The Unusual Occupant

The view outside my office window is of a small residential road that passes to the west of our building. Across the street there is a small brown two-story home with a two-stall garage.

Today there are tiny wisps of snow flying. The wind can’t seem to make up its mind and the tiny flakes fly helter-skelter in the air. Not being from Michigan originally, snow mesmerizes me. I can watch it for hours and be awed by the wonder of it.

Ever since I was a young girl I have this game I play. As a child I would look out the window (particularly at night) and see the lights on through the windows of other homes on our block. The amber glow through the curtain always intrigued me. I would create a story about the people who lived behind those curtains. Those stories filled my evenings and took me far away from the hell that was my childhood. As an adult, the need for those stories to take me away from reality has diminished but the desire to create them has not. So, back to the small house…

I watch the people who occupy that small brown house, come and go. Their choice of exterior décor is funny to me…a large and very weather-worn checkered flag is nailed over a broken window. On it is emblazoned the NASCAR logo. Old Glory makes an odd counterpoint on the opposite end of the house covering another broken window. In a corner where the breezeway meets the house itself, is an ever-changing pile of stuff. The odds and ends that occupy this little space are in a constant state of flux. There are all kinds of children’s toys, an old dishwasher, a rusty charcoal grill and assorted other items. I swear the toys change from day to day. I don’t know if someone comes in the night and raids the little pile. Maybe they take what they need and leave what they’ve got. I’m not sure. Yesterday there was a little kiddy pool but today the pool is gone and has been replaced by what looks like a large plastic see-saw.

The pile notwithstanding, there has also been a parade of different cars for sale. Today’s occupant is a late 70’s model Lincoln Continental. Big, brown, and ugly, it stands sentinel beside the garage with a dilapidated For Sale sign in the windshield. The corner boasts a Sea Doo for sale, with its own trailer. Although one of the trailer tires is flat, the Sea Doo looks to be in great shape.

The story I’ve created to go with the brown house isn’t anything anyone else wouldn’t assume. But just the other day I was surprised in such a way that the story has completely changed and my method of putting those stories together has been forever altered.

A white truck backed into the drive. To the truck was attached a covered trailer. It could have contained landscaping equipment, but it seemed too nice a trailer for that. Maybe there was a motorcycle in it, but the house and the story I had in my head about its occupants, didn’t seem nice enough for that. The man who climbed out of the truck once it had stopped fit my story on the house perfectly. John Deere hat perched atop a scruffy pate and worn jeans over work boots were the perfect compliment to a NASCAR jacket boasting a huge number 8. He met and shook hands with a gentleman who’d come out of the brown house. Brown-house guy was attired similarly but wearing a flannel plaid jacket, and neither of them noticed me or my snooping. The two men exchanged some idle chatter and while NASCAR jacket butted his cigarette they approached the garage.

The garage door slowly trundled open and, much to my surprise, revealed a strikingly clean and surprisingly empty space. NASCAR pulled down the ramp on the trailer, opened the double doors and began to undo latches and straps. He pulled gently and as I watched what he removed from the trailer I thought to myself, “That’ll learn me to make assumptions!”

It was an airplane. The wings seemed to fold up or back. I can’t really tell how they folded it up to fit in that trailer. The propeller had been removed and so had the tail section.

Amazingly, these to rough, grizzly guys had flown this plane some time recently and now it was time to put away their toy. They carefully guided it out of the trailer along with all its miscellaneous and disconnected parts and pieces. The disassembled airplane fit perfectly in the garage. I could tell that there were hooks and anchors put in that garage specifically for that airplane. The guys were careful about attaching straps and tightening things to secure their aircraft. It seemed so out of place, that little white plane and its unlikely pilots. I watched in awe as they put everything in its place and then pulled down the door and locked it.

It seemed so unlikely a thing to be in that garage and I knew that in a millennium I never would have guessed, based on the story in my head, that there was an airplane in that garage. I guess it goes to show you never can tell.

Tuesday Morning Musings

No one makes much of a fuss about January 2nd. All of the "Year in Review" stuff happens all day on January 1st and everyone pretty much jumps on that band wagon. Well...I have a confession to make. That band wagon takes off each year with all the sincerity its passengers can muster and it's always light one Puerto Rican tush!

Honestly, I'm too busy reading or watching about everyone else's recollections of the year that I don't take too much time to consider my own musings of the past year. So today (because Spiffy suggested I "write, write, write") I'll take my own version of the jog down memory lane.

I turned 40 this year. I milestone I met head on and with feeling! I cut my very long hair, very very short and dyed it blue and black. I pierced my bellybutton and got a great tattoo and then I paused.

I am, by trade, a realtor and mortgage broker. It was pretty hard to continue being taken seriously by my middle-aged, mid-western clientele having navy blue hair, and so...the hair went back to just black and I quit with the short, belly-exposing shirts and tried to conform to being middle-aged too! Often I could be seen sitting alone in my car stifling cries of, "I object!!!" The objection was to how quickly 40 creeps up on you and kicks you in the arse, HARD.

All the complaining subsided to find me glad to be comfortable in my own skin. I can look at myself in the mirror and say, "Hmmm...not bad for an old broad." I was over the angst that riddled my 20's and the "busy" years of my 30's. Forty found me hitting my stride. My life has a comfortable rhythm for which I am grateful. The blue hair was just a hiccough, I think.

So with most of the anguish generated by the big 4-0 out of my system, life carried on as usual. I had a new EX boyfriend and a new house. Dating was exciting (for about 5 minutes) and I felt as if 2006 was loaded with possibility. The year crept on and life passed by; work, home, work, home; and the occassional blind date. Some of those dates beg a post entirely their own!

As the days ticked past, the possibility of possibility seemed less...well...possible. My real estate career waxed and waned (mostly waned) and a couple of investments went in the toilet.

So here I am in January of 2007, looking back at a year that was, at best, uneventful and looking forward again with hope and expectation. A new boyfriend, a new bathroom in the new, old house and lots of new projects to begin and finish in my new/old house seem to jam me back in to the possibility frame of mind!

Here's to a better year this time around, and if that doesn't work out...well there's always '08!!!

Second Chances...

A loud rapping at the door awoke me from a deep dreamy sleep. It was early, too early to be awake, and certainly too early to be out in the streets pounding on doors. I thought that there must be some emergency in town and ran to the door to find out whatever news there was from whoever was there. Much to my surprise, there was no-one at the door ready to identify themselves and their message, and yet a package with my name on it had been left at the door. It was a most curious circumstance, and yet I saw no real harm in it, because secret gift giving was the hallmark of the holiday season. I myself had delivered many a gift in that manner over the years. The package was heavier than it should have been from its size, and once I had it indoors I eagerly opened it to find out what it was and who had sent it. Alas, there was no identification of the giver, and more's the pity because what was inside was a most remarkable carved wood box, worked with figures of animals and dragons all over, in a magnificent shade of red. Whoever sent it to me must have been a prankster, though, because I could see no way into the box, no clasp or lock announced itself, no hinge or platen presented itself as a means to the inside. I was locked out, and most frustrated by this unfortunate turn of events.





I set off for the kitchen and, if I was lucky, a screwdriver. It occurred to me that the painstakingly detailed carving would be ruined by my bullish attempt to get to the contents of the box. Curiosity urged me on. I picked up the box and it began to hum, seemingly loudly enough to wake the entire neighborhood. A quick glance at the dog though, found my faithful pooch legs up, snoring like the good guard dog he was.

I placed the box on the kitchen counter for fear of dropping it and the hum abruptly stopped. How could it be? My mind fought hard against the perception that this small thing had been the author of that hum. Yet the memory of it was like ripples in a pond long after a stone has broken its surface. The box now seemed an ominous, living thing.

I found the courage to reach out and touch the box again. Nothing. Without warning the box began to glow. My eyes filled with an intense, blinding light… then a vision. The face of my brother, these long years dead. My heart ached for him. The vision changed to my first singing performance. Applause washed over me like healing water. My regrets, one by one played on that bright screen …everything I ever wished to re-do.

The humming returned so suddenly it was painful. The floor pitched and yawed beneath my feet and I fell to my knees. The humming crowded out the light and I spiraled into darkness.

I came to slowly, in an unfamiliar bed. I was afraid. Innately I knew these surroundings were mine, but I also knew I’d never been here before. Beside my bed was the red carved box. The sound of approaching footsteps created a sudden rush of adrenaline that threatened to return me to unconsciousness.

“Señora?” the door opened. “Yes?” I inquired. “Tu hermano esta llamando.” My head swam. I picked up the receiver at my bedside, “Hey,” the voice was unmistakable and darkness threatened again to swallow me up… “Hey,” I croaked back. “Let’s take the boys to the beach today. I’ll be over in an hour…get your sorry ass out of bed. Love you bye.” I couldn't answer.

Then I heard them running up the stairs. The three of them home and in my room laughing. They were little again … I held them and smelled their smell and cried. The box had done this! I’d prayed so many nights…. “Please God; I beg you…turn back the hands of time. Give me another chance. I know better now….” and now it was done.

There it sat ominously unsolved on my nightstand. As my children sat around me on my bed I didn’t care about its solution. It wasn’t for me to solve, just to pay it forward.

I’ll package the box again and leave it on some unsuspecting doorstep because after all, we do serve a God of second chances.

Back in the Saddle Again

Of all the bright ideas I've had lately, few have been as rewarding as the one I had yesterday.

Friday night was moving right along...my boyfriend and I were about two glasses into a bottle of red wine and I was happy to be back from my long trip to Florida. Twenty-two hours of driving does something to a girl, and my butt was glad to be out of the driver's seat and onto the couch. So after a great dinner at my favorite pseudo-Italian eatery we began the party in earnest.

Mike and I canoodling rather nicely when the phone rang, and against my better judgment and the protests of my warm and cuddly significant other, I answered its persistent buzzing. The caller...none other than my very good friend Leslie brayed savagely in my ear, "Step away from the man!" Leslie is trying to keep both me and my SO from spending every waking moment tangled up in each other. Some would say she's doing a great job. If you ask me sometimes it can be a great BIG pain in the keester!

"Hey," says she... "wanna go horseback riding?"

What you should know before I go further is that I became addicted to all things horsey about 5 years ago. I worked for a doctor in south Florida, home-schooling her three kids. This doctor was a great equestrian and competed in hunter jumping (horsey talk for jumping over really tall fences). It started innocently enough. "Just move the horses from this paddock to that one please." or "If you wouldn't mind helping the kids tack up." or "Could you just ride the roan...he hasn't had enough exercise this week." Before I knew it, I was the school teacher and the groom.

So back to our story...

I am a pretty experienced rider. Been on quite a few horses in my short equestrian career. So when Leslie and her sister asked, "You wanna ride the psycho horse?" I was up for the challenge, or so I thought. I watched a young girl put said horse, Dolly by name, (though there's nothing remotely doll-like about the beast) through its paces and thought that perhaps Leslie was exaggerating. I should have remembered that Leslie isn't really prone to exaggeration. It should have been more evident during the tumultuous start we had. Dolly circled around and around, throwing her head and yanking on the bit. Nothing subtle about our girl Dolly. She made it quite clear that she was displeased with the Puerto Rican shape of the hiney in the saddle, and that she preferred the Anglo hiney she was accustomed to.

Having been asked several times if I was experienced, I wanted to make sure that I didn't show how unsure I was about this lunatic animal. You see, for the most part horses can become used to the people who ride them everyday but after a few minutes with someone new in the saddle they usually settle down. Also, I thought that since she had already been ridden to the point of being sweaty and seemingly tired, she wouldn't object for too long. Boy was I wrong.

I'll spare you the logistics of what it took to get 15 people tacked and ready to ride except that it took about a twenty minute ride to meet up with the other half of our posse who were patiently waiting at a place heretofore referred to only as "Grimms". We rode from one "barn" to a place that for the purposes of this blog I'll say reminded me very much of a modern-day Ponderosa. These people had the setup of life! For a horsey chick like me it was bordering the orgasmic! A beautiful ranch-style house that was 3000 square feet if it was an inch, and a matching barn with about 10 stables and all the gadgets that you could want.

You should know that our good friend Spiffy was along for the merriment and made a valiant effort and kept his "fat ass" (please see his blog dated 12/29/06) in the saddle.

There we were, eagerly waiting for the leader of our little band of riders to choose our trail when Spiffy announces that the family jewels can't take another second of abuse. We tried to convince him that a change of saddles would help, but Spiffy is a lot smarter than he looks and wasn't taking the bait. So he untacked and proceeded to make himself comfortable on the flat bed of a trailer that was parked next to a big field. We left Spiffy behind and took off on our adventure.

As previously mentioned our band included about 15 I think...it's all a blur really. What I can say is that we all proceeded in some semblance of order down a beautiful wooded trail. I was excited enough that my heart was thumping double time in my chest. I could feel Dolly starting to get a little skittish under me but I knew she'd ridden this trail dozens of times and she knew it a lot better than I did.

We rounded a bend with big pine trees that opened to a small clearing and a nice straightaway. Dolly knew the drill like I said and proceeded from a lively trot to a full gallop. Think Porsche going 0-60 in about 5.2...

On a really good day I weigh about 145lbs. I look a lot skinnier than I am, and for that I am truly grateful. With that said, it pays to remember that the law of gravity cares little for what you look like. Dolly was going full tilt down the straightaway with nary a thought for the weight or age of the Puerto Rican hiney aforementioned.

It happened, at least to me, in very slow motion. Like the frame by frame slow mo used in instant replays during a football game. My left foot came loose of the stirrup just as Dolly started to realize there was a two-ton horsey butt coming up on us really fast. Dolly began to put on the breaks. I came up out of the saddle and since there was no stirrup on my left foot began to go over the left side. I willed my right foot out of the other stirrup quick (nothing worse than being attached by one ankle to a "psycho" horse!!) and turned my back toward the ground. The fall was eternal. Several minutes seemed to pass as I braced myself for impact. My mind was screaming and all I could hear was, "this is REALLY going to hurt!!!"

Today I wish that Dolly had been just a couple of hands taller...then I would have had ample time to execute my double pike and land precisely as I'd intended...on my back. However, the truth of the matter is that Dolly is probably just short enough to deprive me of a mere two additional seconds I required to position my elderly body for the least damaging fall. So...guess where I landed...?? Square on my tailbone. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I landed on one of the few bones of the body, that when broken cannot be set in a cast.

It hurt so bad I cried. Literally. But after a few minutes of self-pity, I climbed right back on that "biatch" and rode her all the way back to where we'd started. There was Spiffy, lying on his back with his cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes. He sat up and said, "Everything okay?" So I told him the story as I rode over to him, dismounted and hobbled over to where he was to lean for a moment.

To Spiffy's credit he only asked my twice how many different ways there were to say stupid in Spanish. He told me I was crazy as we tacked up a new mount for me and said that I should sit this one out. Blue, my new trusty steed, was much more subdued and sweeter than Dolly could ever be.

Today I'm walking around, albeit slowly. My butt feels like it is on fire and sizzling with electric currents. But it could be much worse.

I plan on riding again next weekend but as far as my butt is concerned, Dolly is a serious candidate for the nearest glue factory.

To Blog, Perchance...

Originally posted in December and accidentally erased...somehow...

So I've given myself several excuses today and I must say they have all sounded completely reasonable to me...excuses for not sitting here subjecting myself to what amounts to flagellation of the ego.

All the usual suspects presented themselves for consideration, "Who the hell's gonna read the blathering of some middle-aged broad?!?!" took her place at the head of the line, planted her feet, crossed her arms and added a belligerent, "Huh?? Answer me that?" Well, in the absence of a reasonable answer, I gave the bitch the boot!

In the words of my Cuban dad, "aqui va!"

If you are part of the 40-something club you already know that being in this age category comes with a number of huge...let's see, how to put this diplomatically...setbacks. Yes, that's the word...setbacks. Not the least of which is that you get a little slower on the uptake...once you get rolling and begin to pick up momentum you actually feel as if you're keeping up with the masses, but until then...it's pretty much waiting for the light to come on.

My good friend said, "Hey, how 'bout a butt-load of fun..." to which I responded with my customary...."Count me in..."

That's how Spiffy got me to have a couple of Foster's, sat me in front of his computer and help me set this up.

So here I am...can't wait to make some sort of valid contribution, while simultaneously keeping from being trampled by the masses I'm trying to keep up with!

First Post Evah!

Hi, I'm Marisol. This is my first post ever in my long and storied life. If you stick around, I'll tell you about it. But for now, I have to poop.