showing some pluck

Are you brave? How do you define bravery?

When are you definitely NOT brave?

I like to think of myself as being brave.

I know people who never spend the night alone. Several years ago when I was coaching cheerleaders, Lovey was at his mom's while I was at a far away game. She must have been sick or recuperating from something because he decided to stay the night with her. I remember that he called me and told me to just have the bus to drop me at her house. I told him no. He said he would come to the house to get me. I told him no. During that very busy time of my life, the thought of sleeping completely alone in an empty house was such a treat that I felt guilty for ignoring his pleas to come to his momma's house. But not guilty enough to go. It really had nothing to do with bravery - I was just tired!

I sometimes have to go out in the pasture to retrieve Lucy Mercer from one of her midnight romps. And I'm usually so mad at her that I don't give bravery a second thought. During deer season, I frequently walk across the pasture (and cross a creek) to reach my deerstand in the cover of darkness. Again, it's not about bravery, in this case it's about not making enough noise to scare any deer away.

Each summer I go camping several times. Lovey doesn't go. I pull my own camper, back it in, and set it up. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to have some help from one of the boys or a niece or nephew or brother or sister, but sometimes I do it alone. I can't consider it bravery because usually some extra body ends up sleeping in my extra bed. And if I need any help, there's almost always friends and/or family nearby.

I'm not sure if any of this qualifies me as brave, but I would say that I have pluck.

My sister and I once built a fence around her back yard. I can give a cow a shot. I can install a ceiling fan. I know how to change a tire. And if I had to, I could change the oil. I even caught a possum one time.

Heights of more than 6-12 inches scare me. Truly scare me to death. But if I absolutely have to I can force myself to climb a ladder or stand in a chair.

Yep, I'm full of pluck.

Unless you throw a frog in the mix. No, you'll never see me at Conway's Toadsuck festival. I just can't stand toads and frogs. They. Creep. Me. Out. I have learned to restrain myself from the bloodcurdling screams that have scared the bejeezus out of Lovey since we got married. He has run to my rescue so many times, only to find me standing on the front porch frozen with fear because of a toad between me and the front door.

While I was working on the terrariums this weekend, I went out to get an old screen. Thank goodness I had shoes on. It was dark. And I didn't turn the porch light on. Somehow a toad managed to get back in the house with me. I think I stepped on him and he stuck to the bottom of my shoe! (It grosses me out to even think of it now) Let me tell you, my reaction was anything BUT brave. I did let out a little scream. I whined. I ran away. But then he started hopping further in the house. I just couldn't stand the thought of a big, fat, ugly frog in my house. And the bravery kicked in. I didn't actually touch the vile creature, but I somehow managed to get him outside. I have to admit that if Jus had been home, he would have had to get out of bed and rescue me. But I just couldn't bring myself to wake Lovey up to help. Getting the thing out of my house all alone is probably the bravest thing I've ever done.

No matter how brave I think I am - a frog or toad can bring me to my knees (not literally because I have to be ready to run).

So what's your frog? What scares you most?

When are you the bravest? When do you show some pluck?

why i don't watch horror movies

“One need not be a chamber to be haunted, One need not be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place”. -Emily Dickinson

Never one for horror movies or books that chill the reader to the core and interrupt sleep, I much prefer to spend my money on entertainment which lets me escape my ghosts and avoid my nightmares. As a child I was terrified by the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. Now Harry Potter keeps me peering between fingers. Castle and an hour of who's getting voted off tonight is the most suspense I care to witness.

I don't understand the obsession with horror and suspense in books and movies. LIFE is scary enough for me.

I can torture myself with the what-if's of growing up, raising a family, growing old.

Crave a little terror? I just sit down with this month's bills and last month's bank statement. If that's not scary enough, I watch the news and then browse my retirement accounts.

Want to be so scared I can't sleep? I try calling or texting my boys on a Friday or Saturday night and wait on their response.

If I want to spend a few hours with pulse pounding, sitting on the edge of my seat, I take a scan of those questionable moles popping up all over my body.  Not suspenseful enough? Waiting for mammogram results can almost send me into cardiac arrest. Oh, why did I have to go THERE? Is that chest pain a heart attack or indigestion? Is this just a tension headache or a growing brain tumor?

And almost everyday I come home to a true who-dunit. That can leave me guessing for hours.

 

Don't judge me because I stick with romantic comedy, Pixar and Disney. Sometimes I need to get out of my head - escape my haunted chamber.