Spring Fling

It is an absolutely gorgeous evening, warm with a mild breeze blowing away the last remnants of the long winter days, restoring my soul with hope for a relaxing spring and summer spent with friends and family. I am mesmerized by the ever mindful robin as she flies steadfastly back and forth to her nest of baby birds tucked into the eaves with her cache of insects to quiet the hungry brood. She never waivers in her dedication and when the cheeping finally subsides and her little ones have settled down into the nest she perches nearby to stand guard, warning away any other bird that dares to come near. As I sip my drink I lean back into my chair to quietly observe the frolicking on the lawn as two fuzzy brown squirrels tease and chase each other. The smaller squirrel dashes for the nearest tree then stops to shake its bushy tail, taunting and inviting. Then up the tree they both race, round and round the trunk as they make their way upward, then flitting across the budding limbs. Just when it seems the squirrel would be caught it leaps into the neighboring tree and makes its escape down the knobby trunk, stopping to quiver its tail, its flag of victory. Then they race to the far corners of the yard and disappear into the distant trees. The neighbor's black and white patchwork cat slinks around the corner and the mother robin begins a noisy revelry. I shoo the cat away, temporarily staving off his sneak attack. In spite of the buzz of traffic I am acutely aware of all the sounds around me: the buzz of the insects, the chirping of crickets, the whistling of the birds, the creaking of branches and rustling of leaves, the barking of the neighborhood dogs in the distance, the laughter of children playing down the street, the whir of skateboards on pavement. It seems that everyone and everything is out enjoying the warm spring evening. I finish my drink slowly, then close my eyes and let the sounds wash over me. I love this time of year.

Treasure

I am in a funk and feeling sorry for myself so this blog is dedicated to my little sister and my best friends in my hometown. I miss them all so much. How nice it would be to be able to jump in my car and run over to their houses to visit, to have their company when I am feeling low. I think back to the days when life was so simple, when the greatest joy was to sit around a dining room table, dealing out cards for a game of euchre, with our kids happily playing nearby, spending an evening of fun with the best friends a person could ask for. No matter how much our incomes have risen, or not, it is these simple carefree days that I truly treasure and miss. No pretense, no high expectations, we were able to just be ourselves with the knowledge that no matter what was happening in our lives at the moment we would have each other to lean on. I would give my left arm (did I mention that I am left-handed) to have those friends so near again. What I wouldn't give to be sitting at this moment in my little sister's kitchen, toasting a marshmallow over the open flame of her stove, laughing and talking about everything that was on our minds, never having to worry about being judged. Or to be popping the cork on a bottle of wine with T, her infectious tipsy laughter lifting my spirits, making me smile in spite of myself and my troubles. To be making a fool of myself on the dance floor of a small time club in our tiny town while letting my troubles fall like sweat from my body as I swayed to the music while my longtime conservative childhoood friend chuckled at the nearby table, knowing all the while that she secretly wished she could garner the courage to get out there and shake her wild thing with the rest of us. To laugh until our stomachs ached with the strain, to cry so hard that we were emptied of emotion, to be held and to hold through the good times and bad, to bare our souls and feel safe in that nakedness, to know that nothing could possibly drive them away. I love you, my dear friends, and I miss you terribly. Let us all raise our glasses and have a toast to true friendship and to true love. You are my salvation as I am yours.

Baby Steps

Today I took my husband by the hand and gently led him down the hall , out the door and onto the carport. I unlocked the shed and began to hand him box after box of items to be sorted. He didn't understand at first the need I had to begin the painful process of organizing and decluttering his domain. He really didn't see why it was a danger to have boxes stacked as high as his head, leaning like the tower of Pisa. What did it matter to me if he could barely squeeze through the space? So what if the shelves overhead were sagging with the weight of all things past crammed onto them? He became agitated that he was being forced to confront his demon, his tendency to save everything because someday he might find a use for that scrap of wood or sheet of plastic. This is not a man who grew up deprived. His father was a packaging engineer and his mother was a nurse anesthetist. They weren't extravagant but they also weren't miserly. His was a rather typical middle-class upbringing. He tried to justify the chaos by blaming his parents. When they down-sized we inherited a lot of their junk - old power and hand tools, half-finished woodworking projects, several million nuts and bolts, a flag pole and a few old flags, old mechanic's books, and other assorted items that really have no monetary or sentimental value that he just can't throw away. Added to that were box after box of sample plastic color tiles, sample fabric coatings, miniature sample containers, old sales presentations, headlights and other car parts from past packaging projects that he had worked on. I suggested that he either take those to the plant for storage or throw them out if he no longer needed them. I was made to feel that I was asking him to cut off his arms. But I persevered and we managed to make some progress. He threw out the equivalent of 4 large garbage cans full of junk and he agreed to take several things to his office. We packed up some items to go out to our rented storage unit (yes we still have those). He still has enough car wash detergent, wax, tire care, leather cleaner to open a car wash but at least now he can find it and won't have to run out to buy more. I am sure there is enough antifreeze to last for five or so years. He can now get to his workbench and actually find the most basic of his tools. There is now a designated space for extension cords and garden hoses. No more tangled mess to test his patience. Next weekend we will try to work on the overhead shelves. That's when the real struggle will ensue. I want to enforce a new rule: for every new item going in, two items must go out. Baby steps to clutter freedom.

Ring Ring

With my three young children tucked into their beds and my husband off to work third shift I settled into bed with a book, the television on for background noise. After just a few minutes my head was bobbing with fatigue and I could not focus on the words before me so I lay down the book and switched off the light. As I drifted off to sleep to the drone of the evening news I was startled by the ringing of the telephone. In the days before cell and cordless phones I had to get up to answer the wall phone in the kitchen. I lifted the receiver, half expecting to have a family member on the other end of the line. What I got was an earful of sexual obscenities from the unknown caller, making my heart race with fear. I listened for a minute trying to see if I recognized the voice. This was not my first obscene phone call in recent weeks and I was frustrated and afraid. It seemed that the caller knew when I went to bed, always calling just shortly after I had turned off the lights. On this particular summer night the caller was especially explicit and then spoke the words that sent my mind reeling. He called me by my name and said that he was coming over to my house. I slammed the phone down and at the same instant all the lights went out in my house. I was petrified and quickly called my brother, who lived just a few blocks away. While I waited for what seemed an eternity for my brother to arrive, I armed myself with a baseball bat and stood sentry over my children's room, my senses on high alert for any unusual creak or shadow. My brother arrived and made his way around the perimeter of the house, through every room, and then finally into the basement to check for signs of intrusion. To my relief, he found the cause of the lights going off, a blown fuse caused by the window air conditioner. He graciously agreed to stay the rest of the night to ease my fears and slept on the sofa in the living room, keeping an ear open for any suspicious noises. The rest of the night was restless but uneventful.

The next day I dropped off my children at my grandmother's house then headed to the police station to report the caller. I was young and very shy and approached the desk with trepidation. I was told to have a seat and an officer would take my report shortly. When the officer finally took his seat at a desk and began to question me a few other officers arrived and seemed to be just hanging around the area, as if they found it entertaining to listen as I was being asked to tell the officer exactly what the caller had said. I could feel the flush of my cheeks as I repeated the words of the caller and the event leading up to this request to have a tracer put on my phone in the hopes of catching this guy. I signed a consent form and went on to work.


The next day the phone line was rigged so that if I received another obscene call I would simply keep my line open. The caller would not be able to disconnect, enabling the police to trace the call. They would then go to the address in question, pick up the phone and speak to an officer waiting on my phone. Irrefutable proof that they had the right person. When the phone rang a few nights later I thought this would be the caller's last time at threatening me. With the pervert on the line I wasn't prepared for the reality of the situation. I would have to either wake all three of my children, load them into the car in the darkness, and drive to a relative's house to call the police or leave them sleeping in their beds as I went to a neighbor's to call. Neither seemed like a viable option, especially since I didn't really know my neighbors all that well. For all I knew, the caller could be one of my neighbors. After a few moments of hesitation I hung up the phone, letting the caller escape. Unless he called on my husband's nights off work I would not be able to end this unwanted intrusion on my sense of security. The weekend came and went with no calls.

I worked out with my husband and family that if they needed to call me after 10:30pm for any reason that they would ring twice then hang up and call again. Otherwise I would not answer the phone after my husband left for work, eliminating the opportunity for the caller to intimidate. Over the next few days as I sat in bed listening to the phone ringing insistently just after I turned off the lights I couldn't help feeling as if I was being watched. Worry kept me awake and restless through the long hours of the night. Finally the weekend came and I had a reprieve from the calls. We enjoyed time with friends and I felt prepared for the coming week of harassment. I planned to have my children stay with my family a couple of nights that week in the hope of being able to use the tracer on my phone. Then the phone calls abruptly ended. I assumed that the caller had lost interest because I hadn't answered the phone.

A few weeks later my husband came home from work with news to tell me. The police had arrested the caller. I was shocked to hear that it was a friend of ours who had just been in our home a few weekends before. Our children had played together. They lived just two blocks over from us and were part of our large circle of friends. He had been calling several of his coworkers' wives late at night and had finally gotten caught by a traced call. He was court ordered to obtain counseling and was transferred by his employer to the Atlanta area, where he began the cycle of calls again until he was arrested a second time. He lost his job, his wife finally left him, and he had severed all ties with his friends because he couldn't stop this perverted behavior. I don't know, nor do I really care, what ever became of him. It does make me wonder, though, if persistent obscene phone calls is just the first step before a person moves on to actual physical sexual assault, especially after they lose everything of value in their lives.

Birthday Blessings

To our granddaughter - It is hard to believe that you are three years old already. Time passes quickly. You have brought an immeasurable level of happiness into Nana and Boppy's lives. Though we don't get to see you in person often enough, our talks on the phone and on the webcam bring such sunshine into our lives. You will always have a special place in our hearts no matter the distance between us. To have the privilige of watching you grow and change is a great blessing for which we are grateful. From the first time we held you at the age of one month an unbreakable bond was forged. You can melt our hearts with just a smile. You are so much like your mother was at your age with your blonde hair and blue eyes, your wide smile and gregarious nature, wanting so much to be independent. As you grow we wish for you only goodness and love. We hope you have a wonderful birthday party. We will hold you in our hearts today and forever. We love you.

Nana and Boppy

Duck, Duck, Geese

While on the subject of cows, birds, and Easter I will recount another tale from the farm. In celebration of our first Easter living on a farm my oldest sister and her husband decided that it would be great to give their four kids and our three kids baby Easter ducks. Oh, what fun to see those cute little fluffballs waddle around on Easter morning. What fun to watch them paddle around in a tub full of water and to see them curl up together in a cardboard box padded with an old towel. Weren't they adorable?

What wasn't so adorable was the fact that ducks are little poop machines leaving their little trails everywhere they went. Our outside dog was not quite so taken with these tiny creatures so they had to be kept inside the house until they got a bit bigger and the weather turned warm enough to put them in the pen attached to the barn. So they lived in our kitchen for a few weeks. It was a lot to take care of, but they finally were big enough to move them outdoors. They were safely penned out of the reach of the dog and I thought the kids would be able to run down to the barn a couple of times a day to feed and water them. I didn't realize how the resident geese would react. These two geese somehow got confused and must have thought the ducks were their babies. They became very protective of the little ducks and would hiss and peck at anyone who came near that pen. My children, who were only three, five and seven at the time, were afraid to go anywhere near them so the feeding task fell upon my husband and me. It got so difficult to go near the pen that I would take a broom with me to swat at the geese as they came hissing with their necks craned, ready to attack. I couldn't wait for those little ducks to grow enough to set free by the pond.

One particular afternoon my husband and I stood watching the geese from a distance. A group of cattle had congregated near the duck pen. The geese went on attack mode and began hissing and pecking at this herd relentlessly. Though they were cornered by the herd the geese were ferocious in their attack, never waivering in their effort to get the cattle away from their adopted brood. I would not have bet the birds over the bovine but after suffering many beak blows to their faces the cattle backed off. The geese had won the battle. I was relieved in some ways, disappointed in others.

A few weeks later we were able to free the ducks and we enjoyed watching them swim around the farm pond with the geese. If you think about getting tiny farm creatures for your children, you had better think twice. And make sure you have some good farm friends!

Turkey for Easter?

As I talked on the phone this morning I happened to glance out the kitchen window to see a huge bird running across the street toward my house. I continued talking while squinting my eyes to focus on the unusual sight before me. Was this a duck or a goose approaching? Nope, upon closer inspection the bird now heading toward my porch was a wild turkey of the Thanksgiving kind. Now I would fully expect at this time of year to see Easter rabbits hopping about the yard, but a turkey? Really? I quickly said goodbye and ran to get my camera. The big bird strolled along the edge of my driveway pecking away at the sodden ground for unseen morsels. As I cracked the door open to ease the camera lens into position for the photo op the turkey nervously glanced in my direction then continued its leisurely meandering across my yard. It strutted among the trees, stopping occasionally to look around, then moved on toward the neighbor's yard and the open nine acre field of grass beyond that.

I was reminded of the morning years ago when I was busily getting my children ready for school before I headed to work. My husband rushed out the door to go to work, then popped his head back in the door just long enough to inform me that there was a cow in our yard and it looked like it really needed to be milked. Then off he went, leaving me to deal with this cow mooing in agony, with swollen udders nearly ready to burst. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just leave this poor animal unattended. I tried to call a couple of the farmers that I knew who lived nearby to no avail. I had no idea whose cow this was. I finally called the local police. When the officer arrived we tried to approach the cow but it bolted away, then looked forlornly back at us. It seemed to want our help but was too afraid. The officer contacted a local farmer who arrived with a cattle trailer. After the cow was safely loaded onto the trailer I was able to get my kids to school and myself to work, much later than originally planned. Explain that one in a note to their teachers: please excuse my children for being late due to udderly unforseen circumstances!

This reminded me of another incident involving an animal in my yard years ago. It was a drizzly spring morning and my children were entertaining themselves while I was tidying up the house. Our dog began barking furiously outside and then the whole house trembled. I wasn't sure what was going on. I ran outside and there stood the neighbor's biggest bull, escaped from its prison of fencing, face to face with our dog. The dog kept barking and began chasing the bull, round and round our house, the bull occasionally crashing into the siding, shaking the house like an earthquake. I struggled to get the dog onto the screened porch so the bull would calm down. Then I had to figure out how to get the bull back into its confines without getting myself hurt. I had lived in the country but I was not a farmer so I was not quite sure how to force an animal at least ten times my weight into a space it wanted to be free from. I tried the only thing I could think of at the time. I opened the gate to the field, walked through, called out to the bull several times, then began to sing. Don't laugh. I was not completely insane.

When we first moved to the country the year before I was out mowing the grass around our home. With headphones on and the walkman cranked up on high I pushed the mower up and down our lawn, singing out loud as I went. After mowing the first few strips I turned to make another pass. I was astounded to see a row of twenty or so cows lined up along the fence row watching me intently. I slowed my pace as I walked past them, wondering what it was they were fascinated by. Was it my singing, the humming of the mower, or were they plotting their escape? I felt a bit creeped out as I recalled the plot of "Animal Farm" by George Orwell. The cows just stood there watching until I finally made the turn toward the back side of the house. Then they simply walked away one by one, back to grazing in the pasture.

Back to the bull: it finally heeded my cajoling and singing and wandered into the pasture. I slipped back out through the gate and wrapped a chain around the gateposts, very tightly. Then I headed back across the yard to let out the dog and continue with my chores after assuring my children it shouldn't happen again.

Such is the life in small Midwestern towns!