by Kathy Brasby | Dec 2, 2014 | Stories
I’ve had two black eyes in my life. They both came in events so innocent that I can share the stories later.
That’s pretty amazing in itself.
I blame the first one on needing to pick up an elective class in my last semester of college. I chose an auto mechanics class for women.
The class unraveled the mysteries of internal combustion and banished all ideas of needing to replace lug nut valves on my car. Amazing class.
One of our projects was learning how to change the oil on our cars. It’s not that hard to do. Really.
Something that helps is having the right tools, which I didn’t have and didn’t want to spring big bucks for. So I made do.
Making do is a key element in too many of my stories, I’ve noticed.
But I digress.
I had a pipe wrench to loosen the oil pan drain plug. I clamped the wrench on the drain plug and then hammered the handle with whatever I could find. A hammer. A lead pipe. A big rock.
The wrench was beginning to move as the drain plug loosened. And then something happened.
“Something happened” could be my motto, now that I think about it…
But the wrench popped loose and bounced off my cheek. I could feel something warm below my eye and assumed I had knocked loose a contact lens.
So I made my way into the house to retrieve the lens.
Um, no, the lens was fine. But I had a one-inch gash from the errant wrench.
And the next day I had a Nike-swoosh-quality black eye.
I’d love to tell you that I learned not to make do. Or not use the wrong tool.
But my absolute best solution to this problem was when I married a top-quality mechanic who never let me change the oil again.
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by Kathy Brasby | Nov 25, 2014 | Stories
Never had the first snow of the season been so anticipated as it was by our neighbor who was armed with a new snowblower.
The day came, of course. The first snow.
On the plains of Colorado, snow often comes as crispy shards driven by a dry wind. This snowfall was one of those.
But our neighbor rushed out to his driveway as soon as the swirling snow could be seen.
We heard the roar of the engine and rushed to the window. This wasn’t to be missed.
He started at his garage door and opened a dry path to the street, turning the blower around and aiming for the garage again. As he walked, the whispy snow flying out of his blower’s tube rose in the air and shot downward with precision.
Back onto the path he had just cleared.
Our neighbor finished the driveway in that same fashion: clear a patch and blow new snow onto it. Maybe the motto of the snow blower is never look back.
But, at the rate he was clearing things, he could enjoy his new machine all day long. Not bad for a new snow toy.
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by Kathy Brasby | Nov 4, 2014 | Stories
When the phone in our bedroom chirped, I opened one sleepy eye to check the time. Yep: 2:12 again.
Every night for months, at 2:12 am our phone emitted a sound like a choked cat.
Our phone ruled from the top shelf on the headboard of our bed in those days.
And generally my husband slept through it all.
But this night, as I was checking the time, he made a muffled growl and reached up for the phone.
I watched his arm snake upward. Then it lost its GPS settings and fell limply onto the phone which skittered off the shelf and onto my husband’s head with a solid ka-chunk.
“Oh, Honey,” I said. “Are you all right?”
He said, “Mmm..gr…..uhhhh” and started snoring again.
I did check for blood as I lifted the phone off his head.
I expected bruises in the morning. “Is your head OK?” I asked him just before he headed off for work.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
There are hard heads and there are heads harder than Mount Everest. Especially when it comes to 2:12 am choked cat wake-up calls.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 28, 2014 | Stories
I was more puzzled than miffed when our teenage son pounded on our bedroom door at midnight accompanied by the sound of a wailing baby.
“He won’t stop crying,” he said in a tone that would have shoved the baby in my arms if only he could.
Our son had brought his baby home from school that day complete with a pastel diaper bag, bottle, diapers and toys.
We’d taken pictures and even named the little guy.
But only our son had the key.
This baby was a mechanical doll from his family living class and it was programmed to cry randomly. Only the caretaker with the key could try to address his needs.
Did it need a new diaper? A bottle? Burping?
The caretaker used a magnetic wrist band to access the baby’s data bank before offering solutions.
This all sounds a little crazy but not nearly as crazy as being awakened at midnight.
I have some experience with flesh-and-blood babies. I didn’t even have a key for this one.
We learned later that the mechanical baby needed to be reprogrammed but, at midnight, our son didn’t care.
So I got up and offered empty advice and he finally took the baby back to his room where it cried all night despite his best efforts.
He carried the wailing baby into school the next morning where the teacher reprogrammed it.
But he’d lost so much sleep that he slept through the normal cries the next night.
Our son is a terrific father today to three sweet little boys but he also carries the distinction of being the only student in his class to fail Parenting 101.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 21, 2014 | Stories
The best thing about moving with children is the stories that sprout.
Our move forced our kids to pack up their bedroom stuff. Not the furniture and not the clothes. But the toys and mementoes were their business.
Our 6-year-old son embraced the challenge. He dragged empty cardboard boxes into his room and managed to tape them closed himself. He wrote his name on the outside and added them to the mountain of boxes in the living room.
His system worked perfectly and his boxes were transferred to his bedroom in our new home.
I had noticed, a couple of weeks before, that he had gathered all the decorations from his sister’s birthday celebration and squirreled them away in his closet.
On moving day, when I wandered into his room with a knife to slice through the tape on his boxes, I discovered his happy little secret.
He’d filled his boxes with a cloud of inflated birthday balloons.
The story has lasted a lot longer than the balloons.
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by Kathy Brasby | Oct 6, 2014 | Stories
Sometimes you face your fears with determination and courage. Sometimes you face an angry mama cow the same way. Especially when the stick keeps breaking.
My mother was always game for helping with the livestock on the family farm. We had a small group of black Angus cows that needed to be moved to a new corral. Mom dried her hands on her dishtowel and jumped to the task.
Black Angus cows can be aggressive in their nurturing skills. This means that, when they had a new calf, they could be a bear to move into a new pen.
They’d rather knock you flat and then move into the new corral.
But Mom knew cattle and she scaled the fence with a stick in hand.
“You don’t back down,” she told us kids many times. “You face them and show them you’re in charge.”
So, in this case, she flailed her arms a few times, which generally got cattle moving in the right direction.
This particular cow chose the attack mode. She lowered her head and took a few menacing steps toward Mom.
Mom responded by bashing the stick on the cow’s head.
The cow stopped. The stick broke off at the end.
Then the cow lunged again. Mom slammed the stick onto her head and the cow stopped. The stick broke off at the end.
This continued with the cow charging, Mom banging with her stick, and the stock breaking until Mom was out of stick.
Fortunately, the cow had tired of stick bashing because she turned and trotted into the new pen.
“What did you do then?” I asked Mom later.
She laughed. “I’ve never gotten over that fence so fast.”
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