Category Archives: In someone else’s backyard

Ghost hunting in The Brown Palace

I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve got a damn awesome sister. I hated her in our youthful days; it’s alarming to realize that I now love her so much, I would be willing to chop her into tiny pieces and gobble her up. That’s a compliment, trust me.

Little B and I share birthdays this month. We’re five days and twenty-five years apart. We’ve co-partied for our birthday celebrations before and it’s always good fun but guess what Noelle did this year?

She took B and me to The Brown Palace for a night of ghost-hunting and a day of fancypantness!!

Here’s how it went down.

I go to Denver often enough to know my basic way around so I offered to drive. Noelle and I dressed up because…well, because. I mean, it’s not like either of us get that chance too often. B wore teenage gear because she is sixteen. The point here is that none of us were in shorts and tank tops, ok? Anyhow, my car doesn’t have air conditioning anymore and it was a hot day so we arrived all sweaty and gross. Noelle told me to give the car to the valet. I’m sure he was not glad to hop into our girl-sweat infested vehicle, but he didn’t complain and we didn’t care because we had arrived for our birthday adventure in overheated fashion! Yay!

Noelle, B, and I, sitting outside of The Brown Palace, ready to begin our grand adventure.

We checked in, dropped off our luggage, and B changed into a skirt because we made her. We had some time to kill before our ghost tour and since we were suffering from starvation, we decided to gnosh on appetizers down at the Ship Tavern. Also, Noelle and I enjoyed refreshing adult beverages while B had a Sprite.

It’s on the pointy end of the building.

B’s choice of appetizer

These kept jumping out of the fry cone as the server brought them to our table. It was like they were alive, leaping about, falling to the floor, sprinkling parmesan all around the room. Had Hansel and Gretel had these, they definitely would have been able to follow their trail back home.

This is what was left of the crabcakes by the time I remembered to take pictures. Here’s the dumb thing: we didn’t want to fill up because we were going to have dinner later. So why did we order 3 appetizers? Yeah, we filled up.

Tasty adult beverages

After flinging fries hither and yon, we exited the eatery and waited for our tour guide who turned out to be the actual hotel historian! Her name is Debra. I didn’t take her picture. I don’t know why.

She started by telling us she couldn’t say, “Oh, yeah, we have a whole passel of ghosts in our hotel,” nor could she tell us about anyone who may or may  not have fallen/leapt to their deaths from the 7th floor to the marble atrium below because none of that is allowed. However, she could tell us about “unexplained phenomena” other guests, as well as staff, had experienced while at the Brown Palace.

So we started with a short history of the hotel. It is 121 years old and the only hotel in Denver that has operated continuously for that amount of time. It was owned by the Boettchers for awhile and they’re the reason it didn’t have to close down during the Depression. Yay for smart business decisions!

Now, here’s something I hadn’t known: The hotel gets its water from an artesian well that is around 16 stories deep. People who know about ley lines and ghostly things have said that the well goes deep enough to pass near/on a place of otherwordliness (I am totally paraphrasing all this, by the way) which could be why there are so many instances of “unexplained phenomena” in the ‘ Palace. Of course, as Debra said, this hotel has been in operation 365 days a year for 121 years. The odds are that with that many souls passing through the building, a few are bound to stay.

We visited the former gentleman’s club where one tour group saw a man come from the bathroom only the bathroom was nothing but a wall.

A man walked from this panel and some of the members of that long-ago tour were all like, “Who the hell is that guy? He’s not part of our group. Is he a staff member?” but no one recognized him. Also, they realized much later, that the bathroom from which he’d emerged was actually a wall.

We visited the Presidential Suite and heard about a woman who had owned one of the apartments on the 9th floor, had lived there many years and died there in the arms of her nurse. She had been a cranky thing, according to legend, and in later years, when the hotel took tour groups into her former suite, the front desk’s phone rang, the call coming from her room, yet there was never anyone on the other end. The thing is, at the time, there was no phone in that room because it hadn’t been remodeled as a hotel room yet.

There was also the story of Lizzie. She was not very old when she fell from the 7th floor banister. When she landed on the marble below, she lost consciousness but, according to everyone who had been there at the time (I think in the 20’s or 40’s), she came to and walked it off a little later. There’s more to that story but you can go take the ghost tour, yourself, to find out. Just remember to ask how many people have fallen from the 7th floor.

View from the 7th floor. You can’t see the 8th floor because it’s all walled-in and that is because it sports an art-deco style rather than Victorian.

I didn’t see/feel/hear/experience anything unearthly but Noelle did and B thinks she may have. While we were in the former gentleman’s club (now an event room), Noelle and B felt something cold pass between them. I only felt air conditioning. When we walked down the stairs from the 8th floor to the 7th, Noelle got vertigo. I did, too, but mine came from going from the art-deco-style back down to the very busy, very patterny, somewhat overwhelming Victorian style below. While B and I leaned on the banister rail of the seventh floor, Noelle had to back away because she felt sick. Like, puke-out-her-guts sick. Once we made it to the floor below, she was fine. When we went back up to where she’d felt sick, she was fine. She thinks someone had jumped from there and the leftover trauma made her sick. I blamed the crazy carpet.

You can see how walking down stairs and into this busy-ness could cause vertigo.

Noelle is trying to catch orbs but her camera won’t work right there.

This all goes along with Noelle’s hypersensitivity to anything from other planes and my complete inability to sense things not right in front of me. It’s been this way our whole lives. It used to make me jealous, but now I’m used to it.

After the tour, we ran about, retracing our steps and taking pictures. Then we walked the 16th Street Mall, ate gelato, got henna tattoos, rode the mall shuttle, laughed as B had her tattoo removed by a stumbling homeless man carrying a washboard, went to the Tattered Cover only to find it had closed two minutes before we got there, and finally wound up back in our room where we listened to a wedding party play loud music until midnight.

B gets henna-ed

Noelle gets henna-ed

Moments before the Most Horrific Experience.
It was like this:
We’d just gotten our henna tattoos and were walking along, walking along, getting tired.
We wanted to go to the Tattered Cover but it was so far away.
We got on the mall’s shuttle bus.
Noelle said, “Uh oh, here comes a guy with a washboard”
A man with an enormous backpack, several jackets, dreads, and a beard got on the shuttle, carrying his washboard.
Britt’s eyes got big (She doesn’t see homeless people in her life. They don’t exist where she lives. This was surprising for her)
The man, unstable on his feet, fell into/jostled against her arm, against her new tattoo.
Britt’s face grew horrified. Then she looked at her arm. Her birthday tattoo was gone.
She gave the man a look of evil.
Washboard Man had taken her birthday tattoo.
Britt has decided she is not a fan of homeless people who carry washboards and take off tattoos.
He got off at the next stop.
We laughed at Britt’s terror and indignation.
We did not do a good job at making her a more compassionate person.

This is the tattoo that was scraped off by the shuffling Washboard Man.

The next day, we got to loll about lazily (awesome!!) before getting up and successfully visiting the bookstore. We returned to the hotel and wrapped up the adventure with a super-fancy Afternoon Tea. It was 100% fabulous.

It is time for Afternoon Tea!

“One lump, or two?”

Noelle and I got champagne with fruit juice and B had fruit juice in sparkling water. Because we were extra-fancy.

What is the title of the person who takes care of you during tea time? The Tea Mistress? This is the pouring of the tea by our tea mistress, Hiwat.

The seriousness of the consuming.

It was a fantastic birthday present for both the 16-year-old and the 41-year-old. Noelle, you are the BEST PRESENT-GIVER EVER! Thank you and I hope you had as much fun as I did!

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Little housesitter on the prairie

I’m fortunate to live in a beautiful area, at the base of mountains with pine forests all around with both cities and plains just a short drive away. I always think I prefer the mountains and forests to the prairie mostly because I forget how pretty the prairie can be, especially if it’s allowed to just be grasslands. I guess I’m too used to seeing the blank, weedy, non-grasslands that surround so many of our Suburbias On the Plains; the developers come in, dig their holes, tear everything up and leave. They don’t bother to reintroduce grasses so weeds grow – scratchy, itchy things jutting up out of pebbly dirt, looking mean and stunted. It makes my brain think prairie land is ugly.
But it’s not. It’s full of life. There are gajillions of birds, bugs, and other critters. When it rains, everything blooms. When it doesn’t rain, sages and other chamisa thrive because they know how to live without water. The landscape becomes a soft, silvery bluegreen.
Sunsets are amazing in the flatlands, especially with the mountains to the west. You can see everything for miles. I’ve been watching the rainstorms gather in the north and west each afternoon, I follow their progress as they travel down the range flicking lightning through their dark blue blottiness and I feel like a little bit of magic is thrown my way when the sun breaks through the upper clouds. The people under the rainstorm can’t see it but I’m far enough out that I can. It’s a heavy, yellow beam, the color of the sunflowers that dot the landscape.

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When those storms come out here, it’s not quiet and romantic; it’s violent. There is lightning, rolling thunder that growls for tens of seconds, wind whipping raindrops into the windows, into the few trees, onto the ground. It’s dark and loud. Then early the next morning, there’s a low-hanging mist over everything and suddenly you can’t tell that the horizon goes on for miles. You’re socked in, all sounds are kept close, everything feels damp and heavy. It’s a good time to pull up a lawn chair, grab a hot drink, and watch the fog dissipate while the dogs lie quietly at your feet.

That blur in the foreground is not a ghost. It's piece of wheat blowing in the slight breeze.

That’s how I remembered that our plains are anything but plain.

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Was “boring” code for “A sort of fun you will never know”?

You know how when you were a kid, you’d get ideas in your head and you’d try to turn them into reality? Sometimes you could accomplish the goal with your  Lite-Brite set, sometimes you’d have to go out and experiment, and once in awhile, you would have to get your parents involved. Usually through begging.

Some parents help their children make dreams tangible. Other’s give their tykes space and materials to make stuff happen. And then there were my parents. Yes, we were allowed to adopt any animal we brought home (Chris had a minnow named SilverStreak for about 3 years. He had a field mouse our cat caught, too) and we had full reign of the town, from the top of the airy mountain down to the rushy glen. To be fair, we weren’t really held back often; we were like little naturalists exploring our world and that was awesome.

But when we got those ideas, the big ones we couldn’t manifest on our own, the ones that involved asking for help, well, the answer was quite often “No.” And that “No” became very specific when we were pleading to go somewhere.

Backing up: I was reminded of this because  Shana Abe photoposted the giant  May Natural History Museum beetle on Facebook and I was reminded that I have wanted to go there since I was 12. We used to drive past it regularly on our way to our grandparents’ cafe and every time, Chris, Noelle, Bedot and I would wail for mom to stop, STOP! We wanted to visit the bug museum. The answer was always “No.”

We’d cry, “Why? Why can’t we go?”

“It’s boring.”

As it happened, that was also the reason we couldn’t go to Circus Circus in Las Vegas or the La Brea Tar Pits, among other places.

In retrospect, I get that my parents didn’t want to haul our little carcasses along on their grown-up-time Vegas trips but back then, we kept begging to go because our friends said Circus Circus was the coolest place ever. I’m sure Mom had no alternative but to tell us our friends were stupid and the place was, in actuality, boring.

But the Tar Pits?  I learned about them in 3rd grade and was fascinated. In my mind, there were lots of slimy, little pits of boiling black goo and every once in awhile, a mammoth skull would bubble up from the ooze to bob along on top until someone fished it out and cleaned it up. I told Mom I really wanted to go but she told me it was boring, it was just a hole in the ground with some black water, nothing but disappointment and a nasty smell. Of course, the truth was that it would have been an expensive trip, involving several days’ travel in the station wagon, multiple stops for food and bathrooms, plus motel costs, and headaches. So why didn’t Mom just tell us that the Tar Pits were alarmingly expensive? Why did she file them under the Boring category? Because she’s evil. Obviously.

And what was up with the Bug Museum? It was an hour away and it’s not like it cost much to get in. We definitely could have recycled aluminum cans for a summer to cover the entry fees. Hell, Bedot would have gotten in for free. It’s like Mom wanted us to be uneducated and untraveled. This is how white trash stays white trash, people. It’s self-perpetuating.

Once I became an adult with mobility and funds, I went to Las Vegas. I saw Circus Circus. I was thankful Mom verbotened that one because, dude, the place is creepy. I would have been terrified as a child had our parents dumped us off there while they went off and gambled for hours on end. Mom = 1

Last summer, we went to the La Brea Tar Pits while we were in California for Gabe’s birthday. Guess what? It is NOT BORING! She completely lied about that one. Children = 1

La Brea Tar Pits

This is going to be my Christmas card to my mom for the rest of her life. Every year. And inside it will say, “I hope your Christmas is BORING” which is pretty loving, if you think about it. You know, since boring apparently means “awesome”

And that means I need to head down the road to the bug museum. If it is not boring, Mom and I, we’re going to have words. Or, rather, we’re going to define words, one in particular: Boring.

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Filed under Adventures, In my backyard, In someone else's backyard, My Dearly Beloveds, My Opinions on STUFF, Out & about or abroad, White trash childhood

Burning churning (and cussing)

I’m going to use this space to whine and I’m whining about First World Problems as well as about things that didn’t actually hurt me. It’s almost like I’m clamoring for attention and, on some level, I probably am. I’m beginning to feel a tad traumatized, though, even if my problems are exceedingly minor.

I hate this month. Not the month of June, per se, but the month of June 2013. It started with moving to a warehouse for work while our workspace is renovated. We’re in cramped quarters with psychotic temperature control going on. We’re trying to maintain grace and good humor but I suck at both so I’m failing already. It’s only been two weeks and a couple of days. We’ve got another 3.5 months to go.

My lawnmower broke. We bought a refurbished one last year from Sears and got a service agreement for it that was supposed to allow us to have any problems fixed until 2014. We’d pay $49.95 for whatever problem arose and the rest would be covered. I thought that wasn’t a bad deal. Plus, the guy who sold us this thing told us we’d be able to get it maintenanced under the agreement. Well, come this summer when we finally got around to mowing our redneck yard, the mower wouldn’t start. I had Gabe call Sears and he got a run around so we marched the mower down to the store where we got it. That was a fiasco in itself but finally the guy working our case (yes, I called it a “case”) found the information he needed and reiterated that we’d have to pay $50 if it was more than just general maintenance but after that, the rest would be covered under our service agreement. Turns out, we were all misinformed because the actual technicians called to say that the mower needed a tune-up and the blades needed sharpening and it would be $116. I lost it. The mower is coming back to us, unfixed, and I am going to sever ties with Sears because I am really tired of their bullshit. I loved them once, but I have outgrown them and their crappy service and lousy merchandise so it is time to break up. I am thinking of writing them a strongly worded letter, in addition. That’s how mad I am.

And then I was attacked by something poisonous that has left bubbling blisters on the inside of my forearm. They (the blisters) itch and burn and hurt and ooze and are super gross. I thought it was stinging nettle since I’ve had a run in with that stuff before but then it got much worse than nettle ever did and both Chris and my mom feel I poison ivy’ed/sumac’ed/oak’ed myself. Yay me. No, I’m not going to spend $40 to get a shot when I can spend $10 on over-the-counter medicines and just deal with it. You know, like my ancestors did. Because I’m tough like that. And also, in pain. And whiny.

No, no, I would never hide my grossness from you. This is just one of several blisters. This one is healing and can stay out during the day but the others have to be covered so I don’t ooze on (and potentially stick to) my desk or clothing.

Then the washing machine broke, the one that washes clothing and takes all the stains and pet hair and poisonous plant oils from my shirts and capris. Of course, this happened when our friends were kicked out of their house by wildfire and came to stay with us.

“Wait, what?” you ask.

I think I’ve mentioned that I live in Colorado? Yes, well, here in Colorado, our new summertime activity is BURNING DOWN FORESTLAND. It’s not like it’s something we work at doing, though maybe some of us do. Last year, the Waldo Canyon fire ate the homes of two friends and lots of others while we were at a conference in California. It was terrifying to be away from home while our town was in pre-evacuation. I was making calls to my mom and Bedot, asking them to please save the cats and the heirloom cactus (it’s over 100 years old, says family legend) and getting calls from Chris about how the fire just flowed down the entire mountainside and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I was crying at the restaurant table during Gabe’s birthday dinner. It was bad. Thankfully, our town was fine if not somewhat rattled.

This year, we’re dealing with the Black Forest fire and we’re here to experience it firsthand since it’s right down the road. Many of our friends and family were evacuated and I don’t know which ones lost their…well, most everything…yet. Gabe and I have discussed which is worse: To be home and watch it creeping around, getting closer, threatening people you love OR to be far away, worrying, letting your imagination fill in the blanks? We still haven’t come to a conclusion. Both scenarios suck. Thankfully, this one is on its way out, thanks to cooperating weather and a million bazillion fire fighting heroes.

On my way home the first evening of the fire, I could see it rising from behind some bluffs which was alarming considering how far away it was from this vantage point.

On my way to evacuate my BFF’s house (she was away on vacation) I was headed straight for the fire. I was a bit worried it would be right there when I crested the hill but thankfully, it never made it into her development.

One content refugee

Frustrated evacuees, not happy to be leaving their home with a stranger.

The neat thing about tragedy is the human response is often overwhelmingly loving. Of course there are the jackassholes who will probably writhe in some sort of hell (if there’s an afterlife) for their assholeyness (I’m looking at you, Westboro Baptist and at you, looters) but my community as well as communities up and down the Front Range have come together again to hold each other up. It’s beautiful to watch, much like the horrible fire itself, and it makes you wonder if the beauty is enhanced by the tragedy or if the tragedy causes the beauty. Either way, I’m proud of my people, I’m happy for my friends who have been able to return to their homes, and I worry about all those who lost theirs.

Finally, I don’t want any more shit from this month. DO YOU HEAR ME, JUNE? Knock it off, already.

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Morning conversation with animals

I’m all out of fresh and wonderful topics on which to post so…I’m cheating and taking a story from the Notes section on my Facebook page. It’s a true story, one that delights Little B every time she reads it. It’s a tale of my petsitting adventures and as housesitting season is upon us, I think this will be timely.

Transcript from early morning hours of August 2, 2011
All participants are in the bedroom with three participants on the bed

3:00 am

Doug: I am Douglas the Great Explorer and I hereby claim this land mass as my own!

Me: Doug! What are you DOING?

Doug: I am exploring and I name this land mass – which I found all by myself – after me. It will heretofore be called DougLandia!

Me: Doug, that’s my chest. Get off! You’re leaving dents in my sternum with your pointy little cat feet. OFF!
I feebly shove Doug off my chest because it’s 3 in the damn morning and I have no strength after being rudely woken from a sound sleep

Max (using a terrible French accent): Oh ho ho, Doog-lass! Zees eez my prop-pair-tee and has been so seence long before you came heer as an eensolent whelp, you eensolent whelp!

Doug: Have you claimed it as your own? Have you named it? Huh? Well, have you?

Max (with same terrible French accent): Zees eez not for you to qwest-ee-on! Eet eez time for us to duel!

Doug: I will fight you!
Doug reclaims his territory and Max, who has claimed the head and shoulders portion of my person, readies for combat. They both open their mouths and begin to slap at each other’s faces. The open mouths attempt to bite the incoming batting paws.

Me: What THE HELL?? Stop fighting on top of me! I am TRYING to SLEEP! Get…OFF!
Both cats are tossed off the bed. Silence resumes.

3:15 am

Maya: *slurp sluuuurp schlrrp gnawgnawgnawgnawgnaw sluuuurp slrp sllluuuuurrrp*

Me (so tired. so not amused): Maya. What are you doing?

Maya: Taking a bath.

Me: It’s 3:15 in the morning. It’s still dark out. Why are you taking a bath NOW?

Maya: Because I got dirty.

Me: When? When did you get dirty? Was the landing too dirty for your liking? Is your pillow making your fur all gross?

Maya: No. I got dirty when we went for a walk.

Me: Yeah, because you roll in gross things all the time! Every time we go for a walk, you find something to roll in. You’re a dog! Of course you’re dirty! But is 3:15 in the morning really the time for taking care of the consequences of your rolling addiction?

Maya: Yes. *sllluuurp slrp ssschlooooorp gnawgnawgnawgnawgnaw*

Me: Ohmygod, just stop. You will have all day tomorrow to clean your pretty little paws. Just…be quiet for now and let me sleep.

Maya: …..*slurp sluuuurp schlrrp gnawgnawgnawgnawgnaw sluuuurp slrp sllluuuuurrrp sllluuurp slrp ssschlooooorp gnawgnawgnawgnawgnaw* This continues for fifteen minutes

3:30 am

Silence

Me: Are you done?

Maya: Yes.

Me: Are you sure? You’re clean?

Maya: Yes.

Me: Good. Goodnight.

4:00 am

Something lands on the bed

Doug: HI! Hey. Hey! Are you awake? HEY! Hey, are you awake?

Me: Yes, I am, Doug, because apparently, I am not allowed to sleep anymore. What do you want?

Doug: Hi.

Me: Hi. What do you want?

Doug: Do you want to pet me?

Me: No. I want to sleep.

Doug: Do you want to pet me before you sleep? Listen, I’m purring!

Me: No. I don’t want to pet you and I don’t want to listen to you. Get off my chest! Why do you keep denting my chest?

Max: Hello. I have returned.

Me: Oh, yay.

Max: Doog-lass! I see you are trying to stake your claim upon my territory yet again! We must fight.

Me: You already fought, you idiots! Doug, get off me! Max, lie down and shut up!

Maya (appearing at the side of the bed, tail hitting the mattress): *thump thump thump thump* Hey! Are we getting up now? Because I need to go to the bathroom! Let’s get up, ok?

Me: Maya, you do not have to go to the bathroom, yet! Lie down and go to sleep.

Maya: Yes, I do. I need to go right now. And you have to get up because I can’t go downstairs in the dark by myself.

Me: So take Doug.

Maya: But neither of us can open the door.

Me: I hate you. I. Hate. ALL. Of. You.
Everyone goes downstairs. Maya goes outside. I feed the cats their Fancy Feast; may as well since everyone’s up anyhow.

4:30 am

Everyone is back in bed. Doug and Max start fighting again. Doug and Max get thrown off the bed again. Something big lands on the bed.

Maya: There were cats landing on me. I’m going to sleep here. Move over.

Me: I’m not moving over! You have your own bed!

Maya (lies down and shoves me): THIS is my bed. Move over.

Me: Ohmygod, I so hate you all! If you three don’t knock it off, I am going to drive you all over to the Chinese restaurant! DO YOU UNDERSTAND??

Maya (taking up way more space than she needs on the bed): Shhh. I’m trying to sleep. And you’re being racist.

Silence

5:00 am

Maya is hogging the bed and Max is back on his head/shoulders perch

Doug: HEY! It’s morning time! It’s time for you to feed us!

Me (so very groggy): I already fed you.

Doug: But it’s morning and you can give us our food now.

Me: I already gave you your food!

Doug: But, now it’s time for food!

Me: So go downstairs and lick the Fancy Feast crumbs out of your stupid bowl!

Doug: Will you come with?

Me: NO! And get off my chest, you freakin’ psychopath!

6:00 am

Maya: It’s time to get up. I have to go find all the bunnies in town.

Me (whining): I can’t get up. I am too tired.

Maya: Stop being lazy! You have to get up, now. The sun is up and we have to find bunnies. Get up.

Me: Make me, you giant oaf.

Maya: (shifting over and pinning my arm under her paws) *lick lick lick lick lick lick*

Me (trying to get my arm back): STOP LICKING MY ARM! What is WRONG with you!!

Maya: *lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick*

Me: ARGH! That’s so GROSS! STOP IT!!!
I manage to get my arm free and then dive under the covers to hide from my assailant

Maya (pawing the lump under the cover with her Paws of Death): Hey! I know you’re in there. Get up! We have to go for a walk! It’s time to walk!

Me: No it’s not! I have until 6:30! Let me sleep!
Starts to cry

Maya flumps her whole freakin’ self on top of the lump under the covers

Me (muffled): Get off! You’re suffocating me!!!!

6:20 am

Me: FINE! FINE! I’m getting up! Are you all happy?

Max: I’m not. I was busy sleeping on your pillow, on your hair.

Me: You are all on my list. I am going to make duct tape restraints for each of you.

Maya: Hurry up! There are bunnies and they’re getting away! Get dressed faster!

Me: Move out of my way faster, you obnoxious lump!

Doug: Hey! What are you doing? Why aren’t you in bed? I need to stand on your chest!
Everyone tumbles down the stairs while I finish tying my shoes.

Doug: I want to go for a walk, too.

Me: Well, you can’t. Maya, come here so I can put your harness on you.

Maya (all full of spirit and fun): Come get me!

Me: Oh, hell, no. I am NOT playing “chase” with you. You will come here and put your harness on or I am going to go back to bed for the next half hour and you can suffer without your morning walk.

Maya: You’re so mean!
Lies down in front of me, just out of reach

Me: Seriously? This is what you do? SERIOUSLY?

Maya: Yes.

Me: So help me, if you don’t get your furry butt over here and put your harness on, I really will leave you all walkless this morning and you WILL be SORRY!

Maya: Fine. Put my stupid harness on.

Me: Come over here.

Maya: No. YOU come over HERE.

Me: You are horrible. I walk over to Maya and manage to get the harness on her, even though Maya is lying down Ok. Let’s go.

Doug: I want to come, too.

Me and Maya: NO!

Doug is shoved back into the house by my foot as Maya pulls toward the street. My arm is nearly ripped off and Doug nearly gets a door slammed on his head. Maya and I leave the house, Doug stays in. We walk down the stairs into the lovely, new and fresh summer morning. One bunny was found. Several chickens were stalked. Friends were greeted on the trail and calling cards were left all over the place.

Everyone managed to survive…but just barely.

The end of the beginning of the day.


			

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