hiking

Don’t Mess With The Rock Dominatrix…

I’ve written at length about Her Worship THE Evil Redhead. I will probably continue to write at length about her from time to time. Not because she makes me. Truth is, every time I write about her I get beaten, locked in the closet, and banned from the Internet for an indeterminate period of time. However, I continue to put myself in harm’s way so that you may all be entertained. On that note, feel free to send your monetary appreciations to my paypal account.

So anyway… Tomorrow will be our 30th wedding anniversary. 31.5 years together, 30 of them not sinning. Well… NOT sinning may be going a little too far, but suffice it to say, 30 years with The Evil Redhead having an official transfer of ownership document from the state. Since this celebration of my servitude occurs on a Tuesday, we scheduled an Anniversary Getaway this past weekend. Friday morning we loaded up the Evil Mobile and headed for Southern Illinois for a two day stay at the Davie School Inn – an old elementary school that has been converted to a bed and breakfast. If you ever find yourself in Southern Illinois and want a great place to stay, check them out. Old classrooms converted to spacious yet cozy quarters and absolutely AMAZING breakfasts brought to your room – pretty much on your schedule – between 7:30 – 10:00 each morning. There are also some tremendous restaurants within minutes, such as The Brick House and The Yellow Moon Cafe. Of course, being in Southern Illinois there is also the Wine Trail, the Beer Trail, and a ton of orchards – cider donuts, anyone? But, if you are also into scenery and hiking, there are awesome sights (and sites) to see all over the area, not the least of which are the likes of the Pomona Natural Bridge and Giant City State Park.

And the latter, you see, is what this is really all about, hence the title.

Besides lounging in the cozy BnB, dining at amazing restaurants, old people NSFW activities, and generally celebrating 30+ years of not killing one another, we did a lot of hiking. Her Supreme Evilness is all about hiking. I like hiking. She LOVES hiking. So, we do a lot of it. Now, don’t get me wrong – just because I only like it and she loves it, that doesn’t mean I have a bad time. I have a great time. I just think she has a greater time than I do. That’s all.

So anyway, we hiked. A LOT. We even hiked during a freak late October sleet storm. No, I am not kidding. Ice pellets and cold ass rain shooting out of the sky and there we were, traipsing along a bluff trail in some out of the way park. In some senses it was an almost spiritual experience. Sorta like dropping a hit of acid and talking to the wallpaper, or so I hear. I dunno about that for sure, but I can say that being the only two people out in the middle of an amazing plot of nature with tiny little ice pellets singing songs through the multi-colored leaves was pretty intense.

But, that’s still not exactly what this is about. It’s about the Rock Dominatrix. Who is the Rock Dominatrix? Well, Her Supreme Evilness, of course.

Now, you can call me slow – and maybe you would be correct – but I do like to gather data for a few years before I draw conclusions. Well, most of the time, but we won’t go there. At any rate, for 30+ years now Evil Kat and I have been going hiking in state and national parks, nature preserves, wildlife areas, you name it. She tends to blaze trails so I follow along behind her and there is something I have noticed over the years. And, this thing that I noticed is something I finally voiced on this most recent excursion.

You see, we stumble. All of us. Me more than most because I am a freaking klutz, but even the most graceful of us will occasionally stumble when hiking a trail – especially in the Midwest during Autumn when leaves are falling. There are hidden rocks, tree roots, etc. All manner of toe grabbers out there. So, it just happens. No biggie.

So, me, when I stumble, I usually blurt out “oops,” or “damn tree root,” or “whoops, found a rock.” Of course, if I faceplant it is something a bit more colorful, but you get the point. This, however, is NOT the case with Her Worship. Whenever she stumbles (and odd as it may seem, it DOES happen) while hiking, she stops and silently glares at whatever it is she stumbled over. No. I am not kidding. She glares at it with an intensely obvious expression of “How The F*ck Dare You!” plastered on her face.

After 30+ years of observation I pointed this out to her.

She just giggled a bit.

Twenty minutes later when she tripped the light fantastic over a tree root she just kept walking. Me, being me, I asked her why she didn’t engage in her silent stare-down chastising death glare at this particular root. Honestly, I was figuring the tree had maybe apologized to her or something and I just didn’t hear it, but no, that wasn’t it.

Her response – “You called me out on it so I can’t do it anymore.”

Something tells me the moratorium won’t last. I’ll probably also get in trouble for calling out the Rock Dominatrix, but hey, I’ve been in trouble for over 30 years. I’m used to it…

More to come…

MR

The Wendy City…

I know a lot of Wendys…

I realize that’s kind of odd, but throughout my life I have come to know several Wendys. Or, in one case, Wendi. There’s also Wendie, as in Wendie Malick, but I don’t actually know her. I’ve just seen her on TV, so she really doesn’t count.

And, these Wendys are all across the board as to personalities and professions. There’s a blond Wendy who was a Flight Attendant for TWA – remember them? TWA, I mean, not Flight Attendants. Although, I could certainly wax nostalgic about how Flight Attendants used to be Flight Attendants, and not psychopathic hall monitors who seem to think they are Air Marshals. In any event, I have no idea what TWA Wendy is doing these days. I haven’t seen her in years, but I did use to joke with her quite a bit and call her an Airborne Waitress. Fortunately, she had a good sense of humor about it.

Then there’s small Wendy. I have no idea what she is doing, or what she grew up to be. I met her shortly after I graduated high school. My dad and I went on a hiking trip in Colorado, and we had set up camp in a public – but little used – camping area halfway up a pass in the Rockies. Small Wendy and her parents were camping in the same area, albeit several sites over. She developed a crush on me because she thought I looked like John Denver, and would come over to our campsite whenever she saw us out and about. Her parents even sent her over with leftovers from their dinner – they had an RV with a kitchen – because they felt sorry for us having to eat freeze dried rations.

And, there’s “Mistress Wendi”. That’s where the Wendi with an”i” shows up. That’s not her real name… Well… Not when she’s just being her normal self. It’s more of a moniker attached to the alter ego of a friend. Based on the honorific I’m sure you can figure out what she does for fun. We’ve been friends forever, and she was an invaluable source of info when I was researching the Miranda novels.

There are others, but I don’t want to bore you too much. I mean, all I am doing is rambling about women named Wendy. There was, however, a particular Wendy in my life who wasn’t exactly a friend. She also wasn’t exactly an enemy. She was, for lack of a better description, a thorn in my ass. I have no clue what happened to her, but I think of her often, believe it or not. Well, maybe not often as in often. More like whenever I am startled by something and jump out of my skin.

I was all prepared to write the story of why this happens to be when I received notice that one of my recent workshops, which had been videotaped at an event, was now online. I was watching it to see how it came out and lo and behold, there I was, right there on the screen telling the story about this particular Wendy in order to illustrate a point. So, rather than toss a whole ‘nother mess of words out there, here it is, from my lips to your ears.

(Video Courtesy of Spiraling Up Video Productions)

[hana-flv-player video='http://www.mrsellars.com/flv/The Wendy City.flv' /]

Moral of the story?

Don’t let your guard down around anyone named Wendy. Especially if she has a roll of Scotch Tape in hand…

More to come…

Murv