Rescue: free from confinement, danger, or evil.

I rescue.

I rescue kids, dogs, cats. I didn’t set out to be a rescuer, it just happened. I’ve done foster care for humans and canines and felines. After my seven year old daughter died in 1996, I was grateful for her existence and vowed that whatever was put on my porch I would take care of from that moment forward. I started doing foster care and ended up adopting a sibling pair and and then a second sibling pair. I also did some feline foster care and ended up with way too many cats.  Canine foster, same story. I always answered the call, rescuing everyone from danger and evil.

Rescue was my destiny, my  talent, my forte. Until yesterday when I literally turned my back on a creature that was sitting on my porch.

I live in a large wooded lot in Sheboygan. It is like being on vacation three hundred and sixty five days a year. I have a deer herd of about six that the woods to stand in while looking both ways before crossing the street (true story, they really really do look both ways). I have a decent-sized red fox that lays in the sun at the bottom of our lower driveway. We’ve got more turkeys sucking gravel than you can count and our woods indicate that there is quite a night life for the wildlife (based on the after-party poop we’ve found).

For a city girl like myself this is very cool in a really creepy way. I find the deer to be the most disturbing. How can something that weighs like two hundred some pounds just be roaming and reproducing? If the deer and the antelope roam, what’s next, feral cows?

After living in the woods for a few years and I thought I was learning to coincide with nature. I’ve certainly been blessed with an odd assortment of bugs in the house, not to mention the panic that comes with an open door that just screams “all mice are welcome” and we all know from watching Disney’s Rescuers that mice can read.

Yesterday, life as I knew it came to an abrupt halt. There was a four inch toad in my front hall. I thought it was eight to ten inches in diameter, but Man Across the Street indicated that it was more like four inches.

Here’s the deal, I have had a toad living on my front porch. I ignored it. I didn’t offer it food, water, shelter, not a single thing so I thought it would go away. It didn’t. If I put a bag of garbage on the front porch to take down to the trash cans, it would be under the garbage bag when I picked it up. I have a couple of vintage crocks on the front porch and it sits between the crocks, facing the yard. For me, this has been just as scary as any movie that had ever been created. I swear its unblinking eyes follow me wherever I go.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon at about 3:30 I asked my youngest daughter to bring in all the shoes from the front porch and put them in the shoe basket in the foyer. She dutifully counted eleventeen shoes and put them in the basket just like she was told, such a good girl.

Maybe ten minutes after that the boys decided to go out and shoot hoops. They dash to the shoe basket only to produce a blood-curdling, eardrum-shattering scream. MOM, THE TOAD IS IN THE HOUSE. That sneaky little amphibian must have harbored himself in a shoe or sandal knowing this was a way to get his webbed foot in the door.

First of all this scared me so much that I had to pee really bad, so I did that.  I then ordered all my humans outside to keep an eye on the toad by looking through the front door. I quickly fixed my hair just a little and sprayed on a dot of perfume and applied a dash of lip gloss. I set out to do the only thing I knew how to do in a situation like this: act pathetic and find a man to help. Sorry, but it is a true story and I must stick to the facts.

I sauntered my way across the street to the nearest home that showed any sign of life. Now this neighbor is pretty cool and laid back. I don’t know his name so I always refer to him as Man Across the Street. He’s a smoker so he is often in his garage smoking and watching television and from observing his vehicle patterns I could tell he was on vacation this week.

I sashay up to his garage and say “excuse me” and this apparently scared him as much as the toad scared me because he bolted out of his chair and stood up. Man Across the Street must have forgotten that he was in his garage smoking and watching TV wearing nothing but his unders since he is adjusting the front of them while I am trying not to look but I can’t help myself.

Man Across the Street: Hi.

Me: Hi, I hate to be such a damsel in distress but their is a giant toad in our front hall and I need to have it removed.

Still startled and adjusting, Man Across the Street: Are you sure it isn’t a snake?

Me: I am pretty sure it is a toad, a giant toad (I’m batting my eyelashes now) and this toad really needs to be leave.

Man Across the Street: If you are sure it isn’t a snake, I will help you. Let me put some real pants on and I will be right over, but if it is a snake I must leave.

Me: I’ll meet you over there.

True story people, you can’t make up a conversation like this.

Man Across the Street comes over in just a few minutes and one quick glance tells me that he does now have on real pants. I invite him in only then he can’t see the toad because it has kind of camouflaged itself in a Speedo sandal.

Man Across the Street: Where is it?

Me: Right there, he’s in the Speedo sandal by the rim of the basket.

Man Across the Street: Sure enough, at least it isn’t a snake.

I gave Man Across the Street a big Tupperware bowl to throw over the top of the basket and he heads out the front door with the basket, shoes, and toad in tow. Once outside the front door, Man Across the Street prepares to release the toad.

Me: Damn it, not so close to the front door. Let’s shoot him off to the lower woods portion.

Man Across the Street: Are there any snakes in that portion?

Me, as I start to sense a serious fear of snakes: Not that I am aware of (Man Across the Street hesitates). No, no snakes at all (I add reassuringly).

The shoe basket is now laid on its side and the toad is gently encouraged to leave by Man Across the Street continually smacking the sides and bottom of the basket. Man Across the Street points the toad towards the west so it can hopefully understand that it needs to live on a different property.

I thank him profusely yet appropriately and offer to walk him home. I don’t know why I did that, he seemed weak from the anticipation of snakes I guess. He reassured me he was fine.

I re-enter my now toad free home only to find a big puddle of toad urine. What the #&*%? I carefully fold a piece of Scooby Doo paper toweling into fourths to absorb the urine. Apparently the toad got the pee scared out of him, too.

If rescue means to free from confinement, danger, or evil I may have still done my best. That toad would have had no quality of life with our family. Yes, he had been confined to our home and was definitely in danger of being stepped on which may have been interpreted as evil.

I did see my way through this and realized that I did not fail to rescue, but successfully re-homed the toad.

Now for authenticity, here is a picture that I took of the toad and watch how his creepy eye follow you no matter where you are in the room.

** Originally introduced July 2008.

It was the summer of 1973, I was fifteen. I saw my first James Bond movie. Live and Let Die. Roger Moore. Very scary. And there was a guy named Ken. He was a cousin to my friend, Jan. We were all meeting at the theatre to see Live and Let Die. I stood in the pre-arranged meeting place and waited for Jan and Ken to arrive.

I had limited information about Ken. I knew he was from “up north.” Jan said he was popular, a year older than we were, and he was going to try to kiss me. Sure, I was scared but with my sixteenth birthday right around the corner I was a little tired of hearing that “sweet sixteen and never been kissed” crap and I was anxious to get this kiss ordeal done with so whenever the cliche was mentioned I could just laugh Inside My Head at their expense. Wasn’t I the clever one?

Anyway, what Jan eliminated from the description of Ken was that he had one leg two inches shorter than the other and as a result he walked with a very obvious limp, not that there is anything wrong with that but even thirty-five years later I still don’t understand why Jan would not have worked that into the conversation before introductions.

Ken was also significantly shorter than me. Not that there is anything wrong with that either, but this was the kind of short that people would mention to their friends. I think he was as tall as my shoulders. As an adult, I maxed out at five feet four inches tall, I have no clue how tall I was that summer, but I do remember that Ken was what short people would call “really short”.

In addition to these unfortunate shortcomings, Ken seemed to have the longest trunk of any human being on our continent. Certainly there is nothing wrong with this, but I’ll never know why Jan wouldn’t mention these things to me.

Now, the truth is I am not even sure if Ken had thighs. He might of had just had a trunk and then some knees. I am not sure. Back then handicapped parking hadn’t been invented but this is the kind of guy that would certainly warrant it.

Now I understand all of those things were beyond Ken’s control. So as Ken approaches me at our meeting place in front of the theatre, he smiles and says, “Carrie, you look just like Jan described.” All I could say back to Ken was, “And you have kind eyes,” and it was at that point I noticed the left eye wandering.

So Jan had explained to Ken how I looked? I just could not comprehend this. Well, perhaps because Ken was the older cousin, he may have few years of suave-ly-ness under that extremely low slung belted trunk of his and told Jan to describe me in more detail than I had ever asked about Ken.

There were many things going on with Ken, and through no fault of his own he could not do much about his appearance. He was certainly chipper and in my defense, both eyes were kind even though they rarely focused as a team.

Ken offered to buy me a soda and I accepted his offer. In hindsight (with my eyes looking backwards in the same direction) , I might have agreed to do just about anything Ken was asking because I was so desperately trying to be sure my attention was directed to the correct line of vision.

Once we got in the theatre, the true Ken literally rose to the occasion. Because of his extraordinarily long trunk, he gave the illusion of being remarkably tall. I felt protected, safe just being in his shadow.

This theatre has recently been renovated as part of our Historic Downtown. At the time we were there to see the movie it was just plain old run down downtown. I am sure there are tremendous theatrical terms to describe the ceiling; however I am not privy to them so I will describe the ceiling to the best of my ability.

The ceiling was meant to be beautiful. There were tiny holes punched in jagged shapes that gave the illusion of twinkling stars. You knew you had to take your seat when the over head lights went dim and the stars became very bright. The next phase brought the stars dimmer and dimmer and eventually almost completely invisible. Romantic, right?

Except that in our city’s pre-historic days, we had bat problems in our downtown theatre. When the over head lights were dimmed, it signaled the bats to begin their swooping. Which made me shiver and shudder and obviously that was a signal for Ken to make his move.

Remember describing how safe I felt in his shadow? Well, as he raised that arm to move up and around me, my nose came directly parallel with Ken’s armpit. I have no scenario to describe that odor except to wonder if he lived so far up north that they were unable to deliver deodorant during the off season.

I can sympathize with the wandering eye, the internationally award winning elongated trunk, and the short leg, but a man’s got to keep himself pretty tidy to overcome those strikes.

I leaned as far away from Ken as I could while his arm was perched up on top of the back of my seat. We drank our sodas in silence as the starlight diminished and the theatre hushed. Jan smuggled in Ju Ju Bees and I declined. Ju Ju Bees were not going to make up for this fiasco.

The bats settled, previews began and at the very last moment an usher seated an appropriately proportioned man directly in front of me. I was thankful for his abundant love of Brut cologne because that was my salvation. I leaned forward in my seat, inhaled the average man’s cologne and sipped my soda. I was anxious for the movie to begin.

There had been a tremendous amount of hype surrounding the Paul McCartney and Wings song and I couldn’t wait to hear it blasting away at me in Dolby Stereo. I knew all the words and I was prepared to sing the theme song loudly In My Head.

The theatre rumbled as the music started and Ken’s newest pitfall presented itself. Apparently the fizz of the soda was causing Ken to burp. Did he try to hide the burping? No, the burp was more Dolby than the Dolby Stereo.

When God grants so many of life’s challenges to one individual, you think God might have been omnipotent enough to up the ante in the self awareness department regarding personal hygiene.

What kind of man would eat onions prior to a date? Ken from up nort’, that’s who. Yes, I swore I wasn’t going to tell you this part because it would seem like I was mocking him but he said he was from up nort’, like with a silent “h”.

Uh huh, just when I think it can’t get any worse than under arm odor I was confronted with bad breath from raw onions. Seriously, it is one thing to be in the kitchen with someone who was frying onions and have that scent remain on your clothing. Even at fifteen I could comprehend second hand kitchen odor, but to knowingly serve yourself a slice of raw onion prior to a date? After you declared that there will be a kiss attached to that date?

My first thought was not only did this guy smell like body odor and raw onion, this man reeks of self-confidence. Yes, I was young and my heart was an open book, but not young enough to have that thought linger in my head too long. I had a fleeting thought that this might be the smell of arrogance. And by fleeting, I mean faster than bat crap can fall from a theatre ceiling, fleeting.

And my next thought was the most accurate thought. In My Head, the guy just plain stunk stupid.

I needed a plan. The movie was extremely sophisticated with an incredibly intense sound track. I was unable to follow the plot line because it involved the forbidden world of tarot cards, voodoo, drug lords, heroin all woven together with hungry crocodiles, turbo-charged speedboats, perhaps an airplane or two and way too much Caribbean accent. Besides, I was already going to hell because I was at a movie with a boy and my mom didn’t know it. I detached myself from the on screen action. I needed to think. No way was I getting kissed by Ken from up nort’. I didn’t care how close I was to sixteen.

The movie ended, no one moved because Paul McCartney was on the giant screen singing the theme song, an incredible moment in music history.

I looked at Jan’s well focused eyes. She was doing the eyebrow raising thing as if to say, “So, what do you think?”

“I need to call my mom, I’ll be in the lobby.” I scooted out quickly hoping the balcony traffic hadn’t been released yet. I fished a dime out of my pocket and placed it in the payphone. I called my house and told my mom I needed a ride home, I said that Jan’s mom was a nurse and had to go into work and Jan’s dad refused to pick up more than two people.

Yes, I was a good Catholic girl and I had no experience in lying. Jan’s mom was not a nurse; I don’t even know why I said that part. I don’t know why I said Jan’s dad would only take two people. What kind of dad would say that? I’ll tell you what kind, the kind of dad who had a daughter named Jan who had a cousin from up nort’ that stunk stupid. That’s who.

Ken and Jan approached the payphone. I wrapped myself in the safety of the silver umbilical cord that attached the handset to the wall-mounted portion. “He’ll never get past this,” I rationalized. I waved at them to go on without me, but they kept approaching. I waved them on with more animation and added an angry head shake and what I hoped look like an evil eye.

I blame that after movie behavior on the power of big-screen voodoo, I got lost in it. That often happens with the extremely innocent.

Ah, the evil eye worked. Jan grabbed Ken’s fat hand. Alright, I didn’t tell you his hands were fat but now you know everything. Yes, there was a left hand and a right hand and they were attached to the appropriate limbs. Honest, that is all there is to tell you about him. He wasn’t a complete freak, you know.

Basically, I am not a rude person except for what I just said to you a second ago. I don’t even think God gave me the gene that allows me to be rude. I just knew that I had to make sure that kiss never happened. Even if that meant lying to my mother and rudely dismissing a sixteen year old boy that had one leg shorter than the other, an unnaturally elongated trunk, a vagabond eye, perhaps a unibrow and definitely fat hands.

Besides, very soon I would another chance for that first kiss with Al.

Now, take a quick trip back to 1973 with me.

Hi. And thank you.

Hi.

And thank you.

My name is @CandidCarrie and this past Monday night, I was the recipient of a Social Media Miracle.

You see, at 10:50 p.m. on June 7, 2010, I put out this tweet. I was alone and I was scared. I needed support. According to the police, my fifteen year old wasn’t actually “missing” as much as she just wasn’t where she said she was going to be … they did their best to reassure me that this is age appropriate behavior.

She was returned home shortly before 11:30 p.m. Once she realized she was in trouble, she added more to the mix by staying “missing” even longer. Sneaky doesn’t change not matter what decade we live in, I guess. My biggest fear Monday night was the kind of danger you can get in while you are being sneaky during this decade. The officer reminded me that he was once fifteen and sneaky and that I was once fifteen and sneaky. I bit my lip and tried not to say, “We weren’t fifteen during 2010.”

Now back to my Social Media Miracle. Once I tweeted my situation, I received a barrage of support.  The twitter responses were in the hundreds, literally in the hundreds! Between the visible responses and the direct messages along with the texts and phone calls I was overwhelmed. I had to stop responding because I was now crying tears of gratitude. And I couldn’t see straight because I was exhausted beyond belief. And now I feel guilty because I quit responding and I hope to make it up to you all by this public thank you.

I began tweeting out of peer pressure. A blogging friend insisted I would love it and she was right. Twitter opened career paths for me, introduced me to several hundred people that I know am proud to call my friends in real life, and then I’ve got those of you who I have never met but your warm thoughts and well wishes wrapped around me so I was no longer alone waiting for my daughter to come home.

Just one tweet, one single tweet and I was surrounded. I remain eternally grateful.

Idiopathic Fears, Unintentional Vehicular Manslaughter — Scenarios 1 and 2

Unintentional Vehicular Manslaughter. Just the fact that manslaughter ends in the word laughter should be enough to make me think I don’t need to worry about it, but I do.

It takes a great deal of effort to be an attentive driver and I really do try hard to do my best. My idiopathic fear doesn’t involve me driving, it involves a stationery or almost stationery vehicle.

Scenario 1: Providing someone on a bike with an untimely death. I picture myself in a freshly parked vehicle , arranging my purse, making sure I have my keys and opening my door (I guess in my head the vehicle is always a van because the door is really huge) … and into the open door flies a speed demon bicycle rider. You know the kind, they are hunched over their handlebars because their skin tight clothes will not allow them to sit straight. These serious biker-types are a unique breed. Did you know that they even sell bike shorts that have gel packs in the butt region so their rear ends ___________________. I don’t know what purpose the gel insert serves. Just choose one of the items below to complete that sentence.

* Don’t fall asleep.

* Remain supple.

* Don’t stay in the shape of a bike seat when they get off.

* Absorb residual gas odor.

I just don’t have time right now to understand these gel inserts and I don’t want to get side tracked.

Scenario 2: Improper use of the parking break and causing an untimely pedestrian death. I am usually parked facing the down side of a hill, I hop into my vehicle and release the parking break but my vehicle has so much pent up energy from sitting that way for a long, long time that it lunges forward with a life of its own and I strike down the innocent victim crossing the street. Usually the innocent victim has waited for the stop light to turn green in their favor and they are within the yellow lines of the crosswalk. Once in my mind the car rolled backwards down a hill which wouldn’t have been bad but in my head I thought it was winter and the car careened into a group of sledders politely waiting their turn.

Generally, the law is lenient with those that commit unintentional vehicular manslaughter, but that will stop when it is my turn. In my head I will be used as an example for the rest of society and they throw the book at me. I receive a punishment that is so severe that they have no choice but to feature it as a “ripped from the headlines episode of Law and Order” and I make a cameo appearance at the end of the episode telling people to use alternative transportation such as the bus or trolley where they will only be ten percent accountable for someones untimely death because of the fact that they were present at the time and not solely responsible.

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