Run Along Little Wooly

As I was driving home from the vet this morning I saw something I have not had the fortune of seeing before: a fuzzy caterpillar on a mission. Clearly it was on a mission because it was crossing the street and most caterpillars I have come across are fairly happy staying put as in the case of Dr. David Watson's eyebrows*.

I saw this caterpillar booking it across the street as fast as his numerous tiny leg stumps would carry him. It brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye because he was both amusing and a cause of worry as I feared for his safety.

As I watched him in my rear view mirror, I imagined what was running though his cute little brain, and I came up with two very likely scenarios.

Scenario one: "I'm bad. I'm crossing the street. They said I couldn't because I was too small. I'll show them. I'm strutting with the wind in my hair. Check it, Cindy is so digging me right now."

Scenario two: "'No, I don't want this leaf, I want the leaf over there.' Why does she have to be so picky? This is f-ing dangerous, and here I am risking my life for a frickin' leaf just to make her happy. Jesus! What was that? It was huge and loud and the windy! Go fetal! Go fetal! Curl up tight! It'll go away! Mommy?"

I just love thinking like a caterpillar.

*A long time ago in Springfield there was a minister/pastor/what-not named Dr. David Watson. Of the many things he was known for one of them was his morning show with a message of faith aired on KY3 and, among my family, his magnificent fuzzy eyebrows which were clearly big, fuzzy strategically placed caterpillars.

So Where Do They Hide the Yeti?

After two trips to Marionville I had begun to wonder if the white squirrels the town is famous for really existed. I had gone once for business and once on a squirrel seeking mission but both trips left me empty handed and with nothing to brag about. Heck, the Joplin Spooklight had been easier to spot.

Today, Sept. 23, my ma and I took another trip out that way. It had started out as an apple seeking mission as we went to Murphy's Orchard right outside of Marionville to buy some apples and cider. Since I was driving I decided to venture right past the city limit sign and take another stab at spotting the cute little oddities that had so often eluded me.

With nothing else to do and no where else to be we had time to drive around and look. We started our search in the business district. Our reasoning was if these are unique to the town they are probably employed here and should be at work. We saw plenty of gray squirrels, but no white squirrels.

I started yelling at my mom with a desperation only found in people who have spent their life hunting the impossible.

"How can they possibly call themselves the home of the white squirrel when I've never seen one? We might as well call Springfield the land of the yeti if we don't actually have to have any."

Like I said I had been reaching the end of my already short rope. I so desperately wanted to see one.

She tried to make me feel better by siding with me and telling me the least the town could do was store some in a cage in front of city hall.

Then my mom pointed out her window and said, "There's a unicorn," which caused me to start in on another tirade.

"Oh so it's easier to find a frickin' unicorn than something this town is famous for?!?!"

Notice the excessive use of question marks and exclamation points - that truly illustrates how crazy I was getting.

But it was during the unicorn rant that I stopped my car in the middle of the road and stared into some person's yard. There it was:

Marionville White Squirrel in its natural habitat
preparing for an unusually harsh winter by storing
nuts in its adorable cheeks.

A Marionville white squirrel. As we drove on we saw another and then three and then one. It really was all I had ever hoped for. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stopped my car in the middle of the street time and time again to take pictures. This is why you should always carry a camera: because if you find your yeti people need proof, and the recollections of a crazy person hardly count.

See dreams do come true.

Now Entering Hell: population 2

Over the last couple of months I have put a lot of thought into planning a small vacation for my husband and myself - just some time without the midget. So far I have eliminated all prospects except Branson, Mo.

Now, I'm not planning on leaving right away or even anytime in the near future. I am being very unlike myself and planning well in advance. I'm weighing all the pros and the cons and some day, in a few years or so, we may take a break.

Well, that is if we weren't going to die.

This brings me back to Branson. Growing up in Springfield I have traveled to Branson close to a million times. I have one of those little clicker counters which is why I can be so certain on the number. I am comfortable with the drive and getting around and, well, I feel safe there on my own.

Now, it should be noted that I have thought of other possible destinations: Hawaii, Las Vegas, Kansas City, St. Louis, Sedona, Florida... And so on. Unfortunately my childhood has made all of these locations suspect and a little bit dangerous.

It wasn't until I had turned 30 and I was trying to plan a trip with just the two of us that it had all caught up to me. Every place I had thought of all that was running through my mind was 'Who's driving? What's nearby? Are we all going to die? Can my husband be trusted to not let us all die?'

I wondered to myself why I would have these types of thoughts. Vacations are supposed to be fun. It's not like I had ever had one that ranked with the Griswold's attempts. So, what could it be?

Oh, wait I know. Everytime we went on vacation we would inevitably take a wrong turn and my dad, the driver, would yell at my mom, the navigator, something along the lines of, 'Where are you taking us? We're all going to die!'

My family, it seemed, was always on the verge of entering East St. Louis, or any number of notoriously dangerous spots. There has always been the story of going to Joplin to see the Spook Light. We had pulled onto the lonely country road that silly ball of light inhabits and were apparently greeted by a group of Klan members or some other yahoos with torches. Either way you look at it a family of small children and yahoos with torches really shouldn't mix.

So maybe we were always on the verge of death or perhaps my dad was over-reacting. The point is I trusted him to get the family out of danger, probably because he recognized death was right around the corner.

My husband on the other hand is too relaxed about it. He reminds me of Brad Majors in The Rocky Horror Picture Show simply saying, "I'm here. There's nothing to worry about." He doesn't seem to accept that every bridge leads to East St. Louis and around every corner is another danger lurking.

So, as far as I'm concerned, my husband and I will travel to Branson. Everything I need is located pretty much on one major road, and Dolly Parton is there to protect me. The only fear I have is Baldknobbers, and if Silver Dollar City and the best-ride-ever Fire in the Hole have taught me anything, it is the only thing Baldknobbers want is your pants.