A Mouse In My Pocket

In order to convey the feeling of loneliness in his novel: Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck has one of his characters, Lennie, walking around with a pet field mouse in his pocket. Apparently Lennie and his mouse are pretty good friends.

Now, I don't mean to put John Steinbeck down. He was a great novelist. It's just that I have a little different take on the idea of having a mouse in your pocket. Let me explain.

Because our ranch backs up to the forest we have the occasional mouse or two or ten scampering around our barn. We, of course, take the necessary precautions to be sure their numbers don't exceed the number of stars in the universe, however it is an on-going challenge.

A few weeks ago we had an unexpected break in the cold weather, so on that day the jacket I wore out to the barn to feed the livestock was quickly discarded. I don't like wearing jackets anyway because they hinder my movement, so I was delighted to be able to take it off and toss it haphazardly on a bale of hay.

Unfortunately in about an hour or so the clouds rolled back in and the wind picked up, so I reluctantly slipped the jacket back on. It was amazing how quickly the weather turned from warm and sunny to cold and windy. The sudden change made my nose runny so I reached into my pocket to retrieve a Kleenex. It took me a few seconds to realize that Kleenex are not supposed to feel warm and fuzzy. Nor are they supposed to scamper about in your pocket when touched. Sure Kleenex have improved remarkably over the years, but not that much. My keen sense of perception told me there was something not quite right about that Kleenex. A quick peek into the pocket reveled two bulging eyes of a wild field mouse staring back at me.

Shrieking and squealing louder than a frightened piglet, I jerked my hand out of my pocket. I think that normally would have been a good maneuver but the mouse, no doubt fearful of going deaf from my screams, jumped from pocket onto my hand and then ran up the under sleeve of my jacket.

That caused me to do what any woman would do. I started jumping up and down, spinning in circles and screaming even louder. Somewhere in there, a tweak of sanity took over and I realized I needed to get my jacket off in order to free myself and the mouse from our mutual horror. Unfortunately, the jacket zipper had other ideas. It was stuck. I'm telling you... Never trust a zipper to work when you need it the most. They are totally unreliable in emergencies! I think the FDA should put warning labels on them. I can only imagine the horrors that plague men.

I tugged, I screamed, I pulled, I screamed, I jumped up and down, I screamed, I stomped my feet, and I screamed...nothing would work. Finally I tried pulling the jacket up over my head. That not only failed but it gave the mouse the opportunity to slip down the collar of my sweatshirt and lodge itself on my left shoulder. Since the mouse now had access to my bare shoulder under the sweatshirt, I feared it would bite me, which only increased my angst.

I tugged violently at the collars of both my jacket and sweatshirt hoping the mouse would see the light of day though the tiny opening and flee. It didn't. It crawled in deeper . Suddenly I felt it trying to slide down by back, so I began to jump up and down faster as I fanned the bottom of my clothing. At that point, I began to feel oxygen deprived from all the screaming and squealing. I was also feeling a bit queasy and dizzy from all the jumping and spinning in circles. The Whirling Dervish would have been very proud of my performance!

Finally exhausted, I began to lose balance and on one of my rotations I collided with a bale of hay, bounced off it and fell down. Defeated by a tiny mouse in my pocket, I lay completely still and exhausted for a few seconds watching the barn continue to spin around me. I tried to come up with a plan to rid myself of the mouse, but all that came to mind was crying. Well, in all honesty, there was a brief moment when I considered shooting the mouse, but since it was clinging spread-eagle to my shoulder, I knew the outcome wouldn't have been pretty. I envisioned the local newspaper headlines reading "Crazed woman shoots self in shoulder while trying to escape mouse attack" Yeah, that would nave been real good.

It's rare, but I suppose there are times when there is logic in surrendering. In this case, apparently the mouse was relieved that I had stopped my frantic thrashing because with the speed of a flash of lightening, it ran down my limp arm and exited though the cuff on clothing. I continued to lay motionless as I watched it stagger dizzily across the barn floor and vanish under a stall door.

I have to tell you, the whole episode frightened me half out of my mind, but.. in all fairness, I'm not completely without sympathy for the mouse. That poor little thing must have had one insane ride. The image of a bull rider clinging to the back of a crazed bull as it spins and bucks comes to mind.

Nothing personal John Steinbeck, but one day I may rewrite your novel and call it: Of Mice and Hysterical Women.

Guest Speaker Extrodinaire

Because I recently wrote and published a book on the smallest and most unique quail in the world; Chinese Blue Breasted Quail, I was asked to be the featured guest speaker at a Bird Club.

The town that I was to speak in is about a 4 hour drive from our home. Since we were unfamiliar with the town, the club's representative, Karen, suggested we come a bit early and meet at a local restaurant on the main highway. She said the club would be honored to buy my husband,Bruce and me dinner prior to the meeting.

Locating the restaurant and meeting up with Karen, sounded simple enough. Since since she was in the process of moving she told us to look for a white pick-up with miscellaneous household belongings piled in it. She also said we should look for a "Mutt and Jeff" combination because she was very short and she would be bringing another club member who was very tall. To further simplify things she said the tall woman, named Jane, would be walking with a cane. What could be easier?

Since it was a long trip and we were still a bit shaky about the exact location of the restaurant, we left a bit earlier than needed. Which of course meant we arrived 30 minutes early and found the restaurant without any trouble. That's just the law of nature with things like that. We were to meet the club ladies at 5:30. It was 5pm on the dot.

At 5:15 we saw a solitary tall woman, using a cane,walking toward the door of the restaurant. She was looking around as if she was searching for someone, so we jumped out of the truck and rushed toward her. As we anxiously approached we asked "Are you Jane?." As it turned out, she wasn't Jane, and there was a brief moment when the cane came up off the ground in a manner that suggested she might swing it at us.

We retreated to the safety of our truck and waited, and waited and waited. Finally at 5:50 a white pick up truck struggling under the weight of what appeared to be an entire houseful of boxes and furniture raced madly into the parking lot. A short woman exploded from the drivers side and literally ran toward the restaurant's door. Catching up to her just inside the restaurant we confirmed it was indeed Karen, and introduced ourselves. Jane, the tall lady with the cane, was a no-show.

It was a delightful dinner over which we exchanged pleasantries and talked about various types of birds. After dessert and coffee the water dropped off the bill and Jane presented him with a plastic card. The waiter scrutinized it, shook his head and explained they didn't accept debit cards. Since that was the only card Karen had...we paid for the meal.

Once outside, Karen said we should follow her to the community center where the bird club met and where my speech would be delivered. Now you would think that the deal with the debit card would have been a glaring signal telling us that the rest of the evening was not going to go well, but we laughed it off and started off in pursuit of Karen's truck. By then it was getting dark, so we were tracking her tail lights, and trying to keep her mound of belongings in sight.

Karen, who was obviously used to rush hour driving, wove in and out of traffic like the Tasmanian Devil. I did a fairly good job of keeping up with her until a very large truck cut me off, and we completely lost her. She had given us vague (very vague) directions before leaving the restaurant. Fortunately, by pure blind luck and multiple random turns, we happened upon the community center about 7pm

Karen was inside calmly sipping coffee. Swell. She introduced us to the clubs president and secretary who informed us the power point projector was mysteriously not working, but added that they had called for a back up unit which would arrive well before my talk which was scheduled to begin at 7:30.

By 8:10 the back-up unit had not arrived and people were getting restless. Maybe it was just my nerves, but I was sensing a riot or a massive walk-out. At 8:15 the club president suggested a break for coffee and cookies, and he initiated a raffle. That kept everyone's attention off me for a while longer, but I was growing more and more apprehensive and nervous with every tick of the clock.

Finally at 8:40 the new equipment arrived. It was dropped off by the club presidents son who appeared to be in his early 20's. I felt a brief moment of reprieve until I noticed the young man left without helping to set the equipment in place. In a brief flurry of discussion it became apparent that no one there was familiar with setting the new unit up let alone operating it. A migraine began to nag me and I felt a bit faint. There wasn't enough coffee or water in the whole center to quench the dryness in my mouth.

In a group effort, everyone rallied around the machines and eventually, mostly by luck, they managed to turn it on, and I was handed the microphone. A loud cheer went up from the restless group.

As I began to introduce myself and give a bit of background for my talk, loud stripper music blasted from the speakers and some rather interesting images began to flash on the large screen behind me. Everyone gasped. Mothers covered their childrens eyes. Men hooted. I felt all my blood rushing to my head and I had to grasp hold the podium to keep my legs from buckling. I felt very nauseous and my whole body began to tremble. I managed to croak in a near whisper "That's NOT my C.D. Seriously people, that is not my C.D. Really no, not mine."

Well, naturally the man operating the projector couldn't figure out how to shut it off or open the C.D. drawer until it was too late...much, much too late, so we progressed about 3 minutes into the "show." When he was finally able to open the drawer he ejected a C.D. and jokingly announced it was titled "Factory Girls Raw and Naked" I left the stage and headed to the woman's restroom where I ran cold water over my wrists to keep from fainting and also splashed some on my face to no avail.

Apparently the young man who delivered the projector was watching that CD when he was asked to deliver the equipment to the club. Either he forgot to pull it out, or it was his revenge for having to give up his evenings entertainment. Either way, anyway, anyhow it was the most embarrassing moment in my life...thus far.

At 9.05 they reintroduced me and someone whispered in my ear "I know we scheduled your for an hour but can you cut it to 30 minutes or less?"

The rest is a blur.

Need I say I had a full blown migraine and was completely flustered, flushed, nauseated and faint by then? To top things off the stress caused my asthma to kick in and I could barely breath let along talk. My voice vibrated so bad it sounded like I was trying to talk while roller skating over a washboard sidewalk. Eventually, someone handed me a tiny paper cup of water which I managed to spill over my notes rendering them completely useless.

As for the talk, I have no idea what came out of my mouth. The sensation felt like what people describe when they say they have an out of body experience. I was there, but not really there. I stumbled madly though the disjointed talk and consolidated it down to 18 minutes flat. Maybe the audience didn't realize what I left out, maybe they were just happy it was finally over, or maybe they just felt sorry for me, but when I finished and staggered off the stage in a daze they applauded and thanked me.

Yesterday received a nice e-mail in the form of an apology and a request to speak again in 2 months. But you know what...I'm pretty sure I'm busy that night,when ever it is. My public speaking is pretty much a thing of the past...forever.

The Kidnap and Murder of Modine

It all started out so innocently when my friend Beth called to ask if I'd help her alter a wedding dress. Now, I'm not by any means an expert seamstress but I at least know how to thread a needle and that puts me miles ahead of Beth.

The biggest problem I saw was that since Beth works nights and sleeps most of the day we would have an awful time getting together for fittings and subsequent alterations. To solve that problem we decided we needed to find a manikin or dress form in size 16, so I could work on the dress at my leisure.

Running thought the phone book listings we soon discovered that buying a new one was way out of her budget range, so we decided to place an ad in the local newspaper. The ad said we were open to buying if the price was right but we'd prefer to borrow one for a few weeks.

The ad harvested only one response. It came from an elderly lady who said had a half manikin half dress form in her attic that she thought was a size 16 and if we'd come get it we could have it for free.

As it happened that call came on a day when Beth was off work. So I telephoned her and told her to get herself up out of bed so we could pick up this strange sounding "maniform/dressikin."

Now that you have a bit of background, here's what happened:

When we arrived at the home of the lady who had called we discovered that she was in a wheel chair, which meant we were the ones that had to climb into the attic and examine the strange "maniform/dressikin" and then subsequently drag her down to the main floor. She was perfect in every way. Her body was soft like a dress form, but her head, legs, and arms were made of a hard composite material. Not only did she look very human-like, she even had a name: Modine .

So far so good... or not, depending on how you look at it. We wanted to sit Modine in the back seat of Beth's car, but Modine was stark naked and no matter what position we sat or laid her in we decided it was grounds for a ticket for lewd behavior in a public place. So we hauled her back into the old lady's house and asked if she had an old sheet or something we could wrap her in. The lady said that there were some old packing/moving pads in the garage and we were welcome to take one of those.

Perfect... or not, depending on your point of view. We wrapped Modine head to toe in the moving/packing pad and with Beth holding her legs and me holding her head and arms we hauled her out to the car again. On a whim, we decided to put Modine in the trunk of the car instead of the back seat.

Now picture if you will; two strange ladies hauling something that looks a lot like a body out of your elderly neighbors house and stuffing it into the trunk of a car... what would you do? Well of course you'd call the police. Someone did.

But it only gets better, because the latch on the trunk of Beth's car doesn't always hold, and it chose this particular day to NOT hold. About halfway home the trunk flew open. Beth was in the center lane and couldn't make it to the right hand lane to pull over, so at the first red stoplight I jumped out to slam it shut.

To my horror the pad had blown partially off exposing Modines upper torso and head. Her hair was askew, her head was flopped back, and one hand dangled precariously into open air. I tried to shove her back into the trunk, but her head wedged between the spare tire and the inside of the trunk. It wouldn't budge, so I grabbed her by the hair and began to push, pull and tug.

I can only imagine how it all looked. The people in cars to either side and behind us were talking adamantly on cell phones and snapping photos of me. I kept shouting "it's ok, she's just a manikin" but no one laughed. As the light turned green a car full of teenage girls slowly drove past...all of them started screaming and pulled out their cell phones in unison. I heard distant sirens closing fast...and yet, you know I just didn't think they were coming for us. Sure it looked bad, but she was just a "maniform/dressikin."

Finally I was able to shove Modine back into position in the trunk, but not before her head came off, slipped though my hands and bounced once on the pavement. I grabbed it by a shank of long black hair and tossed it to the back of the trunk and jumped back in the car. Beth was laughing hysterically, I wasn't.

We'd only driven about 2 blocks when we were surrounded by city police, state police and highway patrol vehicles. They were on both sides of us, behind us and cutting us off in front. A voice boomed from a loud speaker telling the driver (that would be Beth) to roll down her window and show both hands. The passenger (me) was told not to exit the car.

Beth was then told to exit the vehicle with both hands in the air, turn and put her hands on top of the vehicle. Next I was told to follow the same procedure they had just walked Beth through. I'm telling you having a dozen or so weapons pointed at you is nothing like it seems on television. It's down right heart stopping. So much so that Beth fainted! Some friend, checking out when I needed her the most!

With Beth laying stone cold on the pavement while they put handcuffs on her, that left me to try and explain that Modine was a "maniform/dressikin" A statement I now regret making because after being asked several times to repeat "maniform/dressikin" they had me take a breath-alizer test.

When the county coroner arrived and opened the trunk, he pronounced Modine to be a very dead "maniform/dressikin" but no one laughed. Some people just do not have a sense of humor!

The Gourmet Omelet

We recently had a friend from out of town drop in and spend several nights with us. Now Barb has a good heart, but she has more energy than a Barrel full of Beagle puppies. Spending even one hour with her requires as much energy as competing in a triathlon . She is a "flitterer." Her feet, hands and mouth are always in perpetual motion.

On the bright side you never have to worry about finding something interesting to talk to her about. It's impossible to interject more than a single word or two before she takes the lead and carries the full conversation on her side. It's a bit like trying to talk to a radio that's tuned to non-stop talk shows.

Oh, and she is a "follower." You can't get away from her, wherever you go she is right on your heels chattering away. I've tried escaping and locking myself in the bathroom, but she stands outside the door blabbering like a rapid fire machine gun. It's ok, it's just terribly wearing.

Her perpetual prattling finally stops when we convince her to trot upstairs so we can get some sleep. Because we live on a ranch our days begin at 5:30 am and stop about 10pm. I don't think Barb has an off switch, but after saying "good night" to her 8 or 10 times she finally relents and retreats to her room.

On the other hand, I think her days of perpetual motion do take their toll on her too, because she sleeps in late. She always has. As I said, we get up at 5:30am and start our day. Barb's day starts around 10:30 or 11:00. Because we get up early we eat breakfast early, so Barb misses that meal.

During her last visit, as is my custom I leave food for her in the refrigerator and put on a fresh pot of coffee for her about 10 am. That generally works well. However we apparently crossed wires on the last morning of her visit.

Here's what happened: For some odd reason Barb got up early that morning. She was in the kitchen by about 8am. I told her we had eaten, but that there was plenty of things in the refrigerator for her to make an omelet out of, and then I quickly ran out the door to do some chores.

When I came back in Barb was sitting at the table eating her omelet, so I poured a cup of coffee for myself and joined her. She beamed and said "This is the best omelet I've ever eaten...Thank you!"

After a few minutes I told her I had more chores to do outside (actually I needed to find some peace and quiet) so I stood and took my cup to the sink. Now here is where it gets interesting. To the left of my sink I keep a bowl of scraps from the previous days meals which I feed to the chickens and the hog the next day. As I poured the remains of my coffee in the sink I notice that bowl was empty and sitting in the sink.

I turned slowly to look at Barb who was just downing the last bite of her omelet. As she chewed she again said how incredible it was. She said it was every bit as good as you'd expect to receive at a gourmet restaurant.

I smiled weakly and asked her what all she put in it... when she said she had used the bowl on the counter that held the scraps from OUR omelet I about died. I picked the bowl out of the sink and said "This bowl?" My expression must have given me away because she apologetically said "Oh I hope it was ok to use those... You weren't saving them for yourself were you?"

All I could do was smile and say "No no, not at all, I'm glad you enjoyed it." After all, how do you tell your guest she had just eaten the pigs food ?

The Heimlich Maneuver

I look at computers pretty much the same way I look at a burp. They are a fact of life, they can be irritating, frustrating and sometimes down right embarrassing. However, both computers and burps have a purpose in my life, and I live with that fact.

Like most people, I have a love/hate relationship with my computer whom I have named "Mr PIBS" Which translates to: Pain In The Butt System!

After endless weeks of nursing the ailing Mr. PIBS along, I threw myself on the mercy of two computer technicians from my husbands office, Mike and Byron.

The two of them huddled over Mr. PIBS and mumbled to each other in a language totally alien to my ears. Occasionally they would look up and ask me questions about his CMOS or DRAMS or EDI...like I know these things?

After seeing my clueless expressions, they pretty much ignored me and began to dissect poor MR PIBS. In a matter of minutes they told me he was "Terminal" (pun intended.) When I explained that we did not have sufficient money to cover purchasing a new unit and that despite my efforts to claim him as a dependent, Mr PIBS was not a rider on our Blue Cross Medical Insurance, they graciously offered to take him on as a hard-ship case.

As they carried him in pieces out my office door they said they would happily donate their time and expertise to rebuild him if my husband and I would cover the cost of parts and maybe throw in a nice dinner for them and their wives. I happily agreed.

After spending nearly two weeks in intensive care, Mr PIBS was able to come home. His transformation was nothing short of miraculous. Although I still call him Mr. PIBS, that now translates to: Pretty Incredibility Built System.

Last night was set aside as the "pay back dinner" for the technicians and their wives. Rather than trying to coordinate a home cooked meal, we all decided it would be more practical and more fun to have everyone meet at one of our local Chinese restaurants.

The meal was going well, and we were enjoying the typical exchange of conversation and bantering that accompanies gatherings of this sort. We touched lightly on politics, world turmoil, and the cost of living, and so forth. Suddenly, focus of the conversation turned to Bruce and me, and Bruce decided to tell a story involving me that I found a bit embarrassing.

In light-hearted jest, I lightly poked him with my elbow and cleared my throat, which was my way of hinting that we should move on to another story.

He was engrossed in the tale and ignored me, (nothing new there) so I jabbed him a bit harder, cleared my throat more violently and even faked a few little coughs to get his attention.

The result was far from what I expected. As I attempted to nudge him for the third time, both of the young men jumped to their feet and rushed toward me. One grabbed the back of my chair and abruptly jerked it away from the table. Then, before I had time to react, the other, in a lightening fast kung fu motion, jerked me out of the chair, pulled me to my feet and began administering the Heimlich maneuver!

Their obvious misinterpretation of my attempt to silence my husband struck me as hilarious and I began to laugh. Unfortunately my laughter came out as gasps and "uuumphs" because of the Heimlich maneuver compressions against my sternum.

Before I knew it our table was surrounded by other restaurant patrons, waters, and even a wide-eyed chef holding a cleaver.

I knew if I could control my laughter and relax a bit everything would be alright, but the more I thought about what was happening, the funnier it became to me.

Finally I was able to take a fairly deep breath, nod my head and squiggle out from under the arms that were clamped tightly around me. The harsh compressions and laughter left me breathless, flushed and teary eyed. My hair was dishevelled and my make-up streamed down my face. What a sight I must have been!

As I sucked in a deep breath of air I heard someone in the crowd say "Oh thank God she's ok, that was close."

I turned to face my "rescuers". I badly wanted to tell them they had made a terrible mistake and that I had not actually ever choked. However, seeing the look of genuine concern and the glint of pride on every one's face. I simply didn't have the heart to tell them I was never in any danger of choking. So Instead I gave each of them a hug and rasped out "Thank You for saving my life."

The restaurant attempted to give us a free meal. When I emphatically refused, they sent me home with a little container of Kung Pau Chicken. I don't think I will ever again be able to eat Kung Pau Chicken with out exploding into uproarious laughter and deep gratitude for the love of friends.

Even though I never actually choked, I had indeed been rescued.