The One Where Emzy Made Halftime NOT a Family Show

If you know Emzy or myself, there's a good chance you are aware that we were both in marching band throughout high school and college. You are probably also aware that Emzy is not well endowed in the hips and rear end region. I'm not saying she doesn't have them. They just aren't very big. So when she went off to be a college girl, she wasn't exactly ready for the Racer Band uniforms they had at the time. They consisted of pants with suspenders, a jacket, a ruffled dickie, and a cummerbun. Very classic. But not very functional.

Picture a college football stadium on Homecoming day. The stands were packed. There was this part in one of the songs where all the flute players ran to the front sideline and grabbed cymbals (I mean really, what's the point of a flute in a marching band anyway?!?). Somewhere between the middle of the field and the sideline, Emzy's suspenders broke. And down came her pants, just like London Bridge.

With almost 200 people on the field, I'm not sure how many people noticed. But I noticed. And that's what's important.

The One Where Emzy Came Back from Sabbatical

It was just a week or so ago when I was talking to Emzy about how she was all spent up. Nothing on her level of ridiculous has happened recently and I was beginning to worry that I was already out of current material before I even really started. I was trying to console myself and come to terms that this blog was doomed to retelling stories of years past. She was on a seemingly permanent sabbatical from the crazy life. I was beginning to feel the walls closing in.

And then Emzy brought pizza over for dinner tonight.

Not just any pizza. It's Pat's Pizza, which to my knowledge is only available in the Baltimore AREAand points east of it. And what a shame that is, because Pat's is AMAZING. I'm pretty sure they put crack cocaine in the sauce, because whenever I eat a piece, it's like I neeeeeeed another piece, or I might just die.

So after we consumed enough pizza to ensure that we would one day be standing up at a Pat's Pizza Anonymous meeting, we turned the TV on to find one of those shows about hoarding. You know, the kind where people find carcasses amid the debris belonging to pets they thought were long lost in the woods or are so buried in their own excrement they failed to realize they even still own a toilet.

And then, out of nowhere, Emzy starts yelling about her foot, her toe, her ankle, how something isn't right. At first I couldn't tell if she was serious. She was making this sound that you can't really tell if it's laughing or crying. I like to call it the "tickle-hurt." Like when you bang your funny bone on the door frame and you want to laugh and cry all at once. She says that she can't move her second toe, it's having a muscle spasm.

Okay. Who has muscle spasms in their toes?!?! Emzy does!

I didn't know what to do to help, so I tried massaging it, like Mom and Dad used to do whenever we had charlie horses in the middle of the night (there's a funny story there about how I inadvertently dropped the F-bomb to my mom, but this blog isn't about me...). Whenever I touched her second toe, especially the base of it, she started screaming bloody murder. We went on like this for about five minutes, with me asking if she needed to go see a doctor. She couldn't make a decision so she told me to call Mom.

SOOOOO I get Mom on the phone and ask her what we should do...walk in clinic or emergency room. And she treats it like a multiple choice test and answered with, "that's the emergency room, right?" Which is what I thought, since Emzy was still screaming like she was being attacked by an axe murderer. I am actually quite surprised the neighbors didn't come over to check or at least call the police for a domestic disturbance. It was basically out of control.

After a while it was over and she went back to having full control of her lower extremity. And I was speechless. Not to mention KINDA freaked out. But also kind of excited....cause Emzy's BACK!

The One Where Emzy Got "Bullied"

Two of our many formative years were spent living with our mother at her parents' house in rural Arkansas while our father was in Army flight school in Alabama. The rules have since changed, but at the time, pilots-in-training (my term, not the Army's) were not permitted to reside with their families during their initial training. So we lived a charmed life of playing outside with the random array of farm animals that Daddy B kept in the back yard and letting our imaginations run wild, creating one fantasy after the next, and usually while wearing nothing but underwear and wellies (known to most of the world as galoshes).

This story particularly revolves around the animals of the bovine persuasion at Penrivendell (that's the name my grandmother gave to their home - I'm not sure where she got it, but if you recall the Elven city of Rivendell in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, it means, "the last homely home"). There were three altogether - a bull and two cows. One cow was named Heiffer and the other two didn't have official names. It wasn't long after our arrival that Emzy and I took it upon ourselves to give them some, though.

While I like to think that we were very creative during our playtime, we failed miserably at creative animal names. What I am about to say is almost as bad as naming your cat Kitty or your dog Barker. The bull at Penrivendell was kind of mean and was always busting through the fence, leaving Daddy B with and endless bull wrangling and fence patching. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it was in hanging out with him while he fixed the fence that I learned my first swear words. Anyway, because of his mean streak and the fact that he was a bull, we bestowed upon him the name Bully. I promise this story gets better.

The nameless cow was a bit of a genetic oddity. It is a well known fact [I believe] that horns on cows are not overly common. Not unheard of, but not an everyday occurrence. And since Heiffer didn't have any horns, we thought the obvious name for this cow was Horny. Go ahead and laugh. First because it's hilarious. And second because our parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and every other adult around just played along as if nothing was remotely funny about the name we chose for her. And I don't blame them one bit. I mean, who wants to explain to a three year old and a six year old that Horny isn't an appropriate name for the cow in the back yard? Nobody!

It wasn't too much longer until we found out that Horny was expecting a baby calf (and with a name like that, who would be surprised?!?!?). Emzy and I absolutely could not agree on a suitable name for the little critter. Finally, a compromise had to be reached. We agreed that if it was a girl, Emzy would choose the name. And if it was a boy, I would get to choose. So Emzy picked out the name Buttercup. It really is cute. There's a part of me that, to this day, is a little saddened that the calf was a boy. And I was completely unprepared. So on the fly I named it Little John Bull, after Daddy B, whose name is John. I am also pretty certain that there is a small part of Emzy that hasn't completely forgiven me either.

But of course there came a time when the bovines had to go. We never really knew what happened to Heiffer, although we assume she died. She was always there, and then she just wasn't. Daddy B had found a farmer down the road to take Bully, Horny, and Little John Bull. They were getting to be too much work, too much money, and too many fence repairs. So the farmer backed his trailer into the yard. I remember being outside playing in my own world when Mom told me to come inside while they loaded up. Emzy, being all grown up at the ripe age of 7, wanted to stand by the pool and watch. She promised that she would stand very still on one of the support beams and wouldn't get in the way. Mom, and I stood by the back door while Auntie Jane video taped the proceedings through the window. (How fancy were we with a video camera in 1989?!?)

Horny and Little John Bull walked right on into the trailer without a problem. They had a little trouble getting Bully in the trailer, but they managed. Except once he was in he decided he didn't like it much. He snapped the gate right off the back of that trailer and took off charging around the pool, straight for Emzy. When she realized that there was over two thousand pounds of angry bull coming in her direction, she hopped down and hightailed it for the house. It was like a scene from a movie. I guess it kind of was since it was caught on camera...but I digress. Mom opened the door just in time for Emzy to squeeze in, slammed the big door, and then we looked around at each other in disbelief. I distinctly remember telling them to lock the door. As if a standard doorknob lock was going to keep Bully from charging the door.

Luckily he had other plans in mind. He kept avoiding all the guys in the back yard who were trying to wrangle him and get him back in the trailer and off to his new home. But at this point, Horny and Little John Bull decided they didn't want to miss out on the party. They lumbered out of the trailer and joined in the chaos. Daddy B and the farmers from down the road ended up having to lead them on foot to their new homes. This might have been the first time I recall asking, "Is this real life?"