Whips, Avocados and Coupons

    We lucked out when we first moved across the country and found a little run down cottage to live in close to the college.   There were five little cottages all clustered together in our little culdesac in a suburban neighborhood. Over the next two years we got to know our neighbors who all worked from home.  
    Occasionally, I would unfortunately walk outside and into our amazonian neighbor who would be strolling around the fence-less yard buck naked with her boobs sagging in the wind in her wool socks and Birkenstocks.  Of course, this is when she would love to come on over and strike up a conversation and talk about anything except what she did for a living.  On one occasion, while I was inside putting laundry away, she was wandering outside on a business call.  I listened in as she asked what seemed to be legit business type questions..."Where are you from?  How did you hear about me?..." and then they started to get a bit strange..."How old are you?  Have you ever done this before?  What are your fantasies?"  Then she wandered back to her house. What are your fantasies??? What? Wait?  
     Well, when some "normal" looking dad type guy pulled in front of my house it all came together.  He got out of the car and removed a duffel bag from the back seat.  Sticking out of the bag was a black leather whip with tassels hanging off.  Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh...Okay, What are your fantasies?  I get it.
    Our other neighbors across the way that always had their shades pulled and were always stoned were pretty nice.  One time, they left a note tacked on our front door saying that they had removed a chihuahua sized rat from behind the dryer in the laundry room that appeared to like avocados and our socks.  That was very neighborly of them to take care of that.  They even left our socks folded on the dryer. It wasn't too long after that, that they got kicked out for growing weed in the house.   
   One perk of living in our little country ghetto was that, once a month,  a Victoria Secret promo coupon would come in the mail addressed to an old tenant, Rafaela or Current Resident.  In the mailer would be a coupon for free underwear with no purchase necessary!  So, for two years, I was the Current Resident wearing another girl's free underwear.  

Sucks for you Rafaela!  If this current resident gets into an accident she is going to be wearing your free underwear!

   After two years of living in the bondage, drug growing, lingerie infested neighborhood with the rat with a sock fetish, we alas departed.  Now, we live without free underwear and sadomasochists on the ranch and we're dealing with it.  

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Copyright (c) 2013 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com September 25, 2013

A Morning To Quote Itself



     The sun rose.   Autumn left her hoof prints behind as we rode into a morning that wrote itself from words that had passed.  

“Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?”
― Henry David Thoreau  
 

“When god created the horse, he said to the magnificent creature: I have made thee as no other. All the treasures of the earth lie between thy eyes. Thy shalt carry my friends upon thy back. Thy saddle shall be the seat of prayers to me. And thou shalt fly without wings, and conquer without sword; oh horse.”
― Anonymous, The Quran    

An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.”
― Henry David Thoreau

 

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Copyright (c) 2013 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com September 18, 2013

I Will Never Forget

     Twelve years have rolled across the seas of my time.  The wild seas of 9/11 have calmed, leaving pieces of my memories scattered like seashells on the beach.  Today, September 11, 2013, I can barely think a thought without stepping on a seashell.  I pick one up and remember the weeks after 9/11.  There was the time I got stopped in traffic on the side of the highway as firefighting ladder trucks parked themselves on opposite sides of the highway with their ladders extended to their furthest reaches, holding an enormous American flag across the roadway for the funeral procession to pass beneath.  

     Spray painted bed sheets hung off over passes thanking rescue workers and declaring that "We will never forget".   In every home's window was tapped a paper American Flag that the New York newspapers had included in their circulation since there was not a single flag in stock anywhere to buy. 
     It was cold when I headed back into the city for the first time.  The skyline driving in showed the sadness of its loss.  As I walked downtown I passed churches whose outside walls had become memorials.  Withered flowers hung next to tattered, faded and runny notes with photos from loved ones looking for their lost.

     Ground Zero was fenced off with chain link with blinds weaved through it so you couldn't see.  I climbed up a street light to get a better look at what wasn't there.  Part of what was left of one of the towers sat in tortured rubble.  Ribs of metal girders twisted out of itself.  Hanging off the end of one of the girders was a computer monitor hanging by its cord.  It was swaying gently, back and forth in the wind. New York fell silent around me as I watched it tick back and forth, a pendulum in time.  A seashell in my memories.  I will never forget.  

Be sure to read last week's blog about my Dad, a New York Fire Fighter's story at Buildings On His Boots.

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Copyright (c) 2014 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com September 11, 2013

Buildings On His Boots

    It took my Dad twenty years to reach five days before September 11, 2001.  This was the date he retired from the Fire Department of New York (FDNY). I can remember going to my Dad's graduation from the fire academy when I was bumping around his knees as a four year old. 

Me, Dad & Mom on Graduation Day

Grandma Diemer, Dad & Grandpa Diemer on Graduation Day

 

     When your dad is a firefighter you become part of the firefighting family.  At Christmas we would head into the city for the annual firehouse party where too many hot dogs were eaten as we all waited for Santa to slide down the pole with our gifts.  In the summer we would go to the big beach picnic where we would eat more hot dogs. 

     Dad had a lot of stories from the job but my favorite was how he pulled a Pee Wee Herman and rescued a bunch of animals out of a burning pet store.  The ASPCA awarded him plaque for his compassion.  Next to the plaque sat a photo of him carrying a person away from a fire on a stretcher in the snow.  Sometimes, Dad's stories were not spoken but told in the burns and injuries he came home with.  There were the times when he came home and he was just silent.  A few days would pass and I'd watch Dad leave the house dressed in his uniform blues to say good by to a fallen friend.

    Occasionally, Dad would bring home his turnout gear (his firefighting coat, pants, helmet, boots, gloves) and I would put on a little fashion show.  I would last about two minutes before the shear weight of the outfit overheated and crushed me into escaping before it suffocated me.  That is what he had to wear, with his oxygen tank, into burning buildings as he climbed flights of stairs to sometimes carry out another's life in his arms. That was my Dad's job.
     In the spring of the year Dad was to retire, there was a terrible fire that occurred on June 17, 2001.  It is known as the Father's Day Fire.  Three of New York's Bravest died that day: my Dad's close friend, Harry Ford, Brain Fahey and John Downing.  Up until then, that was one of the worst days in FDNY history.  The loss of those three men in one single fire was unbelievable...at that time.
     Then on one sunny, brilliant fall day, as I was leaving the house to feed the horses I heard the TV.  A plane hit the World Trade Center.  Ten minutes later my dad was running into the house to grab is turnout gear that had only been retired for five days.  His buddy, that he had retired with him, pulled in the driveway.  Hell had opened up in New York and I had to hug him goodbye.
    Towers fell, phone lines jammed, planes crashed. Newspaper extras hit the stands at noon showing pictures of people jumping out of the buildings.  Lines of donors wrapped around the blood banks.  Tractor trailers waited on the sides of roads as they got filled with medical supplies, food and water donations.   American flags sold out in hours.
    As night fell and the candle light vigils along the highways glowed, we waited for dad.  It was late when he came home.  He did not say much and we loved him too much to ask.  The one thing he said was he couldn't believe all the beeping.  He just shook his head as if he were tying shake the sound out of his thoughts.  The beeping sound, he was talking about, was from the Personal Alert Safety System (PASS) devices that the firefighters wore. When a firefighter becomes incapacitated and has stopped moving the PASS device sends out a shrill beeping sound. The alarm helps the other firefighters to locate them and get them to safety.  I watched my Dad, who looked as though ten years had collapsed on him in twelve hours, take off his boots that were covered in the buildings that changed the world that day. 

My Dad's Company fire truck on 9/11

 

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A view of the old New York skyline from the Staten Island Ferry

 

 

Copyright (c) 2013 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com September 6th 2013