Sunday, October 18, 2009

Horseback Riding Daisies

The Daisies had an AWESOME time! We went horseback riding at Rock N R Equine today...

We were very early; by about 20 minutes, in fact, which is stunning for me! We were invited into the barn where we met one of the barn cats, who happens to look exactly (and I mean EXACTLY) like the Roo, down to the white tip of her tail. The owner says the cat was walking down the side of the road, and when Dana saw the cat, she called, “Kitty?” The cat whipped around at the sound, and her brother came darting out the weeds, too. “They both literally just came running AT me, and that’s so NOT normal cat behavior! I think they were both pets at some point and someone just dumped them, so when they heard me call “kitty,” they just came running. They’ve been here ever since.” I never saw the brother, and the little stripey one was happy to run up to you, but also shied away very easily.

There were a couple of minis in the stalls, and two regular-sized horses outside the barn. The owner of the ranch (Rock-N-R Equine Training & Rehabilitation) has a six year-old neice who was there, so she was showing off the chickens to the Girl Scouts.

Eventually others started to show up. I finally rounded them up and said, “This is for your red Courageous and Strong petal. When you do something courageous and strong that you’ve never done before, it’s usually best to listen to the expert in the subject so that things do not go badly for you. I expect you to listen carefully to anything Miss Dana tells you today.” And she took over from that point, leading the Daisies into the barn. They looked at the big horse for a bit and then she gave them all orange folders with a glittery horse sticker on the front. Inside, there was a “What Horses Eat” sheet of paper with little plastic envelopes attached, and one was full of hay and the other was full of “grain,” looked a lot like alfalfa pellets to me. There were also some interesting facts about horses, some horse anatomy, and some pictures of and terms for tack.

Then they pulled out the tack and went over all the items; the saddle blanket and what it was for, the western saddle, the English saddle, the different bridles. They let the girls lift up the saddles to compare the weight of each type.

Then they pulled out two of the minis, Streaker and ... I want to say Spike, but that isn’t right. She showed them how to approach a horse from the side and get right up to its shoulder, to avoid the back legs, to let them check you out. She passed out a bunch of curry combs, and the Daisies went to work trying to rub the mud off the horses’ hides. Then they did a tiny bit with the stuff brushes, and Lauren got to brush the horse’s face, which she thought was awesome beyond words.

After that, it was time to follow Dana and mini out to the corral and do some riding. Everyone got a turn putting on a helmet, and they were given the reins of the mini and the led him around the ring at least a couple of times, practicing getting him to go and to stop on command. Then they used a two-tier stepstool to get up to horse level, and they were taught how to swing their legs over the horse properly. For the rest of the riding, the minis were kept on Dana’s lead, but the girls were able to use the reins to control the horse as well.

After each girl had taken her turn, I met her at the gate, giving her a high-five and asking, “Did you have fun?” Everyone, even the shy one, said “YES!”

For the grand finale, the girls were led back to the barn, where they tied up the mini again, and then Dana disappeared into the tack room and came back with a bundle of four-foot-long stick horses for each of the girls to take home! They grabbed them and “rode” them around the barn (darn my camera battery for being dead!) with great joy. “Um, guys...do you think maybe we owe Miss Dana a thank-you?” Some of the girls more or less mumbled a “thank you,” but the moms burst into spontaneous applause and cheers, so both Dana and I know THEY were impressed. :-)

Lauren was so excited tonight that she took her stick horse out to Longhorn; she came bursting through the restaurant doors with a stick horse and a horsie folder, dressed in her jeans, long-sleeved white T-shirt and Daisy vest, fairly shouting, “Daddy! I rode horsies!” On the way home she gives her stick horse a huge hug and says, with deep passion in ther voice, “Oh, I just LOVE my horsie!”

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Daisy Sprouts...er, Scouts!

Once upon a time, long ago, I had a boss. An editor, actually. The editor raised a daughter, who was at one point in Girl Scouts. One day the daughter came home and mom discovered that her Scouting trip had consisted of going to the beauty parlor. Sensibly shocked and outraged at the latest in a series of silliness like this, mom took the only reasonable course of action, declaring that eight year-olds should be playing in the dirt and poking at bugs and she promptly volunteered to lead the Troop.

My editor has been very much on my mind the past couple of weeks.  
Daisy Scouts image

At first, it was an innocent post on a local Yahoo Group. One person asked if there was such a things as a homeschooled Girl Scout Troop. The responses were very interesting:



"My experience with the Girl Scout Council (and trying to get involved with Girls Scouting at all) has been pretty terrible. I've been trying to get my daughter into scouts for about 3 years now with no luck. The St. Louis Homeschool Network does have a troop, we found out about that one mid-year and weren't able to join later in the year."



"I went through this in our county, you pretty much have to start your own group or try to get in with another group through one of the schools."



"I was also told that there wouldn't be a troop for my daughter age range before I even gave her age. She's nine now. If they don't have troops for 6, 9 or 11 year olds then what ages are their troops for? It's disapointing because my daughter really wanted to be in GS, but I'm finding it's near impossible even with homeschool groups."



"Last year was the first year we actually had a daisy group and that's only because my friend decided to be the leader and I was co leader.. So Jaia - age 6 would be on the older end of daisy's this coming year- so she could "move up" next year... but right now she's the only 6 year old. So we have some 4 / 5 year olds who are too "young" then some 2nd grade - 7/8 year olds - and then we jump up to the older girls so there's nothing in the middle... I would love to have a more outdoor oriented group to join."



"I'm finding that the Girl Scouts are near impossible to get involved with :( "



"I've found getting ANY information about a troop is HARD. We've gone rounds trying to get one started, and gotten everything from ignored to an elaborate game of phone tag. The person running one Troop implied that because we hadn't met that my daughter couldn't participate. Without knowing the inner workings of GS, I still don't understand why a homeschooled kid HAS to be in their age range, especially if they haven't participated before, I know my daughter wouldn't particularly care if she were with seven and eight year olds, but that option wasn't given to us.

I guess my point is that it just shouldn't be this hard. The GS Council should be more open, there should be expeditors to help people looking for an existing troop or wanting to start new ones. It's almost starting to feel secret society-ish...LOL."



They told us here that membership has dropped drastically, I think all over the nation. It would seem that they would try to be more open to home schoolers. I kind of feel like the top people in the organization don't want free thinkers.

I realize the Troop is only as good as its leader, having done Daisies for a year, I really was not impressed with the materials they gave to us to start our Troop."


So, with my former editor much on my mind, I jumped in...


I'm going to be helping out with my son's Cub Scout Den for this upcoming year. I have a very good HS'ing friend in another state who is leading her girls in Girl Scouts...I'm hoping that I can get information from HER, and if necessary, I'll start a HSGS troop *here* that can piggy- back on my experiences with Cub Scouts. This troop would be all about outdoors, hiking, packing, skiing, camping, bugs, dirt, rock climbing, riding horses, kayaking, conservation, Leave No Trace, being adventurous and confident. Being part of an off-beat, minority religion myself, I would leave spirituality and religion up to the parents...the focus here would pretty much be getting dirty and having fun and making friends...all probably with a trace of cookies.

I'm also envisioning sleep-overs at the science museum, behind-the-scenes experiences at the zoo, and all the other awesome stuff that the magic words "Scouts" opens doors for with our great cultural institutions here.



I got 21 positive responses.

So I contacted the official Girl Scout Council for our area and they did a search for local groups; the schools will be holding their drives this Fall, but as for specifically homeschooled troops...no dice. "So it sounds like starting a new Troop is the way to go," they said. I went in, got some information, and put it out to the group again. Went back to the Council. They pretty much left it open as to how I wanted to run it, which sent me over the moon, frankly.

A LOT of people bowed out because it's Scouts, and they have philosophical differences with that. (As opposed to Earth Scouts, or Campfire Kids.) A good many have kids with several different ages that they want to be in the SAME group.

I got a few responses...too few for my liking. I put out an open call for Girl Scouts through my mom's group and got one more. The one more referred two friends. As of the end of Thursday I'd gotten eight possible Girl Scouts.

These would be Daisy Scouts, and next year they'd move up to Brownies and then stay there for a couple of years.

Assuming we can leap the hurdles of Paperwork and Finances, it looks like I'll be a Girl Scout Leader in a very, very short time. 

Sunday, June 28, 2009

And Lo, There Was a Great Flood...

So there I am last night, ready to put the five year-old to bed. I have the laptop open and ready to go, so we can look at the Tumble Books from the library site before bed. And she picks up a glass of ice water and accidentally drops it on the open, running laptop.

Dead child.

I flipped the laptop over and powered it off while yelling "I KNEW SOMEDAY YOU'D DO THAT!" The older brother had sense enough to be totally silent and bury under the covers in his own room. Little sister threw her hands up in the air, repeatedly shrieking, "I'm sorry! I surrender!" (The phrase "I surrender" is the signal to stop tickling, btw.) Thankfully hubby was coming down the hall at that point, so I pointedly described the problem in six words and promptly left the room in an absolute rage.

Doug took care of it, I didn't even try. We ended up flipping the laptop over in various configurations, and putting it on the deck keyboard-side-down in an attempt to get it to drain. We left it off overnight.

This morning it powered on for about 10 seconds, then shut itself off.

After a long fiasco, we took it to Apple. They didn't even try to boot it, but instead said that water damage gets into a repair range that they won't do, they'll send it away and have the hard-core techs look at it and fix whatever pieces are dead for a fixed fee. A fee that goes slightly over $1,000.

We took the laptop back, not knowing exactly what to do. I figured we'd take it to an authorized dealer in town that charges a bench fee to look at the thing, but replacing the pieces would likely come in under the Apple flat fee...unless it's the motherboard that has a problem.

Once in the car, Doug tried to turn the laptop on. It booted up, gave the tone, gave the screen....and stayed on. It even valiantly sounded a couple of calendar alarms. Doug powered it back off and we drove home.

Once at home, he tried again. It booted up, gave the tone and stayed on AGAIN. Hmmm. We went for data recovery as the first item of business, so we plugged it into the external hard drive and attempted to back it up...and it couldn't find the drive. We tried another USB port. Nothing. We tried a third, this time on the right side of the computer. Success!

So two USB ports are dead.

It also couldn't find the internet. Dead Airport card.

It successfully backed up the data, which I felt ever-so-thankful for. But the sound didn't work, either through the speakers or headphones.

Dead sound.

So....no internet, no sound, two dead USB ports and I'm lucky the keyboard still works. Damn.

Blink, blink.

Wait a minute, it made sound when we were in the parking lot...

Power off.
Power on.

Oh, NOW it decides it can find the Airport card, the two USB ports and, sure!--it has sound, just listen!

Doug is eyeing it suspiciously. I told him the computer was scared of being sent back to Cupertino for a Re-Education Program.

We're still working with the noisy fan, but we're not sure if we'll be missing more things with the next power cycle of the thing. AT THE MOMENT, it seems to be working. Even with 3/4 of a large glass of water poured over the top of it.

"Don't ever reboot again," advises Doug.

Yeah.

In other news, I INJURED myself. Again. That was on Thursday. See, my sin was that I bent down to sweep kitchen crumbs into a dustpan and when I straightened up, my back exploded and the room turned white.

I called the new chiropractor. "I seem to have injured myself," I tell them. "Is there any way I can come in?"
"How about in an hour?"
"Yeah. Assuming I can drive, I'll be there."

It took me that long to get ready and shuffle out to the car. I stuck a throw pillow from the couch into the driver's seat, and eased my way in. I got the car parked just in time to go through another happy little coughing fit.

Did you know that you use your back muscles to cough? I didn't know that. I sure know that now! After my charming, deep pneumonia hacking, I wasn't sure I would be able to get OUT of the car. I eventually slithered out the door, and baby-stepped to the office.

I got inside, and then my back decided to seize again. I couldn't walk, so I just stood there, waiting for it to go away. It did, and I got to the little receptionist window. Nobody there. I leaned on the windowsill and shifted my weight from foot to foot, but it was all miserable. Nothing helped.
"Your back hurts, I can tell from here," says someone in the waiting room.
I turned towards the sounds and I smiled weakly at her.
"Yeah, I hurt myself about an hour ago, so this is still pretty fresh."
The receptionist suddenly appears and introduces herself. She slides some paperwork towards me and says, "You fill this in...would you like to sit?"
I gave an agonized look at the chairs. "Uh....no, actually, that's...that's a painful option...."
"Oh, that's fine, we could..."
She carefully took note of my body language and I didn't bother to try and hide it.
"Let's just get you in NOW," she says, "We'll deal with paperwork later. Is that OK?"
"Oh yeah, more OK than you know!"

So she takes me back to see the chiropractor.

I have seen lots of chiropractors...I've been to at least four different ones, and know a few more, and they all have a certain look. They'll all young, under 40, and in peak physical condition. If someone told you these guys (and yeah, they're mostly guys) ran marathons, you'd totally believe it. They're painfully clean-cut; they wear dress slacks and fresh, pressed, white dress shirts with crisp, matching ties. Their hair is short, clean, shiny, combed to perfection and locked in place with mousse or gel. Their teeth are always perfectly straight and blindingly white. They're like little crisp, sharp corporate paper dolls.

This chiropractor isn't.

He's old enough to actually (gasp!) have gray in his hair, AND he's got some spinal condition where he looks at his feet all the time.

Now, had I seen this under normal conditions, and had this guy not been recommended to me by an insanely good miracle-working chiropractor in Denver, I'd have said, "Wait, you can't even cure yourself, and you want to lay hands on me? Forget it!" Instead, I gave him a lame grin and told him my tale of woe. "To further complicate this," I told him, gesturing at my lungs, "I'm also getting over actual pneumonia, so I have all this...schnard...to deal with." As the chiropractic table was lowering, he pokes me in the lower back on the right side, and I barked in pain.
"Yeah, that's where I thought it was," he says casually.
I'm having dark thoughts about the man, and about feeling helpless.
Pieces of the table drop, he adjusts, blah, blah, blah. He raises the table, I turn over, he does more adjusting. He goes to snap my neck and it doesn't agree with him and won't adjust.
"Count to three," he says.
"Huh?"
CRACK. "Good, you're fast."
"So...what did I do to myself?"
"It's really not that bad. You just banged together your (L4? L5? Two "L" numbers, anyway), it'll take two, maybe three visits, tops."

Next up is the electro-stimulation, which I think they make extra-effective by putting super-heated, damp towels on top of the electrodes.

"I want to do some acupuncture on you, too," he says.
"I thought you didn't do acupuncture," I said.
"Do it? I TEACH it."

Now it's the water table; you lie on a plastic-covered table that has a water jet inside, and it sprays heated water on you back as it travels from your heels up to your neck. As I'm getting comfortable (?) on this thing, I feel a prick in my right hip; Mr. Needles is apparently shoving lances in me now, THROUGH my clothing. Never had that before.

"My husband got treatment for cat allergies," I tell him.
"Ah. My answer to cat allergies is a Cantonese cookbook. Just kidding! I saw a lot of weird stuff over there, but I never saw cat."
"So what weird stuff DID you see?"
"Oh...dog lung and noodle soup, for instance."

Left hip, right hip, tops of both feet, two in each shin and he says, "I need to get under your armpits." Uh....he puts one in each side of the ribcage.

I'm left in this position to marinate for awhile. When it was over I asked them if they "had a good wax cycle on that thing," which I'm sure is a lame joke they've heard a lot before.

Now I wasn't sure how I was feeling about the treatment; better, yes, but still sort of tender, almost in shock. Getting up the next morning, however, I felt GREAT. Eighty percent improvement! I went in again, they did the treatment again...and later on that day I started to feel worse.

I have a final appointment mid-week, and right now I still hurt...but then again, I went hunting for Japanese Beetles (who are trying to eat my raspberries and grapes), and spent five seconds too long in a squatting position, which probably wasn't in my best interest.

I'm sick of this crap. The illness, the back pain, the incapacitated stupidity. We were supposed to go camping last week and then again this week. I would LOVE to go, and I can barely get out of the damn bed or load and unload the freakin' dishwasher. The minute I get too frisky I can't breathe right, and if I can breathe OK, I can't lift or bend or sit properly. This is more than the pits!! I feel like a mangled mess...

Saturday, June 06, 2009

The Ballad of the Sea Kitties

Please Don't Eat the Sea Kittens
Yeah, seriously...I'm just at a loss for words. I was unaware of Peta's campaign to rename fish "Sea Kittens."

Thursday, May 07, 2009

War On TerrorAnts

I hate ants.

They're ALL OVER, most particularly because it rained the other night, and when it rains, OH LORD, here come the idiot ants. 

So I get up in the morning and my kitchen has a merry trail of ants, coming and going from the recycling container and trash container. 
Awesome. 
I'm sick to death of this. They've invaded behind the stove, in the pantry, the bathroom linen closet (???), and now they're coming in under the freezer. 
I went to Home Depot. Got more Ant Death In a Bottle. Declared absolute war on them with a  hose-attached spray. Carefully read the directions to find that the spray is highly toxic to bees.
I like bees. 
No interest in killing the bees. 
I relate this fact to Doug, as we're standing outside. "Well, there aren't that many bees out this early," he says authoritatively. "It shouldn't really affect them."
I look down at his feet, as he's standing in a patch of sparsely-blooming clover.
"Don't step on the bee," I warn him.
"Oh!" he says, looking down. "Well...OK, maybe." 
He went back inside. Something about working from home and letting him know what's going on when I figure it out. 
I wasn't entirely stupid at Home Depot. I also got two tubes of outdoor caulk made for siding, which have a 35-year guarantee. 
Using a little cosmetic mirror, a roll of paper towels, a putty knife, a tube of caulk and a caulking gun, I got to work. By laying the mirror on the ground, I could see the gap between the siding and the concrete footing of the house. I used the caulk to fill up that gap, the putty knife to make sure it got stuffed INTO the crack, and then smoothed it out a little with the paper towels. I got about five feet of it done in the worst-offending area; it left a little crowd of black ants running around confused on the concrete, so....maybe? 

Major thunderstorm warnings tonight; lots of rain and thunder and threats of hail.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Gardens

So. I have two elm trees trying to volunteer to grow in the yard. One is trying to wedge itself under the porch. (We fight every year, he and I.) The other has now taken over the dwarf cherry tree. You know, the ornamental tree that was never going to get taller than six feet, the one that's right over a gas line or an electrical line or something underground that's likely to have dire consequences if broken? Yeah, that's now trying to grow into an 80-foot-high disease-prone monster.

*()&^!. (Rhymes with "duck.")

Good news: WE HAVE BABY GRAPES!!! They're so CUTE on the vines, teeny little dots about the size of aphids.
No, they're NOT aphids.

We have black aphids on the plants on the north side of the house. LOTS of aphids. TONS of aphids. We noticed some ants running around among them. Great. They're farming the damned aphids.
So...the bad news is that there's a Monsanto-sized aphid colony being farmed on one side of the house.
The good news is that it's all on a bunch of weeds we couldn't care less about.
So do you pull and burn the weeds and risk spreading the stupid aphids to the plants you WANT to save? Or leave 'em alone and hope they attract ladybugs?

More good news: The raspberries are ECSTATIC. They've already bloomed once, and there's a little crop of green raspberries rapidly growing along. I also see two places among the grapes where there are some new leaves poking up from the ground. Those leaves look suspiciously like raspberry leaves, can't imagine where they came from.

And the oak tree (remember him? The pole with leaves and no branches?) has suddenly decided to become a TREE instead of a pole. He's firing out branches in every direction and pushing out leaves like CRAZY. This is the first year since the frost damage happened that he's looked even remotely this healthy. So all in all, it's quite thrilling garden-wise out here. The clematis vines are blooming in deep red, white and pink (Lauren is DAZZLED, the flowers are bigger than her hand and they're right next to her beloved snails, whom she visits during every rainstorm.) David, noting the rapid growth of the shade-loving plants by the front door says to Doug and me, "Did you see the hostages outside?"
We had to bite our tongues.
"The hostas? Those big, green plants by the door?"
"Hostas, yeah, did you see them?"
Yes, they're coming up well, too.

I fear we shall be calling them hostages forever more now.

I also went trolling with a dandelion digger (or should I say a "daddy-lion" digger?) and was pleased at the sheer number of worms I dug up no matter where I went. And one grub, but he went into the birdfeeder. Yeah, mean, I know. Well, not as far as the birds are concerned.

Oh! And we had two goldfinch sightings this weekend. They've discovered the thistle seeds on the front porch, and if they see you coming, they zip off into the new elm tree.

Which brings the post around full-circle now, doesn't it?

Friday, April 24, 2009

Checkpoint Charlie

Tuesday night was fascinating...I’m sitting here on the couch (as usual) on the laptop; it’s about 1 a.m.

I hear the familiar sound of a revving car engine and just about cringe. These idiots drag race up and down this street with pretty good consistency, we all hate it. There’s this huge squeal of tires and then a “pop” or “bang,” which I thought was the car backfiring. There were more “pop-pop...pop-pop-pop...BANG!”

Oh, boy. I better go investigate THAT one. I set the laptop aside and jogged to the back door, flipped on the porch light and threw the curtains to one side. Car. Across the street. In the neighbor’s yard, nose-first into the telephone pole. Awesome.

There was a guy already out of the car, heading around to the front of it. I slid open the door and stepped onto the deck. “Are you guys alright?” I shouted.
“...I’mmmmm....fine,” comes the reply. “I havvta get my car outta here....can you guysh help me?”
Drunk. As. A. Skunk. Slurred speech, and panicked.
“Uh...yeah, let me see if I can get some help! Hang on!”
I stepped back inside, closed and locked the door, and made a beeline for the basement, grabbing the phone on my way past. I dialed and was halfway down the stairs.
“9-1-1.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, hitting the bottom of the stairs and banging the basement door open. “I’ve got what looks like a drunk driving accident across the street--Doug, there’s a car wreck across the street!--”
I jogged back up the stairs--fast.
“Ok, and where are you?”
“We’re at (crossroads) in (city).” (Pant, pant, pant! I am SO out of shape!)
“Is anyone injured?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, heading for the door again. “There’s a guy outside of the car running around trying to push it, but I don’t know if there are any passengers.”
A bewildered spouse comes jogging up the stairs. “What’s going on?”
“A guy hit the post out there, he’s trying to push the car out, go look.”
“Ma’am? Did you say he struck something?”
“Yeah it’s a....post....a....a” and my mind goes totally blank. Big tall thingy with wires. I’m looking out of the window right at the damned thing. I’m left standing there on the phone with 9-1-1, panting and wheezing like I’m in the middle of a heart attack without a clue of what to call that tall, wooden thing out there. “....hang on....”
“Calm down, ma’am, just take a deep breath.”
I’m not panicked, lady, just a fat, senile soccer mom!
“No, I’ve been running up and down the stairs to get my husband,” I said, stepping onto the deck again. “A...telephone pole! With the eletrical wires!” I trumpet with success. “He ran head-on into the telephone pole!”
I would swear the dispatcher stifled a giggle.
“OK, and is it upright?”
“Oh yeah, the pole is still upright, there are no downed wires or anything dangerous like that.”
“OK, and what kind of car is it?”
“Uh...oh man, I’m terrible with cars. It’s a sedan. Doug, do you know what kind of car that is?”
“It’s a black...” Doug squints at it. He starts to walk over to identify it.
“A black...um, sedan, he’s going to go check it out.”
“That’s fine, no problem. And no one is injured?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Black two-door Buick,” reports Doug, materializing beside me.
I repeat the information. The neighbor is livid, screaming. “...broke off my fuckin’ tree! What the fuck did you think was going to happen when you decided to drink and drive?!?” Other neighbors are out now, beginning to physically place themselves between the neighbor and the unlucky drunk kid who’s busy being apologetic. Drunk kid might get his head torn off.
“That’s fine,” says dispatch.
“....and now the neighbor is getting into a fight. Of course.”
“Are there any weapons involved?”
“Oh! No! Not at all, just screaming. He’s justifiably livid.”
“Ok, and what’s your name?”
She took my name and I volunteered my address.

About three minutes later a police cruiser pulled up. The kid (who looked to be anywhere from 17 to 20 years old) had been offering $500 to the neighbor to not call the police on him, saying that “he couldn’t go to jail.” The kid was NOT happy to see the officer show up.
“Is this your car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you coming from tonight?”
“A bar, sir.”
“You want to tell me what happened here?”
“Yes, sir. I...I was talking on my cellphone and I guess I got distracted.”
“Ok, you sit here on the curb, ok?”
“Yes, sir.” He looked shaky, even in the poor light. He sat, wrapping his arms around his knees.
The police officer looked at the homeowner, who also happens to be a volunteer firefighter with the city. “Hey, Jack!” says the officer, breaking into a familiar smile. “You having trouble again?”

The kid’s expression became absolutely pained, and he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head in his arms.

We were all milling around in the street, watching the proceedings and having an exceedingly better time than either the driver or the homeowner. A short time later an ambulance arrived, and then a fire truck. Jack’s yard catches hell at this intersection; I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come outside on a Saturday or Sunday morning and seen fresh tire tracks cut across his front yard. They cut across our side yard, too, bumping up into the driveway and speeding through the grass, cutting back onto the street after they pass the 25mph speed limit sign. Jackasses.

Since the cop knows the homeowner well, we got the inside details of events. The kid had an outstanding warrant, and a prior DWI offense. They hauled him away in the ambulance, and we were informed he’s have his blood drawn and would be going to jail that evening. He had also been placed into an offender program meant to curb underage drunk drivers not so long ago, so my guess on age couldn’t have been that far off. He also informed the cop that he lived in a trailer park a couple of miles away. Turns out that this road is a major cut-through for the drunks who want to get home while avoiding the checkpoint on the highway.

Can’t tell you how safe that makes us feel.