Skip to main content

Miss Pam Was Bad

I got up this morning at 4:30 with a horrific pain in my right arm. Being the hypochondriac that I am, I imedately assumed I was in the throes of cardiac arrest.

Apparently I was wrong.

But since I was up, why not unload the dishwasher and do some laundry? Splendid idea. At 5:30 I got the two oldest kids up and running, then I left to pump gasoline into my gas-guzzler. That was fun. And painful. And expensive. But I digress.

Let's just say that from 8a.m till around noon I was squiring children from one end of the planet to the other. I did some grocery shopping and then picked some blackberries so I can make a pie for after dinner this evening. I realized I had no bowl in the Suburban, so I dumped some groceries from a plastic bag (yes, I got plastic not paper ~~gasp) and went to pick the blackberries.


It was a nicely shaded place on the side of the road across from a lovely lagoon, woods all around. As I picked I kept hearing something rustling in the woods in front of me and up a slight hill. Rustle rustle. Picking and more rustling and then my little Daniel yelled out to me.

"Miss Pam! A deer! Look! Right there!"

And look I did. A beautiful doe was about three feet in front of me, enjoying all the berries she could reach. She was stunning. I'd pick and glance at her, she'd eat and look around at me. It was a lovely few mintues together, then she slowly ambled back into the bushes and disappeared from sight.

I kept picking and then I heard another sound. I'd had to sort of jump across a small creek to reach the berries and I was hearing splashing. At first I thought it was a frog, then realized that if it was a frog it had to be a rather large one. Since most of the little creek was hidden under brambles and ferns, I couldn't see what was making the noise but I could track it's movements by the sounds it was was making. It had to be quite large, because it was making a considerable noise as it passed me. I never did get to see what it was.

I finished up the picking and put the bag of blackberries on the passenger seat and took off. About forty minutes later I had a sudden thought. I sometimes have thoughts, yes. Don't be surprised. Or mean.

"Hmm....I sure hope that plastic bag isn't leaking all over my nice new cream colored leather seats"

I lifted the bag up a bit as I drove. Of course it was leaking.

I pulled over to the side of the road, yanked open the back of the beast and extracted some clorox wipes that I'd purchased this morning and ran around to the passenenger side of the beast to begin the scrubbing. I rubbed, I scrubbed, I cleaned.

"Lance is going to KILL ME. He's going to KILL ME"

"Miss Pam? What does it mean that Mr. Lance is going to kill you?" said an innocent little voice from the carseat.

Oh no. I forgot there were little ears listening to me. I told Daniel that I was just kidding, that Mr. Lance wasn't going to kill me, he was just going to be upset. No killing. None. Especially since I got all the purple off the leather seat.

"That was bad kidding, Miss Pam"

"Yes Daniel, it certainly was."

Comments

  1. Pammy, what I wouldn't give for some homemade blackberry pie! With a scoop of ice cream on top of it! Too bad you weren't able to take a picture of the doe, what a wonderful experience.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The pie was DELISH!

    All I had with me was my cell phone and it was so shady there that the picture didn't turn out. I would have loved to have had a picture of her. So beautiful.

    All in all, for a day that began with stress, it ended on a good note.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I picked a lot more blackberries this morning and am going to make another pie this evening. Or perhaps a blackberry cobbler. We shall see.

    I found some more great spots for picking. I want to get more so I can freeze them and have some blackberries in the winter. Mmmmm!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.


The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…