Sweatin to the Oh No! or Oh Lucy VII

They opened a new exercise facility in my apartment complex and I was inspired. When I realized I was about to reach the first age that I would be tempted to lie about, I was motivated. When the bathroom scale reached an obscene number, I was hysterical, uh I mean determined.

I purchased some workout clothes that would hide as many of the reasons I needed to work out as possible, and asked my sister to go with me for moral support. She teeters between being inspiring and discouraging since she is 4 years older and can outrun me at a walk, but I needed all the help I could get.

I set what I thought were tiny little goals so I would feel accomplished and started my workout. But as my sister was jogging on the treadmill I was coming face to face with my mortality. One minute and 28 seconds after I started walking, the treadmill arrogantly slowed to cool down mode without even consulting me and the electronic readout said that I had reached my maximum heart rate. My tiny goals had suddenly become life threatening and visions of pacemakers flashed through my mind.

Did I get discouraged? Not at all! OK, my sister is going to read this, so yes.
Did I go back the next day? Yes! No, really I did.
Did I do any better? I went back the next day – enough said!

I have now been going back at least 4 times a week for a month, with my notebook in hand to chronicle every tiny improvement and keep myself motivated. Occasionally, that motivation becomes very important. Take today for example. I leaned over to pick up my pen which had fallen out of the cup holder to try and catch it before it rolled off the end of the treadmill. Realizing immediately that I was about to follow it, I popped back up catching the corner of my eye on my notebook. It just happened to be propped up on top of the machine near the emergency stop button. Let’s just say my exit was less than graceful but I am not convinced it warranted the guffaw that came from the guy two machines down.

Am I going back tomorrow? Well, I am inching closer to my age of denial, farther from my obscene weight and my seemingly life threatening goals have been reached and exceeded without the help of a pacemaker – enough said!

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.

A Body in the Trunk or Oh Lucy VI

Every year my husband and I went deer hunting on a family farm about 4 hours from home.  One year he got a doe on Sunday afternoon.  The processor near the farm was not open on Sunday so we had to bring the deer home on the roof of our Suburban.  It was unseasonably warm that year so we covered it with a tarp packed with ice.  That night he hung it in the garage and we planned to transport it to our local processor when he got home from work the next day.

Monday afternoon he called and told me that he had to work late and since it was so hot we would probably end up paying for its disposal.  Our family loved venison and the meat would really help keep the grocery bills down for the winter so I decided I had to try and save it.

It was hanging right above our chest freezer in the garage so I put a tarp over the freezer and tried to release the pulley rope slowly to gently lay it down.  I should have stopped right after several hundred pounds of dead weight crashed down onto the freezer but I was determined.

 The next step was to back the car up and pull the tarp and deer into the trunk.  Unbelievably, it worked but suddenly I knew it had all been too easy.  The deer was lying in the trunk with its legs sticking straight up.  I grabbed a leg to fold it down but it was then I realized that rigor mortis applied to deer too.  I could not close the trunk and I wasn’t about to drive to the processor like that.  I literally had to climb in with the dead body and push with all my strength to wedge its legs beneath the back of the trunk.  The legs were so stiff that the deer was locked into position by the tension.

 Game usually appeared at the processors in the back of pick-up trucks so when I told them it was in the trunk they seemed amused, until it took 3 of them to get it out because it was wedged in so tightly.  The best part was trying to convince my husband that I had actually managed to get it there by myself.  I don’t think he believes it to this day.

Oh Lucy, Lord Help Me

Oh Lucy, how I laughed at all your antics way back when
Wondering how I could believe the messes you got in

Never thinking anyone, least of all myself
Would ever find themselves in awkward places yelling help

But suddenly I noticed that things were happening
That bore a strange resemblance to some episodes I'd seen

I realized that others might begin to make connections
And so prayed this prayer to the Lord for His protection

Lord help me when I step outside the box into the muck
And help me please when my miscalculations get me stuck

Lord help me when curiosity leads me off your path
And when my brilliant schemes disclose the common sense they lack

So Lord will you please give me the wisdom that I need
To see less and less of Lucy in my thoughts and in my deeds

Oh Lucy, you have taught me to laugh at my mistakes
I count them now with all my blessings as my life's outtakes

A Fool Proved Plan or Oh Lucy V

Well here I am again after the longest “month” in history.  The changes to Naphtali’s Land are not quite as amazing as I had hoped they would be.  My own technological deficiencies, procrastination and disorganization are mostly to blame and I won’t even mention the writer’s panic. (Kind of like writer’s block but heavy on the self-doubt).  But my love for writing, reminiscing and sharing His love won out.  I have added some pictures and will continue to add to them to future and past posts as I find them (that is the disorganization part). So without further ado, welcome to the new, semi-illustrated Naphtali’s Land.

 

  

Determined to get back to writing, I decided that a desk in the living room was the answer to the things that had been getting in the way of my creativity. There was a wonderful large wooden desk in my bedroom on the 3^rd floor that I thought would be perfect set back in the corner. I could look out over the balcony, inspired by the seasons and be more accessible to family, kitchen and yes I admit it, the TV. 

 I was so excited about it that I almost didn’t consider how I would get it down the stairs.  My plan consisted of laying it down on its’ top, getting in front of it on the stairs, and slowing sliding down on the seat of my pants with it braced against my back.  I thought that by holding on to the railings on either side of the stairs the chances of anything going wrong were minimal.

 

After taking the drawers out and flipping it over I maneuvered it to the top of the stairs, positioned myself in front of it and reached back to gently tip it over the top step.
I am not sure what all the natural forces that came into play were but they meant business.  I am pretty sure gravity was one of them because as soon as the desk tilted down it began to slide and was not inclined to stop.  It suddenly weighed 500 lbs and there was no way I could either straighten all the way up or relax into a fully seated position.  Half crouched, holding on to the railings for dear life and pushing my back against it as hard as I could, I realized I was no longer in control. Praying as I inched my way down each step I seriously asked the Lord not to let my family find my lifeless body at the bottom of the steps crushed beneath the desk.

To make matters worse when I finally got to the bottom and tried to turn it into the living room it got stuck against the wall opposite the stairs, suspended above the floor.  It is a free standing staircase.  The kind that kids and dogs like to run around from room to room, and I found myself doing a variation of that as I went back and forth repositioning it inch by inch until I could set it down on the floor without damaging the wall.

I am sitting at the desk as I write this thinking about how I pray each day that God will give me the strength and determination I need for whatever I do.  From now on though I think I will let Him pick the projects.

 

I Am Sorry Officer But I Just Can't Do That or Oh Lucy IV

My husband and I shared our truck until his parents gifted us with their old car.  The only problem was I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift.  I was so anxious to learn that I insisted on having my first lesson the night it arrived.  It was dark and snowy so we drove around the parking lot of a local shopping center to play it safe.

 We only lived a few blocks from the school so I thought it would be good practice to pick up the kids the next day.  Everything was fine until I came to a stop sign on top of a small hill.  School had just let out and there was a line of traffic behind me.  There were no hills in the parking lot the night before and when I tried to release the clutch to move forward, the car rolled backwards.  I took a deep breath and tried a second time but it rolled back again to within a few inches of the car behind me. That driver decided the solution to my problem was to lay on her horn.  Horrified I turned on the flashers, opened my window and waved the cars around me.

Suddenly a squad car pulled up behind us with its lights on.  The officer walked over to my window and asked if the car had broken down.  I had no idea what to say so I answered rather shortly that it had not.  He said that I would have to move along then because I was holding up traffic.  Choking back tears I told him that I just could not do that.  He seemed shocked as I just sat there clutching the wheel. The kids had all but melted under the back seat in humiliation and didn’t say a word. He asked why I couldn’t move and I was forced to tell him the embarrassing truth, bracing myself for whatever penalty I would receive for refusing his order.  Trying not to laugh he kindly told me how to use the emergency break to keep from sliding backwards.  He waited while I tried it and even blocked anyone else from going around me until I was safely underway. I never had the chance to thank him because I had no intention of stopping again until I reached home, but I will never forget him.

A Rare Occasion or Oh Lucy III

 The head cook on the guest ranch I worked on was in her 70’s and planning to retire. As her apprentice I learned to cook family style for 110.  My final exam was cooking Sunday night dinner for the new guests.  The menu was always roast beef, baked potatoes, green beans, fresh baked rolls and homemade cherry pie.  It was the most important meal of the week and when I proved that I could serve it successfully I became the head cook.  

The baker and I spent almost all day in the kitchen on Sundays cooking breakfast and lunch for the staff and preparing for dinner.  When the pies were cooling, the rolls were rising and the roasts and potatoes were in the ovens, we finally got a much needed break.  I knew something had gone terribly wrong one Sunday evening when I went back to the kitchen.  The room felt cold and there was no delicious smell of roasting meat coming from the ovens. I forgot to turn them on when I put the roasts in.

Just then the ranch owner came in to check on dinner.  He stopped short then started flinging open the oven doors and pulling the raw roasts out.  He yelled for me to bring him the large knife and turn the ovens on as high as they could go. Slicing the roasts in half he threw them back in the ovens and told me to cut the time on the potatoes before he slammed out the door.  Everyone had a choice between well done and rare meat and the potatoes were a combination of crunchy and mushy. If it wasn’t for the fact that our baker made the best homemade rolls and cherry pies in the world the entire meal would have been a disaster.  The owner apologized to the new guests and explained that there had been a problem with the ovens allowing me to save face during the staff introductions after dinner. He never said anything to me about what happened and I never left the kitchen after the roasts went in again.

Just a Big Blow Hard or Oh Lucy II

Everyone should have at least one opportunity to work in a factory during their lifetime.  It makes you appreciate the work that goes in to even the smallest things.  Machines do much of the work but there are still many jobs that require human dexterity, and an eye for detail.

One of my first jobs was in a factory that made plastic toys.  My first day there I was assigned to the assembly line that made inflatable kites.  I was given the easiest position on the line.  All I had to do was inflate every tenth kite with an air hose to make sure the seams did not leak.  I couldn’t believe how simple it was.  I forgot my nerves and imagined myself earning the quickest promotion in the history of the company. 

The line began to move and the kites began to fall into the box in front of me.  I watched carefully and pulled out the 10^th kite.  I had to keep count as I inflated the kite so I pushed the air hose in and kept my eyes on the line.  Luckily the kites came down rather slowly because there was some glue on the label that had to dry before they continued.

Bam! The noise was deafening and I was sure that I had lost at least one finger as I felt the sting of the plastic against my hand.  I heard a few soft giggles but the line never stopped.  I pulled myself together and tried to figure out how many kites I had missed during the explosion.

I took a guess and pulled out another kite.  Bam! I couldn’t believe I did it again.  This time the giggles were louder and I saw the supervisor heading my way.  She asked if there was problem and I said I thought I just needed a lighter touch on the air hose.  Apparently, I didn’t know my own strength because the explosions continued throughout the day.  They were fewer and farther between but still too many to keep the giggles from turning into icy stares.  I would like to say the day 2 was better but there wasn’t one by mutual agreement. 

For The Birds or Oh Lucy 1

 

A memorable moment while building our quail egg business was hatching our first batch of 500 eggs.  Right on schedule tiny chirps were heard from our brand new incubator which we kept inside the house during the winter.  I opened the door and pulled out the screen covered hatching tray which held what looked like a living carpet of downy feathers.   Without thinking I lifted the cover and in a few seconds the living carpet became down covered popcorn as the overcrowded hatchlings began to propel themselves out of the tray and onto the floor. 

At that same moment our two bird dogs came careening down the hallway following the sound of the chirping. I couldn't close the door without sweeping the tiny quail to their deaths but I had to form some kind of barrier between them and the dogs. I sat down, slammed my feet against one side of the doorway and braced my back against the other forming a human fence with my legs.  I shouted whoa which should have stopped the dogs in their tracks but whoa, they did not.  They slowed to an aggressive forward creep until they were straining against my legs wild eyed and licking their chops at the sight of the scattering birds.

With one hand I managed to get the lid back on the tray between bird launches while adding a rail to my human fence with the other arm.  Then in one swift motion I grabbed the dogs by their collars, struggled to my feet and dragged them  to  the bathroom shutting the door.  I ran back, fell to my knees and started stuffing baby quail into my pockets and using the front of my shirt as a makeshift bag.  Thinking I had found them all, I moved  them to the garage grow out pens along with the remaining birds from the hatching tray. 

When I returned the dogs had calmed down and the house was quiet. Then I heard it: one tiny chirp. I tried to follow the sound but every time I moved it stopped.  I knew the baby bird would die quickly without heat and water so in desperation I released the dogs with the command “Find the birds”.  They ran to the incubator and half-heartedly pointed, looking at me as if to say, “Really?! You don’t know where the birds are?” Suddenly there was another tiny chirp.  It only took them a few seconds of recalculation before they were on full point staring at an old boot.  I rescued the bird from the toe of the boot and gave the dogs some treats just as my husband arrived home.  He asked how everything went and I just smiled and said “great!” To this day I believe the dogs were smirking as they walked away.