Dodging Bullets

One of my ex-fiances introduced me to the term "dodging a bullet" following a conversation that could have, but didn't, "go south," another term to which he introduced me. The biggest bullet we dodged was staying together, since our relationship was, well, I'll say tempestuous, although it's a severe understatement.

But the bullet I am talking about today is that of simply being young. I walked in on one of my young co-workers recently and discovered him having an apparently very serious telephone conversation. I backed out. When he had to come ask me a question later on, I thought his eyes looked a tad red around the rims.

I remember those days of angst, the days of the sturm-und-drang roller-coaster existence. And I don't miss them one little titchy, snoz-boggling bit.

When I think about the stupid boys and men who drove me to crying in my beer, even when I was too young to drink beer, I just want to hurl. I want to conjure up myself at a tenderer age and shake myself by the shoulders. "Buck up!" I want to shout. "They're jerks!"

But it's too late now. Somehow, I managed to survive them all. That's not to say there aren't scars, and embarrassing memories that I could never in a million years put into print for public consumption. But at least I don't have to worry about creating MORE scars and mortifying memories.

So to all the young people who are trying to navigate the roiling waters of relationships, I advise you to be of good cheer. If I can make it, maybe you can too. It gets better. It gets easier. Be strong, and try not to be needy. Life is more fun that way.

Bob's Your Uncle

I had a long talk with my horse today.

He stood in front of me, not moving a muscle, as I'd commanded him to do. I was sitting on the three-step mounting block (next stop, a crane).

I was dejected. "What the hell good are you?" I said. My voice was soft. I wasn't yelling. I felt dejected. "You have heaves. You can't pull a cart. I'm afraid you'll buck me off. You're spooky on trails. I can't give pony rides on you." The list went on. He actually had the grace to look sad.

"What am I going to do with you?" I wondered. "You aren't even a good companion horse!"

The sun felt really good. Some bug pestered Sox in the the mild spring air. I sat there for about 20 minutes, looking at Sox and remembering the other horses we had to get rid of for their own good, because Sox was mean to them. I miss those other horses. They were good, useful horses. Well, two of them were.

Sox seemed to sense my despair. Some people say horses are telepathic. I do hope this is the case. I hope Sox is even now chewing on my words out in the pasture. I hope he comes to the conclusion that he's either got to become a kinder, gentler horse, or find himself a slab on a platter 3000 miles away with a Japanese dad sharpening a knife over him.

Inconvenience

There's a sign in the women's restroom at the Westbrook Hannaford grocery store. The sign, stuck on the front of the tampon dispenser, says, in handwritten letters, "Out of order. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Sorry for the INCONVENIENCE? Talk about understatement!!!!! A man must have written that sign! If a woman had written it, it would say, "So sorry and definitely feeling your pain for the disaster when your current sanitary item fails and you lope out of the store hoping no one misinterprets your predicament and calls 911!"

Men have almost no equivalent to this potential for embarrassment. I said "almost no," and I think we all know the one exception, and unless a guy is an adolescent, he can probably psyche himself out of it. Women cannot psyche themselves out of having periods, and so must live in not only physical and mental discomfort on a regular basis, but in fear and worry.

It took me forever to learn how to get comfortable and relatively secure about this phenomenon, and then, just when I got the hang of it, I stopped experiencing it.

I was kind of mad about that, but I've gotten over it.

I thought this anecdote would be a good springboard for a well-reasoned discussion about convenience, and how convenience is more of a god than God to many, many people.

Unfortunately, I find myself squeezed for time to get to my band rehearsal, so I won't be able to share my insights with you. But you've probably already heard quite enough! Right?

Ouch

Three shih-tzus watch carefully so as
to time their movement to coincide
with mine. Shih tzus contributed
to a number of falls I took this
winter.







Kayti said to me the other day, "Mom! You made it through winter without breaking any bones!"

It is indeed a miracle, considering that I fell down at least once a day. I wish I had videos of all the spills I've taken -- they would make an exceptionally funny montage.

Here are all the ways I've fallen since last fall:

1. Bucked off a horse.

2. Cross-country skis got ahead of me.

3. Slipped in mud.

4. Slipped on ice (about 100 times)

5. Tripped on 2x4 on porch.

6. Missed rung on ladder.

7. Misjudged number of stairs.

8. Tripped by a dog.

9. Crocs slipped on wet floor.

10. Ground-teaching horse to jump, I tripped on jump.

11. Fell off a pallet in a dark cellar.

12. Unexpectedly stepped into hole on uneven "lawn."


At least I have reasons for all these falls. Before surgery, my right ankle used to roll me onto the ground without so much as a fare-thee-well.

I may not have broken any bones, but I'm not tempting fate. I won't be getting on the horse this year until we are signed up for MaineCare.

The $600 Wart

This is why people with no insurance avoid going to the doctor:

Visit to doctor: $90

First lab bill: $80

Second lab bill: $210.00

Third lab bill: $175.00

Is there no way to test the wartiness of a growth without having to test for every other possibility under the sun? How many more labs are involved? How many more of these bills should I expect?

After taking the wart sample, the doctor told me the growth is probably a) just a wart; or b) a kind of skin cancer that usually goes away by itself.

I think, with that kind of information, and knowing what my lab bill(s) would add up to, I might have said, OK, skip the lab work.


Note: I confess, the picture does not show the infamous wart that was on my leg, but a mushroom that was on my lawn last year.

Still Ambulatory After All These Years

Sometimes I just don't want to write about myself. But if I don't, what can I write about?

Yesterday's 8.6 mile walk from Limerick to Cornish had some extremely boring stretches. Ironically, I noticed on one of the most boring ones that someone had built an observation deck overlooking the boring landscape. There must be times of the year that the view becomes interesting. It's a swampy area, so I'm guessing that red-winged blackbirds abound in the spring and summer. There's excitement for you. Red-winged blackbirds in a swamp.

By the time I got to Cornish, if I'd had a bag with me, I would have collected $2.10 worth of returnable bottles. About half the bottles were in Limerick. I saw only one cigarette butt in the first six miles; then they proliferated. There were no coins whatsoever. The most interesting thing I saw was a dead crow half-buried in a snowbank.

I gave a lot of thought to the party I'd attended the day before. It was a reunion of USM music majors and faculty from the '60s and '70s. I can't believe how many people attended! Cars were parked along the road for a mile! The place was packed! Thank God I went, so I could rehash it instead of focusing on my aching knees.

I was reminded of when I worked at Moosehead Manufacturing for six weeks one summer between college years. The days just crawled if there was nothing interesting to think about, so I tried to go out drinking and dancing every night to give myself some thought fodder for the following day. Sure, I had horrible hangovers, but at least I wasn't bored!

Petty Politics

I've walked 8 miles in the past two days, both to get a decent cup of coffee and to get out into the warmer air and reassure myself that I am ambulatory.

Walking is great for pondering. Today I pondered what questions I would pose to town candidates at the election forum next week. I came up with two:

1) For the incumbents: Have you ever lied to your constituents in the course of your official duties; and for everybody: Do you think there are circumstances under which lying to your constituents is justified?

2) For the incumbents: Have you ever used your position as a town officer to try to force a wrong decision (by, say, the Planning Board of Appeals) on behalf of yourself, or your family, friends or neighbors? and for everyone: Do you consider such use of power to be ethical under any circumstances, and if not, will you take a pledge to avoid such conduct if you are elected?

My husband just snorted when I shared these with him. "You think anyone's going to answer those questions truthfully?"

I said, "Well, if I can follow up with another question, like, 'Did you pressure the Code Enforcement Officer to ignore so-and-so's noncompliance?' Only, of course, if I know the answer to that question is 'yes.' "

He rolled his eyes.

I doubt if I'd have the nerve to stand up and ask these questions myself, for the simple reason that this is a small town and I'm afraid of a backlash. My taxes would probably go up, the Code Enforcement Officer would probably be sent to inspect my house and told to not come back with fewer than 135 violations, and the town snowplowers would likely be ordered to bury the end of my driveway -- preferably, with me under the snow.

It's too bad, but that's small-town politics for you. One hand washes the other; it doesn't stand back and say, "Wow, are you dirty."