Tuesday, December 02, 2008

A preview of Christmas-y short story I’m working on… Current mood: artistic Category: Writing and Poetry               “How can you just keep driving!” Sam was completely up in arms. She and Kris had noticed the man wrapped in an army blanket with scuffed up duffle bags at his feet about the same time. They were on the interstate highway headed to town. His cardboard sign read “Home to Dallas for Christmas”. He was graying and weathered. His eyes were even gray. If Kris had to describe him in one word she would have chosen colorless. He looked tired enough to drop. In fact the cardboard placard was really just propped up against the duffle bags.             “Samantha. It’s not like I am just blowing past the guy with no thought. We are just coming in from college for the break. All I said was that, I don’t know about you, but I want to live to see my mother for Christmas. Are you planning on bringing that guy home for diner to your mom’s? We are not even headed to Dallas. And I might add that this is the 21st Century, honey. Have you lost your mind?”             “Have you lost your heart!” Sam was fired up. Kris knew the ‘pastoral gleam’ in her eyes and the furrowed brow of fury. Samantha was going to launch into a patented Sam Forest special sermon on the sacredness of all humanity at any moment. Kris had personally witnessed Sam’s sacrifice and generosity to more people than she could count. She had numerous times fallen into the category of needing the sermon and now knew the signs for an upcoming tirade. Kris was often worried about how much of a pushover her roommate was. Face to face with even the hint a need for mercy and respect for a human in need and Kris had learned that she was sheer out of luck for stopping Sam. Typically this was one of Kris’ favorite traits Sam had. She saw the person- a sacred individual- in each human being that crossed her path. Kris totally believed that Samantha’s gift of mercy defined her. In this moment however, Kris also saw that they were two girls with a loaded trunk headed home the holidays totally unprotected and alone. Kris had no kamikaze spiritual or emotional drive whatsoever. Kris absolutely sympathized with her friend. When the car stopped at a red light on the overpass where the man was sitting, shivering she could even deeply sympathize with the stranger. Here was need. Raw. Open wound need. Kris truly felt very deeply for him, but she just didn’t see putting them at risk this close to home.             “Sam, you know that I love you. I love your big ole southern heart of hospitality and compassion. You’re my best-friend because of that gigantic heart, and while I hate to be the constant drizzle on your parade of saving the world I have to watch out for you. This time for us.  That guy might not…”             “Might not what, Kristine? Might not be clean? Might not smell nice? Might make us late? Might take advantage of our generosity? Might not legitimately be….”             “SAFE! God! I know you know me better than that. I’m not prejudice or judgmental. You know me! But think for a second. Sam, and again I say I love you, but you are hopelessly naive if you think everyone on the side of the highway is bubbling over with sincerity or that they might even be harmless! This isn’t Whistle Stop, Idgie! Not all gray haired old toothless men are another Smokey Lonesome! Some are just plain dangerous. Not all of your hobos coming over for money are really even in trouble, in need, or abandoned! What if there’s a gun under that blanket?”             “But… what if that one is legit! We can’t stop to just check it out? We have the time. No one is expecting us home yet. Kris, I have a good, strong feeling about this. What’s wrong with just asking him a few questions? And hey, you so can not diss my movie like that! I don’t knock your passion for the Dallas Stars when you are so not a tomboy or all your totally geeky Scifi shows!” Kris could breathe again. If Sam could tease, then Sam was hearing her and not unforgivably angry or thinking the worst of her.             “Look, I’m just saying, let’s be smart about this. If no one is expecting us then it would be all that much easier to disappear and not be missed for a good long time. We have two more years of classes at least!” Kris smirked. She could sense that the argument wasn’t finished. When Sam sunk her teeth into an idea especially a humanitarian effort of some kind she was like an old alligator snapping turtle. She didn’t turn loose unless it thundered. “And hey! In all fairness, I am pretty sure we resolved my geek  status when we talked about how a little Roddenberry philosophy would make the world a better place!” Kris grinned.             “Oh, yeah, everyone would benefit from Phasers, space monsters, and clingy, skin tight jumpsuits!” Both girls laughed. The light turned green. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Sam mulling over the next move. Kris drove on past the older man who didn’t even raise his steel gray eyes enough to notice. Cars behind her were going to follow her lead, driving past, leaving the man behind. He was barely an animated cipher- a breathing nonentity. Kris ached that anyone could live through a moment of that much invisibility. “Okay, Sam. Before you start in on me let me just say that I totally hear what you’re saying; that we should do something. I’m not closed minded to helping. But you have to at least have suggestions we can both live with and live through? I mean, if you have an idea that won’t involve us testing that guy for an assault rifle gunning spree, then I will entertain helping him… somehow.” “Oh, coolness!” Giddy wouldn’t have come close to describing the exclamation.  “Okay, as I see it there are a few options actually. Pull over here in the parking lot for a sec.” Kris pulled in at a local vet clinic’s parking lot where Sam had directed. She turned down the singer crooning out the refrain, “…soon it will be Christmas day.” on the radio. She turned in her seat slightly to see Sam better. Sam was beaming. Little girl enthusiasm was all over her. Kris loved that about her friend as well. Sam was generally bathed in childlike joy with the world. Kris was generally swimming in a heavy dose of reality. Sam was hope personified. Kris was business as usual. To Kris what Sam lacked in common sense could only be made up for in her gift of grace and joi de vive. Kris’ had to think that sheesh, maybe Samantha was the embodiment of Idgie Threadgoode!  Samantha Forest, out to save the world!  Kris grinned in spite of herself picturing Sam in a Farrah Faucet/ Charlie’s Angels flip do and velvety jogging suit from the 70′s.  In her mind she could also picture fliers of her red haired, green eyed friend on every light post. After the 70′s montage of flashbacks she flashed forward past graduation. She could just imagine hosts of parties congratulating Sam for her remarkable work for the under privileged and her multitude of humanitarian efforts. Every day life with Sam was close to life in the Peace Corps! Even at school folks knew where their room was and that Sam was a soft touch for whatever need ailed them from term papers to free rides for groceries. Kris had to protect her as much as possible. Sam saw the inherent value and best in everyone. Sam believed that aches were meant to be tended and healed. Kris knew that life didn’t always work that way. “Kris? What are you thinking?” Sam’s green eyes locked with Kris’ brown ones. Kris pushed the dark bangs that she had been growing out back with her hand and let out a sigh. “Sam, did you… have you… ever entertained the idea that some folks don’t want to be saved. Some just don’t. They aren’t there yet.” Sam was silent a moment mulling this news over. Kris let her simmer with the thought a moment. Kris had lived through the thought at a young age. She was all too aware of the dangers of constantly risking your heart and neck to rescue the underdog. It hadn’t saved her family. “Well…” Sam breathed. “I’m not absolutely clueless. I know that’s true. I’m really sorry that’s true. But I have to ask you, if you live like that how do you determine who genuinely does need help and who is just a player? See, I can’t read hearts. I can only assess need. I’m not the judge and jury just hands and feet.” “But, Sam, don’t you ever get tired of being stomped on! I mean look at Emma this year? You worked so hard helping her with Chem. She said she needed your help and you helped her every other day and she never said thank you or anything! In fact if I recall you were hurt for weeks when you found out that she had the girls in Tegan Hall laughing at ‘geek jokes’ staring you and some other really mean stuff…” “But Kris, that’s on her. That is totally on her. It’s on me to see a need and not try to fill it. That is on me. To know there’s a right thing to do, and not do it is a sin said James. What someone does with the compassion and help I offer is their business. It can’t hurt me if I don’t own it. I give help away. What they do with their gift is their business. The joy is in the giving, Ebenezer.” Sam’s sparkling green eyes were lit up from the inside. There was nothing else Kris could do. ” Hey, I’m not a Scrooge, I … I just don’t want to come in one day and see you emotionally mashed up and banged up because you extended beyond your reach.” “I know that. And I love you for it.” Sam reached out and rubbed Kris’ shoulder. Kris turned and gripped the steering wheel. She was not touchy feely. That was also more Sam’s field of play. She sighed. “Alrighty then, what are our options about your latest Smokey back there?” “Ok! Here’s what I’m thinking. We can go back and give him a food card from one of the restaurants at the over pass. At least then he could eat something warm and he’d have to spend it right there. We could go by Father Philip’s office and let him know that the guy is there and see what that church could offer. We could go buy a bus ticket and take it to the man so he could take the bus to Dallas. That’s all I came up with before you grilled me. What do you think?” Sam was almost vibrating so Kris assumed she was chomping at the bit. Kris had to confess that the excitement was contagious. Especially this time of year, it was a rush. To be a potential Christmas miracle for someone was a rush. “Ok. Well, let’s go talk to Father Philip first. His church has the only program I know of in this area for sheltering someone. If the ticket we were to buy says Smokey can only get on the bus tomorrow, it might be wise to have back up. Food wise…. well they will feed him at the shelter as well. Father Philip would have the resources to ask someone male to come along for the protection we wouldn’t have right now to mount a relocation rescue. Hmm. To me…it just seems smart to go first to the church. Will that work for you?” Kris knew Sam was amused by her “scrunched face” as Sam called it when she was seriously deep in thought. Sam was grinning with mischief so that corroborated Kris’ assumption of amusement. “Oh yeah, totally it works! Let’s do it, Tonto!”  “Tonto! Are you nuts! I’m driving. This is so Silver. I am the Lone Ranger.” “Whatever you say, Kimosabe. Let’s mount a rescue. Let’s get Smokey home for holidays!”   ————————————————————-  ”Do people burden you or just bother you?” – Todd Foster at Pineywoods Encampment ’94   Currently watching : Fried Green Tomatoes (Widescreen Collector’s Edition) Release date: 1998-12-15

                        “Sara! The fence is right there! What do I do?” cried out Maggie in absolute panic.

                        Sweaty and sticky, now her legs were covered with damp, itchy, coarse horse hair. The smell of dry dusty hay, damp earth, green grass, and sticky sweat, flooded her nostrils. She leaned in clutching the coarse, dark, mane in her white knuckled fist. The sunlight shining into her eyes made her squint. Her own perspiration stung her eyes, but she would not let one hand go free to wipe it away. The hammering of hoof beats were interrupted only by her best-friend’s yells from behind her.

                                    “Dolly, whoa! Maggie, show that stupid horse who’s boss! Rein her in!”  Maggie shook the fog from her mind and looked up. Sara was yelling and galloping up behind her friend as quickly as possible. Maggie couldn’t catch her breath and couldn’t say anything still clutching the reins and mane in a death lock. She could see the barbed wire fence running lengthwise approximately a football field away. Brush and small trees tore at her jeans. Ever so often that crazy Paint slowed her pace just long enough to crane her neck back and nip at Maggie’s pant leg making the girl remove her foot from the stirrup and throwing her off balance.

            “Don’t let her make you take your foot out of the stirrup! Maggie! Mags, pull Dolly’s head around! She’s been trained for split reins! Pull one rein really hard! Be the boss!” called Sara over the sounds in Maggie’s head and ears. Then suddenly it seemed that the fence was about fifteen feet away. Maggie was so afraid that if she pulled back the wrong way Dolly would halt too quickly for her to right herself. Then she’d be thrown into the razor sharp wire.

            One side; one rein; get control. Separating the reins in her hands, she quickly wrapped one around the saddle horn and jerked the other toward the horse’s flank! Dolly wheeled around in a half circle almost unseating her terrified rider. Dolly was apparently startled at this change of direction enough to slow her lightning speed. Maggie gathered the reins together and pulled back really hard. Dolly, in utter discomfort, slowed then stopped.

                                    “Good girl, Maggie. Keep it up! Don’t let off yet. Keep your feet in the stirrups and lean back in the saddle! Hang on the saddle horn if you have to!” encouraged Sara. Reminding Maggie of who she was, Dolly switched up her tactics and changed sides reach around and nip again. This time she caught Maggie’s jeans in her teeth.

                                    “No!’ yipped Maggie, still breathing hard but not nearly as terrified. Glowering at her friend, Maggie ranted, “Good grief, Sara! Why did you give me this monster?”

                                    “Dolly’s great when you’re the boss. She can sense who’s running the show. Keep the reins tight, but not too restrictive. Squeeze harder with your knees. You have to be sure she feels what you want her to feel and nothing else. You have to show her who is in control.” Sara was in front of Dolly now, blocking her way with her own horse’s body.  “Do you still want to jump the creek or would you rather walk back home? I’m good either way.” Of course, to Maggie, Sara seemed to exude confidence persistently. Sara was powerfully feminine like a princess thought Maggie, clutching the reins and fighting Dolly for control.

                        Sara patted her horse’s neck and rubbed between his ears. Sara had a way with horses obviously. Horses, people, life, thought Maggie. Sara wasn’t the new kid. She had probably never slept with a packed suitcase under her bed in case of her father’s ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />midnight desires to suddenly relocate the family again. Sara probably never had to go out looking all over for her missing brother again! Sara wasn’t always worried about constantly keeping the peace between her parents and her sibling. Everyone had ideas and expectations that Maggie tried to live up. She was always trying to get it all just right.

                        Anger surged in Maggie’s heart. Heat built up in her face and neck. The emotions felt potent. Maggie felt like letting out some primitive scream which was an unusual and intoxicating sensation to her.

                        Maggie had only been riding for one summer. Taking that jump across the creek sounded crazy. Her parents would never let her do something like that if they knew. It was madness.

                        “Let’s do it. Let’s jump.” Maggie, drunk on adrenaline, set her teeth and narrowed her eyes. Sara looked as if she were going to protest. Maggie leaned in, and gave Dolly a small nudge. Dolly didn’t have to be asked politely. Like a shot, she took off.

                        Now that she was certain she could control the horse, and even stop her, Maggie wasn’t as terrified of Dolly’s flight. But it was still a rush. Maggie felt powerful perched on Dolly’s back. She leaned over Dolly’s neck and urged the mare on.

                        Dolly suddenly seemed to like this silly human. They were working as a team now. Once Dolly felt like she had her head and could run, she was more compliant. With a tender touch of the rein on either side of her neck, the Paint was guided with ease and grace.

                        “Hey, Maggie, take back some control! Maggie! Don’t give her too much head!” called Sara. “Maggie, this isn’t some sort of a game!”

                        Maggie was panting with the horse as she leaned in closer and whispered, “Let’s do it, Dolly!” Both she and Dolly seemed to see the creek at the same time. She felt Dolly’s muscles bunch up a bit under the saddle girth and where her calf muscles squeezed the round belly of the beast. Dolly tensed and snorted at the sight of the banks before her as if sizing up the jump.

                        Maggie had learned enough about riding to give Dolly a bit more lead way as they approached the creek. The creek embankment wasn’t very wide; maybe two average men’s shoulder’s width if they were standing in it shoulder to shoulder, but it was deep. It was deep enough to fit a small house inside and dried up from the summer sun. Falling would not feel good. Maggie clutched the saddle horn and the reins, dug her boots deep into the stirrups, leaned into Dolly’s neck, and let Dolly lead.

                        The leap felt like flying! It felt like freedom! Dolly landed with unexpected gentleness. Maggie drew Dolly up sharply and sat waiting. Sara landed gracefully along side her. Maggie was white, but she beamed. So that was what confidence and freedom felt like. It wasn’t that Maggie hadn’t been afraid. She had just taken the risk using that feeling with a bit of focus to get where she needed to go.

                        “You were great! You did it!” Sara glowed proudly patting her mount.

                        “Thanks. Dolly did most of the work.” Maggie was patting her partner as well. In response Dolly bit her leg. “Dolly! No!” Maggie pulled back on the reins.

                        “But you called the shots, Mags. You flew! It can be like that more often, you know. You just measure the risks, get educated about the challenges, and make a plan. Now, you know what it feels like.” Sara stared at her horses’ neck patting him. “You. You did it. You did it for you.”

                        “Yeah. Thanks.” She ran her fingers through Dolly’s mane. She decided that desperately wanted to hold on to that feeling.

            She rode to the elevator to the top trembling the whole way. On many floors she wanted to scream, “Let me off!” but she didn’t. She pressed her back against the wall furthest from the door as possible. It wasn’t because of over crowding at all, but instead she was fairly certain that unless there was space and a few warm bodies between her and the door way she would exit at some point. Her breath came in stuttered gasps and she felt light headed. Everyone with her was either quiet like she was or talking to beat the band. She could tell one guy near the front who had been one of the last to board the elevator was talking as if he had to put a wall of words between himself and everything around him especially the door. He was talking a mile a minute for insulation.  There was a fine bead of sweat across his top lip and he was trying very hard to look cool and relaxed.  She couldn’t say much as she wiped the sweat from her temples and the back of her neck. He was trying so hard to appear nonchalant. Too hard in fact and his mannerisms and incessant talking belied the demeanor he was trying so hard to pull off. Another young woman standing opposite of her was cool and serene. She figured that this young woman had done this before. She was checking her suit and belt with a back pack at her feet. The elevator smelled of sweat and stale air and gear grease of some sort. The light in the elevator wasn’t too bright but just enough natural light filtered in from the sky light above. The gears of the elevator were visible retrieving the cable from the long upward climb against the azure sky occasionally dotted with puffy white clouds. She felt like she was gazing up as the disciples must have done at the Ascension of Christ!

            She had to be first. She had to get out and line up to go first at all costs. She could never do it if she saw someone else do it before her. She had to be first. The ascent was taking forever. She felt as if the smell and sound of the grinding gears and rolling pulley would make her hurl. She felt washed out and blanched the way fresh green beans lose that first bright green when dumped into a vat of boiling water to be canned.

            Then there was a sudden stop. The stop wasn’t only of movement from the elevator, but everyone inside it car stopped breathing as well. No more talking. Everyone drew in a deep breath as the doors opened with the ding of the bell.

            The guide led them down a corridor and out a door that appeared normal. She almost expected to walk into a room. Instead there was a roof top and a platform prepared. She rushed to be at the front of the line fiddling with her suit as she walked.

The guide checked her suit. They fitted the leads and belts and cables. She felt the metal on metal click into place through her teeth. The sound made her teeth feel as if she had suddenly eaten something extremely cold. The guide was talking. Reviewing instructions. She was nodding but only partially listening. Too late. No turning back.

 There was no turning back once she entered that elevator. She knew there were those on the ground below who were cheering. There were some who never thought she would ever do something so radical. There were those wishing she weren’t. They didn’t want to see her hurt. But they were all watching. This was for all of them.

This was for her.

She walked to the end. There was the count and as the guide shouted she thought, “What was I thinking?” and then all she could do was pray the bungee held as she jumped.

The Further Adventures of Hero Guy and the Precious Princess Who Am I? I’m Matman other wise known in these parts as ’Hero Guy’!

 This is my sidekick the Precious Princess, but her friends call her Ladybug! We are on a secret mission. We are trying to locate missing funds from the Secret Society of Superheroes! Better known as Triple S.

The Precious One set up a stake out…

while I consulted our faithful butler, Floyd, to discuss operatives with whom I could confer .

Floyd immediately put me hot on the tail…I mean trail of our first operative, Mr. Ed.

He seemed uncooperative until I gave him the green stuff. Rolling in clover he quickly spilled the beans and put us on to our lead. We agreed to meet Mr. X at a local Burger stand.

I thought the Precious Princess had found a clue, but she said, “No they’re just pretty don’t you think?” While inside the burger café I gathered intelligence and kept busy during the long wait.

The Precious one stood watch.

Freeze, Hero Guy!” she firmly whispered. “I think they are just behind you!”

Being the brave and valiant Hero Guy I reacted calmly as usual.

As it turned out it was only Floyd and his doll. “Rat’s, I said, “it looks like the crook won’t show.”

“Hurry, Precious, let’s make like a smoke and disappear!”

We went back to the Matcave and I interfaced with my private and personally built supercomputer. Triangulating the hints from Mr. Ed I thought maybe just maybe I had a location of the goods.

The layout looked busy, but I found a secret entrance where we could enter unnoticed.

It was grate!

The Precious one refused to get her costume dirty so Floyd’s doll escorted her to the front where she overwhelmed the guards with her super “cuddle charm” power.

I made my way to the ronde vous. I knew it wouldn’t take the Ladybug long to get there.

That clever gal had the entire case sewn up and in the bag when I arrived.

“Now can I drive the Matmobile home?”

Umm. No.

Join us next time for the further adventures of Hero Guy and the Precious Princess!

Currently listening : Batman: Original Motion Picture Score By Danny Elfman Release date: 02 August, 1989

He scowled, perspiration dripping over his heavy-set body. His waist bulged over the top of his baggy jeans which were stuffed into the tops of scuffed, reddish brown work boots. He looked up at the other people sitting at tables and benches in the heat. Nervously, he lowered his eyes again. One leg stretched out lazily in front of him. A worn, red baseball cap covered shaggy, dishwater blonde hair falling thickly over his ears. The brim was pulled down shading his eyes, squinted tight in the sunlight.

If Grandpa gets heatstroke, where is the first aid station again? He should have asked Brian to come up here, not me! Brian’s a kid. He’d have loved this.

Greg wiped the sweat from his lips. Memories of this time last year flooded his mind. Sweat had beaded up on his dry lips that day, too. Red, their big chestnut roan, was loaded in the trailer just like always when Dad pulled out for competitions. Greg thought it was for another rodeo. Dad leaned out the window of the beat up truck and said, “See ya ‘round, Boy,” tipping his Stetson.

He blinked away the hot liquid emotion threatening to spill out from behind his eyes. Man, I feel so idiotic just sitting here! His thoughts meandered with the people passing by. They look like mom’s flowers.

“Grandpa, did mom garden with you when she was my age? I- I just wondered.” Grandpa nodded, reaching a gnarled, work-worn hand into his pocket for a cotton handkerchief.

“She was …impatient at first. But, seeing the results I think she grew to love it. It can be tough, though. It requires lots of attention, ‘specially,” he continued as he mopped his forehead, “in this drought and heat. Hard times and changes seem to affect every living thing, don’t you think?” Grandpa locked eyes with Greg.

Greg thought about his mom and adjusted his dad’s old red cap. He shifted awkwardly. Grandpa had caught him off guard. “I guess so.” He offered.

He looked at the people by the concession stand. Some were eating ice cream. So normal. He’d wondered more than once this last year how life could just go on like normal.

This is a colossal waste of time! With that thought, a thousand little irritants assaulted his senses. It’s dusty. My nose itches. He rubbed it. It’s ridiculously bright! The stillness is smothering me.

“It’s just, lately, it seems useless putting in so much effort in the garden. Mom’s plants just wilt no matter how hard we try.” Greg snarled like a trapped tiger. He felt hemmed in. “It’s such a waste of time.” He ended weakly.

“Greg,” Grandpa’s sparkling blue eyes narrowed. “When you were younger, I remember your mom reading a book to you about a little prince. Do you remember?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.”

“Well, there was a pretty smart fox in that book that said, ‘It is the time wasted for your rose that makes it so important’ or something like that.”

Mentally, he adjusted to feeling Grandpa’s hope. He’s always had time for us. Grandpa makes time.

The guidance counselor had told Greg he should learn to control his time rather than it controlling him. The counselor had warned him about motion without direction. He had no idea what that meant. But if he pulled his grades up, he might still earn some FFA awards. He needed a scholarship in two years.

Growing plants, building things, running the hardware store, loving Grandma, raising his mother – Grandpa ordered his time well. Greg wanted a life like that.

“Say,” A slow smile spread across Grandpa’s face. “What time is it?”

Greg sat up straight, glanced at his watch, and reported. He’d spent a large portion of his first paycheck on a new “cool” watch. Grandpa knew Greg was proud of it.

“Hmm. Seems like we just got here doesn’t it?” the older man sighed with a grin. Greg sensed Grandpa’s need for motion. With effort, he stood. Greg rose, too.

“I heard about the visit to the school counselor.”

“She’s trying to teach me to structure my time better.” Greg quietly commented. His lips pressed together in sad frustration as he kicked a rock softly. Grandpa saw he had struck a nerve.

“You know, ever since I first held your mother, I knew I’d found the secret to making time stand still.” Raising his eyes, Greg wiped the back of his hand across the peach fuzz coating his upper lip. Grandpa noticed. Greg felt his cheeks burn and quickly dropped his hand.

“Seems like you’re showing signs of the times, Gregory.” Grandpa chuckled. “When I was your age, seemed like time was either creeping when it should be running or running when it should be crawling.” Greg walked and listened.

“I love this place; the animals, the plants, all of it. Think about this. Where else can we share power and beauty, danger and frailty, wonder and mystery in such an amazing variety and balance? Making this controlled wilderness available – well, that takes time and planning. Take the tigers for example. That habitat is no accident. It takes passionate, careful preparation and continued care. It’s intentional.”

Greg absorbed the words as they ambled along. Intentional. His grandfather never seemed to come right out and say anything. He wrapped everything in a story.

“Grandpa, how did you learn to manage your time so well?” Greg stopped at a stand and bought a Diet Coke for his grandfather and a lemon ice for himself.

Grandpa, as always, noticed. “Thank you, Gregory; very kind and generous.” Greg flushed. His shoulders looked like a weight was lifted just watching his grandfather enjoy a drink he purchased from his own wages. He awkwardly jabbed the plastic spoon into the iced dessert. They walked on silently until they stood in front of the tiger exhibit.

“Don’t know exactly what led me to every choice I made.” Grandpa kind of breathed in the sentence, then exhaled. “But, I figure we’re all given 24 hours a day, right? We get so many days a week, weeks a month, months a year. Figure out what really matters. What do you want to be remembered for, Greg?” Grandpa paused to listen and looked out the exhibit window.

“I’m not sure, sir.” Greg confessed. He adjusted the old red cap and sighed. He thought of his father. He looked at his grandfather and his pulse quickened. “But I have to find out.” He ran his hand across the wooden rail before the glass plate as they watched the tigers pace.

            Nana led us on the quest. Ever amazing, our Nana had a lead on the illustrious breed of choice that my little brother and sister had their hearts set on -a beagle!

Now traditionally speaking our Nana is terrific at lots of things. She knows people. She is generous to a fault. There is one area however that she does not excel at – procuring the perfect pet. We had experienced her “gifts” four times. Each of the dogs had “issues”. So this adventure concerned me a bit. Thankfully on the drive, I was free to quietly observe with my father and Nana talking in the front seats and my sister and brother chatting in eager expectation in the back seats next to me.

 The first sight to meet my eyes on the turn toward the dog’s residence was the John Deere green farm equipment parked right in the yard as we passed over the cattle guard. Our suburban manufactured home may as well have been located on Mars because it felt like we were miles away from anywhere as we bumped slowly down the dirt road kicking up dust. I felt like we should be in a beat up Dodge pickup hauling hay. My sister and brother noisily pointed out the lack of livestock as they saw the cattle troughs but no bovine in sight. The dust from outside crept in a bit through the door seals and a/c vent tickling my nose and throat.

I had some serious misgivings. Nana’s motto seemed to be “If it has a pulse, it’s a good pet”. At fifteen I was the oldest of the kids in my family; so knowing who would inevitably be taking care of the new dog, and knowing mom’s misgivings about the whole concept of a new pet, period, I was determined to be extra cautious and choose a dog that fit our entire family’s needs.

We drove up to the home with Nana and exited her silver Chevy Malibu like circus clowns in front of a rustic traditional log cabin. I felt that I should have expected that given the scenery. I waited for Grizzly Adams the Mountaineer to emerge from the quaint scenic domicile. Instead a young college age and very pregnant woman came through the door beaming at Nana. While the adults talked shop about local town news items, I began to set my eyes to checking out the ranch for where this mystery “Lassie” might be.

Something else caught my attention first, however. At the young woman’s feet waddled out a portly male beagle. He was docile, rotund, and if ever there was joy personified in a dog, this was it! I actually felt a slight rise in hope as I bent down to stroke his silky brown ears. His large brown cocoa eyes looked at me as warm and placid as a mountain lake on a sunny windless September afternoon. I thought what a great dog!

The young woman was saying, “That’s Ethan. He’s four and the father of the dog you came to see.” I had a really good friend named Ethan who swore that his name meant ‘strong, firm, or safe’. This soft rotund version seemed to be just that. I bet even the rabbits in the fields surrounding this house were totally at rest with the mellow, peace loving Ethan on guard.

We followed Nana’s friend out to the barn. As we rounded the conventional red corner, I saw a small kennel with a young beagle inside. She was gorgeous with her black and brown markings on her short white coat. She jumped and bounced with greeting oozing from every pore of her body. As I reached out a hand her direction, her wet pink tongue lapped and slobbered eagerly in a gesture of friendship and excitement. Nana’s friend opened the kennel gate.

 Let me just say that it was like the dog was on a four year sugar rush binge. Seriously, when the pen door opened, I could have sworn there was the announcer from Louisiana Downs horseracing track coming in over the loudspeaker, “And they’re off! It’s the wild one in the lead by a long stretch at lap number two. There she comes around again at lap number three in record time, folks! This dog is super sonic!”

After a split second of shock, what I found most amusing was how she freaked the barn cats out of their minds as she blazed a trail like a streak of summer lightning around the barn, up the middle breezeway, and past the young owner who immediately began calling out, “Oh good grief, Lady! Lady!” She even perked up the geriatric and seemingly previously unmotivated Ethan. He waddled and trotted in a romp with her until it became obvious it would take nothing short of a miracle for him to keep up. Nana’s friend laughed nervously and breathed, “She isn’t always this hyper; we just haven’t worked with her out of the pen in a while.” I thought to myself, YA THINK?

My dad and Nana tried to be heroes for the very pregnant lady and catch the racing diva pooch. I had to wonder if they secretly laced her kibble with rocket fuel! As I hastily went with my brother and sister back to the car, I thought to myself, NO way! No stinking way.

We watched as dad and Nana tried to get a hand on “Lady the Indianapolis 500 canine Wonder” for about ten minutes. With the sun setting in west and the hay bales as a back drop for the scene, I said to myself, but apparently out loud since my sibs laughed, “Now this is entertainment!” By lap eight, I think all human hope was abandoned. My brother and sister were sad that the shooting starlet couldn’t be touched or played with right now. I didn’t voice this line of thought but just the same I thought to myself, Maybe, maybe, if we tied porch chops around your necks you could stand out there and smell her as she raced by and grabbed them in midair in passing like a 747! Or maybe more like a Tomahawk missile or Stealth bomber on a run! NO WAY are we getting that dog. No Way!

Dad, panting slightly like he had been in an aerobics class for the last fifteen minutes, comes over and sits in the drivers seat. I was of course was back in the back seat with the kids to give Nana the front seat again. Dad sits for a second, clears his throat (and probably tried to catch his breath), and says to me, “Um, she’s a really pretty dog.”

I think, how in the world could you tell? I only saw her rear view perspective as she burst briefly out of hyper space! I say aloud however, “Um –hm.”

“You… aren’t saying much.” And all who know me know that is an indicator of ill winds that blow no good in my line of thought. I knew dad was fishing for information.

“Dad, um, maybe could we let them know discreetly that, that particular dog isn’t really the dog for us. I… just don’t think we can risk taking that dog anywhere other than a ranch in Montana and we don’t own one.” I could hear Roy Rogers singing, “Oh give me land lots of land under starry skies above. Don’t fence me in…” from somewhere in the corners of my subconscious mind.

            “Yeah, I was kind of worried about retraining her on… some of… the habits she has acquired that might not work well for where we live.”

            I think, YA THINK? I calmly say, “I think that’s a wise call, dad. Mom would kill us over that dog, don’t you think?”

            Dad hummed his assent. Nana climbed back in the car talking still. The pregnant lady was saying something about how it might look entirely different if we came back earlier in the morning tomorrow to view “Lady”. Nana, ever the diplomat, was assuring her that we would all discuss it and let her know.

So I sighed and knew that the Christmas pooch search would have to continue. I text messaged a few good friends of mine later that night. I said that somewhere over the Lone Star State, if they saw a flash of light and feel inclined to cry out, “There’s no need to fear! Underdog is here!” that it wasn’t Underdog flying by. It was just a young puppy from a North Texas farm who can not come live in our casa no matter how cute her hind portion may be in a blur (after all that’s the only part of her I saw well). We would still be praying for our special family addition.

            Somewhere else in my subconscious mind, a line from Disney’s Peter Pan was playing, “Sorry, Nana.”  Well it was a toss up between that and the movie, “Cats and Dogs”! As mom said, “Nana’s pet luck struck again!” I know that I will forever stand in wonder of that almost Christmas pup from Nana.