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Bend And Oregon
A DAY IN THE LIFE
By Lori Kimbel
My Mother always said there would be days like this, but something
tells me she really had no idea.
I opened my front door and stepped onto my porch; spring filled my
senses. The flowers were blooming, the birds were chirping, the sun
was shining and a warm breeze caressed my skin. Ahhh, who could ask
for a more perfect day to do a little relaxing? First things first
though, the lawn needed mowing, so I set out for the back shed. After
retrieving the lawn mower I pulled the cord twenty or so times before
I realized it was absolutely refusing to start. I took a deep breath
and willed the blood in my veins that had started to boil, to simmer
down, today would be a day for relaxing, I would just mow the lawn
tomorrow.
I smiled to myself and even began to whistle as I pushed the lawn
mower back into the shed. Out of sight out of mind I decided, grabbing
my favorite lawn chair.
"Mom," my little one cried, "com' 'ere" she wailed.
I raced around the side of the house, sure that she had broken her
leg, instead I found her standing on two perfectly healthy legs,
pointing at the white chicken I had gotten for Mother's Day the year
before.
"She's hurt Mom, look she's bleeding, Chicken is bleeding." she cried,
as a tear trickled down her cheek.
Sure enough the chicken was hurt.
"I'll go call the chicken doctor, honey; you keep an eye on her,
okay."
A deep masculine voice came through my telephone receiver, "Hardy
Veterinary office, can I help you?"
"Yes, I uh, well, can you tell me how much you would charge to put a
chicken to sleep?"
"Is this a joke?" he asked as if he were on the verge of being mad.
"I wish it was. You see I got chicken for Mother's Day last year, and
no, I wasn’t that thrilled about it. We named her Chicken, and well,
she's in pretty bad shape right now, so I would just like to know how
much you would charge."
"You can do it yourself you know," he stated tersely, "you just grab
it by the head and swing it around; the head will pop right off in
your hand," he stated matter of factly.
"How much do you charge?" I asked trying not to gag.
"$21.95."
"Thank you," I sighed, "I'll be right there."
After putting the chicken in a cardboard box and explaining life and
death to my four-year-old we made our way across town to the
veterinary office.
"Is this where Jesus lives?" my daughter asked.
"No honey, Heaven won't look like a veterinarian’s parking lot."
I carried the chicken heavy cardboard box into the front office.
"I'm here with the chicken." I whispered to the receptionist, who
seemed to be struggling to control a giggle.
She scrawled the words chicken euthanasia at the bottom of the piece
of paper in front of her that seemed to have every type of animal
ailment known to man except, of course, chicken euthanasia.
"It's not to often we have to put a chicken to sleep," she smiled, "in
fact, I believe yours will be our first one, but we've only been in
business for 32 years now," she said with a smirk.
I paid the woman $21.95 and made my way back home.
I walked into the house to get a tall glass of ice water and a good
book so that I could go sit in my lawn chair and finally start to
relax.
"Mom," I turned and saw a paler version of my son talking on the
phone, "it's Jenny's mom, she wants to talk to you, she says I called
Jenny a bad name, but I didn't Mom, honest."
"I was standing right by him, Mom, and I didn't hear him say anything
bad," my oldest daughter said, sticking up for her little brother just
like a soldier on a battlefield. That in it self seemed like a small
miracle to me and I smiled a smile only a mother could understand. I
had just been given a small sliver of proof that there was a touch of
love between my children.
I took the phone from his hand as it dawned on me that his two-year
romance with Jenny appeared to be over. "Hello," I said. This would
prove to be my first mistake.
"Your blankity blank blank son just called my little girl a blankity
blank and I don't want him to call here again."
I pulled the phone from my ear as if hearing her at a distance would
be better, I realized that this was my second mistake as I looked into
the face of my inquisitive four year old who's eyes seemed to be
asking 'what do those words mean?'
I shoved the phone to my ear once more and tried to calm the frantic
woman on the other end of the line. I wanted to say 'Ma'am calm down',
but she just didn't seem like a ma'am with her never-ending supply of
cuss words. So instead I just said, "That's fine, he won't be calling
there ever again, and I would really appreciate it if you would watch
your language when referring to my son." Mistake number three!
"Well you blankity blank!" she yelled, "my son is going to kick the
blank out of your son tomorrow."
My blood that had cooperated so well earlier in the day after the lawn
mower incident was about to reach its boiling point. Relaxation just
didn't seem to be on my list of priorities today.
I knew it would be completely pointless to deal with this woman any
further so I hung up the phone and called the police. By the time the
policeman left, my son was a bit on the terrified side as any eleven
year old boy would be when looking up into the eyes of the long arm of
the law. Whether he said anything bad to the girl or not, I was sure
that his brush with the law would make him think twice before doing it
again. I thanked the policeman after he assured me that the older boy
would not be harming my son.
The sun was now setting so I shoved the lawn chair back into the shed
and went into the house to make dinner. I put the chicken that I had
thawed out back into the freezer. I thought maybe pizza would be a
better menu choice for this particular night.
After dinner I will soak in a nice hot bath and read my book, I
thought as I prepared the pizza.
"Dinner time," I called.
Within seconds I heard a soft crash. I looked into the front room and
my middle daughter was crouched on the floor holding her face. I ran
to her side and looked into her dazed eyes. For some unknown reason
she had passed out, so with bedtime fast approaching I thought it
might be a good idea to make a quick trip to the hospital.
"She just got up to fast," was the only explanation they offered.
We left the emergency room, crossed the parking lot and climbed into
our 1971 Suburban. It smelled hot instantly and I could almost hear my
husband's voice, even though he was at work, saying 'it's just oil
dripping on the manifold.' We pulled into the driveway and went inside
the house without giving the hot smelling suburban another thought. We
described our journey to the hospital to the three children that had
stayed home. I fought the urge to start my bath water, 'my time will
come soon enough,' I told myself.
I put the two younger girls to bed while my oldest daughter and my son
went upstairs to brush their teeth.
Finally, I thought, as I crept into the downstairs bathroom and began
filling the bathtub with steaming hot water.
"Is mom leaving?" I heard my oldest daughter ask my son.
"I'm still here." I called up the stairs, a bit puzzled by her
question.
"Well the suburban just started," she looked out the upstairs window
and yelled, "and it's on fire."
I turned off my bath water, grabbed the phone and threw it to her as
we passed each other on the stairs.
"Call 911."
I gathered up the two girls who were already in bed then we all made
our way downstairs and out the front door. Together the five of us and
our dog raced down the gravel road away from the burning suburban. We
stood shivering in our nightclothes as we waited for the firefighters.
They arrived quickly, put out the fire and were gone within a half an
hour. Ever so carefully we made our way back to the house. Our bare
feet that had so gallantly carried us down the gravel road away from
the fire had turned into absolute wimps on the way back home; they
seemed to notice every pebble and stone beneath them.
The children went to bed and I fell weak from fatigue onto the couch,
I would have to relax another day for tonight I was just too
exhausted.
The following morning a friend stopped by and fixed my lawn mower.
"That'll be $21.95," he said.
"$21.95," I exclaimed, "heck, I can get a chicken put to sleep for
that!"
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