Truly Spectacular

Yesterday I went with Ruth on a bike ride. We rode all the way down to the chapel on Stone Pond. On the way back we were walking up one particularly long hill (being fatigued) when I decided to take off my sweatshirt. I draped it over the handlebars. At the top of the hill we got back on our bikes and headed down the other side. I remembered my sweatshirt as we were starting to speed up, and reached forward to wrap it around the handlebars. I was thinking what a hazard it was, and started praying. Practically the same moment I felt the front wheel slow down and I was sailing over the handlebars.

My life did not flash before my eyes, I am sad to report, but more excitement was on the way. Ruth, who was behind me, had no time to react or swerve- straight toward me she came, and straight over my back she rode. From my position on the ground I watched her go over her handle bars several yards in front of me. All was silent, save for the groans of the dying, when Ruth hollered from the ground, "Katie, are you dead???"
"No!" I yelled back, but I must admit I didn't feel truly lively either. Ruth jumped up and ran back to where I was still face down in the dirt, asking me another difficult question, "Is anything broken?" I was still trying to figure out which end was up.

She whipped out her cell phone and started calling numbers. Nobody was home at her house. Nobody answered at Fairwood (she asked me for that number and somehow I actually came out with it, after a lengthy pause). Then she called the kitchen of the Main House. Unbeknownst to us, the kitchen phone ringer didn't work. Mr. Murray happened to be walking by at that moment, glanced at the phone, and noticed that the little light was flashing. So he picked it up and said hello! Who else in the world would have noticed that light and decided to pick up the phone? Danny was right in the kitchen talking, and made it out to his car in record time, I am sure. Mr. Murray found my Dad and said, "Bob, Katie had an accident, down there!" and he pointed down the road. Daddy sprinted for the van, grabbed Megan in passing, and howled out of Fairwood somewhat over the 10 mi. an hour speed limit. He set Megan to watching the side roads for bodies. :-)

Meanwhile Ruth and I had figured out that I wasn't broken in anyway, and even though I felt her tires go over my back, it was intact. I worked up my courage to move from my comfy spot in the middle of the road wile Ruth moved the bikes. Then we sat on the bank together, laughing with slightly hysterical overtones. Thus Danny found us and shortly afterwards, Daddy and Megan. They picked us up, loaded the bikes into the vehicles and home we went.

Pretty exciting, eh? I went right to the Hansens for a through, but gentle checkup from Mr. H. My knee was twisted and swollen, but nothing seemed to be seriously wrong, my right arm is all scratches from the middle knuckles down to the elbow, and there are a couple patches of what Daddy called hamburger. A day later I am sore all over and hobble around Fairwood like an old lady. That is, I hobble when I go out. Most of the day was spent either sleeping soundly in my bed or napping on the couch. Ruth was less scraped up than I, but is also quite sore.

BUT... I must say, I am so grateful that God protected us from worse injuries! Neither of us hit our heads, neither of us broke a bone, Ruth didn't land on top of me, which would have been far more damaging (to me anyway), and thankfully she had remembered to bring her cell phone. Mr. Murray was certainly working with God right then, and thankfully both Danny and my Dad were easily found. Lastly, I think there might have been an angel protecting me when Ruth rode over my back- I didn't even have tire marks on the back of my shirt!

So there you have my exciting saga of the week! And may it never be repeated.

PS- (complete change of subject) Today there was a bull moose on the front lawn. I saw him. Several people saw him, in fact. Davie chased him down the road. Thankfully the moose wasn't feeling aggressive. Somehow I don't think Davie would have been the winner in a face-to-face confrontation.

more about horses

Hi guys, I really haven't forgotten about posting. Just been doing other things.

I spent a lovely weekend with Drewy and Mel, mostly feeding off of Drewy's excitement and joy. Like Lisa said in a comment on Drewy's blog: "We don't chase carrots, We eat them!" Hearing all about Drewy's teaching job, the culmination of years of desire and study, gave me a new shot of hope. God just fulfilled a dream for one of my closest friends, and he has good things planned for every single one of us. Isn't that a nice thought?

I still am semi-jobless. But that is putting the situation negatively! I am semi-jobed? semi-employed? :-)

Anyway, I am enjoying my horses every morning. Their names are Llewie (short for Llewellyn), a fat, happy, greedy pony, Comet, a retired jumper, Big Boy, a retired racehorse (he raced thrice, and finished dead last every time), and Tiger, a working show horse.

Really all I do for them is feed and water them, muck the stable, and sweep the barn corridor. Doesn't sound that hard, does it? Well, it isn't. Except when Tiger tries to bite my chin.

The horses stay out to pasture except when I come to feed them. I open the gate for them and they each walk directly to their own stall to eat their grain. They are all great going into their stalls- after all, food awaits them! Its going back out that presents problems. Tiger is a bit skiddish, and though she has come out safely so far, I am worried she's going to make a break for freedom one of these days (or kick me for the fun of it). Big Boy comes out of his stall and tries to wander in to each of his neighbors' stall in turn. With no halter on him, I am reduced to tugging at his mane in a futile manner. He isn't impressed.

Then there is Llewie. Llewie's stall door doesn't close because he kicked it in sometime or other. He always gets done eating first, then spends the rest of the time wandering about the barn and getting in the way of whatever I am doing.

My morning conversations with him run something like this: "Hi Llewie, want some water? Wait until I set the bucket down!... Hey, Llewie, get your face out of Tiger's stall, you aren't being very nice to her!... Llewie, NO! I said get your face out of there! SMACK! (that's me whacking him)... Llewie, no, you can't come into the tackroom with me. BONK! (that's me closing the door against his head)... Llewie, move over, I need to get the hay..."

Thankfully Llewie is what is called a 'bomb-proof' horse. That means that you could probably light a bomb between his hind legs and he wouldn't kick. For that reason I really don't mind having him around- I can shove him around to my heart's content and never worry about him sneaking up behind me and biting me out of pure spite. Nice horse.

Okay, that's enough for now. I don't want to bore you all to death or anything.

Horses

Believe it or not, my friends, this is the first time I have attempted to enter the work force of the 'real world'. I am not finding the process enjoyable or amusing. I am flumoxed (sp?) by resumes, floored by cover letters, disgusted with internet application forms, and beset with bad handwriting problems when the application forms are written. BUT in the middle of my frustration a bright spot gleams- I did get one job already! All right, its only 5 hours a week, but hey, they will probably be some of the happiest hours of my week (especially if I do get some wretched office job)!

The job I did get is the feeding of four horses right down the road from where I live. For those of you who didn't know before, I love horses. I also love getting up early in the morning. I also needed exercise. This job nicely combines all three. Not only that, I'm getting paid for it! Just remind me of this in the dead of winter when I have to get up at 5:30 in sub-zero conditions to see to their welfare. :-)

Even then I think the benefits will outweigh the weather. What better way to spend my morning than trudging through the cold to a warm barn that smells of horses, sweet hay, grain? Or to find four beautiful horses eagerly waiting for me and be able to pet them, sing to them, talk to them, and push them around to my heart's content?

work application

Just went through a very harrowing experience this evening. I filled out an application via the Internet. Who ever designed that application form ought to be shot! There was absolutely no wiggle room for unique information. In fact, every piece of info had its own little box allowing only a certain number of charcters. The name of my school in Israel was too long for its box and I had to think of a creative way to write it down. Then they wanted to know the city and state of my last employer- well number one, it was a volunteer position but there certainly wasn't room to add that. Number two, he lived overseas! That also meant I couldn't use him for a reference because his foreign phone number had the wrong number of digits.

After creatively filling out that section of the application I was then asked to respond to 37 pages of personality-evaluating statements like this: " Do people do annoying things?" Here were the possible responses: strongly agree, agree, disagree, strongly disagree. Or how is this one: "Do your family members like the things you are doing?" Good night! What things? or this: "Are lots of people mean to you?" What is that supposed to prove to them? or this: "Do lots of people argue with you?" You better believe it, baby!

I went through the whole 37 pages with either Lisa or Rachel on the phone (thank goodness for Verizon to Verizon!) to help me. I was supposed to answer them all impulsively, and I am sure that didn't include phone conferencing with sisters! Oh well.

The last problem arrived after I had completed the personality grilling. To answer it I actually called two different people and still had to look online:

"Have you, your spouse, or your parents received AFCD recently?"

there was no translation, and my choices were yes and no. Daddy had no idea what it was. If you don't know what it was, how can you have it? Right? Is it a disease, a traffic violation ticket of some sort? A tattoo received on leaving the Federal Pen.? A lottery prize? An relative of Ebola virus?

Any guesses?

Anyway, I am finally done the exhausting process, my application is in the mail (or the airwaves), and I hope they like me because I need the job soon. :-)