Coffee with Kathy

We had an ice storm Monday, snow Tuesday, and Ry had been off school for two days.  We expected a delay, but didn’t have one, so Ry and I both dragged out of bed at 6:30 for the drive to Poolesville.  Got back by 7:45, as per usual.  Kath was still in bed, so I brought her coffee and we talked for close to an hour about nothing and everything, Megadog snuggled between us.

We were finishing up the Christmas shopping – I still need to buy for Linda and my Dad.  Since we are flying down to Florida for Dad’s 80^th, and we both shoip through the same amazon account, there is little surprise what I am getting Kath.  I want to buy her something in Florida so she has something to open under the tree.

We have mixed feelings about the trip south.  It seems an added errand to the busy season.  It takes away our Christmas at home – which both kath and I love.  Riley will be at college way too soon.  We will have three more Christmases before he goes, and we begin to feel the need to guard them.

Mom’s has organized some events, but Kath and I are frustrated sometimes by the looseness of our family events.  They seldom flow.   We fear we will both be chained to the kitchen – me to cooking, she to cleaning.

Gwen has taken the time off from Wegmen’s to go down.  Her hours are already too few.  She and we worry about her job, and her future.  We figure she will be living at home long after Ry is off and away.

So Kath and I talked about these things, and politics – frustrated with the healthcare laws, glad to see more of the country is concerned about the President. We talked about Kath's work.  We talked about my new work selling real estate.  I am excited, but worry I will fail at it.  We talked about the band gig this Saturday at a real club for real money.  All this and more, then we noticed the clock and then I went downstairs to look at the market and she got ready for work.

It was a morning both typical and special.  There is so much to do, so many reasons to be thankful, and so many annoyances.  It seems like the finish line keeps getting moved farther and farther back, but that is fine on those days when you enjoy the race.

I loaded up the fireplace, debated cleaning the kitchen, played a few minutes of avenger’s alliance, and decided to make a note of the morning.

Violence

I drove Ry to school this morning, same as every morning.  He is newly 15 and usually has a tough time waking up, but today was easier than most days.  We drove out, across the misty farmland, with the sun rising in the rear-view mirror, and chatted about computer games and his cousin’s software job.  I dropped him off at 7:15 ten minutes before first bell, and drove back from Poolesville.

I’d crossed the bridge over Seneca creek, was listening to political talk on the radio when the deer jumped out.

I was quick on the brakes – luckily no one close behind me – but it was probably less than a quarter second before impact.  I caught the small deer with the center of the f-150’s grill.  I came mostly to a stop, and the carcass rolled away limp.  The deer didn’t move.  I figured it had been killed instantly. 

There was nowhere safe to pull over, and there was a long line of traffic behind me.  I drove on home,  a little bit shaken and unsure how to proceed. 

If you’re going to hit a deer.  dead center with a truck is better than a small car.  It would’ve been a very different experience for someone driving with children in a Honda.  Or if someone had swerved, which is instinct, and pulled into an oncoming car. Reading about such accidents later, I learned that most people die from deer wrecks because of swerving into something.

I got home and looked at the truck.  The front bumper was slightly damaged.  The license plate had apparently been torn off.  I looked online to see what you should do about such an accident – count your blessings if your safe, contact insurance, some suggest putting the deer out of its misery, some suggest harvesting the carcass.  I’ve heard that road kill meat is usually tainted from the impact and not fit to eat, btw.  But that was the last thing on my mind.

I did feel bad about killing the deer.  I worried that it might be alive, suffering.  I also thought I should go collect my license plate.

So I went in the garage, grabbed a sledge hammer and a small pickaxe and drove back over to where I’d hit the deer.  I stopped at a street a couple hundred yards from the carcass and looked at the truck damage again.  Turned out the license plate was still attached, just pushed in.

I decided to take the small pickaxe, which would be more manageable than the sledge, and I walked down the busy road to the deer.  It was quite lifeless, and its eyes looked quite blank.  I worried it might be paralyzed and still suffering, so I took two swings with the sharp end of the pickaxe into its brain.  Maybe three seconds to swing the axe.  I think the skull was shattered because the point went in so easily.

Not being used to such violence, it felt odd.  It felt so strange that it was so easy and quick to swing fatal blows.  You forget how fragile things are.

I drove home, political news was still on the tv.  Gwen was awake and needed a ride to work by 10:15.