Joy in the Journey

Something caught my attention. I glanced down at my dashboard and noticed that the battery light and the brake light had come on simultaneously. "Idiot lights," Dad had called them many years ago when he had informed me of their uselessness and unreliability. I handed my cell phone to Sharon. "Call Dad," I said.

"Call Dad!?" Sharon asked. "And tell him what!?" Good question.

As usually happens when auto tragedies strike, we were far from home; 120 miles, to be exact. We were cruising along Rte 231, on our way to Daviess County, Indiana, to see the Kansas Youth Chorus give a program at Fresh Start. Little did we realize that these two little seemingly harmless lights were signs, yea, even Symbols of What Was To Come.

My stomach muscles tightened even as I remembered a certain Other Incident that happened to me this last February when my alternator gave out and left me standing beside the road as if I were a politician. At least it isn’t the alternator, I thought. We powered down the stereo to be able to keep abreast of any new and seemingly odd Noises that should develop. "As long as you don’t notice the car driving any differently, keep driving," Sharon ordered, ever mindful of our Race to Beat the Clock. I noticed nothing; I kept driving.

Leisure driving seemed to be "in," for everyone except us. When the motorist in front of me sat idly at a traffic light watching all shades of green, I tapped my horn lightly.... not at all impatiently, mind you, but we received a "friendly salute," just the same. It was impossible to pass on the narrow, curvy road.

Several miles later as we made our way through town, something thumped. The reaction was instantaneous. I wheeled Big Red into the next available drive with a suspicious little "What was that?!?" It was only road trash, we noted, even as the next two hundred cars drove slowly past us. We sadly took our place at the tail, right behind a very wide camping rig. The only scenery we were privy to was the occasional yellow line coming out from under its tailpipe.

We drove on in this fashion, never noticing anything unusual at all with the car except for the two little red blobs of light. "Please Lord," we prayed. "At least let us get to our destination."
We made it with five minutes to spare. We enjoyed the service, the food, and the fellowship. At 10:00, we decided we’d better amble back on the road to make the 3 ½ hour trek back to Franklin.

"Is it my imagination, or are your lights dimmer than they were?" Sharon asked. We watched in dismay as the once bright and vivacious headlights became mere candles gleaming weakly through the thickening darkness. We made it four miles down the road to the little town of Montgomery before candlelight was no longer adequate. I wheeled into the only gas station in town, a Phillips 66. Phone calls, cable jiggling, and prayers of supplication made no difference to the plight of two distressed young maidens.

It was not long before a car slowed down and turned on the road beside the gas station. Thank you, God. Cousin Maria to the rescue. Her mouth puddling to the floor, she convinced her driver (Michelle) to do a U-turn, and they came back to investigate. Because of the lateness of the hour, the size of the town, and the day of the week, we decided to relocate the problem to Michelle’s house and re-evaluate. We started out right, but only made it over the hill and across the railroad tracks before all systems shut totally down. We "landed" at Trailor’s Fertilizer.
We crawled into the backseat with Michelle’s sister while Maria cradled Rhoda Nisly in her arms to make the once 5-passenger car into one for six. "It’s a Divine Appointment," she kept saying as she related her own tales of woe about the Intrepid she’s going to relish abandoning sometime in the near future. And all I could think was, "God, this is not in the Plan!"

When we got to the house, we began the long process of figuring out what our options were. It was quite frustrating to find that my cell phone battery was dead and no charger in sight. After repeatedly trying my calling card on the land line, we determined that the phone we were using did not have touch tone privileges. "What is ‘touch tone’?" Mamma Whitmer asked. We explained. She kept checking on us about every five minutes to see if we had reached a conclusion. We hadn’t. She graciously provided us with some Mountain Dews to help us think. We drank. "I have some cell phone chargers in the closet that I’ve been saving just in case," Mamma Whitmer remembered a bit later, reminding us of our own dear mother. With some creative maneuvering, we finally got it to charge!

Many phone calls later, Sharon and I found ourselves occupying the bed that had at one time been reserved for the Daughters of the House. Guilt. Humiliation. I don’t enjoy either one. And so began a very short, restless night. 5:00 a.m. came entirely too fast.

We contacted AAA and arranged with them to meet the tow truck at the gas station and then catch a ride with him to the Scene of the Breakdown. Being a AAA Plus member, I was entitled to 100 miles of free towing. The first plan consisted of being towed 100 miles and then having Martin meet us with a trailer and carry us on home. We would’ve gotten within an hour of home.

Sharon and I caught a ride to the gas station with Michelle, Maria, and Rhoda. It was 6:45 a.m., and without having had shower privileges, we were not feeling very glamorous. The sight of two women in Sunday clothes quickly made us the newest Item of Local Curiosity. I had no idea so many Amish and Mennonite men start their day with a bottle of pop and a candy bar. What happened to the days of sausage, eggs, and toast?? It was almost a non-stop stream of people from all directions. Why.... We met Betty Graber’s cousin and Andy Byler’s acquaintance, and a Guthrie Amishman’s Somebody.

In the true fashion of men, almost every one of them had a suggestion for fixing our dilemma. They were kind’ve taken aback when we explained again and again that we already had a plan in place. The kindest gentleman of the lot was the one who told us he’d go down to the fertilizer place and tell them not to have our car towed. They had their own tow truck on site.

AAA was supposed to call us with an estimated time of arrival, but it never came. Later, we realized Sharon and I had gotten our cell phones mixed up. I was using her phone and had given AAA my number. My cell phone actually happened to be sitting on my car floorboard. So with being the local spectacle and all and seemingly no hope of the tow truck ever arriving, we inched our way to the back of the building to minimize our Exposure to the general public. Amazing. They make good use of the alley too. We just seemed to become more and more a part of The Local Gang.

We were praying for a decent-looking tow truck man, no tattoos, and a big dual-wheeled diesel tow truck with a nice friendly yellow light. A second seat would’ve been nice too.

God said No.

I was shell-shocked at sight of the wimpy little ‘84 flat-bed Ford truck that finally came limping, coughing, and spluttering in. Jerry’s Lube and Towing Service. It was time to make our move. I walked to his side of the truck and asked him if AAA had sent him. The driver was noted to have bottom teeth only as he confirmed his identity and invited us to "come awn in." He had long, black greasy hair that looked as if it hadn’t been combed for several days and glasses that came with their own special film.

Fearing this was the last time to wear these particular dresses, we carefully placed our Selves on the very dirty, greasy seat. I decided against a seatbelt when I saw exactly what the belt was coated with; besides, the other part of the seatbelt was hidden in the depths of the seat somewhere. This was not my morning to fish.

Because the car causing the trouble was mine, it went without saying that I would get the joy of snuggling in the middle. I got in without complaint or protest, but thank God for stick shifts. It provided the reason I needed for creating The Great Divide. I quickly became Sharon’s second skin. "Jerry" had gotten out of the truck and walked around to Sharon’s door; he opened it and gave it a good old fashioned Amish slam! We looked at each other.... There were simply no words.... Our departure, according to Sharon, really caused a stir with the locals who were gawking unashamedly. I was too preoccupied to notice.

Over the hill and across the railroad tracks we went. While Jerry loaded up the car, Sharon took the opportunity to call Wayne and tell him she wouldn’t be in to work quite as early as she had thought. "In fact," she told him, "You may need to pray us home." The truck spluttered and jolted and moved and rocked until it was simply a wonder we didn’t just roll away without our driver. Amazingly enough, he accomplished the task and was back inside the truck in short order. Moments later, we were on the Road to Home. A man on a mission, Jerry had us rolling down the highway at 75 mph in short order. How can a truck that old go that fast?

We told him what we were planning to do about getting all the way home, and he mentioned that if Martin would bring a battery with him, we could drive the car the rest of the way home. I had my doubts, but I didn’t say anything.

We didn’t say too much for the first little bit. And then his phone rang. It was almost too noisy inside the cab to hear much of anything, but he let us in on the conversation afterward. "You just can’t find good help these days," he said. "That was my wife. She’s freaking out because one of the boys has just called in sick. And if one calls in sick, she thinks they all will." I had heard him instruct her that if "Dale" didn’t show up, he was ‘farred.’ He told us how these guys look "soooo terrible. It used to be a man would work when he said he would." They’re all drug addicts, so they work just enough to support their drug habits. But oh! They look like druggies... Why, Jerry himself has to do all the towing calls because "people sech as yerselves would flip out if one of them would show up to give you a ride. And I don’t blame ya," he said, waving his hands in exasperation. "I’d flip out too!" We bit back our smiles. Uh...never mind that he seemed to be describing himself.

He lit up a cigarette, and Sharon desperately mashed down on the once-electric window button. It didn’t work. Coughing didn’t seem to be much of an option. And at that particular moment, we went by not one ...but two billboards... One proclaimed, "Formaldehyde is in second hand smoke." Its sister sign said, "Rat poison is in second hand smoke." Those words of warning didn’t exactly seem to ease the coughing reflex, but we managed to stifle our discomfort.
We found ourselves lurching to a stop at the first truck stop we got to. "Time for a break," he announced, reaching for the door handle. "Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks," we said. "We’re fine."

"Ok." And he was off like a shot. He took off running toward the store, his work boots flopping wide open, hair streaming in the wind. With the truck shut off and our sense of hearing returning, we took advantage of the moment to make contact with Martin again. He just couldn’t understand our gales of helpless laughter. I couldn’t quite explain it to him either. It was kind’ve a "had to be there" moment. I asked Martin if the battery idea would work. Somehow it’s so much easier to believe coming from Martin. He confirmed that the idea would probably work, so we decided to have Jerry take us to an Advance Auto in Owensboro. If we bought a battery there, they would install it free of charge. We would then take a gamble and make a run for home. This would be a lot more cost-effective, I figured, than any of our other options.

Jerry returned about five minutes later, a Mountain Dew in hand; we were soon on the road again. He began to prattle on about the economy of southern Indiana and the future of small businesses. He described his town, and believe me, it was not a pretty picture he painted. Land of the Druggies. In the meantime, he groused at every driver he came up behind. "What’re ya slowin’ down for?" he hollered at the driver ahead of us as we went through some road construction. "They’re not workin’!"

The truck became quite warm as the morning sun grew in its intensity. I could feel the heat of the engine make its way up through the floorboards and soften the soles of my flops. The truck had long ago lost its air conditioning capabilities, but we had managed to open the wing on our side of the truck while we were sitting back at the truck stop. At least we had a little more option should he decide to light up again. Which he did..... Several times.

We had noticed earlier that we were quite low on gas. We watched the needle steadily ease on over, well on its way to the ‘E.’ It didn’t seem to bother him a bit, so I just looked the other way.
At long last, we reached the Indiana/Kentucky line. The bridge spanning the Ohio River was just recently constructed, and it really was beautiful. I commented on it even as I noticed he had dropped from 75 to 55 in about five seconds. "Yes, it’s a new bridge," he said. "If there’s anything I hate, it’s bridges. In fact, this is the fastest I’ve ever gone across a bridge." I didn’t quite get his logic.

As we approached Owensboro, Jerry freely admitted he didn’t know where he was and was glad we did. Martin had given us the address of an Advance Auto, so we navigated Jerry through the streets of Owensboro. We knew it was on 18th but didn’t know which way to turn. He turned right and instantly wheeled into a little diner. "I’ll just go inside and ask directions," he said. He returned mere minutes later and said, "Diners and gas stations.....they’re the best places to go to ask directions."

We were soon at Advance Auto. We strolled through the doors, relieved at the prospect of having our care turned over to someone with corn-on-the-cob capabilities. Advance Auto.... I’ve never seen so much stuff I didn’t want to buy. We finished our arrangements with Jerry and the Advance Auto employee. Jerry unloaded our car, and we gladly bade him farewell.

The official diagnosis was that "the battery went bad and took the alternator with it." I purchased a battery (the best, please) and had it installed by the Experts. We were advised against using anything electrical... air conditioning, stereo, and blinkers included. We were all too happy to oblige. Captain of my Car again....wow... What a welcome feeling! Never mind that the first thing I did was turn the wrong way out onto a one way street...

I adjusted my window to be able to toss my coins into the toll booths without being blown away. It took a bit of re-training to not use my turn signals, but with a little scolding from Sharon, I managed to remember by the end of the journey. Amazingly enough, we made it just fine to our mechanic’s shop here in Franklin. Total cost of battery and repairs: almost exactly $100.00. It could have been so much worse. Thank goodness for AAA+! To quote Sharon, "Sometimes independence stinketh."

Parking Blues

"I don’t want to take this to the Post Office tonight yet," my coworker Ann groused to me, setting a package down as she put on her coat. "I’ll have to make a special trip!"

"What is it?" I asked.

"Oh, it’s a box Dr. G wants mailed to his brother," she replied grumpily.

It was late Friday night, and we had had a particularly tedious day putting up with our boss and all his eccentricities.

"I’ll take it," I said, ever the problem-fixer. "The mall has a mail drop off, and I go right by there anyway." Ann was only too glad to hand over the package to me. So off we went, looking forward to another wonderful weekend away from the job.

I swung my car into the mall parking lot. Yes, I could tell this was Friday night alright. It was packed! As I was in a hurry to get home, I decided to take the first available parking place I came to instead of my usual approach of trying to find the closest one. "The walk will do me good," I said to myself, adjusting my halo as I squeezed between my car and the next. It really was an unusually tight squeeze, and I saw that I really hadn’t done the best job of parking. My car was at a 30 degree angle across the parking place, and the tail end of the car was quite cozy with the tail end of the neighboring car. Just by looking at it, I could tell my car was more used to angled parking places than it was to straight ones.

Oh well, I thought. I’m just dropping this box off. I’ll be back out and gone before the owners ever get back out. They’ve parked this far out, so I’m sure they also just got here.
I walked the length of the parking lot in record time and approached the big glass doors of the Sears entrance. My eyes adjusted quickly to the bright lights of the mall’s interior. I double-blinked as I made out at the far end of the hall a lady gesturing frantically to me. Oh. What do you know? My aunt and uncle were standing there, smiling and waving. And their whole clan was standing right around the corner waiting, as it turns out, to surprise the oldest daughter for her birthday. As soon as was prudently reasonable, I hurried on, mailed the package, and made my exit. Truth be told, the "meeting" had delayed me considerably.

I was hoping I had picked the right aisle as I could see my car nowhere. As I approached the spot where I thought I had left it, I could see tail lights. Oh dear. I hoped the owners of THE car weren’t trying to leave. As it turned out, the tail lights did, in fact, belong to the very car I had trapped! Of course, I couldn’t tell for sure because of a very large luxury van parked several places this side of the "spot." I rounded the end of the van, and there I was. And there it was. And there they were. I heard my halo shatter as it struck the pavement.

Do you think the occupants could have been just one mature adult who could handle such a situation with grace? Well, it could have been, but it wasn’t. Four or five teenagers were crammed into this little car trying to maneuver its way out of the clutches of my Maxima. And they weren’t doing it quietly either. Cussing and exclaiming, they slowly crept out.

I was not about to admit the offending car was mine, and I couldn’t very well turn around and go the other way, so I immediately took up the role of a person waiting for them to finish backing out so I could pass on by...to get to my car at the very end of the lot, you see. I stopped right behind the rear end of my car, not even giving a flicker of recognition to the rude car who was taking up more than its fair share of space. My facial expressions were quite genial as I graciously motioned for them to continue their maneuverings. I was in no hurry; I could wait. I had all weekend, after all.

After many colorful comments and quite a few stares, the parting shot from the guy in the rear passenger’s seat was, "That’s the tightest parking place I’ve ever seen!" To keep up the pretense, I had to keep on walking once they’d gone. The teenagers kept looking back at me, after all, almost accusing in their stares. Why blame me??! And then they had to sit there at a stop sign waiting to pull out into traffic. Help. What to do? There were only about three cars left in the row. So I walked on by my car, willing those ruffians to leave and to do so quickly. And then I reached the end and was out of cars to walk by. Their car was still sitting there, and if I kept walking the course I was on, I’d soon be up even with them. Somehow, that wasn’t a good option either.

Reaching the end, I made moves as if to "unlock" the door of the car that was sitting there. However, I abruptly changed The Plan when I realized there was a lady sitting there in the car watching me. Ok. No problem. I immediately became the lady who forgot where she had parked her car. I made a point of scanning the parking lot as I waved pleasantly and nodded at the lady. I crossed over to the next row of cars, and headed back up toward the mall entrance, searching diligently for the car that would not be found. Halfway up, I decided this was beyond ridiculous. I needed to just count my losses, take my wounded pride and get home! My weekend was wasting away while I danced with parked cars!

I quickly crossed back over to where my car was parked, crawled in as fast as I ever had, backed out, and roared away, hoping my dust cloud was giving me some getaway cover. I’m sure the lady either had a wonderful chuckle over the whole thing or she was busy making sure her doors were locked and her alarm set. After all, you can never be too careful with all those crazy people out there.

And I remain convinced that there oughta be a law against straight parking places.

Life's Little Lessons

The week of Thanksgiving, Sharon, Sara, Jolene, and I found ourselves on the white beaches of Navarre, Florida. We went down the Saturday prior to Thanksgiving and rented a condo on the twelfth floor overlooking the beautiful waters of the Gulf. The plan was that Martin and Hannah (2-year-old family add-on) would drive down on Wednesday and pick Alvin up at the airport in Pensacola before joining us for the remainder of the week. In the meantime, we set ourselves up for some major rest and relaxation. Never have I gotten to so consistently get 8 hours + rest in the same week. It was wonderful. The first day when I got up, however, I ambled out of my bedroom into the kitchen/dining/living area, and I declare... I couldn’t see. The sun was SO bright, I literally had to go find my sunglasses so I could see.

This was the same day I got the brilliant idea of running down and back up the stairs... 12 flights. The plan was that we’d get a complete work-out in a very minimal span of time. So Sharon and I started off. We had no problem getting to the ground floor (surprise, surprise), but woe unto us about the 5th floor. From there it was a journey like no other. Lungs heaving, we finally made it back up. After recovering a bit, we decided that yes, that >was<>

Monday morning..... We now had possession of the sorest legs we’d ever experienced. For the next two days we could hardly walk, and when we did, it was not without limping, not mention loud complaining. So there went that plan! We chalked the experience up to Life’s Little Lessons.

On Thanksgiving Day when all siblings were there, we spent a while in the exercise room on floor 1. We tried out all the machines. Then Sharon challenged Jolene and the boys to a race up the stairs. I cackled with glee as they roared out of the work out room and into the stairwell. Sharon knew from the beginning to just take her time, but the others took off at a dead run. I took Hannah in the elevator and headed up to meet them at the top. We stood at the top and waited. The stairwell was filled with loud breathing, huffing and puffing. It sounded like a herd of water buffalo! Martin won, with Alvin close behind. By the time we were all back in the condo, the boys were sprawled out on the couches, lungs heaving, gasping for air!

It was not only Sharon and me who learned one of Life's Little Lessons that weekend.

Yard Sale Shoes

This little story actually starts about a month ago when I found this wonderful little pair of shoes at a yard sale for just 50 cents! Can’t beat that! And they looked brand new too! Well, I wore them for the first time to work last night at the REC (USPS). I was working for another coworker who wanted off to go to a parade, so I was there just out of the goodness of my heart. I kept noticing all night that my right shoe seemed to be "sticky," almost as if there were traces of some chewed gum on the sole of the shoe or something. I kept checking it, but it was fine.

Mail wasn’t as heavy as the supervisors had feared, so we were being given the opportunity to take early-outs. When my time bracket was called, I decided to seize the moment and leave early. I had things to do after all. I had to go check something with a supervisor first, so I just put my computer on hold and walked up there. About halfway up to the desk, I knew I was in trouble. My sturdy little yard sale shoe had turned into an instant flip-flop. What?? I looked down, and sure enough! The sole was almost completely off save for about the front three inches. How that much of it managed to hang on I’ll never know. I somehow made it up to the supervisor’s desk and then back to my console.

Well, what exactly do you do when your shoe is non-functioning, and you have to WALK like really FAR before you can leave? Well, to make it even worse, they asked us to walk all the way up to the time clock, clock out, and then walk all the way back to the supervisor’s station and hand them our card–nothing at all to someone with functioning shoes.

I really didn’t know what I was going to do. I thought about taking one of my shoe strings out and somehow tying the sole up, but that didn’t quite seem like the thing I wanted to do. The only other kind of "string" I would’ve had that could’ve even remotely worked, would’ve been my headphones. That didn’t seem inconspicuous enough either.

In a fit of pure desperation, I grabbed one of the pins that was already busy holding my covering on my head. I decided to try jabbing it through the back of my shoe with the intent of going through it and catching hold of the sole enough to keep it in place long enough to get out of the building. Keep in mind, I was also under severe pressure to get clocked out as the Postal Service does not like to pay employees for non-productive time. I aimed carefully and jabbed it into my shoe. It bent immediately–almost as if it were made of paper. No good. Well, there was nothing left to do but gather my things up and leave, shoe or not.

And then I started The Incredible Journey. This is a long building, and I was in the back. I decided to go the perimeter of the building instead of down the main aisle to try to attract the least amount of attention. I tried scooting my foot along as I walked to minimize the amount of space for Flop, but this was as effective as if I were a Thunderclap itself. Thank goodness we were allowed to use the time clock that was on the workroom floor (the others are all the way out in the hall). This clock was about half as far as the others. And thank goodness almost everyone was using their headsets.

I somehow made it back to Renee with my time card-- face burning red! She gave no indication she had noticed anything amiss, so I had a little more courage. I went back to skirting the building on the outside aisle. To the innocent observer, it appeared as if I had invented a new way of walking.... either that, or I had a major Charlie Horse. I was far enough behind the crowd that had left early that I wasn’t worried about them hanging around anymore, but by the time I had painfully made my way to the consoles for St. Petersburg-- horror of horrors.

The supervisors were relocating the Knoxville keyers to..... (Where else?) .... St. Pete, of course.
A whole herd of people was headed my way! As I was not making good time at all and certainly wouldn’t be out of their way by the time they were ready to run me over, I did the only intelligent thing I could think of--I dropped to the floor and firmly retied my shoe--nodding and smiling pleasantly at the people who came close by.

Whew! This was getting beyond desperate!. Because I couldn’t just tie my shoes until everyone went home, I waited little bit yet until all the people were all settled in at their work stations with their headsets hopefully turned back on again before I headed for the doors. When I finally made it through the workroom doors and into the hall, I faced a new dilemma. There were people lined up at the time clocks waiting to clock in. I think God must have strategically placed one of my friends there at the front of the line so that I could do the "How are you?" niceties. And I just chit-chatted with her for all I was worth....all the while slowly doing the Backwards Shuffle as I kept backing down the hall toward the bathroom. Of course, this meant that I actually could just plumb slide my shoe along. With a "ta ta" to my friend, I was INSIDE the bathroom and heading straight for the handicapped stall– the one with all the room. And then I took the crazy shoe off and took my only OTHER pin and did surgery on it from the inside. This pin also bent immediately, but I got it arranged just enough to catch on to the sole of the shoe so that it wouldn’t flop when I walked. I fastened my covering on with one of my hair clips... I know it looked crazier than anything, but I was gambling that anyone I met wouldn’t notice.

I then made a beeline for the door and left! I must admit, my faith in yard sale bargains has definitely been shaken to the very core. If my scars from this escapade should ever heal, you can be sure I will examine any future yard sale items very carefully. But I still maintain that this particular pair of shoes is beautiful! I just had to learn the "It’s- the-Inside-that-Counts" Lesson the hard way. But maybe I can get a $1 out of them at my yard sale next spring. 100% return on my investment... not bad! (After telling Sara my tale of woe the next day, she told me she had seen me walking and thought I must’ve done something awful to my foot the way I was limping and all–so much for trying to cover it up.)

It Takes a Rat

In other news.... Well, I guess this is the official announcement that I’ve moved yet again. Twice in one year just is not ideal for one person to have to go through. Remind me to never do that again. Most of August, September, and October were spent painting and working on the house literally every minute that I wasn’t working at one of my other jobs. Some of you may be wondering how this House thing all came about, so I’m including one of the stories I wrote to put up at the Open House we held several weeks ago; it will give the necessary background. We are enjoying the house so much, and I LOVE all the room I have to spread out now. After Christmas, I am hoping to spend some time working on projects I never had room for before. My car has never been happier either... It has never had a garage to sit in overnight before. However, it is not all as glamorous as it could be, for there is this certain little Toad and his band of Cricket friends with whom I have had several disagreements already. The winner is yet to be determined....

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It Takes a Rat... The Story of How It Began

Sara and I moved to an apartment back in 1996 while we attended the Bowling Green Regional Technical School. After graduating in 1997, I moved back home and squeezed into a bedroom with Sharon. With our house to full capacity, Sara kept the apartment for an additional year, then moved back home as well. She took up residence in the barn apartment with the intention of saving up to build a house.

Things were progressing quite nicely until, little by little, the mice started letting Sara know she was not particularly welcome. Glue traps were set and thus began the era of the Great Mouse War. These mice were everywhere - - and it became the rule to see a mouse roaming the place, rather than the exception.

One evening, Mom’s house received a frantic phone call from the barn. Sara was screeching about sending the boys down to kill a rat. Kill a rat??? In their own good time, Alvin, Martin, Jolene, and Mom showed up to evaluate the situation. After investigating, they found that Sara had been intending to use the toilet, but upon raising the lid, she found it was already occupied……. By a rat, no less!

With five faces peering in at him, the rat knew he was busted. He guiltily looked up at them as if to say, "What? You mean the pool is closed today?"

The team of five now faced the dilemma of how to kill this rat. A hammer? A gun? No…… both of those methods would be counter-productive. When Jolene heard the word "kill" she immediately took up the rat’s cause by trying to protect him. She started petting him and trying to ward the others off, with Mom all-the-while howling about diseases and bites.

Mom dragged a wailing Jolene away from the scene while Martin armed himself with a plunger. Everyone but Jolene was put out of their misery when the rat was held under water slightly longer than his lungs cared for.

This not only established the Look-Before-You-Sit Rule, but it also was the beginning of a new Way of Thinking. Giving makeovers to Sara’s personal items, establishing welcoming committees for her after work, and cleaning out wastebaskets on a regular basis just did nothing to make up for leaving "tracks" all over everything, chewing through baseboards, and taking up residence in her bed (while she was in it)!

The night she had to sit with her feet propped up on her desk to preserve her toes, Sara knew it was TIME……. Time to move to a mouse-free environment. And thus began the journey of a lifetime…… Sara found a house plan she liked and worked together with Alvin and Martin to fast forward her dream of building her own house.

It was with an utmost sense of relief when we finally were able to move into this wonderful, new house. One of the first evenings after The Move, Sara went down to the basement to talk to me. Because there was no living room furniture at that point, she sat down on the floor in the living room and leaned up against the wall. I knew I was in trouble when Sara’s ears began to "twitch."

"What was that?" Sara asked.

"What? WHAT?" I demanded.

And there……. Right there.. We could hear the distinct scratching and moving that belonged unmistakably to the ever-dreaded…………MOUSE.

Immediately, glue traps and rat poison were put into position. Ears were pressed to the walls. Prayers were lifted to the Lord asking him to please remove all rodents from the house! So far, it has worked pretty well. But if ever there was a need for a hedge of protection, this is it!

Through it all we have learned this: Mice really are no respecters of persons, nor are they respecters of houses! But should we ever see an up-close and personal mouse, rat, lizard, whatever…… well…… Let the walls come down!!!

Exploring Disaster

We’ve been ever so faithfully working on our new house, and things take so much longer than we ever dreamed. Last weekend, we finally got our cabinets installed. We ordered them from someone in Illinois. In the hustle and bustle of everything, one lonely little bathroom vanity was forgotten about. On Monday morning, we looked everywhere for it, but it was nowhere to be found. Sara called the cabinet maker in Illinois and he was sure he had brought it down. He went out to his trailer and looked, and there it was! Here he had brought it all the way down to Kentucky but had forgotten to unload it!

Well, we had to have that vanity Tuesday so that the plumber could finish up. The cabinet maker was leaving at midnight to head for Colorado to go hunting. What choice did we have but to drive up there and haul it home ourselves? We thought this called for a Sister-Time, so Sara, Sharon, Jolene, and I all planned to go. I got off of work early and met the others at the house. We were on the road by 5:30. This is a 3 ½ hour drive. So we had a very good chance of being home by 1:30 at the latest. Sadly, this was not to be.

We were driving Martin’s Explorer. We were only 45 minutes from home when the "check engine" light came on. Groaning, we pulled over and popped the hood just in time to see the radiator juice (??) Bubble over and make a new home for itself right there in a big puddle beside the highway. What do we do now?

Luckily, we had Sara’s cell phone, but unfortunately, we had stopped in a little valley between hills where the reception is the poorest. In fact, several vehicles flying past leaves you with no service at all!

Sara called Martin first. She found out he was down in Tennessee on his way home. She could hardly hear him and had to repeat everything she said three times. She had just told him where we were when the phone went dead! There was simply nothing to do for it but recharge it. We gloomily piled back into the Explorer and waited.

Before we had left home, Mom had been fluttering around like a mother hen. And as we sat there in that ever-darkening valley, her words came back to haunt us.

"Sara, make sure you check the oil," she had said.
"Mom! It’s only an eight-hour trip!" Sara had protested.
"I don’t care; you always check the oil before you go on a trip," said our mother. Sara didn’t check the oil.
"Sharon, you make sure you take your cell phone along too," said Mom.
"Mom!! We have Sara’s cell phone, and besides, mine needs to stay here and recharge," protested Sharon. Sharon didn’t take her cell phone.
"Fasten your seat belts," called our mother as we left home. We did fasten our seat belts!!

And so... We all conclusively decided that God’s judgment is indeed swift and sure and that He was trying to teach us to heed our Mother’s advice a little better. Alright! The lesson was learned. Can we go now? Sigh.

And thus began a series of attempted calls from the confines of the vehicle. We had to stay inside the Explorer because the phone now had to stay attached to its cord. The only place we could get any reception was when Sharon laid her head up on top of the dash--- not exactly the most comfortable position to make calls from. The hardest part of it all was the waiting! We finally got through to Mom, and she and Martin began a Plan of Action.

Jolene had read too many stories of vehicles parked alongside the road getting hit by another vehicle going astray, so she was keeping a lookout through the back window. Then she started threatening to get out and walk alongside the road.... that is, until we reminded her of the decomposed body someone had found alongside the interstate just the other week. She stayed put.

Thirty minutes later, the highway patrol pulled up behind us, lights flashing. We told him we had help on the way, and no, it was not necessary for him to sit with us until our help came. He went on his way, and we waited some more.

After a while, another man stopped and offered to help. We thanked him profusely and sent him on his way as well. And we waited some more. We were getting cold but didn’t dare run the Explorer for fear of wearing the battery down. We amused ourselves with idle chit chat and calling Mom every now and then to see what progress was being made.

We also had AAA, a company you can call when your vehicle breaks down and they’ll come and tow your vehicle for free. So when Martin was finally on his way, we called them to our aid as well. And we waited some more!! All at once we were being spot-lighted by a car in the oncoming lane. The light was so bright we were all cowering and shielding our eyes.

We watched the car go on by and then it made a U-turn right through the median. Oh no. Here we go again.....the highway patrol! And then... Praise the Lord! We saw the lights of a wrecker top the hill. Could this be our wrecker? Orange and blue lights reached us simultaneously. The only thing we lacked was.... Martin. We didn’t really want to be left sitting on the guard rail. Sara hopped out to talk to the officer and wrecker man, who were already deciding our fate. The policeman was planning to take us halfway in his car then relay us to another policeman who would take us on home. When they let her get a word in, Sara told them we already had a ride coming. Bummer! We missed an exciting ride!

Martin arrived soon after. He brought his truck with two seats in it. He caught a ride back with the wrecker man, and we took his truck on up to Illinois to get the vanity. No more problems, right? Wrong. Sara couldn’t find the brake release and accidentally popped the hood instead. We all groaned, but finally....finally... we were on our way again. We were now in excess of two hours behind schedule. Thus, we began one of the most miserable trips ever!! We fought sleep most of the way even as we drove through rain and very cold weather. We arrived back home at 4:00 a.m. We were SO glad to get home. The only problem was I had to be at work by 7:00. That was the true test of a joyful heart, let me tell you!

But sadly, that was not the end of it. On Thursday, I went to an auction at an old high school and bought all manner of big, bulky items such as tables filing cabinets, and bookcases. I had taken my dad’s truck, but I had more than a truckload. So on Friday morning, Sara drove the Explorer (it had been fixed), and I drove the truck again. We were loaded up and on our way home. Sara was following me so that she could keep an eye on my load. Jolene was riding with me, and she all of a sudden realized Sara was no longer behind us. We pulled over and waited.... and waited. No Sara. So we turned around and went back. About a mile back up the road, there was Sara standing by the Explorer, hood up. Oh no! Not again! Apparently, it hadn’t been fixed!
Luckily, we had the truck right there this time. We all piled into the truck and abandoned the Explorer. And we said, NEVER again!! Martin came and took care of it later on that night.

A Walk in the Dark

I've been trying to make time to exercise a little more regularly again now that the weather is a little more cooperative. Power walking.... Which brings to mind a certain little walk I took last week.

I came home from work last Thursday night and thought it would be fun to put Madison (2 year old my motherbabysits) into the stroller and "stroll" her through the neighborhood across the street. I stopped in at the house to get her, and Mom decided she wanted to go too. Fine....I’ll wait another fifteen minutes while she finishes up supper, etc. But then we have to dig the stroller out from under a pile of clothes in the garage.

"It's dirty!" I said to Mom, scowling. "Oh... it's alright!" she said, snapping clouds of dust into the air with her bare hand. “Can we just go now???” I asked impatiently. So finally...off we "stroll."

We came to the road, and made a big show of “making sure we look for cars before we cross the road".... for Madison's benefit. Well, this has now alerted Bobbi (only the most annoying dog in the world...) to the fact that we're going on a walk. And she wanted to go too. Now Bobbi has not been to obedience school, so any protests we made were blithely ignored. Bobbi was going, like it or not!

At least two of us enjoyed that walk... Bobbi and Madison. Bobbi had the best time smelling everything her nose took her to, whether it was a cat, a tire, or a tree...anything that wasn't available on the road. We spent half our time hollering at her to get back where she belonged! I was soon completely worn out!! One particular cat even decided to join our little parade for awhile!

We had made our rounds and were almost on the home stretch when we met two other pedestrians out with their dog "Pepper." The guy and the dog were both black, and the girl was white. By this time, Madison had decided >she<>

I finally extracted Madison from her trance and sent her over to Mom. Our two parties managed to bypass each other without anyone getting bitten or scratched, and the second I was at a safe distance away, I said... "THAT'S IT!" With no little effort, I got Bobbi to come to me, and I snatched her right up...only to find out she didn't have her collar on. ARGH! "Oh...Dad took it off," Mom said. Joy. I really had had it by this time. I yanked the dog up off the road and proceeded to carry her. No escaping me! Now Bobbi's a large dog...not as big as a lab, but large enough. "Youcan't carry her all the way home," Mom said. "Oh yes Ican," I said, teeth gritted.

Well, she was right, of course...I couldn't. I had to put her back down ten feet later. I tried walking with her instead....I held her front two paws while she "walked" on her two back legs. That lasted all of ten seconds. To make a long story short, Bobbi ended up in the stroller, Mom pushing her hind end while I carried her front end, both of us getting spina bifada in the process.

Mom and I were giggling hysterically, grateful for the cover of darkness while Madison trailed twenty feet behind us... sucking her thumb.

For the next three days, I was soooo sore! My right arm and right leg felt like they had been through the wringer! Who needs to pump iron when they've got a dog around?