Behind Infinity

“but you can’t elope, because i was planning on asking myself to be in your wedding.”

-Abby Tjapkes

“I’m like a beautifully built seesaw.”

-Tim Tjapkes

[this is one of those comments where, even if you had context, it wouldn't make any more sense because it was just that kind of comment.]

We had a campfire in the backyard tonight. Have I ever mentioned how much I love campfires? I don’t ever again want to live in an area where zoning laws prohibit me from having a campfire in my backyard. (I realize that’s an impractical thought. However, most of mine tend to be that way.)

I’m house sitting for the next 15 days. Come visit me? Tim, Lisa, and Aaron TH already did. We played badminton and were going to have a bonfire, but it got too late. So I still have chocolate, marshmallows, and firewood…

Day 1
8:00 PM: Arrive at house to be sat.
8:07 PM: Dog runs away and refuses to be caught, leading me on a chase through most of Georgetown Forest. Note to self: Savannah does not respond to the word ‘come’, even if I do have pepperoni sticks.
8:15 PM: I give up chase and head for home, figuring dog will too, eventually.
8:45 PM: Neighbor calls. They caught Savannah. I go get her and then have a jolly evening with my guests.

Day 2
9:05 AM: Go out to feed the goats
9:09 AM: Discover I have locked myself out of the house.
In my pajamas.
9:24 AM: Successfully re-enter the house after prying one of the window screens loose with a barbeque spatula, feeling very glad that I neglected to lock that particular window the previous night.

I had the day off from work on account of my employer’s power being out. It was definitely a good day to have off–the weather was “sunny with a high of 75″. I spent the midmorning down at the barn riding with Rachel and watching her train Tset for their show this Saturday.

I know I’ve said it before, but we have pretty much the best neighbors ever. Rachel is a fount of information relating to all things horse, and an ever-flowing one at that. Whenever I’m over there, she chatters like a magpie, telling me about every exercise she’s doing and how she’s doing it and what it’s going to accomplish. Her elocutionary prowess is unparalleled by anyone I’ve ever met, except perhaps Pastor Dale or my friend Suzanne. Whilst we untacked Tset after riding, our conversation turned to hoof care. She asked me what Jezzie’s feet were like and was delighted to learn that the little girl goes without shoes. Rachel’s learning to trim her own horses’ feet, and she’s all excited about some nautral hoof care method she learned about at a seminar this spring. As she brushed Tset and continued to talk about the wonders of a particular trimming technique, I found myself gazing out into the pasture, pretending that Jezzie was just out of sight, around the corner of the barn. When I had almost convinced myself that any moment now she’d peek her darling face around the corner and nicker at me, I distantly heard Rachel saying, “I have cadaver feet in my freezer, to practice on.” It took me a couple of seconds to process that information. Feet…freezer…cadaver…right. Wait. What?! “It’s really interesting. Kim down the road has a bunch too. One of these days I’m going to thaw another one out and start hacking away at it. It’s fun to problem-solve, and try to figure out what to do with them. A couple of them look pretty good, as if the animal was taken care of well. But a couple of them are really gross–one of them is all foundered. It’s like, what in the world do you do to that to make it right again? Makes you wonder what kind of life that animal had, and glad that he finally made it to the slaughter.” By now, she had a developed surreptitious gleam in her eye. “Oh, hey. Do you want to see them?”
Do I want to see them? “Hey, yeah, that would be neat.” I said, nonchalantly. And gulped. Of course I wanted to see Rachel’s cadaver feet. What serious horsewoman wouldn’t?

So we went into her basement storage room, and there they were, a whole bunch of them, wrapped neatly in grocery bags and stacked among the tubs of cool whip and bags of frozen peas. She proudly unwrapped a couple, including the foundered one that was so fascinating. “My family thinks they’re pretty gross,” she laughed. I rolled my eyes. Pffft. Silly family! What’s wrong with horse feet and frozen peas?

As we came back out into the sunlight, three little girls called from the kitchen window above us for me to wait for them to come out. So I obliged and they came tumbling down the deck stairs like a litter of puppies. In her proffered hand, Micah held a mutilated, soggy piece of bread, wrapped in a crumpled paper towel and smeared with a pinkish something-or-other. “Try it!” they chorused. Seeing my hesitancy, Brenna plucked up the bread and shoved it into my hand. “We made strawberry jam out of wild strawberries that we picked in the pine forest!”
Seeing no way out of the situation, I smiled weakly and did my best to choke down the little square of bread, mumbling an unconvincing, “mmmm, this is great!” as I tossed the crust to the dog.

“Want more?” Micah asked expectantly. I pretended not to hear as I followed Rachel back up to the barn.