acquired skill

Grading a road is an acquired skill. My father spent many a long and bumpy day ploughing snow, winging shoulders and grading highways, byways and side roads.
All the roads around Blue River were gravel or dirt, and weather and wheels were not kind to them.
Remote as that town was, strangers passing through on their way to "somewhere" would find themselves sticking like a burr to a sock before life tugged them onward.
They would take whatever work they could turn their hand to.
Bob Underhill of motorcycle racing fame was one such vagabond.
Somehow, he ended up in a grader high on a dusty mountain road.
These were dangerous roads.
I'm sure he was warned to watch for logging trucks.
And I'm sure steep banks would have been mentioned too.
It's a pity no one thought to mention rabbits.
As the novice grader driver rounded a curve, a baby rabbit froze in the middle of the narrow gravel road.
Bob Underhill sealed his fate and drove, or rather, crashed over the embankment imperilling his life, the grader, and the mental health and blood pressure of his foreman.
He eventually stood in our doorway and opened his lunch box. To our surprise and delight, a brown baby bunny gazed blandly back at us.
It was given the run of the house for a time, hopping and darting and hiding, especially at night. I woke once to find moonlight glowing on my bed, the rabbit pausing on my pillow mid-leap.
Raising rabbits is an acquired skill and one my mother had no interest in perfecting and so our rabbit was encouraged to return to wild ways in the wild woods, far beyond highway and byway and side road.

loyal few

I was once in love with Zorro.
Television entered my life when I was seven introducing me to Atom Ant, Bonanza, The Forrest Rangers and Zorro. It was love at first sight.
Don Diego de la Vega was the romantic name of Zorro by day. By night of course, he led a life filled with danger, misunderstanding and mystery.

A masked man with a swirling black cape;
He rode his horse with a reckless passion and constantly risked his life for the sake of others.
How blind and futile where the deeds of his enemies.
How wise his loyal few.
And I was one of them.

sleeping well

My head left the pillow with a lurch, and like a puppet on a string I found myself sitting up in bed. Loud, nearby snores can cause this sort of levitation.
My husband has a rich and varied repertoire of snores. There is the tennis ball against a chain link fence sound, the coffee perk, the distant lawn mower, and the dreaded fireplace bellows, almost soundless but surprisingly annoying at 2 am.
Last night, roaring was added.
I've tried covering my ears with pillows and hunkering down into the folds of a quilt but sound can travel like xray through feather and fibre.
I have been married for more than three decades and don't recall this moonlight serenade being an issue in the "early" years.
No doubt, at first, sheer exhaustion from rising to the habitual squeaks and peeps of children out weighed it.
And then for some years I enjoyed blissfully sound slumber, revelling in my ability to fall asleep on command and stay that way for hour after dream infused hour.
Alas, the time came when I began to pay for the sins of my youth so to speak. I wasn't comfortable all night on my right shoulder and couldn't lay for long on my left side. A specialist forbade my sleeping on my face which left hanging by my toes like a bat or rolling from side to side like a chicken on a rotisserie
There's nothing like sleeping poorly to make you appreciate sleeping well.

cake and ice cream

"Would you like a piece of cake and some ice cream?" I asked my grandson.
Seizing my hand, he ardently kissed it.
I took that for a yes.

that kind of man

I made a quick trip in to town tonight. My mother suggested that she should join me to stave off cabin fever and we careened into the gathering twilight.
My thoughts travelled back in time by leaps and bounds and I found myself warbling the theme song from the Tommy Hunter Show, "I am a travelling man, following the breeze, travelling here, travelling there, gathering memories, so let me wander all my life away,......"
"No responsibility, no commitment." my mother said crisply. "We don't want that kind of man."

carrying the torch

"I need sequins and glitter Grandma," my grandson announced as he happily arranged paper plates and crayons, scissors and glue.
Four year olds love to create.
"I don't know if I have sequins and glitter,"I warned as I dutifully trotted off to check my closet.
The closet of chaos.
My mental health has been tested by this closet and it is an outward sign of chaos within apparently. I believe I read something like that somewhere.
Rubbermaid totes and boxes of random size are stacked precariously behind doors that are opened with trepidation.
They contain, in random order of course, quilting fabric, craft supplies of unknown vintage and in some cases, unknown source, thread, buttons, baby clothes, the odd item of clothing from the 70's awaiting upcycling and the list goes sadly on. Finding sequins and glitter seemed unlikely.
I was motivated by an unreasonable desire to please my small grandson though.
Amazingly, the very first box I rifled through had wonderful red sequins and emerald green glitter.
I returned triumphantly to the dining room.
My grandson carefully drew a large tadpole with legs and applied bling. So much for camouflage. Makes me think of a song from elementary school days, A Froggy Went a Courting and He Did Ride.
It also made me think of my mother. The home I grew up in was not an orderly home. Chaos reigned. There were reasons no doubt, but one of them was that my mother saved things and they tended to build up. Yet, when a wee grandchild in the grips of a creative urge lisped a request for pom poms or walnut shells, she would drop whatever she was doing and trot off to the "end room."
Amazingly, moments later she would return triumphantly bearing the items. She was like a homing device powered by an unreasonable desire to please her grandchildren.
And the torch has been passed.

like a gift

"I try to use letters, you know, to sort of help fix things in my mind." He leaned a little closer. "HST," he offered. "Humility, Simplicity, Thankfulness."
He nodded, his eyes bright.
An elderly friend sharing the wisdom of a life time like a gift.