I love to tell stories. Only true stories. And, I admit that occassionally I will "lace up the details" to make it more interesting. The details are all true, too. But, this story is nothing like that. There is no "lacing" in what you are about to read. It is just straight shootin'.
Tonight I had to take Adrienne and Kathrynn to a birthday party. We had the address but I wasn't sure where it was. Of course, my super smart Trent said to Google it - which I did, but there wasn't an address that matched. But, hey, they live in a really new house and probably on a really new street that wasn't on Google yet. I thought about it and did, what I felt, was some pretty awesome logical reasoning. There was a 2000 East and I figured that as it jogged around a canal or a ditch then perhaps the street would change to 1990 East (the intended target). Sounded pretty good to me.
So we head out into Parker - a smaller town outside St. Anthony. I found 2000 and was feeling so smart. We scanned the numbers on the mailboxes as we drove slowly - through a blizzard, I might add - hoping to find 375. We were in the 400s for a very long time and then started to worry because I figured we were nearing the end of the earth. But yeah! Relief was spotted a bit ahead of us. Through the snow we could see what looked like two people, carrying inner tubes on their backs, heading home from an afternoon of tubing. I figured that we could ask them for help once we got to them. So, we continued our mailbox search. All of a sudden Adri says, "Mom, its a cow!" Sure enough, somehow those two boys had turned into a cow and it was just about 10 feet away. Well, we startled it enough that it bolted right into the middle of the road. Now I was lost and following a cow. When the cow moved we were at the end of the road - literally. No 375. We had to turn around.
On the way back I passed a house where two people were standing on their porch. I decided since the cow couldn't answer, I'd ask them. I backed up to their house. The man was in his boxers and tank top and the woman was in her nightgown (it was 6:00 pm). I asked, "Do you know where the Petersons live?" The man looked at his wife and back at me and said, (It is important to think this and say it in the most Ozarkish drawl that you can possibly imagine) "Well, there ain't no Petersons who live around these parts." He asked me for the street address. I told him and he said, "Well, this here is 2000 and if you head over that a way, 1900 is over yonder." I said, "Ok, I'll just go that way and maybe I'll run into 1990 somewhere between." He said, "There ain't no such 1990."
I gave my thanks and was just about to pull off when the lady shouted out, "Don't you like our cow?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH I couldn't stop laughing. True, there wasn't a 1990 (misprint on the invitation) but heading down 2000 was the best thing I could have done. That was so dang funny! I love living in this place.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I LOVE Zumba. It is so fun. I've attended enough times that I now know most of the steps to the dances and have started focusing on muscles I'm using or not using. It has been a good thing to start since I turned 40. Turning 40 is rough. I felt very old. Did you know that my mom was a month away from 40 when I got married. I don't feel as old as I thought she was (Sorry mom.) Nevertheless it arrived and I couldn't stop it. But, here's the point to that side note, I'm 40 and I am still coordinated. I don't look like a total idiot when I do the dances (at least that is what people who would be totally honest with me have said). And, when I practice in front of the bathroom mirror, I don't think I look like a freakazoid. Now, if you happen to think that don't tell me because I won't be able to bear it. So, even at 40, I can do somet hings. Also, I have acquired a little bit more energy and stamina. I can make it through one hour of continuous dancing without dying. After the first day I never thought that would happen. I have also lost about half an inch off my waist. I have to say "about" because I have been way too scared to measure. But, my pants seem to fit half an inch better. So, it's been worth the time and the sore knees, ankles, and hips. I'll keep going.
Posted by Robin Grant at 4:39 PM