Competition III

"I've got knackwurst," I offer inquisitively while gesturing toward the freezer. I could have not been less prepared for the giggle that followed as it reached slightly into her deeper register, let alone the unadulterated mischief in that grin.

She had surprised me by stopping by with a copy of Bringing Up Baby on a perfectly lazy afternoon, although, I wasn't feeling lazy. I would have assumed she would be out riding on a day like this, or at least have someone else in mind. The movie had come up in a conversation one time, how you can never get tired of Hepburn and Grant in that one, picking it apart line by line, scene by scene.

I had been catching up on the fall yard work when I startle to a knock on the wheelbarrow a few feet behind me. After gathering a few wits I say, "You have a way of making entrances, no?"

She chuckles. "Now now, who am I to disappoint?"

Standing there feeling green as grass I smile mostly out of sheer disbelief.

"Hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Oh,it'll be here..." as I gesture toward my rake, suddenly needing to convince us both plus the birds and bugs that I've reached a good stopping point.

After meandering about the garden we sat on the porch for just a few minutes before I hear her tummy growl. "Sounds like someone hasn't had lunch yet either," I probe.

"Yah...I was...gonna offer Applebees or something," which brought upon friendly debate over whether to just fix something, I've got plenty on hand to work with, and the discussion brings us into my living room and kitchen, how so quickly her presence makes my house a new world altogether.

"I'm serious, knackers are great wrapped in a slice of wheat and maybe some Dijon, heck, you saw how many onions came up this year. If you want we can put the movie in..."

She playfully pokes my ribs. "Deal."

As I reach into the freezer she gently catches my forearm and asks, "So are they like brats?"

"They're milder, kinda like a hot dog but grown up."

Smiling, "Umm...how about we just cook one of them?"

I glance away and muse, "So we each start at an end and meet in the middle?"

Handover mouth, she nearly loses herself in a laugh that could almost betaken for guilt, eventually turning away and bracing herself on the counter. "No silly just cut it in half." She gasps, still fighting bursts of giggles, and gestures out back in a manner that could only bring to mind Diane Keaton. "How about some of those other veggies...from the garden?"

I have to sigh, just watching her for a second. "Deal."

Crossfire

Day by day, night after night
Blinded by the neon light
Hurry here, hustling there
No one's got the time to spare
Money's tight, nothing free
Won't somebody come and rescue me

I am stranded, caught in the crossfire
Stranded, caught in the crossfire

Tooth for tooth, eye for an eye
Sell your soul just to bop on by
Beggin' for a dollar, stealin' a dime
Come on can't you see that I'm

Stranded, caught in the crossfire
I am stranded, caught in the crossfire

I need some, kind of kindness
Some kind of sympathy, oh no
Save the strong, lose the weak
Never turning the other cheek
Trust nobody, don't be no fool
Whatever happened to the golden rule

Carter/Ellsworth/Layton/Shannon/Wynans - 1989

muck in the stud

on a cold afternoon somewhere in your youth
seated on the couch with miles in between
she's lifeless as the bare trees outside
having cried the salt out of her tears

she's wearing the sweater you gave her
in a baffling manner of statement
the aroma of her house always seemed foreign
yet that never stopped you from charging in

if you love me this, if you love me that
why can't she just be happy?
finally she breathes out a sigh and turns away
and it gets just a tad chillier in here

Competition II

"I've watched the kids over the years," then, a pause.

My turn to take a deep breath, seemingly sympathetic.

"Actually...hmm, it's their families I usually notice," as her eyebrows bounce in a sort of revelation. Her lips purse. "You know, a horse doesn't care about the same things people do."

"I think I see where you're going," as I nod and take another hit of ever-more-tepid hydration.

"Yeah, it's as though there's something these kids, well, at least some of them, won't get otherwise. I hate to sound overly class-conscious but...I don't know, you can just tell, I can feel it in my belly I guess."

I sigh.

"So...yeah."

After a moment I jump back in, "I hope you don't mind," helplessly fumbling for the predicate.

Her smile patiently beckons.

"I know the last thing you want is praise...still, I can't help but admire that," all the while feeling my own smile transcend gravity, let alone any hope of restraint.

She looks away for a second and returns with, "Thanks." Gently squeezing my arm she adds, "I had better see how they're doing."

"Good luck. And, thank you, " which earns me one last smile, lingering just a bit as she went. I'll admit it was pretty easy to get caught up in those in those well-worn jeans after she looked away. After recovering a bit, I check her progress from a safer distance and nearly make out a song in those meandering, carefree, almost prancing steps as they navigate the uneven terrain.

Before long I dump the rest of the water and mosey on up to the office in case anything needs attention, such as leftovers from lunch or some potable coffee. While standing around with the owners I learn that this meet was one of the best ever attended at the farm. That's something you like to hear, you know, publicity never hurts.

As we're cleaning up and tearing down I see she's absorbed herself with the riders, and I mean completely absorbed. Not that I would expect glances or even a vibe, but I can't remember seeing someone so clearly, well, in their element, just listening and hugging and congratulating, even as most, representing those with special ribbons and without, are on their way.

Without a doubt the remainder of that evening fulfilled what the beginning had promised, still picture-perfect. Funny, I didn't even listen to music or a game on the drive home. Then, all I could do was sit on the porch, with a mug of broth, and help the neighbors' old beagle watch headlights go by.