Tuned Up

I’ve been a slacker. A complete writing slacker for these last two months. I have excuses. You don’t want to hear those. The meat of the matter is that I took a computer and linguistic break. When I stopped teaching in person in December, I also alerted the other university that I didn’t want to teach classes in January and February.

I needed a mental break.

A time to wind down and work on projects.

Projects that didn’t get worked on.

I was supposed to have my weaving loom built and be able to play bass by now.

Instead, I didn’t do much of anything except for lay around in the hot tub, go hear a few bands, work, and clean/organize the RV. I did play the ukulele exactly twice, once by a friend's campfire and once inside the RV as I learned a sweet new way to play "Jolene."

I need a new space.

A new headspace or a physical space.

Maybe both.

On the way to work last Saturday, I found myself ten minutes early. So, I stopped at a yard sale and bought an antique steamer trunk and rocking chair.

The steamer trunk barely fits the front of the cab area. It fits perfectly, even with the door closed. But…I’m not going to put it there. The steamer trunk is old and metal. I don’t want any twisting or jarring from the cab to put strain on the integrity of the metal. It will. The steamer trunk fits so perfectly that it is tight up against the door and my seat. It also doesn’t open in that place. The metal twists instead. It’s not going there, so it’s back outside.

The rocking chair, on the other hand, sits inside the RV right now. It completely takes up 2/3 of my living room floor space. On Saturday night, I sat in it for about three hours. I haven’t had a comfortable chair since I don’t know when. The seat is cushiony, but the back of it leans too much. I can’t get comfortable or rock in it. It feels like it’s going to tip over.

But, I digress.

The little mental break is over. School started again this week, so now I’m back to working two jobs: physical and mental labor. But…that’s okay. It pays the bills.

It pays in other ways, too.

Sunday dawned beautifully, so I rode my bike to Denny's and had breakfast with a friend. From there we went to the beach and walked along the shore looking at rocks.

Buena got into it with Ranger. It was my fault. Brenda says she “herds” Ranger, a large German shepherd / husky mix. I think she’s protecting me. It’s a little of both. That dog would give her life for me, and I saw it on Sunday when I was cleaning at Brenda’s house. I just help sweep up dog hair, and since Buena is in heat, the slip covers needed to go on the furniture. I made Buena sit on one chair, and I pointed to the couch for Ranger to sit upon.

Only…Ranger had other ideas. He didn’t want to sit on Couch 1, he wanted to sit on Couch 2, the couch I was trying to fit the slipcover over. I pointed to the floor, asking him to get down. My voice got a little sterner, and I pulled on his collar. “Get down, Ranger.”

Like a flash, Buena was suddenly on him, snarling and gashing her teeth like a rabid varmit or a hound from Hell.

Ranger jumped off the couch and went to the corner. This is the herding corner, so if he’s there, he’s usually safe. However, Buena didn’t care, she had him against the wall, and he fought back. Soon they moved beneath the plant table by the picture window.

Brenda’s table with all the plants reeled and wobbled. The water in the vases sloshed from side to side.

“NO!” I screamed and grabbed a pillow from the couch, throwing it between them.

They ignored it and continued fighting. This time, the table started shuddering and wobbling. Brenda’s fancy glass lamp would be knocked over in a minute, so I rushed at the dogs, kicking between them. “Help!” I cried to Brenda.

Buena was not letting up, and Ranger fought back, pushing her out from beneath the table, teeth snarling.

I reached for Buena’s hind leg, which stuck out toward me. Holding tightly, I pulled her backward, away from Ranger.

Brenda arrived, and I took Buena outside. Speaking to her in harsh tones, I watched as she slinked her way back to the RV and tried to go beneath the rig.

I did the German grunt that Stan used on his dog and Buena when Buena visited Lucy and would do wrong. She responded and scuttled toward the door, tail between her legs.

She had to know I was angry.

Opening the door, I told her to get inside.

Buena slowly climbed into the RV. It seemed to take all her might, but she finally got in and stood at the doorway.

“Let me see you,” I commanded.

She had blood in her eyes. Not bleeding blood, but red blood in the whites of her eyes. When she gets aggressive, her eyes turn red. I didn’t see any blood blood on her. “You wait here. You are in so much trouble,” I told her, slamming the door to keep her inside while I went to check on Ranger.

Ranger seemed to be okay. He greeted me with a wag. When I looked him over, I found a little cut by his ear. He growled at me when I touched it.

Dogs.

My dog is great protection. Would a golden-doodle protect me like this?

So…walking back to the RV, I noticed my right foot throbbing with pain at every step. I pulled off my sandal and found a swollen bruise, a little blood, and some deep-tissue black-and-blue. Ouch! When did this happen?

A dog didn’t bite me. Did I kick a dog or the table? What the heck?! Why this? This is not what I wanted to do on a seventy-something sunny Sunday in Havasu.

Back in the RV, I examined my wound. Was the foot broken, some of those little bones on top maybe? Or was this just a deep bruise? Part of me wanted to go get an x-ray just to be sure. Another part of me said, “Yeah, that’ll cost you $500+ dollars for a yes or a no. If it’s a yes, what do you do? Wear a cast? Pay more money? If it’s a no, then you’ve wasted money.” I thought back to the $600 emergency room bill I had a few years ago to be told to “buddy tape” one toe to the next one.

The foot didn’t hurt immeasurably or immensely, so I decided to treat it like it was broken…just in case.

Brenda offered me her boot-thing she wore after she broke her foot a few years ago. She said she’d go find it.

In the meantime, I went back to the RV and found the refrigerator light burning red. It seemed like the propane had run out. One thing with this new fridge—the propane seems to run almost constantly. But, I guess that’s also why I have a consistently-on-the-cold-side temperature reading on the little thermometer I have hanging on the top shelf. Maybe the old refrigerator just didn’t light enough. Sometimes I miss that old refrigerator. It had a part in the back labeled “dinosaur” because it was a specially-made part for older rigs. The old fridge also had corkboard on the doors. It allowed me space to pin pictures, ticket stubs, and Lipton tea tags that read You + Tea.

Tea…my one consistent love (besides Jesus) in my life. I love tea, and tea loves me back. There are so many different things tea can do. Early in life, I was made aware of the properties in different teas and their uses, but something happened this year while working at the health food store. It’s like the culmination of a tea-riffic thing I’ve pursued all my life—black iced tea with Elaine, green tea talks with Della, working at Teavana, touring Celestial Seasonings, and using different blends of tea bags—all came together. I suddenly started learning about the medicinal properties of tea and how to use tea as a tincture or a medicine. Maybe one day I’ll write more about this, but for right now, I’m becoming a little sponge, soaking up the knowledge and experimenting with different teas. I’m not kidding. I probably have about 20 boxes of tea in my cupboard right now.

But, back to getting propane.

On my hurt foot, I had to take the RV out to get propane.

And…while I’m out…I should do a dump, right? That way, I won’t have to move the RV for two weeks. Every two weeks, the RV gets dumped and takes on fresh water.

By the time I got back, Brenda had found the boot. The boot looks like a ski boot or a storm trooper boot. I put it on, and it actually made walking less painful.

So…on  Monday, I wore the boot out. People held open doors. While I certainly appreciated this display of hospitality and care, I didn’t need it. I found that I could walk on the right heel of the boot because it was thicker. In addition, the little lift in height could propel me forward in my strides. The boot was kind of like a new toy that I wore to the post office. I couldn’t drive with it on, so I had to put it on in the parking lot. This wasn’t difficult because it was just a few Velcro straps that held it in place.

On my way into the post office, one of the regular juice bar clients saw me. He asked what happened and if I got x-rays. “I don’t have insurance and can’t afford x-rays,” I admitted. It turns out he’s a doctor. A chiropractic doctor. He has this special tool, a tuning fork. He’ll bring it into work on Tuesday.

So…that’s where this all ties together in a kind of neat way. He brings the tuning fork into work. “This will tell me if you have a broken bone or not. When I strike the tuning fork, it will vibrate. I’ll touch the bones in your foot with the fork. If it is broken, the vibration will cause a painful sensation.”

That made sense.

He hit the tuning fork and moved it around my foot.

No pain.

He advised me not to wear the boot.

“It’s gonna hurt,” I said.

He said it’s better for my foot to get regular movement at this point.

Long story, short…I didn’t have to pay for a doctor bill, and Jesus provided me with a medical diagnosis for free. He’s always watching out for His children! Thank you, Lord!

And…after a day-and-a-half of being grounded, Buena asked if she could go back to Brenda’s house to play with the dogs while I went to work. She told me this as I finished up my morning routine. She pulled both leashes off the railing and stood facing the door as I gathered my things.

I gave her a sharp talking to on the way over, telling her she’d better behave.

The dogs wanted her there. They all made crying yelps as I unlocked the door. Tails wagged as she stood inside Brenda’s kitchen for the sniff down.

Accepted back into the pack, she ran through the back dog door outside, the others following behind.

Except for Bandit, the little Chihuahua. He had to wait on the other side of the gate—on Merry’s side of the house—until Brenda got up to let him out.