of the saddle, my left hand clutching the saddle horn. Desperately, I attempted to pull myself back up. My hanging on his side had triggered even more fear in him and I felt greater speed released. His right front hoof pulling back amazingly close to my face. I found myself studying the bottom of his foot.</div><div>It was at this moment I realized I was in trouble. Every thing slowed to a crawl, just like in the movies. Happened remarkably like a scene from a movie. My thought process slowed as well.</div><div>I became aware of the close proximity of my head to the fence. I remembered as a child clothes pinning a playing card to bicycle spokes to create that whirling sound as the bike wheels spun.</div><div>I imagined my head making the same sound as I buzzed down the fence. Still, my thoughts were calm, experiencing an unheard of clarity. Thinking, "If I could remain this clear, I would never lose my car keys." My mind returned to the current situation. Options were running thin. " Let go and fall. Make sure you are not hung on anything. He'll drag you to death. How bad could it be? You're half way to the ground now. Let go." I released the horn and sent myself into free fall. My last thought," you're committed, no turning back now."</div><div> </div><div>Awareness of landing on the back of my head and neck. Still, the calm remained. "Oh my neck!" </div><div>That thought I remember. Nothing else. Maybe knocked out for a few seconds.</div><div>My neighbors voice, distant, far off, "I'm calling 911!" Suddenly Luke answering, loudly, as if he were screaming in my ear, "Please hurry!" Why was he so loud??!!!! Oh, he was carrying me across the pasture. Had me cradled in his arms, like a rag doll. Screaming in my ear. "Put my ass down!!" Luke stopped. "Put me down, now!" He eased me to my feet where I promptly crumbled to the ground. Weak and lightheaded, yes, but I was okay. "No 911. I'm fine. Tell him not to call." My <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">instructions</span> were shouted over the fence. "She's okay, don't call."</div><div>My son squatted down on the ground beside me. " Mom, you sure you're okay?" "Yeah Luke, my head just got rang like a bell, that's all. Please help me back up." He took me under my arms and lifted. I found my legs on the second try and tried to jerk, like a broken toy across the pasture.</div><div>"Where are you going?!" Luke again. "I can't let him get away with that!!! Help me catch him and get back on him." " You are not gonna get near him!" My son, by my side, leading me in the opposite direction of the still loping Ghost. "Luke! I have to get my saddle. That's my good saddle. I have to catch him." Out of patience, my dear boy began to swear. "I'm gonna go get Dad." "NO!, NO!, please don't. I can't listen to him fussing at me right now. Please Luke, leave Dad outta this. I need to sit back down in the grass. Could you please get me some water? And don't you dare say one word to your Dad!"</div><div>He left the pasture to make his way back to the house. Ghost was still loping. What was he thinking? I wish I knew.</div><div>With iced water in tow, Luke returned, handing me the glass, taking a seat in the grass. My head was feeling a bit clearer. The water seemed to help, somehow. I rested a while longer in the pasture. Luke continued to ask if I was sure I was alright. I assured him I was just fine.</div><div>"Mom, that was a bad fall. I saw the whole thing. I just knew you had broken your neck. Then you rolled, ass over tea kettle about four times, then you laid out straight and rolled til you hit the fence. I was so scared!" </div><div>Yep, I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">definitely</span> was knocked out for a few seconds. I don't remember hitting the fence or Luke picking me up. Probably looking at yet another concussion.</div><div>"I'm sorry I scared you so, Luke. I am gonna be fine though. Please don't worry." "I'm glad you are okay, Mom. How you gonna get your saddle?" My son a cowboy does not make. I took a deep sigh. "Guess I'll go up to the ropers, swallow my pride, and ask one of them to come down and help me. Lord, they will never let me live this down. Think my pride is hurt more than anything. Well, might as well get to it. Sure isn't gonna get any easier." Luke offered to make the walk up the long private drive. "Thanks, but I may as well start working the soreness out now." I grabbed <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;">my garden hat</span> to hide my tangled, grass burred hair. No sense in looking like a wreck. I mumbled to myself, "Let's get this over with."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-29653330988564837362010-04-11T09:59:00.000-07:002010-04-11T20:58:02.869-07:00The One that got Away~ Ghost~ part 12Maggie had, in fact, proven to be the perfect horse for me. We had shared five wonderful years together when I decided it was time for the second horse. I understood Mags would always be my primary horse, however I invented multiple reasons why a second horse was needed.<div><br /></div><div>The search was on. And yes, I started on the computer this time. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Dreamhorse</span>.com had become my favorite site! The choices were endless; I spent hours daydreaming in front of the screen. I could see this turning into a never ending search. I wanted one of every color and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">discipline</span>. </div><div>Some women feel this way about shoes; for me it was horses.</div><div>After three months of seeking out ads and making dozens of phone calls, we decided to begin making some serious inquiries.</div><div>Despite many promising, available horses, I was drawn to a large flea bitten gray. Ghost was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">reiner</span>, my first love, and a foundation Quarter. He stood 15.2 hands, like Maggie, but could easily be mistaken for a Mack truck. Deep, wide chest. Hindquarters broad and muscular. Short backed with thick neck. A powerhouse of an animal! He had been used for ranch work, namely working cattle. His present owner had been working on finishing him out. Had him close, too.</div><div>Never really understood why they were called <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">reiners</span>. If <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">completely</span> tuned, reins aren't used. All cues come from the riders body, butt, legs and shoulders. Oh a left rein lightly touching the neck would cue the horse to cut or turn right, yes. Tuned like a radio and the same can be accomplished with the slightest drop of the left shoulder. And spin!!!! How I love a spinning <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">reiner</span>! Sliding stops too! Busting a gut across an arena, then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">BAM</span>! leaning back deep in the saddle to feel those haunches sit down, down like a dog, leaving a tornado of dust and sand in the air!! Sometimes enough to feel the grit sifting down the back your shirt. Now that is a good time!!! Well, for me anyway.</div><div>The owner didn't have the proper riding facilities. A small round pen and that was about it.</div><div>I could tell Ghost responded well to cues, again with so little space that's all I could tell. The man suggested I take Ghost home on a 2 week trial basis. This is fairly common down here. I guess we both felt good about the other. I accepted and to the trailer we went.</div><div>After loading easily, the man took me aside. " He's a little wonky on the ground." Wasn't quite sure what he meant, but wonky did not sound good to me. "What?" "You know, weird. He seems to be afraid of hands, empty hands." This is not an inherent fear in horses. Someone taught him to be afraid of empty hands. " Who taught him that?" I leveled my gaze on him. "Not me, I promise. No. I haven't had him that long. My Dad had been using him out at the ranch, then found another gelding for himself. Dad brought him to me to finish out and then sell." Glad I had my boots on.</div><div>We exchanged phone numbers and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Coggins</span> test then pulled out of the drive.</div><div>The first seed of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">suspicion</span> had been planted.</div><div><br /></div><div>I allowed Ghost to settle in for the first three days. Put him up in the large pen to protect him from Maggie. She was being less than the congenial hostess. She squealed at him. She twirled at him. She tried kicking him through the fence and when that didn't work she tried biting him!</div><div>By the time I did turn him out everyone understood Maggie had taken her spot as the alpha horse. As long as Ghost was willing to play by her rules there were no problems. Thankfully, he had chosen the path of least resistance. Because of this choice, they became fast friends.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ghost had been given several days to settle in to his new routine and become accustomed to his new pasture mate. It was time to ride.</div><div>I gathered up grooming tools and apron, grabbed halter and lead, and on my way to the pasture I went. I prayed he would be easily caught. I walked directly and with intention straight up to him. Ghost accepted the halter easily, with an uneventful trip back to the barn. </div><div>Grooming wasn't near as relaxed. He blew at me the entire time, through what should have been a pleasant experience. I guess he had been trained to keep a constant eye on the human; this lead to him turning and facing me despite where I was in relation to his body. Finally snubbed him up to a barn pole. Doing so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">stabilized</span> his head but his hindquarters remained free to swing like a gate in the wind. Basically all I accomplished was knocking the loose dirt off of him. Ghost was going to need lessons in standing still.</div><div>He saddled beautifully. As soon as he spied the saddle, he relaxed. Oh..... something he knew.</div><div>Time to go to work.</div><div><br /></div><div>We made it to the arena without incident; unless of course Maggie's squealing, bucking fit went uncounted. Pasture Princess did not want to be left alone. Ghost ignored the mare's fit, showing no signs of wanting to rejoin her. This was good.</div><div>We worked in the arena for about an hour or so. Someone had done a nice job with this horse.</div><div>He was all business; ready to go and stay at work. He did not back well. That was the only fault I could find. Well that and his "wonky ways " on the ground. </div><div><br /></div><div>Certainly he could be brought around. Already I knew if he stayed I would be the one to ride Ghost; guests would ride Ms. Thing still screaming in the pasture. She was the people horse; the pony in your pocket girl. Ghost was not gonna be a charmer. Clearly he had been mistreated at some point by someone. I didn't have to make up my mind this day. I decided to get a few more rides in and then make the decision.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-22378147118762647472010-04-06T06:08:00.000-07:002010-04-06T20:07:19.285-07:00The One that got Away~ Synchronicity~part 11Good to his word, Lonnie made the deal. Alexis came out to the truck, hugging me. She was thrilled! She had gotten herself out of a world of trouble and felt good about Magic's new home. Everyone was excited about the transaction, except me. I still had my own misgivings.<div>Lonnie explained he had gotten a full third off her price. If she didn't work out we could sell her and make a profit. As we say in Texas, bless his heart. You can't make a profit on horses, not anymore. I didn't want to burst his bubble; he was so proud of the deal he had just made. If you own horses and are wise, you know they are nothing but a black hole. A hole that sucks money so fast you can almost hear it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, the deal was done. I decided to get out of the truck and take another look at my new horse.</div><div>I must digress for one moment.</div><div>I sold Cat to marry my first husband. We could not afford her and her two year old colt. Broke my heart, but young love can make you stupid.</div><div>The day the man came to haul Cat to her new home, the barn radio was on. She wouldn't load.</div><div>Finally got the man away from the trailer and she loaded fine. I was in the trailer with her when one of my favorite <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Fleetwood</span> Mac songs aired. "Dreams," from the Rumours album. One of the lines; "have you any dreams you'd like to sell?" That's what I was doing at that second. I was selling my dream. Tears could now longer be held. The levy broke as I buried my face in Cat's neck. I stayed in the trailer until I could gather my emotions. Her new owner shifted his weight, back and forth, head down, gloved hands shoved deep in his Levi pockets. Kicking dust puffs upward with worn boots. He made no eye contact as he climbed in his Ford. Moments later she was gone.</div><div><br /></div><div> I made my way back to the barn to take a look at my new horse. Magic, still tied in the runway, Alexis bent over, one hoof in hand. A flawless silhouette of horse and rider. The rain had stopped and the afternoon sun was straining to peek through the lifting clouds. As I approached the two I heard Stevie Nicks' distinctive, raspy voice asking,"have you any dreams you'd like to sell?" I froze. All messages to my brain scrambled. Linear time? A difficult concept for me. I felt time literally split. For one <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">nano</span> second I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">existed</span> in two worlds. A twisted , tilted world. Another second, the world righted.</div><div>I must admit I have always believed in synchronicity. What are the odds this song, some twenty years later, just happened to be on the radio? In my mind this was no coincidence. This was the validation I so desperately sought. Again, more tears as I explained the significance of the song, playing at this exact moment, to Alexis. Before long we were both in tears. Giggling and crying all at the same time. She felt she had found the perfect home for Magic. I was certain Lonnie had found the perfect horse. Well, perhaps not the perfect horse; but the perfect horse for me.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-24407478539752799932010-04-03T17:16:00.000-07:002010-04-05T20:48:33.763-07:00The One that got Away~Perfect Horses~ part 10<div><br /></div>I had decided to purchase a second horse. Horse lovers need very little encouragement in this endeavor. And the present number of horses owned rarely comes into play. Just one more.<div>Horses are herd animals. Maggie's herd consisted of 5 goats and a friendly basset hound. She needed an equine friend. </div><div>Besides, my daughter and one of her friends had started coming up from the city on weekends to ride. Three riders and one horse does not a good time make.</div><div>So off I went in search of a second horse. This sounds exciting, but I hated it. A well balanced horse is harder to find than one may think. I was beginning to believe I'd never find the first one.</div><div>I remembered the search for Maggie. I lost count of the miles driven, the horses ridden and passed over. All in search of the perfect horse. </div><div>I had been riding with a group of ladies each Wednesday, my break from massage. One of these friends had been kind enough to loan her "extra " to me. Shun, a beautiful white Arabian, aging but with a few good miles left. During one of these rides someone asked how the search was going. "Terrible," I had answered. I complained of all the bad horses I had ridden over the last couple of months. The oldest of these ladies, an accomplished hunter/jumper trainer, now retired, rode up beside me. "Honey, there is no perfect horse out there. It's alot like picking a husband. You just gotta decide what you're willing to put up with." Armed with this new insight</div><div>I continued my search.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few weeks after my conversation with the trainer, I found Maggie. Actually my husband found her. On line.</div><div>This sounded crazy to me. Who would buy a horse listed on the computer? Horse trading certainly had changed since John Walker's time. </div><div>My husband insisted I come look. I moved over to the computer and saw her pic. All breath left my body. My hands flew up to my mouth as I tried to do the math. No way. There's no way that could be Cat. I could not think; I could not believe what I was seeing. My Cat, a Moore horse, my first mare. The mare my dad had bought from John Walker all those years ago. There she was, on line. No it wasn't Cat, but a dead ringer nonetheless. My husband read her "bio" to me;</div><div>she sounded nothing like what I was looking for. She was stabled in Colleyville, only about an hour or so from us. I wasn't sure I wanted to go look at her. Such a reminder of Cat. My husband made the call and set up the appointment for Saturday. He seemed so pleased with himself. I went back to the screen to take one more look. Yes, the resemblance was strong, but</div><div>upon second look she couldn't be mistaken for Cat. She had a prettier head and was a full hand taller than Cat. She had a bald face, but with much more white than Cat. This mare had almost a bonnet, with white streaks moving up past her jawline, almost like flames. Yes, she was prettier than Cat. Also, she was a registered overo paint, with Quarter in her background. Her registered name was Broker's Magic, and was a hunter/jumper. What was Lonnie thinking?</div><div><br /></div><div>We arrived at the stables early afternoon. Although it was early September, a cool front had blown in complete with light showers. It was a blessed relief from the Texas heat but a nasty day to be out horse hunting. </div><div>We found Maggie and her owner in the barn run, with Alexis putting on the finishing touches to the grooming routine. She had her shinning like a new penny. Almost copper red, with flaxen mane and thick multi-colored tail. And that white face! She stared at me with an air of arrogance. She was beautiful! I had seen that same look in the eyes of cheerleaders and homecoming queens. This horse did not lack confidence, not at all.</div><div>We made our introductions, with Alexis explaining we needed to do some round pen work due to the cool front. Magic was feeling her oats and was eager to go to work. We moved to the round pen. </div><div>The minute she was released from the lead, the bucking started. Around the pen she loped, kicking, bucking; at one point she left the ground completely! All fours airborne! Something to watch but nothing I was interested in climbing up on. I was ready to leave right then and Alexis knew it. "She's not like this under saddle. She just feels good. Please give her a chance." Within minutes the mare began to respond to voice commands, licking her lips, eyes relaxed, all tension released from her body. She didn't even look like the same horse. I was beginning to like what I was seeing. </div><div>With the vinegar worked out of her, Alexis decided it was time to saddle up. Back to the barn.</div><div>I was shocked when she pulled out an English saddle. Why I don't know. I knew she was a hunter jumper. Ya just don't see them sporting western saddles. Well, we had come this far. I wasn't about to back out at this point.</div><div>Having tacked up, Alexis moved to the arena and we watched them work. She moved beautifully. Collected nicely,</div><div>her transitions seamless. I did not want to like this horse but I</div><div> was having a hard time finding fault with her.</div><div>The last time I sat an English saddle I was twelve. I was visiting my cousin in Maryland who owned her own horse, a hunter jumper. I was insanely jealous! Oh how I envied her. My cousin was giving me "riding lessons" for the 2 weeks I was there. After the first week she decided I was ready for my first jump. She was 14 and I viewed her as an equine authority. </div><div>I made it over the jump just fine. The second we found earth on the other side, well, let's just say I was not prepared for the landing. I fell forward on the mare's neck, lost my balance, and fell smack on my back. I landed hard enough the air was knocked out of my lungs. I was certain I was dying! I didn't die, but I lost all interest in jumping, forever.</div><div>Now here I was, thirty years later, mounting a hunter jumper. My heart was racing, my mouth dry. I tried to pretend to be brave, hide my fear. But a horse cannot be fooled. I knew better.</div><div>Out of respect for her intelligence, I quietly admitted my fear. " Please take care of me," I whispered to her. Her ears swiveled at the sound of my voice. </div><div>I made one trip around the arena, trying to find my balance. Surprisingly enough, I felt quite comfortable in the saddle. What I found more difficult was keeping contact with her mouth. In western riding a very loose rein is used. I had spent years listening to John Walker fuss at me about "choking up". Now there was Alexis,"too much slack in your reins!" And I had been worried about the saddle!!</div><div>Luckily she worked off the leg beautifully. This helped tremendously since I proved horrible at check reining. After a nice workout in the arena, I asked if we could ride the grounds. This was an overstatement. Yard would be a better term. The whole facility couldn't have been 3 acres, if that. Maggie's "pasture" was a 15 by 30 foot dry lot with an attached loafing shed. </div><div>Anyway, to the front lawn we went. We covered every inch of the place in minutes.Way too many horses for the size of the place.</div><div>Back to the barn we went. I helped unsaddle and put her away. "Well, what do you think?" Alexis, her voice hopeful. "Let me give you a call in a couple of days," I answered. "Oh," disappointment in her voice. "Just I was hoping you would take her. I really want a good home for her. I can tell you would be good to her. She has to be gone in a week." </div><div>My curiosity got the better of me. "Why?" I asked. " My Dad never knew I bought her. I took lessons on her for a couple of years; she was owned by the stables back then. Later, three Dallas guys bought her and kept her about a year then brought her back here for the stables to sell. I begged my Dad to buy her but he said absolutely not. I emptied out my bank account and bought her myself. My Mom knows, but my Dad would kill me. I leave for college in one week and my Mom says she has to be gone before I leave. I felt myself falling in love with this young girl. " What about feed and board and vet bills, farrier bills? How have you pulled this off?" Alexis smiled shyly. "Well, I work here six days a week for her board bill. I also use Magic as a lessons horse. I earn enough doing that to pay for trims and annual vacs. </div><div>This kid was gonna make it in this world. No doubt about that. As much as I wanted to give her a yes I couldn't. " Let me sleep on it, okay? I'll let you know something by tomorrow." We said our goodbyes as I climbed in the truck.</div><div>As soon as we hit the drive my husband looked at me." I can't believe you are not buying that horse! She is the perfect horse for you!" Could he be right? ''She just looks too much like Cat. I don't want to buy a horse for all the wrong reasons. I can't jump off and buy her because she reminds me of some dead horse I loved years ago. That's not fair to either one of us. Besides, there are no perfect horses, remember?" Lonnie again, " I didn't say she was perfect. I said she was perfect for you." With that he turned the truck around. " What are you doing?!!" I shouted.</div><div>" I'm gonna go buy me a horse. You stay in the truck. I'm about to do some horse trading."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-68024137329982064492010-03-31T15:53:00.001-07:002010-04-01T10:00:54.936-07:00The One that got Away~ Divine Creature~ part 9As soon as my father's estate was settled, I hit the saddle. I had not ridden in months. Dealing with all the estate issues had become a full time job and had left little time for much else.<div>I was thrilled to have all the legal matters behind me. Perhaps I could have my own life back.</div><div>I found myself spending more and more time with my mare, Maggie. Each day we set out on a new adventure.</div><div>We lived about 30 minutes, 45 if you're pulling a trailer, from the Grasslands; a 23,000 acre nature preserve. Set aside as a nature preserve by LBJ while he was in office; it was a favorite place of many riders. Some would haul their horses as far as a couple of hundred miles to ride and camp.</div><div>The trails were well maintained and well marked. On weekdays I felt as if I had the whole 23,000 acres to myself. I so enjoyed the solitude. Weekends were usually busy, especially if the weather was nice. Lots of campers and the trails could actually become crowded.</div><div>And the hunters! It was a nature preserve ! "No Hunting" signs were posted all over the preserve yet that did not still the gun fire. I worried some fool would hit me or Maggie.</div><div>We finally quit going out on weekends.</div><div>I felt safe during the week and this became how we planned our trips. How I learned to love the Grasslands! Because of the sheer size of the acreage, each ride provided new sights and sounds.</div><div>Depending on my mood, the ride could be challenging, with steep, rocky inclines. Other trips I would choose an easy trail, flat and sandy, moving in and out of the woods. Sunlight and shadow dancing across our bodies. These were the rides I came to love. </div><div>My mind would empty in a way that no amount of prayer or mediation could attain. I could lose time, my consciousness suspended. At the same time my awareness would become heightened;</div><div>as if I were taking in the world for the first time.</div><div>Colors, sounds, aromas filled my head. And always the feel of Maggie's body moving beneath me. The leather saddle creaking, reminding me it was time to clean and oil the old leather. The rhythmic sound of her hooves moving over the earth. Her ears, swiveling like radar, listening to all the sounds surrounding her. Above all her smell. A smell I have loved since childhood. That smell, buried in the limbic system of my brain. If I lived a long, long time, so long I didn't even know my own name; I would know that smell.</div><div>If you love horse you get it. If not it cannot be explained.</div><div><br /></div><div>I loved an old cowboy once. I was a teen, he in his sixties. The common thread which drew us together was the love of horses. It became a deep and abiding friendship which lasted until his death.</div><div>We became riding buddies, mentor and student. I yearned to read and understand the subtle language of the horse, the way he did. Every day I spent with him I learned something new. I know our relationship was a curious one to outsiders, but there was no other person I would rather spend my time with. </div><div>I had stopped attending church months earlier, and this concerned my grandmother greatly. There was in fighting going on over some issue and the church was split right down the middle.</div><div>I figured life was enough of a fight 6 days a week. I had no intention of spending my Sundays listening to the adults fuss and fight at church. Tom decided I was old enough to make up my own mind, but my grandmother felt differently. I thought I would ask John Walker his opinion.</div><div> On one late afternoon ride, I asked his opinion on the church issue. A long silence followed.</div><div>I could see he was gathering his thoughts, aware of the impact his answer would have on me.</div><div>Finally he spoke. "I reckon I can find God sitting in the saddle just as easy as I could find Him sitting in a church pew." His answer made perfect sense to me. In my opinion, the horse was one of His most divine creatures. Why wouldn't I find God when surrounded by one of his most magnificent creatures?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-52031787603977413372010-03-27T20:01:00.000-07:002010-03-27T22:19:24.290-07:00The One that got Away~ Grace~ part 8We returned to our new home still facing more unpacking ahead. I couldn't seem to think straight, no matter how hard I tried. I felt completely overwhelmed and had no idea where to start. <div>My attention was split between two worlds. The new home which demanded organizing; Tom's home which demanded being dismantled and packed away. I had no idea of how to go about either one. What was worse, I didn't care.</div><div>My husband decided we split our time between the two places. This was how we spent the remainder of the summer. We all stayed in a state of exhaustion. Somehow we removed the items which meant the most to me, before M and her sons returned to the house and helped themselves. There had been a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">prenup</span>; she was entitled to nothing. However, she seemed to move through life with a sense of entitlement. She had asked for many items, which I had freely gifted.</div><div>I was truly trusting enough to believe she would not return to the house and take items without my permission. What a fool! She had sold $75,<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ooo</span> worth of his cattle, the morning of his death.</div><div>She knew he was dying and took full advantage of finding a buyer before his death.</div><div>It turned nasty. Lawyers were hired. In the end, the only people who walked away with anything were the attorneys.</div><div>Fourteen months after his death, the estate was closed. To date I think I can say without question, it was the worst year of my life. All of my misgivings about M turned out to be true.</div><div>In the words of my attorney, she was nothing but a con woman and my Dad had fallen for her con.</div><div>This much I know. It will be made right one day. It has taken me a long time to reach this point, but I know it will be made right. Through grace I learned to let it all go.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was relieved to have all the legal matters completed. With no lawyers, or documents or out of town meetings to distract me, I began the true work of grieving. I could no longer hide from this. I felt as if I were being swallowed alive. The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sadness</span> a shroud enveloping me. There was no escape. I woke with the ache, moved through the days with the loss; at night cried until <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">exhaustion</span> over took me. This went on for months. I became convinced these feelings were to be with me for the rest of my days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally a day arrived and I realized I felt almost normal. I had thought of Tom and smiled, experiencing a fond memory. Had I made it to the other side of the grief?</div><div>Now when I thought of him, I felt blessed. No, he wasn't my bio dad, but in my heart he had always been my Dad. He chose to raise me when he didn't have to. He chose to love me, unconditionally.</div><div>Then at 42, he legally adopted me. I remember laughing the night he called and made this proposal. I told him I thought I was too old to be adopted but he had insisted. So at 42 he became my legal father. I could not have been prouder. </div><div>I don't know why he chose to love me, but love me he did. He would often say he believed I was the real reason for the marriage between he and Mom. However, whatever, brought us together I will forever be grateful. Through grace, I embraced the gratitude which filled my heart.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-28366970901758366292010-03-26T19:19:00.000-07:002010-03-27T08:36:37.196-07:00The One that got Away~The Last Goodbye part 7We spent the week after my Dad's death at his home. I made it through the funeral, which should have been a full military service; this he had insisted on. He felt that to be the least due him for his years of service. <div>I tried, Lord I tried. Seems everyone was in Iraq. I was able to come up with three service men to fold and present the American flag to his widow. It was the flag which had flown over the Pentagon while he served there. He had saved it expressively for this occasion.He was buried in his dress whites and even in death looked quite handsome. Most comforting of all he looked like my Dad, simply sleeping. When my grandmother died, her hair was purple and cheeks flaming pink with rouge. She didn't look like Nanny at all. Quite unnerving.</div><div> I tried in vain to arrange a full military service, but with little success.</div><div>One of the men had come with a plastic trumpet, complete with a tape of taps hidden in the bell. Hell flew into me! There was no way my father was going to be laid to rest with a cheap recording of taps. This was where I had to draw the line.We had reached the end of the graveside service. I watched the young man fiddling with the toy horn. With no warning I rose from the folding chair, raising the curiosity of fellow mourners. I heard whispers coming from underneath the tent as I left my seat. I left the shade of the funeral home tent with the intention of halting this final insult to my Dad. </div><div>Tom had played coronet in the Navy Band, sitting first chair. He would have considered the playing of taps via cassette tape the highest form of disrespect. As I moved, my husband followed, making his way to our truck. More whispers.</div><div> At the last moment before we left town, he had stopped by his band hall and grabbed a real trumpet. I quickly explained to the young serviceman my band director husband would be playing taps and he could put his toy horn away. Yes, I was less than gracious and for that I am now sorry. At the time I didn't care. </div><div>My husband spent just a few moments warming up, then joined the rest of us, standing just outside the tent. With horn directed way from the mourners, he hit the first note. Long, mournful notes floated out across the country cemetery. The tone rich and comforting, yet dissolving me to tears. My husband's last gift to The Captain. I could all but feel my Dad smiling.</div><div>He did not get his 21 gun salute. Again, everyone in Iraq. I thought about rounding up seven rednecks with deer rifles, but that somehow lacked the dignity I felt my father deserved. We gave up on the salute. Don't think I could've stood it anyway.</div><div>With the service concluded, everyone began scattering in different directions. My husband and son were already at the truck, waiting on me. I still had one more thing to do; I told them to go on without me. I had my cell phone; I would call when I was ready to go back to the house. He didn't want to leave me, but I insisted. </div><div>When the last car was a safe distance from the cemetery, the heavy equipment was fired up. Using chains they lowered his casket down into the grave. Once this was done, the back hoe lifted a huge mound of soil. My arms waving wildly over my head, I attempted to scream over the rumbling machine. The operator killed the engine, confused. "I need a shovel," I explained.</div><div>The funeral home director was still on site. He approached me quietly. " Come on now, let me take you home. This same man had buried my grandfather, grandmother, mother and now my father. We went way back. "No Donnie, I'm fine. Please get me a shovel." He shook his head and walked toward the work truck, returning with a shovel. "Go on and get a cup of coffee, give the crew a break. I just need a short while." Donnie shook his head no, indicating he had no intention of leaving me alone. "Fine. Give me some space. No need to be standing right on top of me." He and his crew moved away, returning to the work truck which was a comfortable distance from the grave site. I kicked off my funeral pumps and felt the cool earth under my feet. I shoveled the first load of dirt on to my Dad's casket. Then another. I found a perfect working rhythm, scoop, lift, dump, repeat. I cried and shoveled until I was spent. I felt weak, almost faint but I had stayed true to my word. I had gone the last mile.</div><div>I dropped the shovel to the ground and turned toward Donnie. He was by my side within a blink. "That's the last thing I'll ever do for him, Donnie." I could barely stand that thought. " I know, I know. You know he loved you more than anything in this world?" I shook my head yes, unable to imagine my life without him. Donnie again," He was one of the finest men I have ever known. I mean that." " You know he wasn't even my real Dad." Donnie disagreed with me, almost before the words left my lips. " He was your Dad in every way. Now, let's get you home. Your family is bound to be getting worried."</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-13564759742634103932010-03-20T09:46:00.000-07:002010-03-21T15:16:26.664-07:00The One that got Away~ Moving In part 6We found a buyer for our home almost <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">immediately</span>. The next week we found a home to purchase in our new town. A new brick home on 5 acres. Horse fenced all the way around the back <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">acreage</span>,<div>complete with a large shop for hubby and nice forty by twelve loafing shed for Maggie. The coastal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bermuda</span> was beautiful, thick and lush, with not one sticker to be found. I was thrilled to find such a perfect place for my mare. As an added bonus, the neighbors behind our place just happened to have a huge arena with stadium lighting. He was a roper and taught lessons, along with competing in roping events. It was a done deal for me. We went under contract and I could feel a quiver of excitement mounting over this move. Things were falling in place with no effort on our part. This move was meant to happen.</div><div>After my mom's death, my father remarried. He was not a man who could live alone. Everyone loved his new bride, except me. I intuitively knew something was not right. They married too quickly, she had been married many times before; something felt very wrong.</div><div>His own children were thrilled with his new bride. As my sister-in-law put it," It <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">gets</span> us all off the hook." They had never been on the hook, so I didn't quite understand her statement.</div><div>He had been in poor health for years. His <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">care taking</span>, when needed, had always fallen to me. I let sister-in-law know I had never felt I was on the hook. It was an honor to care for him; <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">after all</span>, he had raised me.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were to move in on July 3rd. Days before I had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">received</span> a call from my Dad's wife. He insisted he come to help us move. If she did not drive him the 200 miles to our new home, he was threatening to drive himself. I remember thinking this was the last thing we needed. I attempted to discourage their trip. She assured me he was coming, period.</div><div>Great, I thought. Moving is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">stressful</span> enough; what possible help could my 83 year old dad be?</div><div>Well, I couldn't tell him he was not welcomed. That would have crushed him. We decided to make the best of it.</div><div>Moving day came. Of course the movers were running late. We had loaded both pick ups to the hilt. I decided to hook up the trailer and pull Maggie to her new home.</div><div>Sure enough, as I pulled in our new drive, there sat my Dad and his wife. They had beat me by hours. Had already met some of our farming neighbors and were discussing lunch plans when I arrived.</div><div>I must admit I was thrilled to see him and proud to show off our new home. He pulled himself out of the passenger seat, with great effort. I had to hold him for a second in order for him to find his land legs. I had just seen him a month ago. Something had changed in this last month.</div><div>He was weaker than usual. His balance even more off than before. Maybe it was just the trip.</div><div>I was concerned it might be too much for him.</div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Fortunately</span> they had gotten a hotel room in town. After touring the empty house and giving it his thumbs up, he announced he needed a nap. With hugs and kisses I sent him on his way to his hotel room.</div><div>The movers arrived at six o'clock that evening. The real work started. My dad and M were there to help with the boxes. It became apparent he was unable to help. I found a chair and sat him were he could watch all the action. This he hated. He had always been the man in the center of the action, not a bystander. I didn't know what else to do. He was so very frail. A fall could easily be the end of him.</div><div>Finally the moving van was empty. Our bed was set up. It was time for me to collapse. Dad and M had just left to return to the hotel room. He had kissed me lightly, given me a weak smile,and promised to be of more help tomorrow.</div><div>I awoke to a driving rainstorm. It was pouring buckets. I strained to see the clock. It was 9am!</div><div>I had not meant to sleep this late! I reached over and poked at my husband. " Wake up. We have to start unpacking boxes! " My feet no sooner hit the floor and the phone rang. It was M.</div><div>Dad had overslept as well. This too was unlike him. M explained they would come over around lunch and she would help me with the kitchen. I agreed knowing full well there was no way my husband would allow anyone to arrange <i>his </i>kitchen. He was the gifted cook in the family. Me?</div><div>I could care less if the house even had a kitchen. I'd have to find something else for M to help with.</div><div>Dad and M showed up just before noon. He was ready to eat. I finally resigned myself to the fact that nothing much was going to get accomplished. We called in an order of burgers and onion rings from a local eatery famous for their homemade burgers. Hubby and I started dragging in more boxes from the garage. M went to pick up burgers. My son had found the boxes marked with his name and began putting things away in his room. I was stacking kitchen boxes one upon the other. <i>Why do we have so much kitchen stuff?!</i> The boxes kept coming.</div><div>M finally got back with the burgers. We were all hungry by this time. We laid all the burgers out on the island and began sorting who's was who's. My Dad's order was incorrect. This should not have been a big deal,but it was. He pitched a fit; a fit which would've matched any two year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">old's</span> temper tantrum. M set him straight in short order. He grew quiet and like a spoiled child,</div><div>pouted and ate his lunch. I had no doubt something was wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>After lunch a raging thunderstorm blew in, thwarting all plans of my dad and husband organizing the new shop. It was a driving, cold rain, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">especially</span> for July. Instead, we all sorted boxes by room and once this was done, started unpacking. My dad seemed a bit brighter today. </div><div>With the exception of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">getting</span> rooms confused, which would be easy to do in a new home, he was doing well. Guess M's scolding at lunch had done some good after all. He seemed determined to remain in a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">pleasant</span> mood.</div><div>We all continued to work and the house was surprisingly coming together. I looked up and noticed Dad was no where to be seen. I asked M if she knew where he was; her answer was to check the bathrooms. No Dad. I ran to the garage, half expecting to find him laid out on the concrete, boxes askew. No Dad. I was beginning to panic. I had helped care for my grandfather and I understood how easily an elderly person could get out and lost. I ran back inside looking out each window I passed. I reached the kitchen and there he stood. Through the picture window I could see him, standing at the main electrical pole, in his mind working on something. I screamed for M and Husband to come, come help me. He had broken the key to the box, all live wires exposed. His hands fumbling around, for what I have no clue. M in her infinite sensitivity stated, "Well, he's probably gonna light up like a Christmas tree." With that I ran outside, into the pelting rain, praying I could reach him before the unthinkable happened.</div><div>I made it and told myself should he make contact, I could not touch him. No matter what. I tried to keep the panic out of my voice but failed miserably. "<i>What are you doing?! Please come inside! Get away from that box!!! " </i>With that he slammed the box closed, cursed me as only an ex Naval captain could, then stormed inside. </div><div>I was weak with relief. I was shaking from the cold and soaked to the skin. I had left the house without a sweater or jacket and the thin shirt i did have on was now plastered to my skin. I </div><div>should go inside. Instead, I went to the shop, closed the door behind me and wept. I cried much like a child. My whole body became involved. I jerked and hitched, my shoulders rising and falling, weakness filling my legs. I couldn't breathe. I surrendered to the tears and allowed them to own me. All of me.</div><div>That man at the pole was not my Tom. Not at all. It goes without saying. Tom would never have pulled a stunt like that one. <i>Never! </i> Most of all, Tom would <i>never, ever, talk to me that way! Call me the names he did. </i></div><div>About the time I felt ready to go back inside, I heard the metal door of the shop creak open. It was M. I didn't want her to know I had been crying but at this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">juncture</span> there was no denying the fact. She offered no words of comfort, just a simple <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">explanation</span>. " I think your Daddy has had a stroke. He went to the farm about three weeks ago, thank goodness one of the farm hands was with him. Simon was driving since it was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">gettin</span>' dark. He had Simon <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">drivin</span>' all over the county looking for a shortcut home. Claimed there was a special road no one knew about. They ended up almost 20 miles north of the farm. Finally Simon just quit listening to him and found the way home. It was after ten o'clock by the time they made it back to town."</div><div>"Have you taken him to a doctor?" I already knew the answer. " Why no, what could a doctor do? He's already had the stroke." Stupid woman. "Well, there's lots that can be done for stroke victims these days, M." " I don't see no point in it, not now. You better get inside before we're burying you." With that, she turned and left me alone to soak up her words. I didn't want to go back in, but she was right. I had to get warm and find some dry clothes.</div><div>After a hot shower and dry clothes I did feel better. My Dad apologized for upsetting me. I could tell he had no idea what he was apologizing for. Probably didn't even remember the incident at the electric pole. My money was on M fussing at him until he agreed to apologize. That's how things seemed to work these days. He would have never allowed my Mom to treat or talk to him the way she did. He was the Captain. He gave the orders. No longer was this true.</div><div>M could be mean and thoughtless, belittling him until he felt small and insignificant. Striping him of all dignity. I hated her because of this. I still held his power of attorney, medical and otherwise. She knew this. She best not push my hand. We all knew who he trusted with his life.</div><div>We had had many conversations concerning his legal matters, even after his marriage (at 80) to M. I promised myself I wouldn't let things get ugly. But she was pushing.</div><div><br /></div><div>They had been with us four days. They were due to leave in the morning. </div><div>On the last day my Dad seemed more himself. He joked, laughed, and generally had a good day.</div><div>We had a late lunch and after eating he <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">announced</span> he felt a nap coming on. He asked if he could go stretch out on my bed and I assured him it would be just fine. He wanted to know if Max (our old terrier mix) could take a nap with him. Max was always up for a nap so I called him into the bedroom and up he jumped, nesting til he found just the right spot beside my Dad.</div><div>" Could you tuck me in like you used to?" After a major and very serious surgery my parents moved in with us. Mom had cancer and couldn't be left alone. He spent 6 weeks at Baylor Hospital recovering from surgery. He was released to me with the understanding I would get him to all follow up appointments. They stayed with us almost 4 months. During this time I tucked both of them in each night. Mom's mind was so childlike. I still have the stuffed bear she used to sleep with. Tom loved being made over anyway and he certainly enjoyed our night time ritual.Blankets had to be just so, with extra on his feet because they stayed so cold. Had to have his special knee pillow and heating pad for low back pain. Fresh water(no ice, ice put his teeth on edge) and his special cup. Then a big hug, careful of chest incision, and a kiss on his bald head with an I love you to follow. He would then get weepy and tell me he just didn't know</div><div>what he would do without me. I would promise he never would be without me. I would go the last mile with him. More kisses, dry eyes,then sleep. Usually I would leave the room in tears due to sheer exhaustion. I was still working full time as a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">LMT</span>. We had been blessed to find a kind black lady to sit with them during the day so my husband and I could work. But the stress of caring for both of them was getting to us all.</div><div>Well, back to tucking in. With Max in place, I got the blankets just so. Found a pillow for his knees, wrapped his feet up with an extra blanket, searched and found a working heating pad! and leaned over to kiss his bald head. "You have been the greatest blessing in my life." Bottom lip quivering; eyes filling with tears. "And I'm so thankful I could come help you move. I can rest easy now knowing you're in a nice house." " Well Tom, we couldn't have done it without you. I love you more than you'll ever know. Get some rest."</div><div>I pulled the door to, fearing my tucking in days were numbered.</div><div>Sunday, the next morning ,they left for home. It was a tearful goodbye with many promises made to get home as soon as I could. I still had a business to deal with but couldn't dare think of that right now.</div><div>In the wee hours of Monday, Tom was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">hospitalized</span> with a low grade fever. M called sometime Monday to let us know. This had happened before. He was on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Embrel</span> injections for RA and one of the side effects was a weakened immune system. Probably standing out in that cold rain while he was here had made him sick. I just prayed it didn't turn into pneumonia. Usually a couple of days on IV antibiotics would take care of any infection.</div><div>M called Monday night to report there was no change. They were gonna try yet a stronger antibiotic and see if he would respond. I asked if I needed to come and she assured me no, give this new drug time to work. I went to bed, praying to sleep well. I had already made up my mind after a good nights rest, I would make the 4 hour drive.</div><div>My husband woke me Tuesday morning. I had been in a dead sleep and couldn't seem to wake.</div><div>I felt I could sleep another full day. Guess the move and the worry of my Dad's overall condition had finally caught up with me. "Honey, you need to wake up," Hubby again. Oh yes, I was supposed to make the trip to see my Dad. I had to get rolling. Oh, just one more hour, I thought. "Terri, please wake up." It was only 7:30. I could sleep one more hour easily. "Honey you have to wake up. M called." This woke me. "She called my cell around 6:00am. Tom passed</div><div>around 5:30 this morning." </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-17582190157641881642010-03-17T21:31:00.000-07:002010-03-18T10:08:42.711-07:00The One that got Away~Faith healer @ beauty Parlor (5)I had lots of time to think. Truth be told probably too much.<div>I had been a massage therapist. For the last ten years had been self employed, owning my own business.</div><div>The business had grown in ways I never imagined. I started <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">working</span> out of a spare room in our house. I enjoyed working at home and booking appointments around family activities. Our son was young, only seven, and this afforded me the freedom to arrange my days according to his schedule. </div><div>This did not last long. Apparently word spread around town that I was very good. (Still don't know this to be true as I have never given myself a massage.) Soon the phone was ringing off the hook and it was becoming more and more difficult to turn folks away. Because of my own poor <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">boundaries</span>, I was working later and later into the day. After awhile my husband suggested I find another location to work out of. He told me he just could not get used to the idea of naked people <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">streaming</span> in and out of the house. I agreed, but where to go?</div><div>The question was no sooner asked and the answer appeared. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">received</span> a call from a local salon asking if I would be interested in leasing a space there. She intended to enlarge her place and wanted to offer massage services. I knew I didn't want to be in a salon, however I felt this situation might work for me. The salon had an excellent reputation and lots of traffic. I excepted her offer.</div><div>I hated the noise, the smells, the overall business of the place. Luckily she had allowed quite a bit of feedback from me during the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">remodel</span>. My space was at the very back of the building with </div><div>a connecting restroom to the massage room. Once in the back, the noise and aromas for the most part were left behind. My room became an oasis for me and my clients. A safe place. </div><div>In no time I was booked two weeks in advance with a waiting list for cancellations. There were not enough hours in the day to get everyone in. Around this same time, local chiropractors and some medical doctors began referring patients to me. I began working longer hours in an effort to see everyone. </div><div>I stayed at the salon for almost two years. I finally decided the work load was simply too heavy and I had some tough choices to make. I could either cut way back on my clientele list,(how would I ever decide who to say no to?) or expand. I chose to expand.</div><div>Again, I no sooner made that decision and a perfect little brick cottage opened up for lease. It was built in the 1920's and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">possessed</span> a quaint charm which was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">irresistible</span>. It had previously been a doctors office which made it perfect. I jumped on it and quite frankly could not believe my good fortune. I was beginning to suspect God was being one busy fellow. Now all I had to do was find a therapist. Not just any therapist. I was looking for someone as dedicated to the profession and felt the same passion for the work as I did myself. Again,prayers were answered and I had the perfect person.</div><div>The years passed and we both were working long exhausting hours. We had clients driving <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ridiculous</span> miles just to get in with us. We both stayed booked three to four weeks in advance with a long call list for cancellations.</div><div>This does not include the donated hours at hospitals and nursing homes. Plus I was determined to educate our community to the medical benefits of bodywork. This required public speaking events on my part. Any organization which invited me to speak I was there.</div><div>The money was great. I won't argue that. But money had never been my real motivation. It was the connection I felt with the people who graced my table every day. I came to love these folks as one would love extended family. They had added a richness to my life that words cannot begin to describe.</div><div>One of my favorite clients was Miss S. She had been coming to me for years, every other Thursday at four <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">o'clock</span> sharp. She came in early one Thursday and I ushered her back to my room. She was in her late seventies and an absolute wonder. </div><div>This particular Thursday we got our usual chit chat out of the way and she began to relax and grow quiet. Halfway through the session she piped up again.</div><div>"I have to tell you something and there's not a living soul that knows it, not even my children."</div><div>This sounded serious. I braced myself, unable to imagine what horrible secret this sweet soul could be harboring. Miss S had been widowed three times. What if she had killed all of her husbands? Oh Lord Miss S! I didn't want to know! She eased up on her elbows and whispered</div><div>"I'm a democrat." I couldn't help but laugh out loud! "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Geez</span>, Miss S, I thought you were gonna tell me you were a murderer." Relief flooded me. She laughed. "Well in this town murder would be more easily forgiven." She was right. We were living in a rich red Republican community. I assured her her secret was safe with me." I guessed that. You show signs of being the same." Almost as if it were a disease. We both had gotten a big belly laugh from her confession. Oh how I loved this woman!</div><div>Two years later Miss S passed, right before her <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">eightieth</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">birthday</span>. I had lost a dear,dear friend.</div><div>A friend who had become an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">inspiration</span> to me.</div><div>Thursdays at four o'clock would never be the same. Yes, I had lost a true shinning soul in my life. Even if she had been a democrat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not long after Miss S's death, my life would take a turn, although I didn't know it at the time.</div><div>I continued to work long hours, booking back to back appointments, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">some days</span> not taking the time to eat. I had dropped from a size 6 to a size 4 with no effort on my part. I stayed feeling run down and tired. I had allowed the business to consume me. I had worked so hard to develop my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">professional</span> reputation, I certainly did not want to begin providing substandard work. </div><div>I had so many expectations and alias given me to live up to. One client called me the massage goddess which caught on quickly. Another name I was tagged with was the "butt queen"for my </div><div>reputation for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">successfully</span> dealing with sciatica. My most treasured, given me by an elderly woman was " the faith healer at the beauty parlor." She told everyone I could suck the pain out. God was using me, she had felt his power.</div><div>I just knew I was worn thin. I had to make some changes and soon. As always, since this journey began, the minute I put it out there a solution was found.</div><div>My husband had been offered the position of Director of Fine Arts, complete with a staff, a secretary and a large pay raise. There was no way he could turn it down. It was too far to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">commute</span>. It would require us to move.</div><div>I would have to close down the business. I could rest awhile. </div><div>I left my old community with deep regret but also relief. I would take some time off. Rest. Then</div><div>launch a new business in our new town. That was my plan. I had no idea my life was about to be turned wrong side out.</div><div>©</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360575399657696262.post-42360727243521472402010-03-11T14:15:00.000-08:002010-03-14T08:33:48.964-07:00The One that got Away~TheBridge part 4<b>Two days earlier north Texas had received a record smashing 12.2 inches of snow. Naturally we needed to go to town. I had asked Luke, my 19 year old, to drive me in his 4 wheel drive Jeep. (He didn't trust his mother to drive <i>his</i> Jeep.)</b><div><b>Our farm to market road was dangerous. We needed the 4 wheel drive.</b></div><div><b>It was morning; the sun amazingly bright. Our usually busy road was quiet. No traffic all morning. </b></div><div><b>As we made our way to town Luke slowed to a crawl. Our little bridge was iced over. Not just iced over, but one solid sheet. Another two hundred yards and we would reach the safety of a well sanded state highway 114. As Luke slid across the bridge I spied yet another perfect shot. Our creek, more like a small river, had been transformed! It glowed in iridescent glory. With no hesitation I screamed, STOP!!!, scaring my 19 year old half to death. He hit the brakes hard and in doing so caused the red Jeep to complete a precise 180.</b></div><div><b>" What the Hell?!!!" my boy shouted at me. Surely my highly creative son could see what I was taking in. "I have to get this , Luke."</b></div><div><b>This was code in my family for "I see a picture." Again from Luke,"What?!!" My Taurus born son, usually so mild, was filled with rage. I had found years ago when the Bull in this boy was unleashed, it best to remain calm. To hide in the eye of his storm. These squalls were normally short lived. I allowed him to rant until he was spent. "Luke, I just want to take a picture of the creek," I calmly explained. "It'll only take a sec." As I opened the Jeep door, he grabbed my arm. "No Mom, you can't. I won't let you. I will not sit in this Jeep on an icy bridge. A bridge which is at the end of a blind curve. I'm not gonna have my Jeep totaled by a truck that can't stop. Not because of some stupid picture. Lastly, you are about one more header from the home." His last statement referring to a fall I had taken from a running horse, landing me squarely on the back of my neck and head. We both understood what " the home " meant. "I won't let you attempt to skate across this ice only to fall off the icy edge of this bridge. Mom, it's at least a 30 foot drop. No."</b></div><div><b>With that he ground gears until he found first, caught traction and we were gone.</b></div><div><b> It slowly began to dawn on me we had reversed roles. Suddenly I had become the child, he the adult. How had this happened? </b></div><div><b>Luke was right. I was ready to put us both in a potentially dangerous situation just to take a picture.</b></div><div><b>We made our way across the bridge to the safety of 114. Thanks to sand and the overtime the city's road crew had put in, the state highway was in excellent condition. </b></div><div><b>Luke pulled in to the IGA parking lot, once again fighting the ice. The grocery had not bothered to sand or salt the walks or lot. Finally he slid to a stop and killed the engine.</b></div><div><b>"I don't mind going in." We both understood this needed to be a solo run. We needed time apart. I dug in my coat pocket until I found the list. " Thanks, Luke.</b></div><div><b>"No problem." With that he slammed the door, disappearing in to the store.</b></div><div><b>I didn't mind waiting in the Jeep. This afforded me the time to replay the incident on the bridge. Time to try to understand my insistence, the sheer passion I experienced over that imagined shot.</b></div><div><b>These questions would take longer to answer than any grocery run. It was, however, a start.</b></div><div><b>©</b></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00457866950481527031noreply@blogger.com3