The Progeny
A Minor Freakout
The sun arose on a cool, clear morn. The day seemed primed for peaceful and quiet thoughts; a day for reflection, for meditation.
I mused reflectively and meditatively as I walked down to the church to clean: "Ah, the beauty of the blue sky against the green fields.....what clarity of color....what endless horizon. What on earth am I going to blog about today?"
I entered the silent building, it's hushed emptiness enveloping me like a quiet, familiar friend. I meditatively picked up the broom, swiffer wipes and mop. As I commenced on the first bathroom, the toilet bowl brush lay reflectively in my hand. It was time to partake of the familiar and quiet motions of cleaning and decontaminating. Yes, it was time to commune with porcelain and stainless steel.
I proceeded from bathroom to bathroom; a reflective swipe here, a meditative swish there. Peaceful vibes were literally oozing out of me.
It was then that I spied it; a dead bird in the toilet.
"GOOD GRIEF!" I cried aloud in dismay. (I'm sorry. I hope I haven't shocked anyone. It just slipped out involuntarily. I sincerely hope that language is not too gritty for some)
What if it wasn't dead? (quickly put toilet seat down) How did it get there? Was it possible?....could it be?......that Alfred Hitchcock was 40 years ahead of his time?
I raised the lid and gave it a few tentative pokes. The bird had indeed expired, it's wings outstretched, it's head above water, it's beak opened as if in mute appeal, "I've fallen and I can't get up!"
There was nothing for it but to fish it out. It was a starling. I......I......I don't think I can talk about it any more. (sniff)
When something traumatic happens, I've found it helpful to engage in some vigorous outdoor activity. It helps to clear the mind of your frustrations, your frightful experiences, your dead-bird-in-the-toilet scenarios. I needed to mow. I needed to mow bad.
And that is what I did. I finished my cleaning, albeit in a slightly less reflective and meditative manner. And then I went home and mowed, and mowed, and then I mowed some more. And after I finished mowing, I ate chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. It's probably good I am leaving town tomorrow. I have to get away from that image, that image which has been seared into my memory. For, how do you ask a bird to be the last bird to die in the toilet?
Really, it's all coming back afresh. I...........I..........I need more chocolate.
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I mused reflectively and meditatively as I walked down to the church to clean: "Ah, the beauty of the blue sky against the green fields.....what clarity of color....what endless horizon. What on earth am I going to blog about today?"
I entered the silent building, it's hushed emptiness enveloping me like a quiet, familiar friend. I meditatively picked up the broom, swiffer wipes and mop. As I commenced on the first bathroom, the toilet bowl brush lay reflectively in my hand. It was time to partake of the familiar and quiet motions of cleaning and decontaminating. Yes, it was time to commune with porcelain and stainless steel.
I proceeded from bathroom to bathroom; a reflective swipe here, a meditative swish there. Peaceful vibes were literally oozing out of me.
It was then that I spied it; a dead bird in the toilet.
"GOOD GRIEF!" I cried aloud in dismay. (I'm sorry. I hope I haven't shocked anyone. It just slipped out involuntarily. I sincerely hope that language is not too gritty for some)
What if it wasn't dead? (quickly put toilet seat down) How did it get there? Was it possible?....could it be?......that Alfred Hitchcock was 40 years ahead of his time?
I raised the lid and gave it a few tentative pokes. The bird had indeed expired, it's wings outstretched, it's head above water, it's beak opened as if in mute appeal, "I've fallen and I can't get up!"
There was nothing for it but to fish it out. It was a starling. I......I......I don't think I can talk about it any more. (sniff)
When something traumatic happens, I've found it helpful to engage in some vigorous outdoor activity. It helps to clear the mind of your frustrations, your frightful experiences, your dead-bird-in-the-toilet scenarios. I needed to mow. I needed to mow bad.
And that is what I did. I finished my cleaning, albeit in a slightly less reflective and meditative manner. And then I went home and mowed, and mowed, and then I mowed some more. And after I finished mowing, I ate chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. It's probably good I am leaving town tomorrow. I have to get away from that image, that image which has been seared into my memory. For, how do you ask a bird to be the last bird to die in the toilet?
Really, it's all coming back afresh. I...........I..........I need more chocolate.
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posted by Ma Hoyt | 6:48 PM
8 Comments:
So after partaking of chocolate, was it possible to investigate the sourse of the avian in your commode?
Just for the sake of clarification, let me say that I found this down at the church where I clean, and not our own home. (you know how nasty rumors can spread)
The source of entry remains a mystery. I suppose it COULD have been a prank, though, the church is peopled by mostly older folks. The thought of someone of that stature placing a bird in the toilet, well, frankly, it sends chills up my spine. And that's as good a reason as any to indulge in another nugget of serotonin:-)
HI. Just wanted you to know that I really, really, enjoyed reading your blog. I am the mother of Rachel who is a friend of your daughter at LeTourneau. I also have a house full (ten but 4 are already grown and out of the house) I just started blogging myself as well. It looks like a great way to keep up correspondence. Will be praying for you and yours.
Lisa aka MoM
*grin*
So what you're saying is that you're blaming the dead bird in your toilet on the elderly members of your church? That's a bit of a stretch... but I guess it's because I don't know the people in your church.
Clearly you need to be informed that the church in question is not our church at all.
I'm SO confused. First I get a comment from MoM, which is temporarily shocking since MY mom does not have internet acess. (Welcome, Rachel's Mom :-)
Secondly, to reiterate what daughter Sharon mentioned, I clean the church down the road. The church we at-TEND is 25 minutes away.
And,I get the distinct impression that SOMEONE is baiting me!
Ah... to clarify:
People from this other church are pulling pranks on you and baiting you, pulling in blogging help from Califonia?
(prays earnestly for Anna to return earlier than expected)
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