In 7th grade, maybe eighth grade, my best friend and I decided to go out for track.
I don’t know why. Neither of us were the least bit athletic and the only thing I can imagine is that the running craze was starting in the US. So, there we were: two extremely skinny girls standing in the hot North Carolina sun waiting for Mrs. Anders to start track practice. Within minutes we learned that showing up was all it took to be on the team.
With no further ado, she set us to running laps. This was late August in coastal Carolina. It wasn’t just hot, it was need-to-grow-gills-to-breathe hot and humid. Miserable. And this was in the days when it was believed that drinking water while exercising was a Bad Thing. A Very Bad Thing.
Me: <false-shocked look on my face> WHO TOLD YOU THAT?
SuzieQ and CutieQ: looking at fingernails, tugging on socks, letting hair fall over face>
Me: Tell me, girls!
THEM: <in unison> Steady Ed
Me: HOW WOULD STEADY ED KNOW IF I HAD A PIERCED BELLY BUTTON?
THEM: <trembling, no answer>
Me: <can’t help it anymore and laughing>
THEM: Connie! You had us scared.
Me: Good. I was the first female Navy Seal, you know. It keeps me in practice to be scary now and then.
THEM: Well? Do you?
Me: Do I what?
SuzieQ – <peals of giggles>
CutieQ – Have a pierced belly button?
Me: I do.
THEM: LET US SEE!
Me: No. <baring my teeth and looking fierce>
THEM: Why not?
Me: I don’t show it to anyone.
THEM: You showed it to Steady Ed.
Me: I DID NOT.
THEM: Let’s go ask him. <conversation in background. Steady ED saw the impression of the ring when my t-shirt pulled across my body while putting stuff in upper kitchen cabinets.>
Me: <girls come back> Oh good lord, what do you want now?
THEM: When did you get it pierced?
Me: <staring at the ceiling and ciphering on my fingers> I think in 1998.
THEM: THEY HAD BELLY RINGS BACK THEN?
Me: Let me just fetch my shawl, sit in my rocker and y’all can rub my bunioned feet while I tell you about hand hammering the ring out of bronze at the Blacksmith’s after churning the butter and hauling wheat to mill grinder, and how I almost died when it got a little bit infected because penicillin wasn’t invented yet and the old Wise Woman in the hut at the edge of the forest told me to use salt. Hell’s bells! Salt was expensive in those days, but it works.
THEM: It sure does. When I got my nose pierced they said to snort salt water.
Me: <Sigh. They never know when I’m joking.> I’m wounded. Y’all are turning me into an old woman.
THEM: Naw, you’re already old. I wish my *mawmaw* was like you.
Paulo Coelho says, “The adrenaline and stress of an adventure are better than a thousand peaceful days.”
Normally, I’d agree with old Paulo. Today? Not so much.
I’ve had adventures in my lifetime. Due to my Inner Drama Queen even events that aren’t exactly adventures qualify because I make mountains out of molehills – both good and bad.
Today, I’m hoping the mountain is a molehill. I have to get down my hill. Have to. I will be stark raving mad if I do not.
I have been out one day in the past two weeks. One day. I am stir crazy. I am beyond stir crazy. I’m eating everything in sight, talking to myself, and even considering cleaning.
W. Va. Fur and Root 