Digging Out

I am up to my knees in mud crusted with hail. I’ve run through all the bad words I know and am well into the second round.

I glance at Janice and know her darling ski boots will be ruined by the time we’re done. I wonder if she has any bad words I can borrow.

A surprise thunderstorm has flooded my dog agility ring and threatens to flood the house Janice rents from me. The storm’s ferocity clogged all drainage ditches on this five-acre property. Janice and I dig frantically with a pitchfork and a rake to clear the mess before the water gets any higher.

As the mud seeps into the top of my hiking boots, I am reminded about all those people who think owning their own business would be so glamorous.

Rush hour cars whizz past on this busy street, a few honking horns at

our efforts. I am tempted to give them the universal hand signal for mind your own business.

Janice’s daughter drives in and jumps out of her car to help. We dig and scrape until darkness halts our efforts. We mourn our boots but cheer at saving the house.

A few days later, I am at the gym with Janice. She introduces me to a man who lives two minutes away from the agility ring. She’s known him for years.

“I saw you two out there in the mud.” He grins.

“But you didn’t stop to help?” Janice says.

“You saw two ladies of a certain age struggling in the mud and you just drove by?” I ask.

“I had on new shoes.” He shrugs.

He flinches when he sees the look on my face.

My contractor calls the next day to say he and his team have cleared all the drains and ditches. “I can’t believe you were out there in all that mud,” he adds. “You guys did a good job.”

I tell my contractor about New Shoes. He shakes his head. “Maybe I should hire you two,” he says.

He definitely should, I tell him, if he wants to get something done.