Two In The Hand is Not All It's Cracked Up To Be

Working in the kitchen at the guest ranch I didn’t get too many opportunities to ride or learn to be the cowgirl I dreamed about.  I had already discovered that I was not a natural and was actually somewhat afraid of the powerful beasts now that I had met them up close and personal.  I was determined to overcome my fear so when they asked for volunteers in an emergency situation I stepped up.

The heavy rains the night before had threatened to flood the riding trails due to a beaver dam blocking the creek.  A few of the wranglers had gone out early to dynamite the dam when someone realized one of the pastures near there had not been cleared of horses.  The less experienced staff got a two minute class on how to lead a horse quickly and safely without getting stepped on.  The few wranglers there were catching the horses and putting bridles on them.  All we had to do was lead them back in.

I reached a wrangler and he handed me the lead.  After having only gone a short way another wrangler came up asked if I thought I could handle two at a time.  I didn’t have time to answer before he put the lead in my hand and ran off to get another horse.  Being sandwiched between them was pushing me toward panic so I kept my arms out as far as I could to avoid being crushed.

As I approached the barn I notice some wranglers who seemed to be arguing and pointing in my direction.  One of them held his hand up as though I should stop but before I could, the cowboy next to him slapped his hand down and gestured for me to keep coming.  After a got a little closer he ran out grabbed one of the horses and swung it out and away from the barn, while I led the other one in.

My pride at helping to rescue them from danger was soon replaced with horrified relief when they explained that the two horses I was leading were bitter rivals. The potential for a truly life threatening confrontation was pretty high but the wrangler that handed me the second horse was new and did not recognize the first one.  The argument I had seen was about if the odds of a fight would be better or worse if I stopped and waited for someone to come to my aid.  The final consensus was, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.  Cowboy wisdom or wishful thinking, I didn’t want to know.

Sign Swiped or Oh Lucy VI

 Although my husband usually handled the lawn mowing, when he didn’t have time I would pitch in.  One day as I was mowing the shallow ditch near the road, something suddenly flew up from under the mower. It smacked me in the shoulder hard enough to make me take a step back.

It was one of those moments when I was truly afraid to look.  When I did, all I saw was a perfectly round hole, about the size of the eraser on the top of pencil.  It wasn't bleeding much, but the size and shape gave me the creeps and I was almost afraid to feel the back of my shoulder for fear that I would find an exit wound.  I cleaned and bandaged it then finished the lawn.

My husband called at lunch time and I mentioned that I had a little accident.  Trying to be funny and minimize the issue I told him that I had been shot.  (In our neighborhood that was only slightly outside the realm of possibility).  I was laughing when I said it but even after I explained he didn’t join in.  I received a rather stern lecture about how serious it could be if a foreign object was lodged in the wound and was told to go to the acute care center to have it checked out.

It was embarrassing to explain how I happened to get a perfectly round hole in my shoulder and the doctor seemed more amused than concerned.  After he checked it out he left for a minute or two only to come back with two more doctors.  I was a little worried that he needed not only a second but a third opinion and asked if it was serious.  “No”, he said, “It has just been a long time since any of us have seen a case of shrapnel “, and 3 out of the four people in the room got a big laugh out of it.

I had completely forgotten about the mower and when I got home my husband had it upside down and was untangling something from the blades.  I had been “shot” by a piece of wire frame that once held a political sign.  The same grey as the dry ground, I hadn’t seen it in the grass.  I spent the rest of the day trying to decide which editor to send the story to at Reader’s Digest:  All in A Day’s Work or Laughter the Best Medicine.

Legacy

They say life flashes before your eyes
When you are about to die

I don’t know if it is a fact
But I wouldn’t be surprised by that

All memories and thoughts set free
From the mortal prison inside of me

Pain and emotions then released
That were held fast by shame and grief

And oh, the joy, the loves the friends
What comfort to see them again

When all has gone from mind and heart
And from this world my soul departs

Will what I saw be captured here
Within all those whose lives I shared

Imprisoned now in their memories
Every time they’d think of me

A weight they’d stumble underneath
Or a gift of love and joy to keep

Lord help me to right all the wrongs
And heal the hurts that I have caused

So when my life passes by my eyes
Your grace and peace I recognize

Then to all who hold my memory
Your love will be my legacy

It Could Have Been Friday Forever

Before our Saviors love displayed
Constant sacrifice was made

To cover sin and ease the shame
Because the law was disobeyed

Atoning blood was spilled each day
To keep the power of sin at bay

And then their came a precious King
To end the pain and suffering

They praised His name and led the way
With hope His power would win the day

They didn’t understand the plan
God our Father designed for man

They chose the innocent again
To be slain by their own hand

They know not what they do He said
As he surrendered all to death

Until His glory was displayed
The day the stone was rolled away

For sins, past present and to come
His sacrifice the victory won

Without His love that knows no measure
It could have been Friday - forever