Tonya has a big, productive garden, and she is of good Mennonite stock which means she can never. . .stop. . .working. . .She tells me she's up to her ears in peaches and she's already canned enough beans to build a replica of the Empire State Building. Plus she works two mornings a week and educates her children at home by cyberschool. My question is: when does she sleep?
Did I mention she has a flock of chickens? And a penchant for personal, physical disaster? Since I've known her she has almost shot her eye out with a hunting rifle, stumbled backwards into a ravine that was hiding a nest of bees, and bashed herself countless times on countless objects.
Last evening, she was already doubled over with pain from a previous injury, but continued wildly chopping basil to more unfortunate consequences. . .the permanent loss of the tip of her thumb.
There are these miniature children's books that Merry used to like about sad bunnies (by Rosemary Wells, I think) who endure horrible things and get rescued by a Queen bunny named Janet who then takes them to the Bunny Planet so they can experience the day that should have been.
Tonya, let's go to the bunny planet.
Or to the shores of Orcas Island, on the placid cool waters of the Puget Sound. Only the sound of a paddle in water, mountains rising around you, the hope of a seal.
Ah. . . .
5 comments:
Oh, Rosemary Wells. "I love you," said Max is a catch phrase around our house, even after all these years. Last night, my daughter Laura, who had just dazzled us with her ice skating skills, reached into the car trunk to pull out her hockey bag. The trunk, possessed by a will of its own, conked her on the nose. In our famly, those who have enough Moyer blood share what we call the twitch. We break dishes, fall off of curbs, lurch suddenly into our walking companions. There is no hope for us. We are kindred spirits with your friend.
Better to be elegant and fast on skates than light on your feet the rest of the time, I think. The "hopeless" things you describe--bumping into walking partners, for instance--sound like they must just add to the Moyer charm.
Ha! That's some raggedy style of charm, I'd say. Still, we pull it off with as much panache as we can muster.
I think I'll sleep at Bunny Planet...sounds fuzzy!
T
My Bunny planet has two facets.
I'm sitting next to a clear, cold gurgling brook somewhere on the Blue Ridge Parkway with your Auntie.
We have a fabulous picnic lunch, and a bottle of good Riesling cooling in the brook.
There are no ants, bees, or aggravations of any kind.
The other side of the gem; I am once again young and carefree, spending the day at the local elementary school with my old friends playing endless games of sandlot football. I can once again run like the wind, turn on a dime, and throw a football with great alacrity.
Bunny Planets are necessary for our sanity, especially when our kids are young.
Or grown, and halfway around the world in danger every day.
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