I spent the night tossing and turning trying to find relief for the sharp, knife-like pain in my back that developed recently. The electric blanket that had been my salvation this winter from the cold that stiffens my joints was not working and I could not get comfortable. Apparently during my nighttime wrestling match I had pulled on the covers hard enough to unplug the cord. If I had just forced myself to rise and investigate during the night I would have discovered the problem and while I may not have slept any better at least I would have been warm. Now the day had begun, it was too late to go back to bed.
I wove and tottered my way to the kitchen like a toddler learning to walk. I clumsily tried to manage the water, coffee grounds, filter, and coffee scoop to make the first pot of coffee of the day and regretted that I had not set it up the night before and used the automatic timer. I had spilt coffee grounds and water everywhere.
The day promised to be much the same as all my other days, dishes in the dishwasher, trash collected, the first load of laundry washing, and my “to do” list waiting to be tackled after I spent a little time cleaning out the stalls and runs at the stables where my son takes riding lessons. It is not a glamorous activity but it provides for me the fresh air and exercise that is lacking in my life.
It was cold and windy when I arrived at the stables. The snow that had barely melted the day before had frozen overnight into icy booby traps and was interspersed with swatches of mud where the morning sun had begun the thawing process again. I cringed inside knowing I would transport much of the mud home with me; on my feet, in my car, and eventually in my house and onto my freshly shampooed carpet. Another mess to clean up, I thought, as I turned my mind to the task at hand, bundled up, and picked my way through the ice and mud puddles to retrieve a wheelbarrow and begin.
I noticed how the morning was bright and clear. There is something about the cold and the wind that cleans our world and brings her sharply into focus. It was strangely quiet and peaceful as the horses ate their hay with single minded purpose making me feel irrelevant in their world. I pulled my scarf over my nose to help keep warm and immediately couldn’t see as my breath then fogged my sunglasses leaving me blind. Taking them off, I perused the first stall I was going to clean with a deep inner sigh of relief. The manure was dry and therefore light in weight and easy to clean up. I grabbed the fan rake and began to work. After I had all the manure in a pile I went to find a shovel to use to transfer it from ground to wheelbarrow. And there to my surprise and delight was a shovel, made of plastic, and lightweight. It was such a small thing and such a gift, no added weight to my chore. Perhaps I could manage this after all. Physical work had been so hard on me of late.
One stall down, then two and soon all of them were done. The concentration on the work to be done had changed into a mindless meditation for me. As I worked I could hear the swish, swish, of the horses eating hay and the startling, occasional thump of the goat butting the feeder on the fence to knock loose his share of the hay to the ground for him to eat. It was a soothing barnyard ditty – rake, rake, scoop, scoop, swish, swish, and THUMP with the sound of metal chains rattling and gates clanging to add an interesting percussion.
I could feel my back tightening up and the fatigue that comes to me so readily these days. I was glad to be finished as I put the tools away and headed to my car for the bag of carrots I like to bring for the horses. Hand feeding the horses is a little oasis of pleasure for me. I truly enjoy observing them up close while each of them reveals a little more of its unique and individual personality. It is an amazing experience as we exchange breath in proper “horsey” etiquette. I am always reminded that the Hebrew word for “soul” is “neshema”. The literal translation of “neshema” is “breath”. This equine ritual of smelling each others breath takes on a special beauty for me when I think of it as a true mingling of souls. This day, however, it was becoming harder to stand and I hurried through the treat giving and headed to my car, tired, eager to sit down and ready to go home.
That is when I saw it and my heart just fell. Sitting on my car, proudly posed in magnificent ancient Egyptian god-cat fashion, was the black and white barn cat (whose name I can never get straight) with a look of complete bliss and satisfaction on its face. My car was covered in its very muddy foot prints, left behind after its thorough investigation, the depth and detail of which only the curiosity of a cat can produce. Not much of the vehicle had been missed. The mud was a paw print work of art right down to the smear on the windshield that looked like the stylized signature of an artist on his masterpiece, an added feline flourish.
I don’t know if I groaned out loud but I know I groaned at least inwardly. Bone weary and discouraged I knew I would not wash the car this day because of lack of time and energy. As I turned east on Highway 50 I thought if there was ever a day that I deserved a Vente Latte, this would be it, and I headed for the Starbucks with the drive up window.
I pulled up to the speaker and waited for the chipper, disembodied Starbucks employee voice. The voice that they are trained to speak in, the staccato, high pitched and bubbly one, as if to imply, that I too, will be caffeinated, hyper, and happy soon. Placing my order I proceeded to the window.
“That will be three dollars and fifty-four cents” the young woman said as she turned to look at me sitting in my car. Momentarily stunned, she threw back her head and squealing with laughter said, “LOOK AT YOUR CAR! YOU HAVE MUDDY PAW PRINTS EVERYWHERE!” Knowing what she must see and her obvious, genuine amusement at the picture the car and I presented, I burst out in laughter too. Uplifted, I carried the moment of levity home with me with a smile on my face. I parked the car in the garage, sat on the wooden step that was directly in front of the car so that I could admire it while I sipped my coffee, attempting to hang on to the happy feelings as long as I could.
I recalled a Neuro-Linguistic Programming technique I had learned some time ago where you quietly sit; eyes closed, and recall a happy experience with all of the sights, sounds, smells and feelings of the event in great detail. And when you are truly re-experiencing the event you place your right index finger on your right temple to affix it in your memory for instant access to be used later when you need to bring yourself out of the doldrums. Somehow, in the mysterious machinations of the human psyche, it does work.
Eyes closed, I sat back. And with the attention of a movie critic ready to write a review, I prepared to watch the re-run of my morning. I began to carefully take in every detail. Like the perfect green of the hay on the stable floor, it looks so good I am tempted to taste it and I know why it is called sweet grass. And how the colt, little baby Cash, can fit his entire head and neck through the fence for a treat or attention, greedy for both, he is such a little sweetheart. Then there was Poncho, the Grand Canyon Veteran Mule, stoic and long suffering, who surprised me this morning by expressing his enthusiasm for the carrot by thrusting his head forward and squeezing out the “hee” part of “hee-haw”. I could smell the good-bad odor of the manure heavy in the air, pleasant and friendly. It makes me feel like I am wrapped in a security blanket. I reveled in the memories of the morning a while longer, put my finger on my temple, and went into my house.
Freshly showered, clean clothes and make-up on, I set about my errands. The pleasant moments of my morning were long forgotten as I drove across town. I went to the bank and the grocery store, with my final stop at Sears to purchase the new dishwasher my husband and I agonized over for a week before surrendering to the inevitable conclusion that, ready or not, the old one had to be replaced. I deserve a medal for the patience I displayed there. The color I wanted wasn’t in stock and had to be ordered, my credit card had expired and I had to speak with their credit department which made me feel like I was on trial, and I had to listen while they tried to sell me a maintenance agreement for an additional gazillion dollars and that I didn’t want. My back was aching and my feet were burning the entire time.
I left Sears and crossed the parking lot towards my car. My walk had become an organized stumble, and I was mourning the things I had hoped to purchase this payday instead of a new dishwasher we could barely afford. Feeling a little resentful and cheated, sorry for myself, I looked up just in time to see the head-snapping double-take of a man as he passed my car with the muddy paw prints.
I touched my finger to my temple….went back in time to the barn…..and smiled.
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