BLITHERING, BUMBLING, AND RAMBLING #8
BUCKY IS THAT YOU?
The other day a deer walked by the back yard fence. This was a large male with at least 4 points of antler, the biggest I have ever seen over the fence, and he strode proudly, head high, not an ounce of fear or intimidation in him. Iconic, symbolic, as fine a specimen of wildlife beauty as could be. Wow, I thought, gotta give this one a name.
Name? Well, yeah, you’ve see those movies where somebody spots the buck and, whispering the name , sees a glint of recognition . Heck, it’s why people move to woodsy areas. Uh huh, that doesn’t happen.
If deer could talk, the buck would probably be telling The Deerwife they should move to the suburbs to get away from all them redneck Bubba’s with high powered rifles. He’d make the strong argument that there’s less traffic on neighborhood streets, more vegetation in the backyards to munch on, and they would be treated like celebrities by all those nutty people who want to take their pictures and post them on Facebook. Come on, babe, let’s move to the city!
The Deerwife would come back with a response like, yeah, but what about the dogs, the chemicals they spray on that vegetation, exhaust fumes, and don’t get me started on those kids playing their loud music and partying at all hours of the night. Naw, I don’t think so.
So as the Buck ventured off into the woods, I kept coming back to see if he’d returned. He didn’t. Days passed, deerless. Probably lost that argument with his wife, I thought.
Hope started to fade, all sounds emanating from the green belt area seemed to indicate less of a presence for the iconic buck. That’s it, I thought- Bucky!
So now I have a name to whisper should he reappear. Sure, it’s a long shot that anything will happen other than he bolts off into the green belt. Yet the momentary sight of the one of the largest forms of wildlife in this area, is worth the wait. Or maybe I have been watching too many inspiring animal documentaries…………
Well, ok, maybe.
FULL VOLUME
My wife and I were watching TV the other night, sipping tea. I had just made the tea, and, unexpectedly, she had requested Chamomile, rather than the usual blend. She had taken a sip and sat back on the sofa. Suddenly, and very loudly, a tremendous roar emanated from her. It was an AHH-CHOO sneeze that had enough shriek and resonating echo to shake the rafters and scare the neighbors two blocks away. We are talking L-O-U-D here.
And then, brace yourself, it was followed by a second bellowing Sneeze-o-Saurus Rex of equal barrage quality. Whew, I thought, glad I was off to the side. That was the kind of allergic eruption that, in cartoons, sends the nearest observer flying through the air. Trying to say something reassuring, I said “that sounded like it came up all the way up from your toes!” (Uh, ok, reassurance is not my strong point).
Bless her heart, she smiled lightly, took another sip of tea, and giggled a bit. Then she started watching TV again- composed, resilient, focused once more. Now THAT, is the delicate flower I married. Dad was right, she’s a keeper.
I was a little hesitant about sipping my tea after that, because, hey, maybe there’s a Chamomile recall out there that we missed.
THE DANCE OF JOY
If you remember the old TV show Perfect Strangers, there was a point in the various episodes where they momentarily celebrate something with “The Dance of Joy”. It was hilarious.
When my kids were toddlers, we celebrated brief moments of accomplishment with the same thing, renaming it “the happy dance”. If you ever watched small children try to dance, particularly when they are imitating their rhythm-less father, it can be mildly charming, or clumsy amusement.
When my daughter Erin was in high school she played volleyball. When she was on the freshman team there was a game at Roseville High School that stirred a spontaneous reaction.
On the freshman team there were few players who could serve the ball over the net with any regularity. Points changed hands rather quickly at times due to less than the majority of the players being able to get past the net more than twice in a row. Erin was one of those having a rough day in that area.
They were struggling in this game from the beginning, and their short-of-the -net serves were piling up. In the second set , Roseville was one point away from victory, Rocklin was 7 points back. Erin stepped up to serve. Yeah, as a parent this is where you breathe deep and cross your fingers. And then…..
Her first serve made it over, after a little back-and-forth, Rocklin took the point. A sigh of relief as I realized I was still holding onto that breath. 6 more to go, just to stay in. Boy, this kid-raising thing has its dramatic moments.
The second serve barely, and I mean barely, cleared the net. Rocklin scored again. A glimmer, and yeah, just a glimmer of hope was bringing the crowd back into the game. The noise level increased, heartbeats sped up,knuckles started to clench. I’ve seen Super Bowls with less excitement. The next few serves had no problem, the Roseville team starting to bark at each other. Whoa, game on.
Each serve had the folks on my side of the room leaning forward in anticipation as the ball approached the net. One point down, and Erin’s seventh serve in a row coming up. Hey, you can’t BUY this kind of edge-of-your-seat stuff. Ooohhhhhhhh, Puuuuleeeaaaassssse!!!
The serve makes it over- a brief back-forth, and YES, Rocklin ties it up! HA! Take that Roseville. With the game still going, and a brief pause between points, the aforementioned spontaneous reaction begins……
I stand up and start , yes, the happy dance. Can’t help it, much like the old Steve Martin routine where he yells “Oh no! I’ve got Happy feet!” and starts wildly tap dancing across stage. Ok, for me, not wildly, but joyfully, rhythm-less, out of step, and offbeat, with a ridiculous grin on my face, for about 30 seconds. My wife Debbie, starts laughing hysterically. The folks around us have looks that range between amused, bewildered, and awestruck. Let’s just call it mixed reactions.
The wonderment of the crowd, spread somewhere from “oh, he must be that lovely girl’s father” to “Hey, get that guy his spasm meds!” I didn’t care. Rocklin went on to win.
Erin told me later that after the game, her coach huddled them together and told them their comeback surge in the second set changed the outcome. And coach gasped, “and I think I saw your dad dancing!” Erin laughed as she told me. So did I.
There is an old saying that dance is a form of expression and you should do it like nobody’s watching. Right. But if they are watching, the next few times you go back to the gym, you might hear some whispered muttering like “That’s him. If the game gets to a real nail-biter he does the funky-chicken-with-seizures shuffle”.