Life's Curve Balls

Life’s Curve Balls

By Janet Hall-Gilbert

 

  My eyes opened, and I felt a crushing pain throughout my body, I gasped to take a breath of air.

  “What the hell?” Moaning I looked up to see my Uncle kneeling down beside me, with that shrewd smile of his. One I had seen time and time again, when he had just taught me that life can through you a curve ball when you least expect it.

 

  Coming to live with Uncle Brad and Aunty Mary when I was just nine was something I didn’t look forward too. I was a city kid and I love the malls and my friends. But after both of my parents had been killed by a drunk driver and that driver just happened to be my father. Aunt Mary and Uncle Brad stepped up to the plate to give me a home.

 

  Aunt Mary was as wide as she was tall, or as Uncle Brad use to put it, “She’s six axe handles across but she was every bit of a woman.” She always had a loving smile for me. The thing I remember about her the most was her laugh, she sounded like a chicken laying an egg. She was always honest, true and fair with her discipline.  Uncle Brad on the other hand, used life’s lessons to teach, and trust me, he had a few up his sleeve, and some of them would find me narrowly escaping with my life, or I thought so at the time.

 

  The summer sun scorched my eyes, as it made its appearance through my upstairs window. The sheets were soaking wet from the sweat that flow out of my body during the night. It was going to be another hot one, and I longed to be in an air conditioned mall hanging out with friends. But Nooo I was stuck on this god forsaken farm, cleaning up cow manure, tossing hay bales onto an old rickety wagon, that I swear my Uncle had patch together with every scrape piece of wood, metal, and tree branch that was on the property. He had the sides tied together with binder twine, and if you asked why he hadn’t fixed it properly he would reply. “Why its’ working fine the way it is.”

 

  “Tracy, come on get out of that darn bed, and get breakfast or I’ll through it out.” The whiskey voice of Aunt Mary echoed through the stair well vibrating the plaster on the walls.

  “Yeh.” I moaned.

 

  I knew breakfast was on for an hour. I had smelt the coffee brewing on the stove, and the burnt toast. Aunt Mary was a great cook except for breakfast. I always dreaded waking up to it. She never had grasp the concept that you didn’t have to have bacon and eggs every day, or oat meal that would ball on the end of the spoon, and you would need a knife to pry it off roof of your mouth just to swallow it. I slide my way to the table, staring at the grease that formed a ring around the brim of my plate. “Did you have a good sleep?”

  My, gaze averted the plate for a second to look up at my Aunts smile. “Not really.” I said with a huge yawn stretch sending a shiver down my spine. “It was pretty hot up there.”

  “Maybe tonight I’ll make up a bed for you on the veranda.” She said as the slamming of the screen door, made her neck snap toward the porch.

 

  My Uncle made his appearance through the door taking two long strides, swinging his leg over the back of the chair slamming his butt down, grabbing his knife and fork before my Aunt had time to finish pour his cup of coffee. “Something sure smells good.” He said, jabbing his fist into my arm. “You awake yet kid or did you smoke to too much wacky stuff last night?”

  This was his morning greeting to me every day of the week, and I often thought that one day I would make my appearance to the morning table stoned out of my head, just to see if he actually knew what he was talking about. “I’m awake.” I said with yet another yawn.

  “Good, cause I got a something for you do to keep you busy for the summer.” He said as the grease from the bacon that he had just stuffed in his mouth trickled down his chin.

 

  I knew from the sound of his voice that nothing good could come of this, and the last time that he used you and busy in the same sentence I ended up flying down a hill in an old pickup that he had purchase at an auction sale. He had decide that I needed to learn how to drive and didn’t bother to tell me that having break were a great necessity to have on a vehicle, and we ended up tarring down two fences and swimming with the ducks.

  “What’s that look for kid?” he asked grinning through the slice of toast he torn off with his teeth. “I promise your gonna like this.”

 

  I look over at my Aunt hoping for her to help me out of the situation, but all I got was that loving smile, and soft eyed look that would say I can’t help you out on this one cause I don’t know what he has in store for you.

  “You don’t trust me do ya?” he said.

  “It’s not that.” I answered. “It’s just that I haven’t recovered from the driving lesson.”

  “You lived through it didn’t ya.”

  “Yeh, that’s the problem.” I said shoving my hands under my legs to stop them for shaking.

  “Ya know that you can’t learn if you’re afraid of experiencing the unknown in life.”

  “I’m not afraid of the unknown, I’m afraid that you’re trying to get me killed.”

 

  He threw back his head in laughter then dropping it forward towards his plate to spit out the half chewed morsel that he was about to choke on. Wiping a tear from he’s eye he said. “Is that what you think I am trying to do?”

  “Well so far I have had three concussions one broken arm and a black eye. So I don’t know what gave you the impression that I wouldn’t think anything different.”

  His eyes turned soft and, caring. I knew at that point I was about take yet another leap of faith. I knew he wasn’t trying to kill me and I knew that he loved me as if I were his own, but it was times like this that I wish I knew what intuition was all about, and I wouldn’t end up with him rolling on the ground with laughter.

 

  I felt the heart burn setting in as I watched him rush through the morning meal. Placing his hardened hand around the bass of my neck, we made our way towards the barn to see this great project he had going for me for the summer.

 

 That sweat smell of the freshly pitched hay, warmed my nasal passages, and the sound of an odd moo as we entered the barn was relaxing. I loved to sit and listen to than livestock chow down on their morning meal. It made me wish that I was one of them, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the heavy gut that I always felt after one of Aunt Mary’s breakfasts. We walked towards the end stall, Uncle Brads steps quicken the closer we got. “She’s not much right now Tracy.” He said, “but with a bit of work she will turn into a real beauty, and the bestest friend you’ll ever have.”

 

  I peered over the top of the stall door. There she was. Love at first sight, she was covered in mud and her mane and tail were knotted from the wind. I looked up at my Uncle to get permission to go in. He opened the door enough for me to squeeze by. “You be careful now ya hear. She still pretty wild yet and she needs to settle in.” I never heard a word he said, my heart had been captured. I knew nothing of horses just what I had read in books, and now I had one of my very own. My heart beat pounded throughout my entire body. I reached my hand out for her to take a smell. Her breath was warm and soft on my hand as she stretched across to take a sniff. I look over towards my Uncle to thank him and he was gone. Instant panic set in, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him, now how the hell am I suppose to get out of here I thought. My glance around the stall, revealed my escape, “If I can only make it over the top of the next stall I could sneak out unscathed.” I slowly began to place my leg up onto the manger. Taking a quick leap I manage l landed on my feet. Opening my eyes I realized that I had managed to jump in Barney’s stall.

 

  Barney was my Uncle’s pride and joy, his two ton bull that serviced all the female cows, and one of the most cantankerous animals on the planet. I froze... afraid to even think a thought; I felt the warm trickle of urine flow from my body filling my boot. Barney’s head turned, and our eyes met. I watch as the hey that dangled from the corners of his mouth slowly in a circular motion disappeared into his gullet. I was in that split second I realize that he was giving me permission to make a quick exit and I did so thanking the powers that be.

 

  The liquid sloshed inside my boot as I ran towards the safety of the house. I stood in the doorway silent, as the four eyes in the room stared down towards my pants. Uncle Brad smile toast crumbs still wedge between his front teeth. “Barney?” He said.

 I nodded my head yes running past the giggles, to change.

 

  When I look back on that experience, and I realize that the lesson Uncle Brad taught me that morning whether it was intentional or not, has made me the person that I am today, and I often look back on it when a situation arises  and I take a deep breath, and make a quick exit.

  As the days and months pasted that summer I began to more confident in my own abilities, and I took the project that he had given me and I ran with it. In the first month I had taught that little pony to lead and bow, and most of all trust. And I too learned how to trust again. I read everything I could get my hands on, different training methods, basic care and feeding methods, I had learnt it all.  I was a master at fifteen, I knew how to bandage a leg, poke a needle in her neck, and take her temperature, how many heart beats she had. I could be the best clinician on the planet.

 

  Now the day had finally arrived I was going to put my foot into the stirrup for the first time. I tightened the chinch, and pulled on the saddle horn making sure there was no slippage. I lead her into the middle of the correl. I looked over at my Uncle his face was blanketed with no expression as I took a deep breath and placed my left foot into the stirrup, just like I had read to do, I took 3 quick hopes as I had read to do and swung my leg up and over the saddle. I breathed a sigh of superiority. I did it I had trained this beast and she was now mind to command.

 

  I don’t exactly what happened next, but I remember the feeling of flight and then a thud as I hit the ground and everything went black until my eyes opened. And Uncle Brad was staring down a me smiling.

 

 “All them books you read this summer didn’t tell you that she has a mind and with that mind comes free will.” He said taking my hand and hoisting me up from off the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Time

Spring Time

 “When its spring time in the Rockies I’ll be coming back to you, little sweet heart of the mountains with your bonnie eyes of blue.”

 Every day the familiar sound of an off-key whistler wakes my morning. I greet him with a kicker, knowing some fresh hay and a scratch is coming my way. Later he will take me from my stall, brush the dust from my hair, running his rough calloused hands down the full length of my body checking for sore spots. His voice is low and in a whisper.

 “It’s chilly out this morning he says.” I take in a deep breath pursing my lips... I let it out forcefully tossing my head. He smiles “Yep girl I hate it too, but its gotta be done.”

  When we were younger his step was sure, his movements were fast and unpredictable, but as with all things, time ages and we slow down. He’s not in as big of a rush to be anywhere special. His steps are laboured now, as are mine.

 The stall door seems to ache as do I this cold morning, its hinges creek and groan. “You haven’t eaten your drank.” He says as his head leans into my gut, his ear pressed tightly to my body. I turn my head and I meet his gaze. “Hang in there girl.” He says running his hand under my belly, “I’ll be right back.”

 Once again the hinges squeak. His shambling step quickens out of the barn. My legs are growing tired, my breaths are shallow. My thoughts wander back to a much more tranquil time, when the snow was on the mountain tops and we were in the sun drenched valley. Riding on the wind, I would feel the chill of the air nip at my nostrils I would be aware of his hips, shoulders and legs guiding me to our target. A small new born calf barely alive, he dismounts, kneels at its side, his hands feel for life. His knowledge of what to do is swift. He grabs the snout and places his mouth around it. He begins to take deep breaths giving the young one a few more moments of life. I see a trickle of water from the corner of his eye as he rises and approaches my side. “Don’t worry girl I just gotta bit of dust in my eye.” He says reaching for his gun. I startle from the blast but I’m stead fast for my human.

  We ride hard and fast to erase the memory of the morning checking the rest of the heard. Soon the cool morning air would heat from the sun and we stop by the creek. I will drink and graze and he pulls a slice of bread from his bags, he lies under a tree and in silence we drink in the beauty that has been provides for us. Soon I hear the rumbling snore as he takes his breath in sleep. I caulk my hind leg and I to close my eyes.

  Soon he wakes, and it’s time to go. With miles of fence line to check we amble through the jagged rocks of the foothills; one mile turns into another until he stops. Under his breath he mutters, “shit: we just fix that line yesterday.” For the next half hour I will stand for him swishing my tale to keep the flies from my back, I can graze and I watch his experienced hands twist the wire back into one and we move on to the next downed line. Our week is routine and almost boring, but it is where we are both free. For when the weekend comes is when this team rises to the challenge of a roping event showing off our skills. He is proud of me and a few well placed bets buy a round of drinks at his favourite watering hole.

  My legs are tired and my gut aches. I can no long stand and I fall to my front knees then to my side. I stretch my neck long trying to ease the pain, but it doesn’t come. His hurried footsteps reach the stall and again the hinges wines. “Awe girl don’t come on ya gotta get up.” He pulls and grunts. I hear the frustration in his voice. “Get up you stupid thing. Damn it get up.” I blow a breath as he slides his back down the wall. I feel his legs come under my head his hand runs the full length of my jaw.

“It’s ok girl.” He whispers. “I have some help coming, “just hold on.”

 My eyes meet his and the dust from the air is making both of his eyes water, and he begins to hum his song. He opens his mouth to sing the words and he chokes. “When it’s spring time in the Rockies I’ll be coming back to you.”

 I close my eye and the pain is gone.

Is He GoneYet

Is He Gone Yet?

By Janet Hall-Gilbert

Feb.8^th 2013-02-08

  Everyone at one time or another has had a person in their lives…. Well let’s just say you would rather be consumed by a boiling kettle of pig’s oil than to have to be in the same room with them. Other names come to mind such as wacko, monster in the closet, or Uncle Tom.

  I have changed the name to hide the identity of this person; (not). Uncle Tom was probably not a bad character and he likely had friends, or at least some people that would tolerate him long enough to say hello. Just not this person. (Which of course, means me :)

  It’s customary in all families to get together for annual fisticuffs. Mine was no different. The problem in my family is that my mother’s side just happened to have the most wackos. Not that they were murderers or child molesters… but few could have won an Oscar just for their costume design.

  Sundays would be the day that I was made to put on a smile, and wear that ugly dress that had so much lacy stuff and starch in it. That when I walked, I sounded like a hammer whacking a two by four when ever my knees hit the front of it.

  We would load up the car with some concoction that Mother had made for potluck at Granny’s. Then head out, pickup Uncle Tom, for a fun filled afternoon with the family. (God I hated those days.) One time I remember this very clearly because I received a red butt for it. Tom had decided to ride in the backseat with my brother and I. Of course there are four doors on a vehicle and he would have to pick mine. My mouth began to open in protest, when my eye caught the… don’t you dare say a word and move over look. His pants were caked with three weeks of dirt that had dried and cracked. So when he slid across the seat touching the over starched skirt, his pants split a hole in it from the waist to the hem. The rip was loud to the point of deafening my ears. Mother spun around in a complete circle, her eyes a bright red glow. I slunk down in my seat, thinking of the lash I would get once the car stopped. I hated that dress and she knew it. Oh how many times she had told me “Ladies don’t slide across their butts. They gently rise and skooch over keeping things neat and tidy as not to show off their knees. 

  Tom was always the center of attention at the supper table, not that he was a great conversationalist, because a well placed grunt was the most I ever heard him say and for this story’s sake let’s just say he lack a lot of social graces.

  His un-kempt waist long beard was a nest of hidden caverns of last week’s meals, a few drippings of chewing tobacco that the wind had carried back in his face. He could not grasp that spitting into the wind was not such a great idea. I often wondered if he peed into the wind as well or maybe he just didn’t change his underwear that often. For sometimes he had that outdoorsy bathroom smell.

  Well enough of his smell and back to his beard, I swear that on more than one occasion, something moved inside of there and I’m sure it was a mouse, maybe a rat, but I had been informed by my brother that we lived in a rat free province so my eyes were seeing an optical illusion, and if there was anything alive in there it would meet its demise once the hot ladle of gravy hit it.

  He never talked much, and understanding him was more of a lesson in learning a new language. Along with the language lesson was a course that was a mandatory requirement, you had to learn what I call the duck and wipe. For his toothless mouth had deadly accuracy, from fifty feet away he could launch a chunk of turnip into the pupil of your eye, followed by a barrage of spit that would sprinkle your face like a round of buck shot on a carefully aimed target. I should know. I had, on more than one occasion, been carefully placed across the table directly in the path of the volleying onslaught of food.

 “Take one for the team sis,” my brother would say.

  Mom would smile at me giving me a look of love, and sympathy, kissing me on the top of my head. Then looking my brother in the eye, taking a deep breath she would say. “For that comment my dear young man you just earned you a spot next to him at the table.”

  We all knew that meant you were heading into the Mustard Zone. A silent but deadly gas would fill the room at least once during the meal. I got good at reading his body. Calculating the time it would take to reach my side of the table by the way he would adjust himself on his chair. If he adjusted himself to the right, it would take two people to go through before it reached me, but if he lifted his left leg I would have time to call in the fan unit. That was Granny’s job. She had strategically placed it with in arms reach so when she switched it on high the gale force winds would carry the deadly gas into the direct path of my brother nailing him with both barrels so to speak.

  As I got older it wasn't a mandatory thing that we attend all the family gatherings and when I did, I would make sure I packed something that would resemble homework, and  would be excused from eating at the big table so I could spread my things out to study. For don’t you know an education was a highly valued thing and my parents should be proud that I would be such a diligent child with my studies. (I wish we had laptops and facebook back then.)

  By the time I had reached my twenties I was engulfed with my own path in life and Uncle Tom was but a memory. Until one day an urgent plea came from my Mother. Uncle Tom was succumbing to old age. Since Granny passed Sunday supper was not frequently celebrated, and Tom was placed in a home. She needed to be by his side…my father had become hermit or shell shocked by my mother’s family. He would hide in the bathroom grunting so loud that a neighbour had called the police thinking he was having a heart attack. When they arrived Mom told the officer that he was having a prostate problem and would be just fine as soon as he rubbed a bit off. I often wonder if she knew what she had told them. Anyway she needed a ride to the hospital to say her goodbyes. After a few long uncomfortable minutes of making excuses and feeling guilty I obliged.

 When I saw him for the first time I must say I was pretty impressed. I was looking for this frail old man, with sunken eyes fallen cheek bones, ya’ll know someone that looks like a good round of embalming fluid would do him some good. But he wasn't… his cheeks were full, his beard had been unmatted and as far as his eyes went I had never paid too much attention to them so I couldn't tell you if they were green, black or brown, but they were open staring at the ceiling moving side to side as if he were counting the holes in the tiles.

 I watched my mother take his hand. She nodded for me to come be by her side. Not the place I wanted to be, I was quite comfortable leaning up against the door frame. I was fine where I was.  Why is it that mothers can guilt you into do something just by looking at you? So I moved to the other side of the bed. Uncle Tom’s eyes zoned in on me, he smiled, his mouth moved to speak, I calculated which way to duck. Then I noticed the dentures.

 “Shit this is gonna hurt.” I thought. He drew in a deep breath, held it then letting it out slowly until nothing was left. With his mouth now an open cavern, as life crept away. The room eerily silent. My eyes fixated on his face. I watched the upper plate of his dentures slip slowly from his gums… clacking when it met the bottom plate, echoing throughout the room. I looked at my mother a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. I wrestled with my thoughts Then decided I to ask. “Is he gone yet?”

  

Buying My First Horse

Your First Horse.

By

J.H.Gilbert

Copy write 2009-10-20

 I fell in love with horses, as most people do, as a young child. Like most people, I never had the opportunity to own one ‘til much later in life, and as an adult sometimes we do things that we shouldn't do and that is where my life began with horses.

 Through this journey I made a few mistakes or maybe I should say a lot of mistakes, but  this one little mistake that I made, I gained a teacher and a life long friend that would see me through some very difficult times and I can honestly say they saved my life. This is the beginning and how I became the student of this magnificent animal.

 (Mistake) number one: going to an auction sale.

(Mistake) number two was putting up my hand, and the auctioneer yelling sold before the bid really even got started. I paid one hundred and sixty dollars for a baby, I knew nothing about taking care of.

 I brought her home; she was a scruffy looking thing of six months old, and had never been handled by a humans hands. Scrawny and mangy looking but with an eye that captured my soul.

  This poor little thing was frighted. This was the first time she had ever been away for her momma. The humans she had only seen from a far herded onto a trailer to be taken to her new life. 

  Thank god one of my neighbours was a horsey person or I would have been hooped. For I wasn't even sure what or how much a horse ate let alone how much time and work goes into training one. So I brought her home, running her of the trailer and into a stall. The thought was to have her contained so she would have to depend on me for food and water, a bonding of sorts. 

  I knew she needed water, so that was the first thing I did, but when it came to actually getting the bucket into the stall without getting killed, I had a problem.   

.

 (Mistake) number three was having that horsey friend on hand. For as all horse people they get a kick out of watching a newbie.  She laughed, knowing that I had a problem with going into the stall and she shook her head and looked me straight in the eye and said, “Damn it, just walk in and place the bucket on the floor!”

 

 Now you'll find that horse people only give advice when asked. Beyond that; they will watch and they will chuckle, mostly at you rather than with you, and they have a tendency to shake their heads a lot, and I haven’t quite figured out this ritual yet, although it is something I find myself now doing  from time to time now that I have a bit more experience with horses.

 "Okay." I said to myself. This should be an easy task to do." I took a deep breath. Opened the stall door and stepped in. No problem. I felt proud about myself .Until she jumped. Then I jumped, into the manger. I felt a warm trickle stream down the inside of my legs. Now I asked myself:  “What the hell are you doing here?” You have no knowledge and you are scared to death, and now not only do you have to figure a way out of there, you have to hope that your horsey friend will except the explanation the you spilt the bucket of water on yourself when you retreated to the manger for safety. 

I clung to the side of the stall. My heart pounded. The sweat soaked my clothing (well, some of my clothing. The rest was already wet from the accident I had earlier).  Inch by long inch I made my way to the stall door to make my escape. I watch her closely hoping she didn't move, her tiny legs were quivering as much as mine

Her eyes were wild as she met my gaze. She was beautiful I thought to myself. I took a sigh of relief as I closed and locked the stall door behind me. The first night was over, and tomorrow was going to be a brand new adventure for her and for myself, and the rest of the mistakes would have to wait for now. With the safety of a wall between us, we could begin to know each other with out so much fear. 

 I stayed with her for most of the night watching like a little child planning out future together, and hoping that she would forgive me for my lack of knowledge. Little did I know then that some of her lessons would hurt and then would stay with me for the rest of my life.