The Quagmire of My Creation

After our neighbor Ron bladed the nearly two feet of snow off our 500 yard long "gravel" driveway, not much gravel remained. When the snow melted and more snow and heavy rains followed, the driveway became a quagmire. And since Ron showed me how to operate his Bobcat so that I could clear the driveway in case of snow while he's out of town, I made a bad situation much, much worse by tring to "fix" our driveway once and fore all. Will someone please remind me never to attempt anything resembling manual labor ever again?

Yesterday, I spent five hours trying to repair the mess I created last week when I first tried to blade the driveway. I scraped down to the original layer of crushed limestone and 3" rock that is the base of the road. The "repaired" driveway was firm, if not hilly, but there were no potholes or mud left by the time I was through. But I never thought to check the weather forecast. Last night, approximately eighteen feet of rain fell and turned the driveway into the thickest, stickiest, sloppiest melange of mud and clay I have ever seen in my life. Returning home with the boys from her mother's house last night, Bethany called me during of the heaviest of the downpour and said simply, "I'm stuck in the middle of the driveway." I said nothing. My spirit was instantly extinguished. "Did you hear what I just said?" Yep.

When I drove down to the van, I saw it was buried to the frame and the storm was getting worse. I stood in the driving rain long enough to become thoroughly soaked and to realize the situation was hopeless. I couldn't sleep at all last night. Guilt and helplessness wouldn't allow it. I felt like a total failure. I just waited for the light of day and hoped that it would change my perspective. I did not.

This morning, I went out early to try to pull the van out with my truck, but my old Dodge decided to sleep in. It wouldn't start. (The starter has been going bad for a while now.) So I walked to the neighbor's and hopped on the Bobcat again. I drove up to the van to try to pull it out, but it was sunk so deep that I couldn't even get under it to hook a tow rope to it. At that moment, the hours and hours of wasted effort, the ruination of our only way in or out of our house, the realization that we couldn't get Alex to school or Bethany to work, and knowing that it was all my fault caused me to have a total meltdown. I started convulsing, I doubled over in anticipation of throwing-up. I yelled. I cussed. I threw things. I paced. I screamed. I kicked at the mud. I cried. And my wife stood there and smiled. (She's good about seeing the humor in these situations. I am not.) Right then I am pretty sure I had a complete break from reality. I really don't remember much after that.

Well, Bethany saved the day. She always does. First, she called-in to work to take a personal day, then she called a tow truck. Then she called a gravel outfit and had six loads of rock brought in. I eventually got the truck to start and took Alex to school an hour late. Then I hopped back on that goddanged Bobcat and spread gravel between dumptruck loads all day. Then I shoveled rock into the barn and around the edges of the driveway. I emerged from the ordeal a shell of my former self. But the driveway is better than it's been in years, and I have my wife to thank for it.

I learned a valuable lesson today. I will never attempt to perform any type of manual labor ever again. Everyone who knows me will tell you that I hate work and am lousy at it, so I'm swearing it off once and for all. We're debt-free for godssakes. I will gladly pay experts to do the work for me from now on. I also learned that when the going gets tough, beg Bethany to fix the stuff I messed up.

Bunny Bowling

A favorite activity of mine and my friends whilst habitating in Laws Hall dormitory was “Bunny Bowling.” A guy who lived next door to my roommate Bill and me had a pet rabbit in his room which in hindsight was probably not a very good idea. Nevertheless, a plan was hatched to set up a bunch of empty beer cans in a crude bowling pin configuration. The rabbit was then slid gently, yet purposefully toward the cans. Technique evolved with each frame. I developed a strategy that involved giving the bunny a slight spin, which caused him to splay his little furry legs out in an attempt to find purchase on the slick linoleum–to no avail of course. But the rotation of the rabbit almost always resulted in achieving a strike. One would think that after being tossed like a bowling ball, Petey the rabbit would run and hide between frames, but on the contrary, he always ran straight back to the bowler, thus making it possible to pick up spares. No harm came to Petey, although we did dye his snowy white fur with muliti-colored highlighters which made night bowling under a blacklight a thing of sublime beauty.

A Walk On Down The Hall

It's midnight and I'm happy. I've had about three Blue Moons and my bladder feels as full as my heart. So I walk down the hall to the pisser and I see five things that make me smile. An autographed photo of Bob Barker on my left. A mosaic poster of Darth Vader on my right. I round the corner by the bathroom and see a hand-painted reproduction of the cover art from Pink Floyd's album "Pulse" shooting a knowing wink at me. Below it, my mother's elephant figurine collection. Across the hall, a framed document certifying my ordination as a minister of the Universal Life Church. I take a leak, walk back down the hall and into the storage room, where a 50 year old, chromed-out Crossley refrigerator inherited from Bethany's grandma Viola hums and chills one last Blue Moon with my name written all over it. I push past the fridge, open the basement door, and step out into the crisp February night. The spring peepers that chirped so boldly two nights ago have returned to their warm burrows underground. The cool breeze makes the blonde hair on my arms stand on end. I stare into the inky blackness of the starless night sky and I smile. I am smiling because at this moment in time, my boys are asleep and safe and sound in their beds and my beautiful wife is slumbering upstairs in a bed that she inexplicably has agreed to share with me for the rest of her life and I am THIS close to being done with writing my first book. And this house and this hallway and Bob Freaking Barker and Darth Vader and everything else I see around me is paid for including my "new" old cop car. And in a couple months I'll have a new daughter. I pour that last beer in a frosty mug and I flop down in my broken down recliner and I realize that I am happy.

Remaking Naked Snow Angels

It should please you, my adoring fans, that after a pep-talk from my editor/webmaster/cousin Larry, I have resumed writing my book Naked Snow Angels. I am currently revising it from the beginning so that I will be prepared to write a satisfory ending when that time comes. Reading through the first 76 pages today, I am actually quite pleased with the overall feel of the book. Will it ever be a best-seller? I don't know. In fact, I may self-publish it to get it "out there" in the hopes that a publisher may stumble across it and fall in love with it. Part of the reason for this strategy is that contained in the book are references to at least seven other books that I may write once this one is complete. In other words, it is something of a demonstration of my writing abilities that I hope will one day earn me a book deal. I've got stories and lots of 'em. So stay tuned and spread the word: Travis Naughton is on his way!

Reunited and it feels so good...

On Tuesday morning, the Great Blizzard of 2011 began and I drove my beautiful wife from our home in Hartsburg to Columbia so she could be at work at University Hospital instead of being snow-bound like Alex, Truman, and I. She didn't want to go, but I assured her I would be able to come get her the next day in my four wheel drive. I can admit now that I may have made a slight miscalculation. Apparently, when two feet of blowing and drifting powdery snow accumulate on top of a quarter inch of ice, four wheel drive becomes useless. Especially when the overconfident driver of said vehicle foolishly crosses over an icy dam with no guardrails at the bottom of a steep hill that doubles as his driveway only to realize too late that it is impossible to drive back across the next day to pick up his now highly irritated wife. Oops.

Our next door neighbor, who usually plows our driveway when it snows, had a stroke-like episode the night the ice started forming. He was resting comfortably in town as the snow fell the next day while we were stranded three miles from civilization. And Bethany was stranded in Columbia. After being released from the hospital, Ron (our neighbor) was feeling much better and hitched a ride with his son-in-law to our neighborhood as soon as the county worker had plowed to the top of our quarter-mile long, hilly, ice and snow covered driveway. He walked from the road to his house, threw some snow chains and a plow on his tractor, and proceeded to spin his wheels in vain on the slick driveway. I advised him to give up before he slid to his death in the pond that our driveway dams up. I missed my wife, I was running out of beer, and soon, all hope was lost.

Today, Ron was able to get his Bobcat out of his son's driveway after the county plowed his road. He trailored it to our road, hoppped on, and quickly realized that it was yet another futile attempt. A steep hill covered in snow and ice is a formidable opponent to any piece of machinery. Undeterred, Ron drove to the nearest Bobcat dealer and purchased a new set of bulldozer-like treads and had them installed to the tune of $3,000. Yes, you read that right--THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS! He returned a short while later and successfully cleared a path from the road to our garage--and his garage, too. I was able to drive my truck (which I spent over $1000 on to get the four-wheel-drive fixed and new snow tires installed one week ago) to the top of the hill and retrieve my lovely wife, who I hadn't seen in 2 1/2 days. And she brought beer!

To unwind after the stress of the past few days and to kill the pain in my knees and lower back after three days of useless shoveling, I took a nice, hot, three-beer bath. That is to say, I listened to Coldplay's X and Y from start to finish while downing three beers in a scalding-hot tub of life-affirming water. I am happy now. Life can get back to normal. And I may even be able to finally enjoy the remnants of the Blizzard of '11.