Downright Biblical Sometimes

Despite his athletic prowess, my husband Slurpico has had more surgeries than anyone I know. He plods on, going to work when most people would be in bed.

One morning he dressed in a suit and tie and headed for the morning commute with his arm in a sling. As he was backing out of the driveway he heard a commotion down the street. He looked toward the rumbling noise and thought he saw a runaway horse and buggy coming his way.

We live on the corner of a busy highway and he was concerned the horse would ignore the stop sign and dash into heavy traffic. So he exited his car and ran into the road in a gallant attempt to halt it.

Only when he was in the middle of the road, straddling the yellow line, did he realize it was no horse and buggy. He had put himself directly in the path of two massive Belgian draft horses. They each weighed over a ton and were headed his way at top speed. They were yoked together and had made a berserk attempt to flee a nearby Amish farm. As they approached he could see their nostrils flaring. Their eyes were as large as soft balls and were rolling around wildly. They were like beasts from the Old Testament. He naturally feared he would be mowed down right then and there. Nevertheless, not wanting them to collide with a semi truck barrelling down the main highway, he stood his ground. He put out his hand like Moses parting the Red Sea and yelled YO!!!

And just like that they stopped on a dime. They fell to the ground like Eore. The skid marks are still out there in the road. Slurpico breathed a sigh of relief, and then pondered what to do next. The horses stood up and stared at him, and then looked at each other. They proceeded to do a little dance. The horses stepped to the right, and Slurpico moved to block. They moved the left, and Slurpico tapped danced with them.

The Amish farmer, a stocky man with a red beard, ran up. His children rolled in on scooters. The horses were tangled together and were spooked, but the man rounded them up.

He asked Slurpico, "Are you a horse wrangler?" He replied that indeed he was not. The man asked him how he stopped them. He told him he just put out his hand and yelled YO!!! The farmer stood amazed and shared that he is the only Amishmen in the area who uses that command to stop his horses. One of his daughters said, "Praise be to God!"

Slurpico got in his car and went to work. Just another day in Lancaster. Come on home Johnny. It gets downright biblical here sometimes. We can use you-with your ability to walk on water and all.

The Land of Everything

Johnny's mother shared with me at Chelsea Piers that he would like to return to Lancaster someday and build a house here. This left me to ponder the age old question, WHY? Johnny can socialize in Soho, eat caviar in Russia, and storm Paris like he is the next Josephine Baker. He can go anywhere and do anything. Why would he want to come back here? I understand the "there is no place like home" phenomenon, but being from Detroit, I have pretty much gotten past it.

The answer did not take long to come to me. I ride my bike through the Amish farms on the back roads, most often at dusk. I see THIS. (Note: It is difficult to take pictures here, as it is just my neighbors living their lives, so many of the items in the blog are stock photos.)

I also often ride on the back of Slurpico's motorcycle and that is when it came to me. Lancaster is a study in having alot of things going on at once. When we ride, we share the space not only with cars, trucks, and bicycles, but also with the Amish in buggies, on scooters, and on rollerblades. There is a small airport nearby, so low flying planes are also part of the mix. The fields are plowed by draft horses. They often cross the road, stopping traffic-whatever sort it may be.

The economy here is widely varied. It is supported by farming, manufacturing, services, and tourism. People are engaged in doing alot of everything. We have art galleries and theater. Even the Amish homesteads display this cacaphony. They will often house cows, sheep, mini horses, chickens, pigs and horses in the same pasture, all moseying about at once.

The Amish farms have a certain feng shui. They look as if they have been groomed by hand, acres and acres of land- because of course they have been. Their homes are neat as a pin. I will put it this way-the Amish women do windows. I can see why Johnny would like it here. There is no place in the U.S. quite like it.

But I suspect Johnny may love it here for many of the simple reasons I do. The sunsets are beautiful. You can hear the horses clopping at all hours. In the summer the back roads are lined with purple wildflowers, and the scent of honeysuckle wafts into your nose. The grass is lush and green.

Of course the coolest thing about Lancaster is that Johnny Weir is from here. Let us know when you're back Johnny. We'll meet you at the Belvedere.

Slurpico Revealed

I often write about my husband Slurpico simply because my blog is about Lancaster, and he is one of the more interesting things in Lancaster. People have written to me, curious as to whether I will post a picture, or if he will remain a mythical figure like Maris on Frasier, or the guy who lives next to Tim the Tool Man Taylor. In deference to the amount of time I spend ogling Johnny's athleticism while my poor hubby bangs pots and pans together to get my attention, I am opening the curtain on Slurpico. (Please forgive my indulgence) He is the Penn State Powerlifting coach and he competes with his own team (unheard of-he is more than twice their age).
Here he is squatting 500 pounds. That is simply an a-- load of weight. He is not big, nor is he young. He does not take performance enhancing drugs. He trains like an animal in the garage. Johnny if you need a strength coach...we are right here. Just sayin.'

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