Four Magic Words: Tell Me About You!

That head was learning things. Who could have guessed?!

I learned a few things as I was growing up.

Okay, I know that comes as a surprise to many, but it's true.

Some lessons were fairly severe, but a few, and even some of the most life-changing were quite . . . for want of a better term, painless.

I was staying with my best friend and nearest neighbour at her parent's ranch, fifteen miles from my own.

We had had a glorious week, riding, playing, getting into her father's hair.

Oh, yes, a glorious week.

It was time to go home.

Her Dad needed the break.

It was a fairly easy trip when one was merely negotiating the fifteen miles of dirt roads between our ranches.

But my parents had moved, for the winter, to our town home in Milk River.

A further twenty miles to away.

A trip of approximately an hour, if the road conditions were favourable.

Which they often weren't.

Originally, my Dad had planned to pick me up when he came out to do a vet call.

His plans had changed.

And now, so had mine.

Sigh.

I would be riding with my best friend's uncle.

The scary one.

For an hour.

Just the two of us.

I suddenly didn't care if I ever saw my parents again.

I wanted to stay with my friend.

Or die.

Neither choice was given to me, however.

Amidst much hugging and goodbye-ing, I was pushed out the door and parked in the uncle's truck.

Doomed.

I curled into a little ball in my corner and tried to pretend I didn't exist.

We started out.

The silence was thick.

After a while, the uncle reached out and turned on the radio. A short time later, he turned it up.

Now, at least, we had music to fill the emptiness.

But I found myself getting more and more uncomfortable.

My parents always claimed that visiting made the time go by faster.

I definitely wanted that to happen.

Finally, I thought of a question about his ranching.

I asked it.

He answered. Quite politely, I might add.

I asked another.

Again, he answered. With even more detail than the last.

This went on for some time.

Suddenly, I realized that we were . . . visiting.

And that he was funny.

And not nearly as scary as when we got into the truck.

What a nice surprise.

The trip turned out to be infinitely shorter than I had anticipated.

In fact, we got so animated in our conversation that we were parked in my family's driveway before I even realized that we had reached the town.

And I learned that all you need to do to get a conversation going is to ask a question about whoever you're with.

Generally, they like to talk about themselves.

And that, when you are visiting, no one is as scary as they first appear.

Even someone else's uncle.

Parking For Dummies

See? There's hardly any dent!

Driving is important.

At least when you live on a ranch a million miles from anywhere.

Well, not quite a million, but almost.

Moving on . . .

And it happened early.

Driving, I mean.

As soon as I was able to reach the pedals on the tractor and still hold onto the steering wheel,  I was driving.

Mowing, baling, stacking.

There were lots of reasons to perch me up on 'the beast' and start the engine.

But on a tractor, I had the entire field to turn around in.

And on the Stringam ranch, the fields were . . . large.

Enough background.

At the age of twelve, I graduated to the pickup.

Again, I was limited to travelling in the fields and doing ranch work.

But I was still driving.

And in control.

More or less.

One morning, bright and early, I decided to go for a ride.

I don't know why.

It was spring.

I'm an idiot.

Take your pick.

Anyways . . .

Because I was still a fairly new driver, and driving was still a treat, and because I was basically  lazy, I decided to take the pickup to the far corral where my horse, Peanuts was currently residing.

All went well.

I drove there and parked.

Spent an hour or so with my horse.

Drove back to the ranch house.

And that's where everything went wrong.

Sigh.

I should probably mention that I had gone riding very early. So by the time I returned, everyone was still in dreamland.

I drove carefully up to the carport situated, by the by, directly beneath my parent's bedroom.

And very, very carefully drove into it.

And I do mean 'into'.

Crunch.

Oops.

Frantically, I backed up.

And clipped the pillar again.

I tried to straighten out and hit it a third time.

And a fourth.

The truck just kept getting more and more . . . crooked.

Stupid machine.

Fifth.

Sixth.

This was going nowhere fast.

By now, my door and the pillar were probably looking like hamburger.

Can wood and/or metal look like hamburger?

And suddenly, there, standing in a shaft of early morning light, was my father.

Now I should explain to you that my Dad always wears pajamas.

Nicely pressed, matching button-up top with trousers (that Mom cuts off just below the knee and neatly hems).

They are quite a sight.

But I digress . . .

At this time, I only vaguely noted his light green PJ's.

Because Dad. Wasn't. Happy.

I let the engine die.

We stared at each other.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Okay, he's a rancher. Sometimes they say 'hell'.

But only when really perturbed.

Usually when I'm around.

"It's okay. I can fix it!"

"Diane, get out of the truck!"

"I can fix it, Dad!"

He just looked at me.

I know that look. I've seen it before.

A few times.

Ahem . . .

I climbed sheepishly out of the truck and moved towards him.

"What on earth are you doing? You almost shook me right out of my bed!"

"Umm . . . I went for a ride."

"In the truck?"

"Well, Peanuts is clear over . . ."

"I know where Peanuts is."

"Well, I drove over there and went for a ride."

"At five o'clock in the morning?"

"Well, yes."

"Get in the house."

One never moves faster than when avoiding fallout. I knew this from past experience.

I disappeared in a heartbeat.

There were a couple of 'bruises' on the support of the carport.

And a dent in the truck door. (Which popped out when Dad went to get the mail and slammed the door.)

So the damage was relatively minor.

I did learn to drive.

For real.

But I'll always remember that first time.

And my Dad in his PJ's.

Some things you just never forget.