Open Writing

It started out to be such a nice day. I was staying home and finishing up a story that I had been working on and drinking hot tea. Well after a few cups of hot tea, I just happened to be in the bathroom when the phone rang.

I thought, oh well, whoever it was could just leave a message. I listened as the phone continued to ring but no message was left on the machine. No sooner had the phone quit ringing when my cell phone began ringing and playing a bouncy tune. I knew then that it was probably my husband or my son. The men in my family are very persistent.

I had just opened the bathroom door when the phone rang yet again, all of this in a matter of seconds, but this time I picked up the phone.

“Where were you?” my husband asked as if I’d been gone for a week.

“I was in the bathroom,” I explained.

“Well, I’m out here on the farm by the east gate and the truck is stuck in these muddy ruts. You are going to have to come get me. I’ve called the neighbors out here on my cell phone and nobody is home. Bring a chain with you just in case. We might try to pull it out with the Cruiser.”

“With the Cruiser?” I exclaimed as I pictured my little white PT Cruiser buried beneath a mound of Missouri mire with an RIP sign in front of it never to be seen again. “Where is the chain?”

“Out in the shed somewhere,” he replied.

I hung the phone up, got dressed, yes I was still wearing pajamas, and headed out to the shed.

“How can a man who keeps such meticulous records have a shop that looks like this,” I thought, wondering if my tetanus shots were up to date and why was I wearing sandals?

I looked all around and saw one rusty chain on the floor but it didn’t look heavy enough to pull out a heavy Ford four-wheel drive truck to me. Finally I noticed that the tractor loader was chained to a pole. Did he think it was going to get away? I unhooked it and began unraveling it from around the pole and then the end of it got stuck behind the pole that was so close to the shed wall that it wouldn’t pull out.

This may sound easy, but this wasn’t a little chain. This thing must have weighed over 50 pounds. I pulled and yanked until finally it came loose and I was looking down as I began carrying and dragging the huge chain across the shed.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain on top of my head and I felt a little woozy. I did have presence of mind enough to duck when I realized that there was a hook dangling from the ceiling of the shed and it was about to hit me again. Not a small hook, we’re talking block and tackle hook here. I’m telling you that shed is a dangerous place! No self-respecting burglar would knowingly enter that shed, not that burglars are self-respecting. It’s just not safe in hhere, I thought to myself as I was trying to feel how big the knot was on my head.

I finally staggered out to the Cruiser, half pulling and half carrying the chain. I tried to throw it in the back but it was too heavy. Somehow I ended up with two purple pinched places on my fingers, not to mention rust-colored hands. Don’t men ever clean chains? Do they allow them to slowly rust away?

I didn’t want to get rust all over the steering wheel so I went over to the water hose to wash off my hands. I turned on the water and nothing happened. Oh, great! I twisted the nozzle...and whoosh! Needless to say more than my hands got washed off. I dripped over to the Cruiser when I got in to head off to muddy places.

As I drove towards the east gate I checked the farms along the way, hoping to see someone with a real vehicle rather than the Barbie car which I was driving. Wouldn't you know it! There was no-one around. It was is if they were part of some plot to see if a Cruiser could pull out a pickup truck.

As I neared the east gate I saw Mike. He was picking up rocks and putting them under the wheels of his vehicle. The only tool he happened to have with him was a pitchfork. It takes a long time to dig holes behind the tires with a pitchfork, but I wasn't about to point this out. I have been married long enough to know when to be quiet.

I still wasn’t really keen on starring in this Herbie Goes to The Mudhole movie. I had visions of hooking up that chain, then me driving off in just part of a PT Cruiser.

But the moment of truth arrived. Mike hooked up the chain. I began pulling. Nothing happened.

“Try again. When I honk go hard,'' Mike instructed.

This time the pick-up truck came out of the ruts. And the Cruiser remained intact!

This was our version of The Little Engine That Could. We now have a whole new meaning to the term Cruiser Bruiser!

Pamela Perry Blaine
© August 2008

**

Pamela lives in Missouri and writes "Pam's Corner" for her local newspaper. Many of her stories have been published in magazines, newspapers, and books. She is a church pianist and has a CD of her own songs. You can hear some of them on her website.

Her aim is to preserve family history for her children.
Pam’s website:
http://www.blaines.us/PamyPlace.htm

Her e-mail address is
pamyblaine@blaines.us

Security is not the absence of danger,
but the presence of God"

"NO ONE IS USELESS IN THIS WORLD
WHO LIGHTENS THE BURDEN OF ANYONE ELSE"
(Charles Dickens)