This afternoon the phone rang and it was my friend PA State Cop. I don't recall if we met professionally or personally, but we go back a while and talk weekly, visiting when he's in the state. He told he had a chance to meet Old NFO recently and you could hear the grin in his voice. I've known Old NFO longer than anyone out here, 20 some years, meeting when I hauled him someplace in a plane when I was a pup and didn't kill him. PA was certainly honored to finally get to meet him, but then he just blurted it out "We traded Brigid stories". Oh no, I can ONLY imagine. :-)
For you see, I like to think of myself as skilled, precise, calm and collected. I can be. I can also NOT be. Also, people think I am an expert on all kinds of gourmet foods and complicated things, when in fact, I have eaten more than one can of cold ravioli, and if I designed the US Customs Form it would only read
Check the box if you are bringing in:
It started with a bruise the size of Maine on my left hip from the previous day. I don't always get to maneuver on the most level of surfaces and the gear can be bulky and I managed to bust a move the day before. I wasn't as bad as the great spandex blow out of 2009 but I knew, when my foot slipped, that I was going down. I maneuvered to let the hip take the blow, not hands or head. Next thing I know someone is looking at me holding up two fingers asking if I can count. (I said 43 to throw them off). Fortunately the knee and head were fine, the hip took one for the team and it had a 7 inch bruise to show it at the end of the day.
But I was headed home for 4 days off and it was looking like Barkley could be brought home from the doggie hospital on Monday after some healing time and the proper adjustment of meds. It's just a drive, how hard can that be? Plus the weather has finally cleared up from that tremendous polar blast that Washington blamed on the previous administration.
I had on my gloves on, the tight, Mrs. Peale black leather pair that, while warm and sexy, make me about as dexterous as T-Rex. I was only going to put in about 10 gallons, a bit of business for them in thanks for the use of their facility, planning on topping off later, when it's cheaper. For some reason, when working the pump nozzle, T -Rex managed to move that little lever that locked the squeeze handle full ON. No! I know it will auto shut off, but I don't want a full tank at today's prices. OK, move the little level. It's stuck! Frozen, who knows. Off comes the glove and I applied some force on the
With the back of my parka closed in it. Where I can't move enough to get the key into the door to unlock (before someone says BlondeStar, the automatic locks on this truck have never worked and I was too cheap to have them trouble shot).
I managed to get OUT of the coat, unlock the truck, re-dress and into the house. The house being cold, myself not much warmer since doing the "Dance of the Seven Veils but in Carthart", in the driveway. I looked for something to put on til it warms up. Most of the sweaters are down in the laundry room, which is colder than upstairs. There's a fuzzy blaze orange vest in the coat closet. Mmmm, Nice and Warm.
Partner in Grime comes home later, sees the finger, sees the bloody gloves and I said "it's even better, let me drop my pants" (a phrase that guys seem to like, but not so much if it's just to see your bruise). He looks at me and grins and says "so, the orange vest, that's not because you're cold, that's a WARNING" and we both laughed.
But seriously, I don't know WHAT kind of stories PA State Cop and Old NFO could possibly come up with about their Brigid?
You all stay safe now.