I’ll take another opportunity, another day, to wax nostalgic about the day Olivia was born ten years ago today. Fortunately, she’s having her party this Friday. Because today didn’t go quite as planned…
Problem No. 1: Aunt Carrie, who picks Olivia up from the bus when I’m working, called and said Car #1 had a good battery but a flat tire and no spare. Car #2 had a flat tire, a spare, but needed jumped. And the air compressor to air up the tire(s) was smoking. And Car #1 couldn’t reach Car #2 to jump it. Yeah, even I can’t sort all that out. Bottom line: Carrie can’t pick up Olivia.
I got ahold of Olivia’s classmate’s mother Sandy, who very cheerfully offered to pick Olivia up and keep her until I could get home from the city.
I’ve been to Sandy’s house about three times. Most people wouldn’t have any trouble going someplace again if they’ve been there three times already. But I have the directional sense of a bag of marbles. Put me down anywhere – in the town, in the country – and I’ll roll about aimlessly, trying to get my bearings.
But no problem – I have Sandy’s location in my GPS. That’s how I get there. And everywhere. I get lost in malls.
Now, mind you, I am not the type of genius who obediently turns left when “Cletus” says “Y’all go left now” even if doing so clearly sends me into a ravine. I like to think I’m smarter than “Cletus,” my redneck GPS.
But honestly, Ponderosa Road didn’t look that muddy to me. If that was the way to go, so be it. By the time it got really muddy, I felt committed. I was doing fine in the muddy track-ruts. And then… I wasn’t. I had no worries about anyone coming along and hitting me while I sat there, disabled (the car, not me), in the middle of the road. Because no one else was out driving on that road!!! Hmm, maybe I need to revise that part about who or what is disabled….
Thank God for cell phones. So I sat and did a little knitting while I waited for Sandy, who has a four-wheel drive truck and a chain (and a hearty chortle, I might add), to come pull me out.
She had the grace to stop laughing, though, once she arrived, saw my car, and drawled “We’re gonna need a tractor.”
I know that I have “arrived” in Missouri, because that sounded perfectly logical and actually presented no challenge whatsoever, as I have “Farmer John’s” phone number in my cell. I’d have it on speed dial, as much as he helps me out, but I’m afraid I’d butt-dial him; and I don’t think his 67-year-old never-been-married bachelor heart could handle the thought of anything to do with my butt.
Sandy drove me home to change clothes and shoes, although I kind of liked tramping through ankle-high mud in my brown tweedy skirt and pink wool jacket. Mud is the new black. And I look fine in black.
There is nothing as beautiful as the sight of my kind, neighborly farmer pulling up on his tractor (and yes, I do think his tractor’s sexy) to save the day. I’m going to have to knit that man some gloves or something.
He got me out, but not without, uh, a little damage.
I figure my “Missouri Trifecta” is almost complete. Since moving to rural Missouri, I have (1) gotten stuck in the mud my sister warned me about.
(2) I have hit a deer:
So much for resale value.
The only thing missing to make things complete is a tornado. Maybe that’ll come for my birthday in June…
Happy birthday, Olivia!