I looked like a mess. My shirt was thoroughly wrinkled, and my hair stuck out in every direction, but I went out the door looking like this anyway. My 4×4 TrailBlazer, well, that, too, needed to be washed. Several inches of mud coated the inside of its wheel wells, the side panels, and the inner door jams. I yanked hard on the door to get it open.

As I slipped across my worn-torn seat, I felt my cell phone grab, catching the tear and jerking me to a complete stop. My hip torqued, and my back tweaked as the fork jab from a pinched nerve burned down my leg.
I arched sideways from the pain and fell out of the car, plopping onto the damp dirt from last night’s rain shower.

The weather app predicted a drizzle, but it was wrong. We had nearly 2 inches dump between the afternoon hailstorm and nightfall. The wheat loved it. Me, not so much, because now I was plopped into the wet dirt and grass.

Someone asked me recently why I didn’t keep the car in the garage. “You have loads of buildings.” She reminded me.

“Yep, and they are full of stuff,” I replied. While thinking about how I wanted to eliminate the clutter, our weather had not cooperated. Winter snow and ice for nine months, then the winds and rain for April and May. Now it is June, and the afternoon thunderstorms are predictable but unpredictable as to exactly where they will blow, dump, or hail before moving on.

My back pinched again, reminding me of my predicament. “How do I get off the muddy ground, straighten myself, and still make it to my soon-to-be-to-late appointment?”

Assessing my position on the ground, I slowly unfold myself, straighten my legs, and prepare for a sit-up. Bending my right knee, I roll to my left, pulling my left knee up and under myself. Careful, Regina. I remind myself; You don’t want to dislocate your hips. You’re not going through surgery again; three times is too many already!
It is a push-up now to get myself to standing while ensuring my back stays planked—no more burning nerve pain.
Standing with my hands on my hips, I pull my shoulders back. Pop. “Ah,” I feel the blood flow up my spine. The impingement was released. The sudden warmth of the red flow of life now surges through me,  followed by a moment of light-headedness.

Can I still make it to town?
Do I want to go?
No.

My muddy fingers tap out the dentist’s office number.
“Chadron Dental Care. May I help you?” 

“This is Regina. I have a 9:30 appointment today. For a new crown?”
“Let’s reschedule. I can’t make it in.”

As I clicked OFF, my body shifted, settled in, and relaxed.

“Why do I do this to myself?” I asked, exasperated.

“Because you are still learning,” a cicada chirps from the nearby bush.
“You have these moments, your untimely experiences, at the precise instant you requested them,” It chattered. Its translucent wings vibrated as it spoke.

“Well, I didn’t ask to be late, to pinch a nerve and fall out of the car into the mud.” I angrily replied.

“Oh, but you did. You have. And so it is.” Another chirp. And then the insect went silent.

“Hmmph,” I murmured under my breath.
Yet, I know the adult insect spoke the truth. I did manifest this outcome. I thought back to the morning as I first entered my waking world. The crickets and cicadas had already begun their songs. A plump robin perched on a post near my opened window sang out the graces of the coming day to his mate. He has shown up nearly every morning, 5:30 AM, to speak of the moment’s events. Today, his call was the gladness of the previous night’s rain. “The earthworms are fat, emerging from their waterlogged dwelling. We have much to celebrate.”

My eyes, still heavy with sleep, glued together from the night sand, cracked a peek open to see the robin at his post. Beyond, a white-tale deer quietly munched on the dandelions in our yard. “It’s a nice day outside.” I heard. “Time to get up.”

My cell phone pinged with morning notifications.
Then, the chime of an appointment: Dentist-crown repair/9:30 AM.

No big deal, I have four hours. Lots of time to get there.
But really, I did everything in the morning that would delay my departure. Coffee, breakfast, fed and walked the dogs in the ravine, checked the creek, took phone calls, and started laundry. Plenty of time until there wasn’t.

Panic, racing around, forgetting I reeked of Deet OFF Wildwoods spray. I still needed to check for ticks on me, shower, and put on clean jeans and a top. But I didn’t have time for any of it. I barely had time to wash my teeth before kissing my husband and flying out the door. It slammed shut behind me, nearly catching my dog darting out with me.

The cicada was right; I did know what I was doing.
I had planned to miss the dentist. I did want to stay home.
I want to listen to the cicadas and the crickets, the robin calling out to the surrounding beauty. I want to feel the warmth of the sunshine upon my back, feel the moist soil between my fingers, and pull out the strangling weeds twisting around the wahoo bush. Maybe I will make a lemonade later and lounge outside on the deck. Perhaps I will close my eyes, opening my heart to the immenseness of the day.

I stood on the back porch, looking out over the green pasture.
The sun is now warming my soul. It’s heating up fast today.

Yes. That is what I will do today.

“Hey Jerry,” I called in through the back door. “I canceled the dentist.”
“Let’s make lemonade today.”

Hmmm.
Now, where did I store my woven lounge chair?

Ah, yes. It’s in an outbuilding, with all the rest of the stuff. Right next to the hammock packed away last summer.