Monday, March 18, 2013

You too can achieve your dreams!

I am sorry for being away for so long. It was a pretty long weekend full of the kind of personal stuff that I don't really feel comfortable sharing, so I have pulled over an applicable blog from my other location, Rants by Lauren. Enjoy! And come back soon! We're making jelly!

I did it. This weekend I achieved one of my lifelong dreams. You know those dreams that haunt you? Day after day? Night after night? Pushing you? Pursuing you like a hunted stag? Those dreams that motivate you on a core level?
I attained one of those. Yes. I did it. I fell through a barn. Again. What do you mean that isn’t a dream? You have never had that dream where you fall through a barn floor? What is that? Oh, a nightmare you say? Psh. Nightmares are dreams too. Don’t be a hater. You have your goals. I have mine.
You’re just jealous because I achieved something glamorous. Bruises are considered glamorous, right?
Saturday was supposed to be Farrier day at Prinrock Farms. Farrier day is a magical day from hell that involves gathering up every single horse and having a farrier give them the equivalent of an equine pedicure. For the most part this isn’t bad. Generally 23 horses out of 26 are good. They are catchable and they don’t fight too much, but oh when the hellions decide to fight it is a sight to see. Anyone who thinks people kicking or smacking their horse around is abusive should really observe what they will do to themselves and each other when they are in a pissy mood.
Let me tell you, a horse is a half cocked gun. Take Luna for example, she can be the most docile thing ever, but Heaven help us all if she is PMSing. She can clear a six foot tall fence from a standstill and cause concussions with the best of them. I watched Dreamer break two halters and her own face rather than allow herself to be tied. They’re nuts. They’re exquisitely beautiful creatures, but they are nuts. Anyways, between Luna trying to prove herself the world’s best jumper, Joey picking your pockets and wandering away with any tools that aren’t tied down, and Barbie being the wild mountain horse who will never be touched! Never!!!! Farrier day is one of the days that I look at with trepidation.
So, at 7:30 ON A SATURDAY I already knew the day would not be in my top ten. Then the farrier was late. Then he was an hour late. Then we realized he wasn’t coming, which made life suck for a variety of reasons.
1.       I had been up at 7am on a SATURDAY for nothing.
2.       I had a pen full of agitated horses that I somehow had to feed without them beating each other up too much. This pen would also get grosser and grosser with every passing moment. So I would have to wade through a foot of muck rather than six inches when I eventually tried to capture them. Lovely.
3.       I had made a big deal out of being busy all day the night before. Now I was no longer busy, and my entire argument that had been emotionally charged and ineffective to begin with was void. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
What to do with a free Saturday? Call and eat crow? Can? Winterize my yard? Clean house? Clean barn? Do laundry? Sleep? Relax?
None of the above. I got wrangled into helping my dad clean out my grandpa’s barn. Which is good because a good wind could knock it over, and my grandpa does not need to be wandering around in it, so I’m glad that I was there, but did I mention a good wind could knock this thing over? Danger! Danger!
Naturally I am selected for the job of retrieving items from across the loft floor. It only makes sense. I am the least useful of the group. It’s like in a horror movie. You know someone is going to die, and you know it is going to be the ditzy blond chick because she contributes the least to the well being of the party. I was cannon fodder. They said it was because I was the lightest, but I know the truth. So I was like, “Hey! Okay!” and “Is this a bad time to tell you guys I have been having dreams about falling through barn floors again?” Chirp, chirp went the crickets. “Hey, Lauren. Why don’t you start by gathering up all the jars and glass [from over there on the sketchy side of the barn]?” Seriously, take the flashlight. Go down the hall alone. It’ll be cool. There isn’t certain doom down there. That’s just bad lighting.
So I collect jars, crocks, and giant wooden things like the good girl that I am. I’m creeping from floor joist to floor joist, spreading my weight out the best that I can on the termite riddled wood. I was practically belly crawling along to reach some of these jars and other mystery objects. Most mystery objects being made of cast iron and appearing to be tools of some sort that I couldn’t identify. My grandpa has some cool stuff. Some cool, HEAVY stuff. A few hours pass. We uncover two glass display cases, because every barn has two antique glass display cases in it for grain and things, right? We found a cider press. Who doesn’t keep one of those laying around? There were also some old chairs, an engine, a steam engine, a tractor, a seed box, thousands of strawberry cartons (WHY?!?!?!?!), planters, enough canning jars to make me ache with jealousy (Really. They are about $10 a box. I have bought about $50 worth of them recently. When I could have just come rummaging…AGH!), and those are just the things I could identify. American Pickers would probably jizz all over themselves if they saw my grandpa’s barns. The point is, I got cocky.
At some point in the barn’s past someone had laid down plywood over the floor in places. This gave me a sense of security. Nothing could harm me. I couldn’t see the broken and decaying boards. They weren’t there! The floor was strong. It was plywood. I laughed in the face of decaying boards! Ahahahah-AHHHH! Yup. The plywood gave out. Dad and grandpa were nowhere around, and I was stuck with one leg through a barn floor sprawled out amongst a pile of shattered glass. ‘Cause of course I had been holding glass. It wouldn’t have been nearly intense enough if I hadn’t been holding glass.
So, I’m chilling there with one leg through the floor, wondering how on earth I’m going to extract myself, when the total absurdity of the situation hits. Seriously, how many people get to achieve a lifelong dream TWICE? TWICE!!?!?! And I’m still young. Think about it. At this rate I am falling through a barn once every ten years. Actually it is freakishly close to being exactly ten years. Assuming that my penchant for freakish accidents will continue, I will fall through barns an estimated six more times. This experience was significantly less traumatic than before, so theoretically I will survive all six falls and perish of more natural causes. That is achieving my dream an anticipated 8 times over the course of my life! Can you believe that? Talk about a goal! Man, I am so lucky!

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