Tag Archives: armadillo protection

   It dawned on me the other night that I had promised last month to share a story with you.  This will be its own chapter in my memoirs (that book of Me).  As the kids were growing up they’d ask me to tell it, like it was a fairytale or some kind of folklore.  Ha, I guess it is.

    The year is 1980, the month is September, we have just passed the Autumnal Equinox.  I had graduated from high school (that’s a whole ‘nother chapter) the year before, and had promptly moved out of my parent’s house (and now that I think about it, signed a rental agreement at the ripe old age of 17).  That year had been tumultuous, to say the least.  I’d lost my grandmother, my high school boyfriend had taken half of our co-owned crap and gone to North Dakota, or maybe Mexico, or possibly both, the program I had set my sights and dreams on (school of librarianship) closed the month before I could enroll, and the above mentioned apartment contract had to be abandoned because I stopped paying the rent.  That happens when you stop going to work and no income comes in.  Eviction notices soon follow.  I’d gone back to the family home, twice already.  Few options remained.  My grandfather had re-married and drove up for a visit.  He said I could stay with them, work for my uncle, and attend community college for free.  Bleh.  Sure, why the hell not.  My life was over anyway, I no longer had a will of my own.  I moved.  Again.

     One of the very first things I did, upon arriving South, was to locate the public library, and acquire a card for borrowing.  I was enrolled in some general ed courses, because I didn’t give a shit, and working the retirement center’s front desk.  Big whoop.  Papa and his new bride were planning a family visiting trip even farther South, so he said he’d leave me her car, that way I could get around.  Dandy.  Whatever.

   New day, no classes, late desk duty tomorrow night, I head off for the library (where the hell else would I go in a town I didn’t know).  Hop in the borrowed car, roll to the end of the parking lot (oh yes, did I mention I was also LIVING in the retirement center? Right, vital detail, and it was owned by one of my mother’s crappy brothers, there were two, Uncle Shit Head, and Uncle Ass Hole).  I glance down at the gauges and realize I’d been left with no gas.  Well peachy, there’s probably no oil and no water and no coolant either.  I scan the intersection in front of me.  I have two choices, the one on the left, and the one on the right.  The one on the left is technically closer, but I would need to cross about seven hundred lanes of oncoming traffic to get there, and cross them all again to head towards the library.  Right hand station it is then.

     I navigate my self and the borrowed vehicle into position beside a fuel dispensing machine.  And boom.  It hits me.  I have never pumped gas in my life.  I learned to drive in Oregon.  I am so screwed.  I just sit there.  Leaning my head on the steering wheel, mygawd could my life GET any worse?!

   “You’re not from here are you?”

   HUH?!  I look up toward the direction of this voice, okay not the Voice Of God, but deargawd, what a voice, and ahem… what a view.  I am staring, belt level, at a pair of brown uniform pants.  (I am not one of those gals who pees herself over A Man In Uniform, quite the opposite actually.  But still….)

   “Are you?”  That voice again.  And now there is a face to go along with it, he’s leaning into the open window.  So I answer, “no.” 

    “Oregon?”  How does he know these things?  The plate is local, there are no identifying stickers anywhere, the car is owned by a senior citizen for christ’s sakes.  So I answer, again, “yes.”

    “I was just there for the eclipse, you don’t have self-serve in the entire state.”  Hell, we had a freaking eclipse?  When?  And wouldn’t I have noticed if the state had gone dark?  So again I answer, “we had an eclipse?”

   He is still sort of leaning in my direction, and I am distracted by his fashionable sunglasses and his really nice blonde hair, and his arms… yikes.

    “So, you want me to…”  as he says  this I spring into action (who the hell knows why) and I yank the door handle quickly, he has to step away as it swings open.  Unbeknownst to me, as I had carefully maneuvered the borrowed car into this spot, gravity had paid more attention than I had.  Apparently the speed of my maneuvering was more than I realized, and all of my books, bags, and school/library paraphernalia had been thrown against the door.  Nature took its course, and all of my belongings fell out, covering the concrete, and his feet.  He kind of jumped back, then immediately reached those arms out, in aid of this obviously helpless idiot.

   I slid out after all my stuff, trying, in vain, to recover some of it, and any portion of my dignity.  (Keep in mind, this is a true story, and I am so NOT embellishing it.)  I shit you not, it happened super fast but it felt like slow motion, he reached, I reached, all of his crap fell out of his shirt pocket as he bent over, our hands tangled and our heads smacked together.  (Seriously, my fiction is not this good, or this bad, as the case may be, it really happened like this.)

   We both pulled back, slightly out of breath, and looked down at our pile of co-mingled junk, spread out on the ground.  Then we looked straight at each other.

   “Now that our stuff has gotten together, we should probably know each other too.  I’m Dan.”   I stuck out a pointy finger and touched the red stitching on his shirt, which said Dan and remarked, “right.  I can read,” then I pointed to all my books.

   “Right,” he immediately replied, “and you’re a smart-ass.”

     Smiles all around.  Cue the romantic music.  We popped the hood the of the car, and I checked my own oil, coolant, and water levels (an accomplishment which highly impressed him, something I haven’t done since, by the way) and he put gas in the car.   We discussed the fact that we were both attending the local community college (Alma Mater of Tom Hanks, in case you were interested), and our schedules weren’t too different.  We talked about the eclipse that I had (somehow) missed, and his recent trip North.  Other customers came and went, and I realized that I had better get to the library.   He asked me if I wanted to come back after he closed up for the night.  (I wondered how many girls he’d used that line on, later he told me he was shocked to hear it come out of his mouth.)

   I arrived back there later, walked up and said, “here.  I made us dinner,” and handed him a brown paper sack from 7-11.  “I didn’t know if you preferred dark or light.”  It was a can of Pepsi, and a can of Sprite, plus a package of Oreo’s.  He told the kids (once they had all arrived) that this should have been his first clue regarding my domestic skills.

Have you done the math?  Thirty years ago next week.

Leaving our stroll down Memory Lane, let’s check on my daily backyard deck view, shall we?

So it’s not quite fall yet, but the seasons are definitely turning.

Our card for today is from the Animal Medicine Deck.

Armadillo  ~  Boundaries

Armadillo wears its armor on its back, its medicine is part of its body.  Its boundaries of safety are a part of its total being.  Armadillo can roll into a ball and not be harmed.

What a gift that is to set our boundaries so that harmful words or intentions just roll off.  Our lesson is in setting up what we are willing to experience.  If we do not wish to participate in confrontation we just need to call on Armadillo medicine.

One idea about to how to practice this is to make a circle on a piece of paper and see it as a medicinal shield.  In the body of the shield, write down all that we are desiring to have, do, or experience.  Include all things that give us joy.  This sets up boundaries that allow only those chosen experiences to be part of our life.  These boundaries become a shield that wards off the things which are undesirable to us.  The shield reflects what we are and what our will is to others on an unconscious level.  Outside of the shield we may put what we are willing to experience “by invitation only.”

Since Armadillo has waddled into our cards, it is time to define our space.  We may have been too willing to let our home become a bus station.  We may find that we cannot say “no” even when we know that we will have to cancel plans to be obliging.  This routine can get old in a hurry, and it does no one any good in the long run.

It may be time to ask ourselves if we are honoring the time we need for our own personal enjoyment, or if we are allowing others to treat us as a doormat.  We may also need to address the aspect of why we feel the need to always be a “yes” person.

The answers to all of our questions relate to setting up boundaries, what we will and will not do, for ourselves and for others.  Allow Armadillo’s armor to protect us, and in doing so, give us back to our sense of self.