The Leap

The room was much larger than imagined. So much space for so much learning and fun. What better place than a gymnastic gym, to host an up and coming gymnasts’ 13th birthday party.

It has been a pleasure to watch her skill sharpen over the last couple of years.  She has traversed the stiff rigid movements and sailed into a sea of fluid gracefulness. One performance even brought tears and thoughts of where in the heck did she get those legs?!

The festivities began on the large floor routine mat. Birthday guests of all sizes. Meaning short and tall, there is little width on the body of a gymnast.  All are gathered on the mat. Some are spinning.  Some flying through the air. Another does backflips, so many it’s dizzying. 

One thing is certain. They are all girls and they are all talking, laughing and squealing, at the same time. Plus, they are inching ever closer to that magical door that enters the teenage years.  The magical door that slams shut with a thud.

Tiring of the floor routines, they made their way to a long, raised apparatus that nearly stretched the length of the building.  Imagine, a long taut trampoline about six feet in width.  First, they hopped the length.  Each hop propelling them higher and higher into the air.  Scurrying back to the starting line, the front flips, back flips, twists and turns commenced again.  All done with grace and such confidence rarely seen in this age group.

Their focus began to change as they all gathered at the far end of the long, taut trampoline.  It was here something marvelous was about to take place.  In single file, each one began to run the width of the building.  Faster and faster until they would leap into the air and as they made their descent, they disappeared into oblivion.  What malfeasance was taking place!?

Leaving the viewing section, walking across the bouncy floor routine mat, the answer became crystal clear.  They were landing in a huge pit.  A huge pit filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of large squares of foam rubber.

This is where the attire chosen for this event came into play.  A favorite pair of jeans topped with a  red silky sleeveless tank.  Watching these events, it is really difficult, regardless of age, not to want to try out the equipment.  A memory, long buried, had been a reminder of another pair of favorite jeans.  Jeans that were destroyed trying to show young daughters how to do a round-up.  The seat had ripped from waistband to inseam….beyond repair, never to be worn again.

Sitting at the edge of the pit, watching all this, a thought entered.  Surely, this could not be fatal, especially to the jeans.  

The adults, who wished to participate, had to sign a waiver.  This was to assure that any stupidity performed, that resulted in injury, lied solely on the individual.  Upon questioning the young lady in charge of the gym, a pass was given for a leap into the pit.

It was magnificent!  Running, though not very fast.  Jumping, though not very high.  Landing into that sea of foam rubber and hearing all the cheers of a job well done!  Then, the real fun began…..for the spectators.

Trying to get out of a sea of foam rubber blocks is far more difficult than getting in.  An old movie began to play in the memory banks.  People on safari, falling into a pit of quicksand.  Sinking, sinking until only their pith helmet floated empty on top of the muck.

Small movements proved fruitless.  Floundering and wallowing were given new meaning, as they were the only tools that seemed to work.  Finally, a rescue plank was sent into the sea.  A gym mat folded, like an accordion.  

It proved to be a life saver.  Even if it did require much more floundering and wallowing to get on top of it.

The red underwire bra, chosen to be worn under the red silky sleeveless tank, that was now in much disarray, turned out not to be a wise choice for gymnastic antics.  The jeans, chosen for not trying gymnastic antics in the first place, proved to be as useful as Velcro when connecting with foam rubber blocks.  But, the leap?  It was worth every millisecond.

A New Horse

The horse had died in its stall.  He had no desire.  To do anything.  He didn’t want to walk or run.  He did not wish to graze in the vast fields that lay before him.

His only contentment was to eat and dream about all the things he wanted to do…..and occasionally drink.  He stood in his stall and the excrement began to pile up.  It began to get so deep that, even if he wanted to do something, he could not move.  When the crap finally reached his neck, he simply laid his head over and died.  Then sunk into the mess until he could no longer be seen.

The stench was bad.  Not just bad.  Horrendous.  Folks driving by could be seen gagging, even with the windows rolled up.

It was time to clean out the stall.  A front-end loader would have been helpful, but it was not an option.  The stall had to be cleaned out with an old scoop.  The first couple of scoops was nearly grounds for mutiny.

The pile slowly began to shift from the stall to a wide open space.  It was full of all sorts of things.  Things like thoughts of failure.  Blaming others. No one cared.  Just can’t do it.  Wanting someone to pump up an old tire, that had a hole in it, with words of encouragement, just to watch them escape out the hole.  Feelings of disparity.  Lots of worry, about things that never came to fruition.  A crap ton of negative thoughts.

That old horse, Procrastination, had no one to blame.  But.  Himself.

When the stall was cleaned out, it looked somewhat different.  Inviting. Almost like new.  Perhaps a new horse.  Certainly not one like before.

Maybe it was better to ponder about that.  Let’s give it the 24 hour wait period and see what happens.  

What happened was very strange.  The huge pile of crap was trying to make its way back to the stall. 

Ancient wise words filtered through. Something about cleaning the rotten stuff out of a house.  If new stuff does not replace it, the old stuff makes its way back in.

The decision was made.  Definitely time for a new horse.

He arrived the next day.  His name is Let’s Get The Fuck Up & Go!  Freak or F**k for those offended.  There was no offense intended.  It is also a code name for Time Is Of The Essence.

He is a beauty!  Tall and excited at whatever life offers him.  He wears blinders because he only has one goal in mind.  He needs not distractions.

It is probably a given that the rider will get bucked off on occasion.  But, this horse came with instructions.  He has been known to grab the rider by the scruff of their neck, toss them onto his back and head out of the gate at full steam.

Hanging on to the saddle horn will be a new past time.

Oh, that huge pile of crap?  Completely disappeared.

Random Thoughts While Driving

 Ode to the Buzzards

Oh Buzzards, Oh Buzzards

Way up so high.

You circle and circle

Against a blue sky.

You ride on the thermals

Before summer storms

Letting them push you

To air that is warm.

Soaring and cruising

Looking for dead stuff.

It does not seem

That your job is too tuff.

Some surely think

That it sucks to be you

Since you are part of

Nature’s clean-up crew.

Doubt that you care

As birds of a feather.

Because it is true,

You are always together.

You’re seen on high places

Covered in morning dew

Wings outstretched looks creepy

But, the sun is drying you.

You’re seen on the roadsides

Having some lunch.

Raccoon pâté,

Or o’possum for brunch.

You’re rather unsightly,

Upon close up view.

There’s a reason for that

And most never knew.

If your bald head had feathers

You would be such a mess

And no one wants gunk

Being brought to the nest.

So, Buzzards, oh Buzzards

It’s good to have you.

Ever so grateful,

You do what you do.

The Insignificant Thief

 It had become a yearly mission. One that was particularly not looked forward to being accomplished.  A small task.  Nor one that was carved in stone as an absolute requirement. It could be completely ignored. Treated like a second thought.  Here one moment, gone the next.

Perhaps it would be different if the course of action did not take place next to one of the busiest thoroughfares in the county.  There is no privacy or secrecy in fulfilling the job at hand.  Wide open space, with many a piercing eye.

This time, it was nearly too late.  Justly caused by the afore mentioned second thought.  The harvest could still be gathered, but the harvest was likely to be in a most unfavorable condition.

The mission was to retrieve live plants from the graves of past loved ones.  There had been strict instructions, spoken so many years before…..No plastic flowers.  They needed to be rescued from their own untimely demise, beneath rainless blue skies. This year, there were four pots: parents, a cousin taken long before his time and two sets of unknown grandparents.

The first three targets are easy bullseyes.  The fourth is always a  game of hide & seek.

Standing in a sea of stones, looking for the needle in the haystack, makes it impossible to not start reading.  Reading names and dates.  Wondering who they were. What had they done with their time.  Did they live each moment following their hearts’ desires?  Or listen to the silent whispers of defeat?  Pangs of sadness at the passing of a child being replaced with a sense of awe at a long, long life.  

Turning in a circle, scanning and feeling so small and insignificant. Like a grain of sand on an endless beach.

Then it happened.  A name.  So familiar for so many years.  Glistening in the sunlight.  It was much further south than it was the year before.  How had that happened?

Trekking through the stones, offering up the occasional “sorry”, for possibly trodding too close, the fourth target came into view.  The second set of unknown grandparents.  Gifts of late in life children.

With the last dreadful looking petunia in tow, the inside of a sweltering car gave a sense of, not only a mission accomplished, but also a sense of shelter.  Hiding the thievery that was surely seen by many.

The soil around each plant was so dry it had shrunk from the sides of the pot.  Water poured out the bottom as fast as it went in the top.  They were placed in a square cake pan and watered again until the water nearly filled the pan.  Small words of encouragement were given.  All that was left was time.

The next morning, a small miracle had taken place.  Each plant was in full bloom.  Not one drop of water remained in the pan.  They will be enjoyed for the remainder of their season.  The feeling of being insignificant is but a fading memory.