Sh*t Happens

I know, you may be thinking “oh this is going to be about the bad things that happen in life and Natalie’s thoughts on them”, well I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re wrong. It won’t even be even the little most bit philosophical.

The other month, I started thinking back about my childhood, especially knowing I was going to get to see my Aunt Claudia at my cousin’s wedding. I hadn’t seen her for a few years, which is such a tragedy, because, growing up, I (along with Karissa & Sheena) used to spend weeks of the summer at her house. It was always the best time and she definitely brought out my right-brain-ed-ness.

As a kid, it felt like the longest drive ever to get to her house, and it was inevitably dark by the time we were driving that long road along Black Lake in Olympia to get to the very last house on the road. Remembering those summers, being taught to draw, paint, and make pottery. Also, spending time at a local Saturday market while Claudia would sell the dishes she’d made brings back lots of memories.

Reflecting on this time brought happy thoughts, until suddenly this strange one crept in. I remember being at the market one Saturday, amongst the grassy area as my aunt was packing up… I was walking around with my cousins playing in the sun as we were waiting. I remember seeing something curious on the ground, what an interesting stick. Hmm, maybe I should pick it up… the next thing I remember is that I was being stopped just in time before picking it up… my supposed “odd” looking stick was dog poop.

Yes, I think I was that child. The one who somehow inevitably found the one pile and either stepped in it or had a close call with it none-the-less. Must have been why my parents were always telling me to “check my shoes”.

Another close encounter I remember is a time when I went on a walk with my grandma; we often took walks around the place she lived. And I remember passing by something and I think I actually touched it…because I seem to remember having to walk home with my hand out from me, fingers trying to stay far apart from each other with this feeling of grossness about the whole situation. That “rock” totally fooled me! I could be wrong though. If it wasn’t that time, then there must have been some other time that I remember getting my hand in some crap (and by that, I don’t mean meddling in my friends lives).

More recently though, my poop encounters have involved birds. I’ve been crapped on… twice. Of all the bodies in this world and all the clean car targets – why me?!? Do I look like a pooh magnet? Have I not outgrown that childhood attraction? The first such time was in Mexico, at a park where we’d stopped to eat lunch. We all knew a truck carrying fresh fish was headed our way, the seagulls signaled it from a mile away. And when they passed by, one happened to feel the call of nature and relieved himself on my arm. Gross, and it had to be in Mexico where you had to pay for the restroom… luckily someone had hand sanitizer and no hole burned through my arm (you know, cuz if it gets on your car it can like eat through paint or whatever… last thing I wanted was that on my arm!).

I think of the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun” when Diane Lane gets pooped on and the little old lady says it is a good sign. Who knows, maybe from all my crappy experiences I am really being blessed…

The last time I was “blessed” happened to be at another unfortunate time. It was an overnight Deschutes rafting excursion for Kenny’s 25^th birthday. Our rafts all stopped at a spot to use the bathroom, eat a bit and relax. Walking around talking with people as normal, a sudden oddly wet sensation came over me. No, I had not peed my pants – it was bird poop – on my head. Yes, the first day of the 2 day trip and I have bird crap, in my hair. No showers, no running water (other than the Deschutes) and I smell like bird doo. Amber laughed (obviously – it was a funny situation), and I attempted to dunk the crown of my head into the water to “rinse off”.

I have been clean for almost 2 years now, no odd incidents, no run ins, no “blessings” (though I’m pretty sure the bird was aiming at me when it hit Morgan’s shirt that one time…). I’m knocking on wood as I say this (and I really did just knock on my desk) – one day, I’m sure it will happen again when I least expect it… cuz sh*t happens.