Act Of Contrition and Atonement

I saved the life of a mouse today.

When Y’all read that opening sentence, you may think: What!? Did Joe(y) perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a mouse? Has the old dude flipped his lid? So many questions and so little time to connect the dots •••• read-on.

Every morning, I check the pool to see if it needs attention, especially after it has rained. Rain and wind usually bring leaves and other debris into the pool that need to be scoped-up or vacuumed.

We had strong thunderstorms with heavy rain last night. This morning, while walking around with the pool net - scooping up leaves and stuff floating on the water, I saw a mouse in the pool swimming for its life. Only its nose and eyes were above water. Its legs were paddling very fast. Its eyes were wide open - it looked panicky.

Its likely that the mouse had very recently fallen into the pool because it would not take long for it to have become exhausted, unable to paddle and drown.

The mouse saw me and seemingly, pleading for help - swam in my direction - we made eye contact. I lowered the net into the pool near the mouse and it scampered aboard. I then placed the net on the ground at the back side of the yard and the mouse ran-off fast, disappearing into the shrubby.

I could have easily submerged the net with the mouse inside and let it drown and afterwards, toss it away. But I didn’t. Why? Why would anyone rescue a mouse? After all, most people, including me, do not like mice.

In order to give insight into the why, I need to go back in time and provide more information.

Flash-back to the year 1957. I was 12 years old. Like most boys, I wanted a BB Gun. Momma kept telling me no. I begged and begged. Over time, she finally said: Okay, Joey, I’ll let you have a BB Gun but you need to be very careful with it. “I will Momma.”

I’m the oldest of seven siblings. Next in age to me, the twins (Madeline and Gwen) and Greg always thought that Momma liked me best and that’s why she said okay to the BB-Gun. Be that as it may or may not be, I was sooooooooooo excited to get the BB-Gun. Everyday, I’d take the BB-Gun into a field behind our house and target shoot at cans and bottles.

A few weeks after getting the BB-Gun, one of Momma’s brothers, Uncle Wes, had been in an auto accident and spent several days to a week recovering at our house so Momma could take care of him. One day, after he was better, Uncle Wes asked me if he could use my BB-Gun. He said he was going to go bird hunting. “Okay, Uncle Wes”.

Uncle Wes, was gone for many hours, returning around dinner time with about 8-10 black-birds that he had shot. He asked Momma to clean and cook the birds. I don’t think that Momma had ever done that before because she had a look of total fright on her face. I went outside. I didn’t want to see that “cleaning” business and I sure wasn’t going to eat birds.

A few days later, instead of target shooting at cans and bottles, I decide to be like Uncle Wes and hunt birds. Now, I’d go into that field everyday and shoot at birds. I could not hit any of them. I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong -- if Uncle Wes could shoot birds, I was determined that I would do so too. But day after day, the results were the same -- miss-miss-miss. I became frustrated yet remained resolute. I practiced my aim. I practiced my position. I practiced how I pulled the trigger.

Early, one Saturday morning I was in the field shooting at birds. After several misses, a brown bird landed on a bush about 20 feet away. I sat very still. I took careful aim. Held my breath. Fired! I hit the bird and it immediately fell dead. Instead of feeling triumphant, I felt like an idiot.

I killed that animal: not for food; not for my protection; not for any rightful reason; but only for sport. I cried. Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxi Culpa (Part of Latin prayer of transgression that Catholics recite which means: Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault). I prayed to God for forgiveness. I walked out of the field dragging the BB-Gun behind me, feeling very sad.

I didn’t tell Momma what I had done. I was not pleased with myself and knew that Momma would have been disappointed in me. I put that BB-Gun away in a closet and never used it or any gun since.

A defining moment confronts us with who we think we are vs. who we actually are. It can lift us or it can sink us. This was a defining moment for me. Over the years, I have reflected on this incident many times and it always makes me sad but also determined to become a better person. Perhaps today’s event is not noteworthy or at best an insignificant accomplishment, to many, nevertheless, it brought a meaningful closure for me. Although, it does not make up for me taking the life of that bird 53 years ago -- Momma would be happy because -- Joey saved the life of a mouse today.

The Cat Didn’t Get My Tongue

At the end of Summer '09, DW purchased two pool chair floats. Since the season was over, I left them in the boxes unassembled.

One day in early June this year, when the pool water was warm enough to swim, the SD said, Joe(y), I’m getting into the pool so “we” need to assemble those chair floats. As I’ve mentioned before, when W says “we” she means Joe(y).

For various reasons, W and I do not work well together on projects that require hands-on cooperation. So it was with great trepidation that I said okay Dwal’n, I’ll bring out the boxes and tools.

I unboxed the first chair and read the directions. I always read the directions - W never does. Watching me read the assembly directions infuriated the DW to no end. She was tapping her fingernails and looking all POed the entire time.

Nevertheless, one would think that this task is a reasonably straight forward and easy thing to accomplish. After all, there are only 7 parts plus 8 screws per chair and the only tool needed is a Phillips screwdriver.

No way, buck-a-roo! It took over an hour to put the two chairs together. It’s not that the assembly was complicated or hard to understand, rather, it was awkward to hold the parts in the correct position as the screws were attached. Without a doubt, I make no claim to be nearly as good a craftsman as Tim Allen from the old Home Improvement TV show.

When this massive assembly task was finally completed, W jumped into the pool and reclined on a floating chair. I was sitting at the patio table sipping a glass of Chardonnay.

It was a beautiful, tranquil, sunny, Midwest day. The hoopla of the “construction project” now faded into history. After a long period of silence and my second glass of wine, I said: W, you are still one of the most beautiful women that I know.

Suddenly, with “very intense eyes” -- sooooooooooo, looks matter more than quality to you and you don’t think of me as a high caliber person?

Whoa!!! I sure didn’t expect that come-back. If you’ve ever seen a woman go from happy-face to screaming-face then you know my pain. I thought to myself, did I marry Miss Heckle and Miss Hyde? Have I committed bigamy?

Back-stepping -- Well, sugar, that’s not what I meant…..

Listen, Joe(y). It’s either A or B. Which is it?

Dwal’n, it’s neither. I’m a lucky man because I’m married to both a quality woman and a beautiful, hot sexy assed baby-doll thang.

With raised voice: Do not give me BS, Joe(y)!

At this point, I looked around and noticed that neighbors on 3-sides of the back yard had come outside to sit. I guess they found the Devil and I more entreating than Jerry Springer. Seeing that the neighbors had settled-in for a good show, I turned towards the SD and, Ka-rist -- now, I’m in the direct beam of an intense laser-eyed stare.

After a very-long silence: Bay-beee?

Yes, Joe(y)!

I’m sorry for upsetting you. When you are ready you should go shopping and purchase those expensive diamond earrings that you like.

Okay, Joe(y). In a while, I’ll shower and go to the Mall to get the earrings plus a bracelet and the Michael Kors Handbag that I like.

Great, Dawl’n. No doubt the high caliber person that you are will bring out the best in the earrings, bracelet and handbag.

A degree in Marital Education is a long, painful and expensive undertaking. I don’t expect to graduate Cum Laude and will likely be in the po-house PDQ. I should learn to be quiet or look for a surgeon that will remove my tongue because the Cat didn’t.