Monday, October 12, 2015
Today I am grateful for corn mazes. . .but I’m lying. . .because I hate them. I guess I’m grateful they exist for someone else, just not me. I have never, ever, ever, ever, ever, in my life had a good experience in a corn maze.
Here’s the deal. Where I’m from in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, the only corn maze we had growing up was Fritsch’s field across from my grandma’s farm. You walked into it with your Piggly Wiggly bag, “stole” as much corn as you needed and prayed you chose sweet and not field corn. Okay, I know I said stole, but that’s the truth. It wasn’t until I moved to the east coast that I realized some people have to “buy” corn. It was okay because ol’ man Fritsch would “steal” my grandpa’s onions or strawberries, too. Farmers are like that.
Anyway, when you walked into the corn the rows were straight. . . perfectly straight! If you decided to plunge between a few rows of stalks and come out on a different row, no problem, they were STRAIGHT!!! All rows led back to the road.
Whoever decided to make a maze out of corn should have their head examined. Probably Pavlov’s dog revolted on him and put the idea in his head after the 200th time he was given a crumb for ringing a damned bell. “Pick on the people, asshole, and leave the dog alone!”
Being a good grandma, and never having experienced corn stalks other than the aforementioned field, I agree to go in a corn maze. My grown son was excited, my husband was excited, my granddaughter was excited, and I was excited. Little did I know. Whoop! Whoop! What fun we’ll have. Not!
They all trotted in, went the wrong way, trotted back, took another turn, trotted around a corner. . .oops, not this way. . .trotted around another. Trotted, trotted, trotted. This was before my knees were replaced, so I trudged along on the uneven ground twisting my ankles and wrenching my knees with each step. I was the “before” on knee replacement ads.
It didn’t take long before they were all far ahead of me, with nothing but their echoing squeals to remind me I wasn’t alone. But I was alone. And in pain. And every turn I made, that presented yet another dead end, pushed me closer to the brink. And I’m not talking the brink of joy.
After about an hour of galumping along, smushing through dead ends, listening to their voices OUTSIDE of the maze trying to direct me. . . I channeled my childhood and forged though to the outside, gasping, hacking up silage on the stalk and nearly bawling. . .okay, I WAS bawling, but composed myself before they saw me. . .ten feet behind where they were standing at “their” exit. I had made my own.
This story came to mind when someone asked me how I was feeling? The horrible sinus infection and subsequent vertigo has me hugging walls and has knocked me on my ass. . .just like I’m in a bloody corn maze. . .disoriented, dizzy, frustrated, nauseated and way more than a little pissed off.