This appreciation, however, is hard-earned. Just in case anyone thinks I forgot, I give you a journal entry from February 23, 1994. As background, the kids and I were living in the Landings near Keystone at the Crossing; I worked at Very Special Arts of Indiana; and the dog in question was Pauly, my English bulldog, who we all loved dearly, but not without pain:
"February 23, 1994 -Well, THIS has been a special day already and it's only 10:30 a.m.!
I woke up on time. I had a good stretch. I didn't feel overly tired. And then? BOOM! My streak of good fortune ended. I swung out of bed and placed my foot -- no, not on the floor as one would think -- but instead into a huge hill of vomitus material that Pauly had strategically placed as a kind of editorial comment on Purina's particular recipe of dog food. Pleased as I was with this discovery and having been set into a fabulous mood for the day, I swiftly escorted him to the balcony where I left him with every intention of letting him rot.
After cleaning this mountainous heap (which had an odor second only to that of toxic waste), I got a second rare and wondrous treat of scooping up yet another pile (this time of a substance of which I'm much more familiar) outside on the balcony before the lovely mixture of ice and rain that was steadily falling dissolved it into an as yet undiscovered alternative to the gas chamber. As I was more than a tad bit annoyed, I vowed to leave Pauly outside until Hell thawed (being that this IS Hell and it's already frozen over), when he expressed a difference of opinion and began a mild, however persistent, barkfest (at 6:30 a.m.). His receipt into my home, due entirely and exclusively out of respect for my neighbors, was immediately limited to the bathroom where he was sentenced to twenty years hard time with no food or water.
The peace that followed his imprisonment, however, was short lived. Cheyanne posted bail, as she needed to primp, and he was released on his own recognizance. Upon serving breakfast (less than 5 minutes later), I noticed the err of my judgement. Underneath what used to be called my piano, and now is more aptly termed His Toilet, there lay a steaming fresh pile...
My patience tried beyond its limits, Pauly was promptly incarcerated and left, once again, with no provisions. His objections went unheeded until the necessity to use the room prevailed. A jail break had obviously been planned and immediately upon the opening of the door, his head, ducked low, plummeted directly into my right ankle as he attempted to plow past me to freedom. My nimble reflexes alone (albeit the door wedging his head into the frame assisted) saved the escape from coming to fruition, yet not without both harm and foul. I was bound for desk duty, benched for the season, a 2" purple, black and red bruise my medal of valor.
The pride I delight in dog ownership runs just slightly ahead of the sheer joy I am afforded by the experience of living through yet another Indiana winter. Trying to salvage some semblance of sanity, I went out after my morning paper envisioning coffee, toast, and the sports page as the perfect cure to my frustrations. Outside, a fresh blanket of white stuff covered the ground and the sound of ice chipping filled the air. My neighbors were lined up, hammer and chisels in hand, creating ice scuptures out of what used to be their vehicles. "So" I think to myself "I've got THAT to look forward to..."
I sent the kids out after the bus alone as I had no desire whatsoever to walk the dog anywhere but straight into the lake with, say, perhaps, 110 pound weights wrapped around each leg, but within 20 minutes they were back. The bus hadn't come, probably due to the fact that the school system was on a two-hour delay -- a fact of which I had been completely oblivious and neglectful in researching. I DID observe, however, (solely due to by implacable fashion sense), that the woman I saw - upon my awakening peek at the outside world - who was wearing bright white tennis shoes with a straight-line black skirt and a stadium jacket and standing outside next to her equally bright white Bronco, was now standing against the garage shielding her face with her hands. At this interim, she'd been out close to 2 hours. I called to her and asked her if she wanted to come inside, which she did, and I was told that she had locked her keys -- ALL her keys -- inside the Bronco - WHILE it was running - when she had gone out to warm up the truck. She couldn't get back into her apartment, nor into her vehicle, and had been standing out there waiting for her husband to come home from work. He worked the night shift, got off at 7:30, it was now 8:30, and she thought he must have stopped off at the store rather than coming straight home. He had the only other set of keys to the car.
By 9:30, I had to leave. Hubby still had yet to show, and I felt a little blessed (however selfishly) because my troubles weren't as bad as hers. By this time, though, the leasing office had opened and she could get the keys to her apartment and at least wait in her own environment for the missing spouse.
A little bright spot proved that I hadn't been entirely abandoned of God's grace, as the kids and I made it safely to school and work respectively without much car trouble or traffic problems. Yet, I was immediately reminded of His rath as I walked into my office only to be greeted with a "nice of you to make it" by the Board President, John Delaney...
Ah well, such is life."
Hilarious! You can really turn a phrase.
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