Unfinished Object

First I had thought to impress you with my cycling experience this weekend (and how many things, including my posterior, that have forgotten how to ride a bicycle.) Nah, boring. So next I thought I’d share my experience with the Rheumatologist this morning ... boring and depressing. So, now I have settled on a game (stolen from Reecie - thanks Reecie). Below you will find seven bits of information about me and my life, 6 are completely true, 1 is an out and out lie ... can you find it?

1. My grandparents owned a farm, and though it was not their primary source of income they sold veggies and raised a few head of cattle. Much of my growing up was done playing in the barn and wandering the three cattle fields. The center field was bisected by a drainage ditch that led to the pond. The ditch was filled with all sorts of rusty junk, from small farm tools, bottomless buckets, and old plows to simple trash. I spent an entire day loading my wagon, with any pieces that I could pull from the muck and hauling them to the trash pile near the garage. I just knew my grandfather would be thrilled that I’d help him clean up that awful mess. When he got home I showed him what I’d done and was promptly spanked and sent to my (uncle’s) room. The junk in that ditch was to help prevent further soil erosion. It took him three evenings to put it all back.

2. Growing up I wanted a Mustang more than anything. At nine I wanted the actual four footed variety, but by twelve the four wheeled kind was more appealing. When I woke on the morning of my sixteenth birthday there was a card on my dresser, left there by my father sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Before I even opened it I could feel keys through the paper. I ripped it open, grabbed the keys and headed to the driveway...nothing. The card said, “I tied your Mustang up in the driveway, but it must have gotten loose. Sorry, Love Dad.” The keys were for my mom’s POS Chevy.

3. We had a black cat when I was about 5 years old named Black Jack. Bless his heart, he put up with a lot, including me cramming him into my PlaySchool Schoolhouse and closing the door - the door being the long side of the building that hinged open like an oven door. In his panic he stuck his head through the only escape he could find, the 2"x3" front door to the school, and began making a noise that I have never heard since (and hope I do not again). The racket brought my mother who spent nearly thirty minutes, and half a can of Crisco trying to free him. She says to this day, she has never been angrier with me. Black Jack ‘ran away’ not too long after that, but I suspect she may have found him a safer home.

4. My first life drawing class in college was also the first time I’d seen a naked man anywhere other than Mel Gibson’s fine hiney in Lethal Weapon. Our first male model was another student (later models would be homeless men and women our Professor brought in). The first few poses were away from me, and when he finally did turn and face me I was not only shocked, but disappointed that the male member was so damn tiny! It looked like the tip of a thumb sticking out of a bundle of steel wool. He took a pose near my corner of the platform and looked off somewhere over my head. I was concentrating on his torso and looked up to check my proportions and was surprised that his tiny little thumb had transformed into a shuddering tree branch, complete with pulsating vein. Most of us were reduced silent giggles, until one student, a male, pointed and asked the Professor “Do we have to draw that?” The class fell apart, and the teacher ejected the model.

5. My brother and I convinced my dad to go look at some caves we knew were in the woods near our house. I’m still not sure what we said to encourage him to don his winter coat and go hiking across frozen fields in thin driving sleet...but he did. Halfway across the first field, I thought I heard a thin cry from the woods. No one else did. Further on I heard it again, and this time so did my dad and brother. We altered our course toward the treehouse my brother and I knew the older kids had built. On the ground beneath it was one of the boys, who had come out to cover the plywood roof with a tarp to protect it from the weather and had slipped and fallen. He had broken his back, and had been lying there freezing for over an hour. I stayed with him, while Dad and bro went to call an ambulance ... we never got so much as a thank-you.

6. I was waiting tables at a small privately owned family type restaurant and we were ‘in the weeds’. Everyone was in a rush. I had a party of 15 in the dining room furthest from the kitchen, plus two other tables. I was pre-bussing the large party’s table, and greatly overloaded a tray. I don’t mean the cocktail, pizza sized, tray. Oh no, I mean the size that could hold six dinner plates plus all the sides, and I packed that puppy full! Arriving at the dish station I discovered (belatedly) that someone had dropped a butter ramekin and tried to wipe it up with a wet towel - effectively smearing it everywhere. I hit the butter just as I was stopping to set the tray down on the dish table. The tray sailed out of my hands, over the dishes already on the table and dumped into the floor on the machine side ... at the same time I was sliding on my ass, under the table. I arrived on the machine time the same time the dishes did. Oh my achin’ head.

7. About five years ago, D and I, my dad and step mom packed up the SUV and drove to Georgia to participate in BRAG or Bike Ride Across Georgia. The plan was for D to set up and tear down camp each day and follow the ride from stop to stop, while the three of us actually rode. One morning, about half way through the ride we took off to the start line I realized that I had failed to snap the strap on my helmet closed. Rather than stop, and fall behind the others, I took three big pumps on the pedals, sat up and went ‘no hands’ to clip the offending strap. My front tire clipped a rock and jack knifed the wheel. I was on the ground before I knew what had happened. My step mom, hearing the crash, looked back and got so upset she started yelling the wrong husband’s name (she was yelling for the father of her kids, not my father - heh). Luckily, I made my dramatic crash in front of a woman with a ten year old son. She was on me with Bactine and bandages before I got un-clipped from my pedals and my feet under me again.

Posted by Shan on 01/30 at 04:35 PM
Enough About You • Permalink

Page 1 of 1 pages

Unfinished Object

Quote of The Day

Navigation

Where I Play

Categories

Read

Lurk

Inspire

Crafting For A Cause

Green

Diversions

Photos

Search This Site

Monthly Archives

Site Credits