Stumped

Last night was the first time I had cause to wonder whether we happened to have any tomato juice around.

I got home from a meeting at about 9:45 (almost dark; fall approaches!). As I parked, I saw a small skunk trot from in front of the garage (possibly even from inside the garage) right across the sidewalk, just a couple of yards away.

From my vantage point at the bottom of the stairs (still inside the car--why hurry?), the skunk had disappeared. For all I knew, it could be standing right where I needed to walk to get into the house. It could be frightened and even now be gathering all its little skunky courage to spray, once a suitable target (me!) appeared.

"Hmm," I thought, in my usual articulate and quick-witted way. "Now what?"

Sure, I could go around to the back and come into the house from the deck. That would mean crossing in front of the garage, where the rest of the skunk family might be gearing up to follow the first one. Or crossing the yard in the other direction, where I hoped the skunk had actually gone.

So maybe the front was still my best option.

Or maybe not.

I gathered the stuff I was bringing in and got out of the car. And I stood there beside the car, thinking, "This is a decision I don't even know where to start to think about how to make." And then the tomato juice crossed my mind. And I stood there.

And then, aha, the deus ex machina. My husband had heard me drive up and wondered why I hadn't come in yet. The porch light came on and I could see him inside. I motioned to the door, and when he opened it and stuck his head out, I said, "Do you see a skunk anywhere?"

He didn't--and to his credit, he also didn't slam the door shut in my face. With trepidation, I climbed the stairs, passed the bush where the skunk might be aiming its spray at me, climbed onto the front porch under which the skunk might be ditto, and came in.

Nothing else happened. We're not sure where it went. It might have been too young to have scent glands because there wasn't even a skunky hint lingering in the air. For all I know, it slept under the porch, or under the bush, and it may sleep there yet.

I still don't know what I would have done. I guess I had options. For one, I could have summoned the deus ex machina by phoning the house with my cell or honking. I could have lobbed stones into the area where I needed to walk. I could have stayed in the car.

I'm still thinking about it today, obviously. Now that I am at the age I am, I rarely face situations that are so completely unfamiliar to me. I don't know when it happened or what age I was, but at some point, I developed a tool kit (namely, the phone, combined with the Internet or a phone book) for most of life's perplexing difficulties.

When the toilet makes a funny noise, I know I can call a plumber if ignoring it doesn't work. If the electricity goes out, I know to check our own power lines for trees; I can call the power company and a tree service to deal with the related bad stuff. I have seen death, mechanical breakdowns, job loss, and family breakups, and I generally have the tools to deal with them or know who to call if I don't.

I may not like them. But I can deal with them.

But last night, I was stumped. I might have needed that tomato juice. And no, we didn't have any.

It's situations like this that keep my life so interesting.