Archive for October, 2009

Who Wants To Go Hunting?

Someone please tell me what is so great about sitting in a deer stand all day waiting on a deer to come out so you can blow him away. I understand the being in the woods side of it, I love being in the woods myself. But to sit and wait for a deer to come out all day long is beyond me.

We are members of a hunting club in COUNCIL, Georgia. Look that place up in your Funk and Wagnalls. You probably won’t  find it. Right outside of Fargo. There is no phone signal up there. There is absolutely nothing up there but woods and more woods.

I’ve been up there once when the members were  planting 23 – count’em -TWENTY-THREE  food plots. What a show. It was kind of fun. Thought that day would never end. Last week we were on vacation and sitting out back having a few drinks and Tim was telling me about the stars up there at night. How beautiful they are, how you can see gajillions of them. So we loaded up the car with our drinks and food and the pooch and headed the 50 some odd miles up there to see the stars. We could have stopped in St. George to view them, but we kept going. They were indeed beautiful. We stopped at the gate of the club, unloaded our food, ate it with our fingers, poured ourselves another drink and gazed at stars. Then we came home.  We stopped several times along that long, lonely two lane highway to get out and look at the stars. 

Today he went up there again by himself. Left here at 6:00 this morning. At 7:00 pm I’m getting a little antsy, I can’t help it. He’s been gone all day!  I can’t pour myself a drink, I’m trying to dry out from last week. What if I need to drive?  What if I need to go to a hospital?  I don’t need to be drinking.  Besides, it’s Monday, for pete’s sake.  Get a grip Smith!!!  So I pace, I look at the clock, I try and figure out how long it would take if you did kill a deer, had to get it back to the camp, load it in your truck, and bring it home. I do a little praying asking God to give me a sign. Should I be worried? Well, I thought I heard Him say YES.  Who am I to ignore God?  So I call Tim’s friend who is also a club member and ask him. He says give Tim until 9:00 and if he still hasn’t shown up, let him know. I call my friend Cheryl and talk to her. Got her worried. She always gets diarrhea when she gets worried. Hated to do that to her but misery does indeed, love company. We hang up and I scrub the kitchen counters. I scrub them until they’re RAW. I have nothing better to do.  Supper is all cooked and wilting miserably in the pot.  Cabbage and hot dogs, he loves that stuff.  I’d even made pretty little cornbread sticks. 

Meanwhile, I’ve downed three bottles of water trying to pretend it’s a cold beer and I have to pee. Now I have hauled the frigging phone around with me all evening and I stupidly left it on the counter to go to the bathroom. I’m in the middle of a good stream and the phone rings. I cussed, pushed harder trying to get to the end and it’s no good. I’m too old now to stop my pee mid-stream, especially after all that water. So I leap off the toilet and run to the kitchen and peed all over my half-pulled up shorts. It’s my father in law. I explain the situation to him (not the peeing of course) and then ma-in-law gets on the phone and we both have a good worry session. Hang up with them, and decide if I do need to go up to the club, I should probably put on some long pants. I get everything ready, look at the clock, it’s 20 til 9, and as I’m picking up the phone to call Bill, Tim pulls into the yard.

I spend the next 5 minutes calling everyone back to let them know he’s home. Tim pulls down to the barn, and is busy down there. I go to the back fence and try to see if there are antlers hanging out the back of the truck and see none. But that is okay, I’m just so relieved that he’s home, I am almost dizzy.

I didn’t get mad, I didn’t even say much except to tell him what all went on. He gives me this incredulous look and laughs at me. He said he only saw one deer all day and it was too far away to risk shooting and missing.

And for this, we’re paying major hunting club dues, a $300 Georgia license and extra money for the food plots…so I can worry and he can laugh at me. 

In my next life, I want to be a bear.

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Princess Tashi Olivia 1990-2007

This morning I woke up from a dream where I was on an airplane about to crash.  It never did, luckily, because I woke up from fright.  I got up and went and poured myself a coffee.  I’m listening to the news and I’m thinking, “It seems to me they should be saying something about eight years ago today the Twin Towers burned to the ground.”  Or something about that day anyway!

Tim walks out, pours his coffee, sits down and I said, “Today is 9/11, you’d think they’d say something about it on TV.”  He looks at me, pretends to smack me upside the head as if to clear it, and says, “It’s October.  October 8th.”  

I was really befuddled.  I KNEW something had happened on this date!  What, I wondered?  Then I said, “I know!  Mom died on this day!  Uh…no…wait, she died on the 8th, was buried on the 11th”  Then I remembered that happened in September also, the year AFTER 9/11.  So that wasn’t it.

 We sit there and slowly wake up, we don’t say a whole lot, just drink our coffee and drive our coughing nails.  I’m being quiet because I don’t want to say something else stupid.  Then it hits me!  It was Libbey! Libbey died on this date!  I shouted that out causing Tim to slosh his coffee and give me a close look.   I know he is thinking I’m obsessed with death or something. 

 Yet it was.  This morning, two years ago, we sat up with that dog for hours watching her die.  It was so sad.  She woke me up thrashing in the bed about 3:00 am and I at first thought she was just trying to get up to move elsewhere in the bed.  I quickly realized that wasn’t the case.  She would convulse for a few minutes, and thrash, and I held her down on the bed while she did, and when she would stop, we’d lie face to face on the pillow looking at each other.  I cried and I cried. 

 At 7:00 am we took her to the vets and they put her to sleep.  Just like that.  17 years of dog gone with one push of the needle.  Tim and I fell into each others arms and cried like babies.  Even the attendant cried. We took her home and buried her right where I can see her grave every time I sit down under the patio.  Tim engraved her name on one of the bricks lining the gravesite.

 Everyone agrees that was one mean dog.  Man, was she mean.  She bit every kid that came into the house that tried to touch her.  She was notorious for her meanness.  It was a family joke!  However, we loved that silly dog and she was a good dog in her own way.  God knows she was fearless.

 The next day I picked up her bed to wash it, and I held it to my face and smelled it.  I could smell that stinking old dog and it made my eyes well up.  I breathed in the last of her scent and thrust it into the washer.  Wished later I hadn’t done that.  It took me to Christmas to have one more final, good cry.  I was unwrapping the Christmas lights to put on the tree and every year for almost 17 years I’d have to keep picking her up and moving her because she’d insist on walking all over them.  Even when she got old and frail, she walked on the lights.  She always got one squeaky toy for Christmas and she’d unwrap it herself and she was such a joy to watch because she’d be so excited.

 I remembered all that, and much more, and I leaned against the wall right there and I cried.  I mean it.  I wept.  Then I felt better.  Then I went on about my business.

 I hope when we all get to Heaven that those dogs that meant so much to us will be right there at the Gate, chewing on their celestial bones,  waiting for us.

 Dog is, after all, God spelled backwards.

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5 ByPasses?

Les and Marti

Les and Marti

Here is the most current news in the family…Lester had to have bypass surgery last week.  His blood pressure shot so far up that he admitted himself to the hospital and after a weeks worth of testing, found out he had three blockages.  When they performed the surgery, he actually needed five by passes.  Lester is 46 years old.  He is on the road to recovery and he’s feeling pretty good.  In pain, but good.  Back home waiting to go back to work.

I sat at St. Vincents the day of his surgery with his wife Marti during his surgery.  This was the first time I’ve had a chance to just sit and talk with her since she and Les got married!  Lester has married a wonderful woman and he is so lucky…she thinks of him as her best friend!  I don’t know if he knows that or not, but she does.  It was just really nice to get to know her a little better.   We don’t get to see enough of them and we need to change that.

The other day on our way to the hunting club, we passed their house and for the first time saw them both in the yard and stopped in to say hello.  Lester showed us his scar and it is just a thin line down the middle of his chest.  He says he’s going to have a zipper tattoed over it, LOL!   That evening when we passed by again on our way home, we saw them out in the yard and I realize how lucky we are to still have him here.  That he didn’t die.  That he made it through the surgery and is still our Festus.  We blew the horn and we all waved and grinned at each other. 

Way to go Fess!  Love you so much!  Thank you God for my family.

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