Sept. 03, 2003 ~ Random mutterings
The blaring of the mail carrier's horn seemed louder and more insistent than usual, and it was awfully early in the day for her to be in my driveway. I threw on some shoes and opened the door... to see a frightened calf trying to get through the front yard fence, into the hay meadow with the cows. This did not compute, at first. The mail lady said, "I didn't really need to bring your mail; I just wanted to bring your baby back."
You see, the usual routine is that the mail goes in the box (which for us, is wayyyyy down at the other end of the driveway), unless there's a package which won't fit. In that case, the carrier will drive to the house and then honk. Worries about dogs, you see.
So she was in her truck, and I was looking at the calf, trying to decide if it was really ours. She explained that she had come around the curve and seen it standing there by our fence, trying desperately to get in with our herd. She figured it had to belong to us. I still wasn't sure.
"You wanna be a cowgirl?" I asked, grinning.
"Oh. Sure!"
She got out of her truck and I opened the hay meadow gate. I stepped back; she chased the calf in my direction, then I guided it through the gate. We stood and watched to see what the little heifer would do. She ran straight to a black cow, who claimed her as her own.
"Thank you so much! I can't tell you how much we appreciate this!"
"No problem at all. I knew you'd want her back."
"Absolutely! We wouldn't want her to get hit by a car, and have someone get hurt."
Cowgirl karma. We took a neighbor's stray cow home a couple of weeks back; somebody brought one of our babies home today. It worked out nicely, don't you think?
Yesterday I went to the courthouse to drop off some papers for the sheriff. He spoke at our civic group's meeting last week, and I did a little write-up about it for this week's bulletin, so I wanted to give him a few copies. It had a nice photo of him! I hadn't been there in awhile, and was a little surprised to see a deputy manning the front door. He held it open for me, and we chatted for a moment or two. He politely asked where I needed to go (Did I look lost?). I said I needed to see the sheriff, or probably his secretary would be fine. I did not know this deputy, I don't think. With my memory, though, anything's possible. I stopped when I saw the metal detector, and started to say something about my purse -- but he motioned he around the device and pointed me in the right direction. My purse had keys in it, and I thought I would either take them out or just leave the purse there with the deputy for a minute, but no, he just smiled and made sure I knew where to go. I dropped off my bulletins and quickly headed back. Again, the deputy motioned me around the metal detector. I wondered if the machine was just for show, or maybe out of order, but the next person who came in the building, had to go through the machine and be searched. Yes, I have an honest face. But I COULD have been a psychopath! I know the deputy was just being nice, and maybe he is pretty good at reading people, but... the sheriff is a friend of mine and I worry about this sort of thing. But as I have mentioned in the past, I worry about most things.
Spoke with Soldier Boy yesterday. There are two things he says, which are very hard for me to take.
"Don't tell anyone."
And
"Don't worry."
When he says not to tell, I don't. Even when it's very, very hard to keep quiet. About that worrying thing, though... as I told him, I am required by law to worry about my sons. I always will.
Even when they're grown-up and strong, it hurts my heart to see my boys suffering or hurting in any way. My heart hurts now.
We talked about what his future might hold, and the danger, and how careful he will have to be, if he should go to Iraq. At this moment, he doesn't think he'll have to go. But things could change in a heartbeat. Just that fast.
He is supposed to jump tomorrow. Say a little prayer for him, would you? Or keep him in your thoughts?
Of course, I'm sure he'll be just fine.
I'm not worried.
Right.
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