De-Mudding is a Dirty Business...

Dear Friends;

I spent the past several hours doing the great de-mudding of the century. Even including the first Great Wet War and the cars that had to be literally dug out of the mud, I have not been so exposed to such clinging muck. My most wonderful best friend in the world, who does not go to events, has been so kind as to assist me in my great washing endeavors. But trying to explain to her how it is that I came by such filth and a new overly bright pair of pink galoshes is rather difficult.

This is the friend who has been teaching me the fine art of massage, of which several of you have benefited from. She is the one that I like to have facials and pedicures and girly gossip with at 2am. Who knows the best homeopathic remedy for making skin softer than silk and hair glossier than you ever thought possible. She is the next Martha Stewart and Miss Manners and is the perfect Dr. Professor's wife. Together we are the complete embodiment of the historically traditional perceived female. We are the masters of the art.

And she has known me for over half of my life. She knows that I am Miss Clean Pristine. The epitome of everything soft and feminine and everything girly. So how do I explain to her how I came to have everything coated in mud, myself included, and still have a splitting grin that really seems to be going from ear to ear? That when ordinarily I would be quiet and reserved from the mess and chaos that I am currently covered in, I am now spinning for joy instead? She will never believe me. And in truth I have tried to tell her and she just keeps shaking her head. She is waiting for the real reason. But it is there. So simple. So undisguised. So mundane. And still she waits. It must be a man. Well there were men, several… But not in that way that she is expecting. And there were women as well, in the same way as the men. Good, gentle, kind and thoughtful, men and women who were helping out a veritable stranger though the mess of mud. She is used to my wild tales and we have shared many a Banbury adventure together. So she is waiting for more. Expectantly.

I learned a very valuable lesson this weekend. One of the great depth and fortitude and caring for fellow man sort of lesson. I also allowed myself to be exposed in my time of weakness, something that I try not to do. I mean it is one thing for others to be aware of the dangers and concerns in one's life but to actually expose them to the emotion and feelings that actually do go along with it… that is just not acceptable. My father is probably having conniptions right now. Airing my dirty laundry. Yes Daddy, I am… And not just figuratively, quite literally as it turns out.

So this weekend I exposed my dirty, muddy filthy laundry and came away with wonderful guardian angels to show me that sometimes mud can be a good thing. And so can be trusting strangers and new friends to not laugh at you in your time of drowned cat muddy misery. Sometimes it can even forge real bonds. Which I feel that it did. So my Dear Friends… If I seem a little different these days, if the trip has changed me into a more relaxed person, then I want you to know that I fully embrace it and am grateful to everyone who had a hand in it. Mind you, I think I have seen enough mud for a while, but I just might be able to survive Pensic after all. And I even have the garb in which to go and play in.