Christmas Memories

Apologies for my absence.  I promised in the beginning there would be no assurances as to timeliness or continuity with posting. 

There are few things in life that take me back as much as the holidays. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a die-hard, materialistic, I-decorate-my-house-on-Thanksgiving-evening-for-Christmas type, but as I mature (i.e., age) I find that the Christmas season becomes more meaningful to me. 

Case in point:

Wesley and I drove through the “Isle of Lights”, a traditional drive-through Christmas light display that I’ve loved since I was a kid.  As we approached the part where the reindeer arc and jump over the vehicle….. I must admit, I got giddy.  Or stupid crazy with the giggles according to Wes.  I have also have to admit, it was not the first time ever that Wesley has been driving the vehicle and simultaneously looking for a cliff to drive off. 

We received a department store’s annual Christmas flyer, complete with a huge perfume advertising section.  I jumped upon that section like a banshee when he flipped through it.  I tore out the pages, delicately flipped open the tiny flaps and inhaled their fragrant aroma.  Following this strange behavior I ran to our bedroom and stuffed the smell-goods into my drawer of “delicates”.  Apparently not everyone, especially my husband, liked to have very nice smelling undies as a kid.  Who knew?

 I saw an advertisement this morning on the television for a “Trans Siberian Orchestra” concert.  I used to think I hated that CD that my mom played incessantly while she decorated the house every year, but now there are few things that put me more in the mood for the season than the powerful, blaring, in-your-face sounds of the season than this. 

I also used to dread growing up.  Every year when we gathered for Christmas I used to think that this might possibly be the last time that I would ever have fun with my family ever again.  These days, I find that I enjoy the holiday season more than I ever thought possible…. Even if Santa doesn’t… always visit our house (for little eyes). 

Here’s hoping that this holiday-bug is addicting.  Not the materialistic-buy-everything-in-sight bug, but the make-you-feel-like-a-kid-again bug.  Merry Christmas everyone!

Giving Thanks

Today is a pre-Thanksgiving edition.  I’ll try to keep the sappiness to a minimum, but no promises. 

There are so many things in life that we could complain about.  We have no children, we have very little money, I don’t have a really meaningful job besides being a rancher’s wife…

But then I looked out the window this morning and all of that was blown out of the water. 

Across the road we have cattle that I can look at every day while I’m standing at the sink doing dishes.  And since I don’t have a meaningful town job, I can work cattle and be outside all day long, every day.  I can drive my husband crazy with my never ending DIY projects.  I can doctor, process, sort or haul cattle anytime I want. 

Our closest “neighbor” (besides Grandma C.) is an old abandoned barn and some sheds waaaaaaaay up north as you can see in the picture.  If you count buildings with human occupants, you have to go more than a mile north.  Wonderful. 

We have two little girls that are the center of our attention.  They are good workers with the cattle and a ball of fun to play with.

We have a little house on the prairie (yes, referencing Laura Ingalls Wilder) that has just enough room for us and great views of our little life.  

I hope everyone else can take a minute during this Thanksgiving to realize that there are just too many things going well in our lives to dwell on anything that is going wrong. 

Happy thanksgiving ya’ll. 

Do You Coupon?

I was recently in Walgreen's purchasing some items when a random woman walked up to me out of the blue.

"Psst, do you coupon?" she asked. 

Several thoughts simultaneously flew through my head.

1. Seriously, who really says psst?
2. I fought the urge to ask her if she also had a trench coat and had some watches I could buy.
3. How did she know to ask me?  Perhaps it was my practical outfit.  I have found that coupon-ers are a practical people, not subject to many flights of fancy or easily swayed by wayward, short-lived trends. 

Finally, I gathered my thoughts and answered her, "Of course." 

"Do you know about the coupons on that chicken broth in this week's newspaper?"

Again, "Of course."

We then got into a lengthy discussion about the benfits of buying them in Dillon's grocery store with reward points, double coupons, yadda, yadda, yadda... versus buying them in Walgreen's with register reward coupons, accepting multiple coupons, yadda, yadda, yadda.  After several minutes of back and forth friendly banter we came to a mutual agreement that I was, in fact, making a legitimately money-saving purchase and I could now proceed. 

I still can't wrap my head around how odd we must have looked in that aisle, passionately discussing what probably was a total savings of $2.34.  (Actually, it really was $2.34.  We really did do the math.) 

Another thing I like about coupon-ers: we look out for each other.  Its like a secret society of practical people.  Keep an eye out for me and someday perhaps we'll stumble across each other while out shopping.  I'll be the one in jeans and shoes that are practical enough to walk more than 10 steps in.

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh.....

I recently purchased a Better Homes and Gardens Special Interest Publication: "Do It Yourself" magazine (I had to get the entire title in there in case anyone felt like googling it later).  Now I don't know how I've been able to live without this magazine my entire life.  Its wonderful. 

Within this magazine it listed several websites that are worth mentioning as well, including:

• designsponge.com - "Your home for all things DIY"
• centsationalgirl.com - A simple gal with a simple dream: transforming the drab into the fab with an arsenal of paintbrushes, primer and power tools.

I didn't write the promos for those websites, I just copied what they had... cheesy, I know.

Happy DIY-ing folks!

Home Improvement

Hello, my name is Anna, and I watch too much DIY Network.

There you have it.  Don't judge me or hate me, just learn to accept me.

My latest escapade involved staining our concrete floors in our house.  Since we built our living quarters/house in the south end of our shop, it came with industrial, jailhouse-gray concrete floors.  Excuse me, correctional facility-gray floors.  Sometimes I forget to be PC.

I watched one of those remodeling shows on T.V. and it took them roughly the three minutes of time between commercial breaks to stain their floors.  I roughly estimated that this would equate to three days "real time".  I bought the materials, watched the instructional video AND planned ahead by doing an extensive taping and protective-barrier-making job.  (Yet one more way that I am slowly turning into my mother... no more 'winging it'.  Sigh.....)

Although the video and instruction manual all swore that this was a simple, one step staining process... they lied.  Big time.  Three coats later I decided to call it quits and we would just live with it, no matter what the floors ended up looking like.  Poor Wesley, he got quite an earful about how I was going to write a strongly worded letter to the makers of this staining product.

I applied the clear coat sealant and..... vuala!  Amazingly beautiful, shiny floors.  Emphasis on the shiny.  Needless to say I was quite happy with the outcome and Wesley and I had to sit down for one of our "chats" where we remind the other spouse that "patience is one of the greatest of virtues, my dear".  (One of my grandpa's favorite sayings.)

Annnnnnnnnddddddd, much to Wesley's dismay, this temporarily disgruntled attitude did not dissuade me from pursuing further home improvement projects.  Next up, bathroom floors!  Stay tuned...

Correctional facility gray.  We lived with this for a year before I worked up the courage to change it.

Yes, I lined our walls with deconstructed beverage boxes.  It was a cheap alternative to purchasing expensive drop cloths. 

Bottom half of picture: crappy stain job (or so I thought)
Top half of picture: pure genius (or so I thought)

Our final, finished product once the clear sealant had dried.  Its very condusive to sock-sliding.  Not that I would know, but I've heard...

Fuddy Duddy, Part 2

We finally got rain here in east central Kansas last night!  Yipee!!!  I sat in the quiet of our house with the two little girls resting comfortably at my feet while I crocheted away on a small blanket. 

The power went out due to the storm and the three of us were left sitting in the dark. 

I got up from the couch, felt my way to the cabinet where I keep lighters and matches and proceeded to illuminate the house with the glow of several burning candles.  I then proceeded to sit myself comfortably back onto the couch and resume my previous activities - crocheting on a small blanket. 

It was then that I realized that a) I have a very boring life, and b) I really may have born in the wrong century.  Sigh......

Ahhh, the power of water

Recently, I wrote that my mother feels water is the cure for most human ailments.  It seems that she wasn't completely off base.  Feel free to peruse the attached link:

http://www.fitday.com/fitness-articles/nutrition/healthy-eating/5-immune-system-benefits-of-drinking-water.html

Freezer life

I have a subscription to the Taste of Home cooking magazine.  (Thanks again to Wes' Aunt Kim for that!)  The Thanksgiving issue arrived last week and in it were all sorts of great recipes for things like turkey enchiladas, turkey sandwiches, turkey meatballs, turkey pie.... pretty much anything you can think of to get rid of all those turkey leftovers.  As I flipped through, page by page, I came across a handy little guide on the freezer life of random items: beef, pork, milk, veggies, cheese,... the list went on and on and nothing on that list had a freezer life of more than 12 months (remember that).

I read the chart and I laughed.  HARD.  I started laughing so hard that tears were coming out of my eyes.  The only thing I wanted to do was cut out that chart and mail it to Dr. Teresa.  Then the tears in my eyes got bigger and bigger and I bawled.  HARD.  I cried my eyes out and the two dogs just sat on the floor and stared up at me, very confused as to what was taking place.  I finally got all the tears out of my system and I sat back and stared at that stupid chart and I started to smile.  Then my smile turned into a chuckle, the chuckle turned into a giggle, the giggle turned into a laugh, and I got tears in my eyes again, but I didn't cry nearly as much the second time.

Now let me explain.

Dr. Teresa was one of the coolest women ever.  EVER.  She died last year and now it seems like every little thing reminds me of her all the time.  After she passed away her brother and sister and their families came into town to clean up her house and give away many of her belongings.  One of those belongings was a large chest freezer- FULL.  Dr. Teresa's brother said that if I wanted that freezer I could have it, but I had to take it - FULL.  So my family helped me scoot that freezer that weighed a ton (literally, it felt like) onto a trailer and it came to our newly wedded household. 

At first I was very excited about inheriting a full freezer - I wouldn't have to shop for months!  But I quickly found out that everything has a freezer life. 
Cornish game hens, circa 2001: Not so good
Buy one, get one free brisket, circa 2002: Buy one, get one tough piece of meat
50% off turkey, post-Thanksgiving, circa 2007: 50% off taste, if that's even possible with turkey
Lamb chops, circa 2005: Well, even if they weren't terribly old, we probably wouldn't have eaten them.  They're lamb chops.  Seriously. 

The take home lesson that Dr. Teresa taught me by bequeathing me with a freezer was 1) stock up on food that you can eat in a reasonable amount of time when it goes on sale, and 2) everything has a freezer life. 

I've cut out that handy freezer guide and stuck in on our fridge at home.  Sure, it may come in handy someday to know how many months goat's milk will last in the freezer, but really I keep it around so that I get another daily reminder of one of the coolest ladies I've ever had the privilege to know.  And so now, every day when I walk by the fridge and see it, my smile turns to a chuckle, the chuckle to a giggle...

Fashion Sense

If you will remember back to one of my previous posts, I mentioned that I am very much like my mother in the fact that we cannot do "cutesy".  Trendy is not really in our vocabulary, either.  If I do try to copy a trend, its usually 6 months after it goes out of style.  (But why not?  Its on sale then!) 

Last week I went to the elementary school to sub for a friend who works there.  I decided to dress especially nice for the occasion (like wear makeup AND earrings) and also try out a new belt I'd gotten just a few weeks before.  It was a concho belt, the kind that other people have been wearing over their tops and jeans for about a decade and I just now am attempting to copy. 

I walked into the school feeling especially good and I had a little extra pep in my step. 

By lunchtime I had three different kids ask me in very gentle, polite voices if I knew that I had accidentally forgotten to put my belt through the loops. 

I give up. 

The Year of the Owl

The Chinese seem to have an animal label for every year: dog, tiger, dragon, duck-billed platypus, etc....  After celebrating/surviving our first anniversary, I have decided that this was the Year of Learning in the Curry household, and thus, "The Year of the Owl".

Things that we have learned throughout the course of newly wedded bliss:
- Wes is a terrible loser at bowling
- I am a terrible loser at mini-golf
- Sometimes we will go to bed angry at each other (it sounds like those first two statements are related to the third, but they are not)
- Don't get sassy when someone is holding a knife, preparing supper.
- I married someone who acts like a 60 year old or a 6 year old.  There is rarely any middle ground.
- I married someone who has the inability to talk normally to our dogs.  However, why would I want him to?  The 6 year old voice is fine.
- Neither one of us is crazy about ice cream.
- We can work cattle together alllllll day, but we cannot work together with anything involving any sort of vehicle, tractor, or implement for more than five minutes.  Even then there usually ends up being bloodshed and tears.
- I have learned that I can complain about the state of something for days, but it does not become an "issue" until he decides that it is, in fact, an "issue".  And then something should be done immediately.  Or yesterday. 
- He is starting to accept the fact that sometimes I do fall off the deep end and just go nuts for no apparent reason.
- And....... the longer we are married I really wonder why we didn't do this years ago when we first became best friends.  I really did marry the most perfect man for me.  Whoops, I guess that should have been #1 on my list of things I learned.  Although its not so much something I've recently learned... more like an affirmation of prior knowledge...

Yipee!  1 year down, fifty-plus more years to go!!!

Safe and Sound

I think I'm a helicopter dog-owner.  You hear the 'helicopter parents' that they talk about on television - the ones that hover incessantly, smother their children with love, attention, or... well.... just physically hovering.

I'm trying to get better at it and let the two dogs play unattended in the evenings when its getting dark.  I figure that the impending nightfall will keep them fairly close.  Last week; however, this theory did not hold water. I left the little girls alone outside to play while I went inside to fix supper.  Ten minutes later, with very little daylight left I started my usually holler and whistle routine and expected the need to defend my lower legs from blue heeler wrestle-mania.  Just like normal.

I hollered (we don't yell around here) and hollered and hollered till my voice started to crack and I couldn't possible do it anymore.  By this time Wesley had come home and I sobbed my worst fears to him: the little girls had run off and would never come back and we'd have to get new dogs someday but I didn't want new dogs because I liked these two and they were irreplaceable, etc.  You know, typical irrational fears.

I cried the rest of the night, didn't sleep very well, got up the next morning before light and cried through my shower.  (Yes, I realize I sound like a toddler but dangit - I was sooooo sad!)  I got out of the shower and it was starting to get light.  I walked to the window just like I do every morning (reference one of my first posts on this blog.)  I looked at their pen and said through my sobs "Good morning little girls."

Just then I saw something move in the bottom of my eye.  I looked down to see two little girls curled up next to our bedroom window, looking up with the saddest, most forlorn looks on their faces.

Their apologies were accepted, needless to say.

Community Service

Bear with me folks, I'm gonna get on my soap box. 

The older I get, the more I become a firm believer in the value of community service.  Find something that you already are passionate about, or find something to be passionate about.  Need a good example to look up to?

I give you Vic McClung, Patron Saint of Community Service. 

This man devoted his entire life to enriching the lives of others, and for that thousands of people owe him a huge debt of gratitude.  4-H, church, schoolboard and countless other activities made life a joy for everyone, including himself. 

I've tried follow his lead in the past year and branch out, expand my horizons, leave my comfort zone.... whatever you want to call it.  I can truly say that it is a very enjoyable experience, no matter what activity I'm engaging in. 

So there.  I'm off my soapbox.  Get off your bum and go make life more fullfilling for yourself and others. 

Ways My Mother Ruined My Life

Oh, please.  Don't get your feathers in a ruffle just by reading the title.  Its not a bitter diatribe against child bearing females, trust me.  But here's my little list of ways that my mother has "ruined" me.  I'll add more as they come to me.  Which reminds me...

1.  I am a forgetful person.  Easy come, easy go...  Almost every phone conversation between us ends, "There was something else I was going to tell you... but I can't remember.  I'll call you later when I think of it again."

2.  If I do not make my bed first thing in the morning, my day is absolutely ruined.  There is no way to keep peace and harmony in the world if you can't even make your own bed. 

3.  Water is the cure for most of your ailments.  Headache?  Dehydration - drink more water.  Amputation?  You'll probably need to replenish your fluids - drink water. 

4.  The older I get, the more technology baffles me. 

5.  I love to iron.  LOVE.  I'm not sure if this stems from my mother's love of ironing, or if she hated it and so that's why I got the job.  Either way, I'm crediting her for this foolish fetish. 

6.  I have the inability to sit still for long periods of time without doing "handiwork".  Cross stitch, crochet, mending work shirts, just something to keep me occupied. 

7.  I can't do "cutesy".

8.  Being "punctual" means that you are 15 minutes early.

9.  Recipes are more like guidelines or suggestions rather than something to be followed like a NASA space shuttle launch.  That, I would probably follow directions to.  Probably.

10.  I say things like "ooh" and "aah" and "he might get hurt!" when, five years ago I was either the one pulling the stunts or egging someone on.  (This one is slightly depressing to me...)

11.  I love dirt germs.  Town germs, or even the thought of town germs, creep me out.  Picture it: a little kid in the child seat of a Wal-Mart shopping cart.  And then.... you know its coming.... with his little precious mouth wide open, the little bundle of joy will place his precious, perfect, innocent mouth over the handle of a shopping cart that was previously pushed by a crackhead, and suddenly his sterile innocence is forever shattered.  Think about that the next time you kiss a little baby.

12.  There should be a class and certification process to go through so you know properly how to load a dishwasher.  You laugh now, but the first time you have company over and they offer to help clean up supper and take allllllllll the silverware and throw it in one tight wad in one little tiny holder...... Yeah, try to smile and say thank you after watching that happen while really you're dying and grimacing on the inside. 

Nor Rain, Nor Sleet, Nor Heavy Equipment...

I don't care what you say, I love the United States Postal Service.  Well, let me rephrase that:  I love our hometown Post Office and mail carrier. 

Our mailbox is.... well..... perhaps not entirely "up to code".  We went for a few weeks without a mailbox and just had our things delivered to Grandma's house.  Then, we upgraded to a reallllllly classy mailbox that Wesley found at an abandoned house.  He drove a steel post into the ground and wrapped one piece of bailing wire around the post in the ground and the post attached to the mailbox.  (The rusted-out post on the mailbox was too short to stick into the ground.)  One piece of wire proved to be insufficient for holding a mailbox upright in high winds.  Many times we would come home to find our beloved box laying on the ground, but our mailman was always faithful in his delivery, no matter how erect (or not) it may be that particular day.  (We now have TWO pieces of wire wrapped around it!)

A few weeks ago a cattle truck was backing down our road to the pens to load out some cattle for us.  The poor man never saw our beloved mailbox and sideswiped it, scraping it along his cattle pot the entire length of the trailer.  Wesley and I noticed that evening that instead of facing due west, it had simply swiveled to face south.  Whew.  Thank goodness we had the good sense to engineer ours with a super-swivel feature.  Any other "typical" mailbox that had been permanently set in concrete would have been obliterated.  That's us, always thinking.  And again, our mailman delivered our belongings regardless of the direction. 

I sometimes wonder what he thinks of our family or if every delivery holds the same sort of surprises on a daily basis. 

There has been extensive road construction happening along our road.  Some sort of fiber optic cable is being laid in the ground and therefore a trench has to be dug to lay the line in.  Guess where our mailbox is at?!?!  I came home yesterday to find that our mailbox had been moved and was laying in the middle of our front yard, behind the bulldozer but in front of the track hoe.  I figured that our mail had probably been delivered to Grandma's, but why not check.... just in case.  I walked over, kicked it to a position where I could access the door, and sure enough - our mail was safely tucked away inside.  I thought that surely he must have delivered it earlier in the day, before it was on the ground..... but something told me that I had better double check. 

I walked over to the construction crew (we beginning to become good friends) and asked them when and how the mailman had delivered our mail. 

"Well," one man said, "he had to get out of his pickup, and it took him a bit to find it, but he got her done.  Maybe we should have told him it was behind the bulldozer."

Again - I love our mailman :)

Found It!

I know you all have been waiting with eager anticipation, countless hours and sleepless nights wondering just what Loopie's peace offering may have been in regards too.  Well folks, the wait is over.  Last night I smelled it before I saw it (offering a clue to just how delightful it was to find!). 

A decomposing baby raccoon on my new rock border.  True, she may have intended to bring me something cute and cuddly, which I'm sure this once was; however, I must have been too dense to find it in a timely fashion.  My apologies to Loopie. 

Whew.  I'm glad that's over... until the next time she brings a peace offering before I find the offense. 

Hmmmmm....

This makes me nervous.  This weekend I received a peace offering from Loopie on our back doorstep. 

Trouble is, I haven't yet figured out exactly what it is that she's done wrong.  Do normal people get stressed out about things like this too?  Now I find myself just a tad anxious at all times, wondering WHAT, WHEN, and WHERE I am going to find this evil deed.  In the meantime; however, I'm just trying to admire the lovely chunk of calf hide with half the hair still attached.  You've gotta find the silver lining somewhere!

Flintstones, Physics, and Other Projects

The weather has cooled off as of late which I feel gives the general population that extra "oomph" to get through their day and not only survive, but thrive and enjoy life again.  It has inspired me to open all of our doors and windows and do crafty things.  (No, I don't see the correlation between the two either, but go with me on this.) 

In our home, "Honey-do jobs" are "Honey I'll do it myself" jobs.  (Its just easier, trust me.)  Some of the little projects I've taken on as of late include: staining the builder-grade doors in our house with leftover stain from our porch, covering a 80's gold Chinese-looking lamp with spray paint and rope, building a cover for our ugly meter box on the porch and cleaning out our feedlots. 

Wait, what?  How does cleaning out our feedlots fit in to crafty projects?  I've been taking the 100's of loads of crap, literally, and dumping them in our front yard for fill dirt.  After contouring the yard to my discerning landscaping eye, I've been hauling rocks into our yard as a boundary between the porch and future yard.  Thus, the Flintstone feeling.  Didn't Fred Flintstone haul around rocks?  I'm sorry, its been a year or two since I watched the show.  I was really wanting some large rocks - REALLY large rocks, so I got the biggest tractor we have and started to carve them out of the hill across from our house.  I almost bit off more than I could chew once, but then my physics class from high school came to mind.  (Bless you, Mr. Burkes.)  I could almost here his voice as I stared at the nearly impossible situation I had in moving a large stone before me. 

"Dammit, Poovey, think about it.  If you want to pick up the big rock, you need to balance it out using some smaller rocks for counterweight.  I swear, I should hold the power for mandatory sterilization in this sophomore class.  Why are you looking at me like I'm speaking Swahili?" 

As you can tell, he was a caring, kind man.  I jest.  He really did talk in a condescending manner like that all the time, but he was one of my favorite teachers.  And he got me out of quite a pickle yesterday.

My meter box cover.  I hope the meter man isn't too mad when he discovers it. 

Before: Standard, builder grade door - pale and ugly.

After: Gorgeous and full of character. 

My transformed, tacky gold lamp.  It was spray painted and then wrapped in "jute."  The snooty ladies at Hobby Lobby always take such delight in correcting me when I say "rope." 

The beginnings of my rock sidewalk.  The upper right-corner is filled in with pea gravel that I had lying around. 

Rock sidewalk will someday tie in with this rock border between the concrete porch and grass yard.  Grass will come someday, I promise.  Baby steps...

My physics in action.  The rock was as wide and as long as the scoop on the skid-steer.  Don't tell Wes, but it was so heavy that it even tipped us forward once when I lifted it too high.  Whoopsidaisies. 

The Trip, Part 2

I'll admit, I am a very frugal person.  When I booked our plane tickets for a return flight home I had two options: a) 8:50am for a reasonable price or b) 2pm for $80 more per ticket.  Obviously, I was willing to sacrifice a few hours more of sleep and enjoyment for the sake of monetary savings.  And yes, my husband knew I was like this before he got into the marriage. 

The entire group of us that had flown north together were all booked on the same flight early in the morning going south as well.  I realize that a 9am flight is not "early" by normal standards; however, considering the fact that it was the morning after a rowdy wedding reception which had been preceded by three days of "socializing", I'd say that I felt like I was going to have to work miracles to get everyone on that plane in time. 

Saturday night, while everyone was still coherent I collected room keys from the groomsmen staying down the hall.  I took a sharpee pen and wrote on their palms not only our room number, but the time that our rental car was leaving the hotel to go back to the airport.... just in case they got lost. 

Wes and I went to bed shortly after midnight and slept like babies.  When the alarm went off early the next morning I sat up, turned on the light, and noticed there were more than two people in the room.  Hmmmmm.  It turns out that some of the groomsmen wanted to be really sure I was able to wake them up the next morning so they pretended to be Wes and got a key to our room from the front desk.  Super.  I woke up our new roommates and preceded to make my way down the hallway to round up the rest of the troops.  Upon entering their room I politely asked a female occupant to gather her belongings and find her own room and had everyone still in their tux from the previous evening (there were lots of them) to strip down to their boxers after I exited and leave their individual tuxes in piles for me to arrange before departing for the airport.  I felt like a dorm mother that morning, giving instructions, leaving to check on the other room, and coming back every 10 minutes to make sure everyone was still on schedule.  Thankfully, no one was yet "feeling any pain". 

We finally made it to the airport, dropped off the rental car and boarded the aircraft.  Ahhhhhh..... my work was done.  I looked across the aisle at our once cheery traveling companions.  They had begun to turn a pale, greenish color and were searching frantically in the seat pocket for a tiny little plastic bag to be their lifesaver.  I tried in vain but could not contain my deep, malicious laugh that sprung from the deepest part of my belly. 

What a nice, perfect, fairytale ending to our Trip From Hell. 

The End.  Or, more appropriately, They Lived Happily Every After (once they recovered). 

The Trip from Hell

I'm trying to keep the language on this site fairly PG; however, there really are no other words for this trip.  Overall, I must admit that I am very glad that we went, but it was just the series of events that occurred on or around the trip that made it really...... "special".

Wednesday I came down with a cold/sinus infection that could knock over an elephant.  Made some phone calls and got a Rx that wouldn't be ready till Thursday morning.  Thursday I drive the 60 miles round trip to go pick up my meds, come home, and start packing.  I had 2 hours to pack and clean the house - no pressure.  (I absolutely cannot stand leaving a dirty house.  And its not like I had a lot left to do, just enough to drive me bonkers.)  My dear, sweet husband walked into the house and said we were going to leave early and stop by the salebarn on our way to the airport.  (Doesn't everyone have that problem when they're traveling?)  Because my ENTIRE schedule got pushed up by 1 1/2 hours I was running in full force, which in a sickly state is really more like 1/2 force. 

I forgot to pack:
1) Half of my husbands wardrobe.
2) My toiletry bag.  At which point every man in America asks what a toiletry bag is.  I apologize, appartently this is an antiquated word that fell out of fashion sometime in the mid '50's.  It is the bag in which a woman holds her lifeblood: makeup, toothbrush, hair products, and precious jewelry that she borrowed from her grandma-in-law.  That's right, I borrowed jewelry from Grandma Curry, packed it seperately from every other piece of jewelry so it would be really, really safe.... and then left it at home.  Well, at least it stayed really, really safe. 

On the flight north my eardrums popped and refused to return to their normal state for the next six hours, which resulted in me shouting "WHAT?" very often and rocking back and forth in my seat with my head in my hands, crying. 

But enough of the complaining.  We made an emergency run to the store to pick up neccessities and additional Kleenex and the rest of the weekend went wonderfully.  North Dakota is such a beautiful state - who knew?- and the wedding was gorgeous.  Catholic, so it was terribly long, but gorgeous.  I apologize.  Our wedding took a whopping 13 minutes (we timed it) and so now I feed obligated to hold everyone else to that same standard. 

But enough for today.  Stay tuned for part two of "The Curry's Go to North Dakota: The Trip Home".  Its great, trust me.  And not nearly as whiny as this post was.  Again, apologies. 

Soooo hot....

Sorry this will be a short note, I'm pressed for time today. 

High in Emporia, Kansas today: 107 (that's Fahrenheit, people)

High in Bismark, North Dakota today: 77 (yep, still in Fahrenheit)

I'm not expert on mental math.... but by my calculations that's about a 30 degree difference. 

Bless you, Alex Acheson, for getting married this weekend and inviting us to share with you on such a glorious day.  Glorious for many, many reasons.  But mainly one very big reason.



And YES, I meant the binding union of a man and a woman, blah, blah, blah.  Geez people, have a little faith in me!  (But the weather will be a definite plus too!)

Bliss

Its the little things in life that absolutely make my day.  This morning, the little girls jimmied the gate to their pen and released themselves before their regularly scheduled time.  Normally, when left unattended they cover vast amounts of territory in short periods of time.  For some reason, though, this morning they decided to give us a fighting chance and waited around on the porch until Wes came out of the house.  Wonderful little girls. 

I decided to reward them with an extra long walk/run this morning.  (I could just say "run", but really?  Everyone would know its a lie and I can't even really type that with a straight face.)  On the way back from our four mile jaunt we walked past the lake that is situated across the road from our place. 

I try not to brag often, but dang.... look at that.  How can your day start out anything but wonderful when you get to look at that?  Happy Tuesday everyone!

Ego Alert

There are those in life that do their job willingly with quiet reverence.  Their greatest satisfaction is knowing that they have done a job well done and try their best to stay out of the limelight. 

That is not Laurie. 

Every moment is a photo opportunity, featuring her.  Trouble is, her personal papparrazi/camera man (myself) is usually laughing so hard I'm afraid I may pee my pants.  I'm working hard, trying to perfect my stalk as I sneak upon her to take a photo.  Usually, though, she hears my giggles and turns her head over one shoulder and gives me the stink-eye. 

Notice the protruding chest.  This is the most deflated you will ever see her chest get. 

Working cattle with her is the worst.  We try to alternate taking each girl every other day.  (We had both girls at the same time ONCE and I believe the threat of death or divorce was mentioned multiple times.) 

Loopie loves to work and then go lay in the shade, content to chew on a horn as her only reward.  Perhaps it is because Laurie is a few months younger, perhaps because she is the baby of the family.... sigh..... I don't know where to even begin.  I am very afraid, though, that she is going to tip over backwards someday soon because she struts so proudly while trotting behind the cattle as she pushes them up into the pens. 

In short: she's a big deal - just ask her. 

Neighborhood Watch

There is a neighborhood watch that recently started in our little community, following a string of "five-fingered discounts" that have taken place in our area. 

After reading my earlier posts, one may deduce that I have an affinity towards firearms and their inherent practicality.  For instance, they can help provide meals, entertainment, and most importantly.... defense. 

My mother-in-law came over to the house one day to explain the finer points of enacting an effective neighborhood watch, including: taking tag numbers, vehicle makes and models, and most importantly DO NOT SHOOT SUSPICIOUS PEOPLE. 

My older sister Karaline came to visit a few days later and saw the packet of information addressed to the "Residents of the Southwest Quadrant" of our township.  She asked for further explanation so I proceeded to provide her with the finer points of being a suspicious old woman (which I have now become).  Apparantly, at the end of my speech I said "....and..... (sigh)..... Janelle says I'm not allowed to shoot anyone, even if they've got my stuff." 

I don't remember it quite like that, but that's Karalina's recollection of events. 

AND, for the record, I still think that rule is a crock.

No rest for the wicked...

If anyone out there needs a good laugh, rest assured my stupid antics can provide ample relief.  Last weekend was our county fair here in the flint hills (I love this time of year!).  It was our third straight night of going to bed well after our 10pm shut-eye time and we were both exhausted.  I'm pretty sure we were both asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows. 

At 3am I awoke to hear the dogs barking up a storm like they haven't done in weeks.  I had hoped we were over the worst and the coyotes had lost interest in our general area.  Ha..... right..... Yelling at the girls from the window did nothing to quiet them and I finally decided to get my gun.  (Yes, insert any "Annie get your gun" joke here, I've heard them all.)  I grabbed the gun and bullets and headed for the door.  At that moment I realized I hadn't put on my bathrobe with the required pockets to place my extra rounds.  I had to tromp back through the house, put on the blasted bathrobe, and finally made it outside to shoot a few rounds into the dirt.  The shots echoed off the trees down by the creek a quarter mile away and a peaceful silence fell over everything.  Bliss. 

I came back into the house, took off my bathrobe and shoes, put up the gun, and crawled into bed.  Bliss.  Just as my head hit the pillow I heard my bucketcalf start to bawl.  Apparently my shots had awakened him and his impeccible timing knew to wait until I was back in bed to start his antics.  After five minutes of bawling I decided that he, in fact, was not going to stop on his own accord.  I got out of bed, redressed, fixed a bottle of milk, and walked into the shed to feed the hungry baby.  After finishing I washed the bottle and proceeded to head to bed... again.

Before I turned out the lights I glanced over at my husband sleeping soundly in the middle of the bed.  That's right, there are no sides, just his "middle" section and I get whatever is left over.  He had never wakened from his peaceful slumber the entire time.  For a brief, fleeting moment a few thoughts raced through my head: 1) if I smother him with a pillow right now, can I make it look like an accident, and 2) if I am caught, can I claim justifiable homicide.  I mean, really, did he have to look so peaceful and oblivious to the happenings of the world when I had just spent an hour of precious sleep controlling the critters of our house?  Ugh, men.

Another judging experience...

Last week I had the privilege to judge another county 4-H fair - this time it was the county I grew up in.  As a whole, I have to admit I was rather disappointed. 

There were no train wrecks, no need for exasperated sighs, no nothing. 

The children were polite, professional, amusing, articulate.... sigh.....

How am I to get material to write a blog when I'm surrounded with kids like these?!?!?!  AGH!!!!!  How frustrating!!! 

(And yes, I'm being terribly sarcastic.) 

The "Other" Side of 4-H

I had the unique opportunity last week to judge a 4-H fashion revue for a nearby county.  It brought back a flood of memories during my drive down to judge it...

Our fashion revue was the one day a year that we went all out and acted like a pageant family.  Hairspray, lipgloss, fake smiles, oh yeah- we were big time.  We knew exactly how to do a three point turn, our triangle pattern on the floor and never lose eye contact with the judge.  We'd arrive to the church where it was held more than an hour early, get our curlers plugged in to warm up (if we didn't wear a head full of curlers in the suburban on the way over) and have every outfit planned to a T, complete with accessories and different hairstyles to show just how versatile we really were.  I'm telling you, Big Time. 

So the longer I drove last week, the more I had myself hyped up with all sorts of grand images of my childhood mixed in with too many Toddlers and Tiaras promo commercials intertwined and I had myself convinced I was one step away from judging the Miss America pageant.  The only difference is that those judges don't ask them how they would launder their garmets, and if there would ever be another occassion when they could wear this fabulous sequined ballgown. 

I arrived at the church where the judging was to take place 45 minutes early.  I was ashamed of myself and planned a very lengthy apology to the extension agent.  I, however, pulled up the same time as her.  Hmmmmm.  I helped set up the runway (I moved the Sunday school tables up against the wall).  I kept checking my watch - where is everyone?!?!  Five minutes before judging was scheduled to start, families started rolling in.  No curlers, no garmet bags, one girl brought her dog. 

I started with sewing projects, the highlight of which was suggesting to a child that perhaps she launder her pillowcase next year before judging to remove the drool spots from it.  I had a high school girl tell me that she was going to wear her prom dress "lots and lots" and that it was made of cotton.  Very shiny and sparkly cotton.  Hmmmm.  I can't remember if she was the same girl that had bubble gum in her mouth or not, but I digress.  Needless to say, I suggested that perhaps a workshop be held next year prior to the fair to gently instruct the participants on how serious of a deal this really is.  I mean, really, how often does a country kid get to be a pageant diva and get away with it?

I'm looking forward to perhaps judging there next year.  With my help and direction we could knock another little chunk out of the ozone with all the hairspray I'd give them, plus starch for their jeans.  That, coupled with a tube of lipgloss (per little girl).... oh yeah.  I'm already looking forward to it!

Tomatoes

I have always helped my folks garden, so tomatoes are nothing new to me.  Bacon and tomato sandwiches are a staple of my summertime diet every year.  But this year, I get to call them MY tomatoes.  Yes, Grandma Curry told me where to plant them, when to plant them, how to stake them, when to water, when to weed, blah, blah, blah,.... but dangit - I'm still claiming them!  And her tomatoes on the other side of the garden still haven't ripened yet so nanny nanny boo boo.  (That's right, that's all I've got when trying to keep my posts G-rated.  Believe me, it kills me.)

Drumroll please....

My first pickins' worth.  They're not terribly big, but with the heat we've had this year I'm just glad to have any.  And the juice factor more than makes up for it. 

Hooray for the bright spot in this miserably oppressive heat wave!

P.S.- On a totally different note, Laurie has learned to blow bubbles underwater in the moat.  Stay tuned. 

The Moat, Part 2

In case there was any doubt in anyone's mind as to the extent that the little girls enjoy our moat; please, put your fears to rest.  Also, I feel the following pictures will help fully express how much our two little girls are polar opposites.

 Please notice how there are no ripples in the water when Loopie stands and soaks up the cool wonderfulness of it all.

 Laurie has a routine down now.  She cannon balls in, scoops up as much mud and water with her head as she can, and then proceeds to run from one end to the other of her roughly 6 foot long moat.

Yes, this is her head hitting the ground first.  No, I do not know how she does not snap her neck when she does this on a nightly basis.

And.... the shake.  Notice how Loopie is always standing out of the water when Laurie is in it?  I would like to take video of this entire sequence, but I feel that I would laugh and shake too much and there really wouldn't be much video to watch!

Another thing that Laurie thoroughly enjoys.... Notice the little six inch ledge on the far side of the moat?  Laurie wiggles her butt up there and then slides down into the water time and time again.  I REALLY couldn't hold still enough to get a picture of that!

Birth Control

Yesterday afternoon was soooooo hot and I decided that I could stay inside and do laundry and play the feminine card.  I also was feeling especially soft so I let the little girls into the house too.  They know the "summer rules" and they are not allowed to touch the carpet, only staying on our concrete floors.  Normally this is not a problem and they both come in the house and flatten themselves out as much as possible, getting the greatest amount of surface area possible to touch the cool concrete floor.


I let the girls in, switched around all my loads of laundry, and plopped down on the couch to try and finish crocheting on a blanket I've been meaning to finish for ages.  I crocheted away happily for a few moments soaking in the coolness, peace and quiet...


That was it - peace and quiet.  Something there should not be.  I didn't turn my head at all (that would have been a dead give-away) but simply perked up my ears, and there it was.  That small, soft rumble of a quiet fight.  My sisters and I could do this when we were little - achieving the maximum amount of physical violence with the minimum amount of noise possible before getting caught.  I just had no idea that this talent was transferable between species.


I slowly turned my head so as not to attract attention to myself.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw two blue heeler dogs doing some sort of sumo-esque wrestling with teeth bared in their fiercest, most silent snarls.  Loopie caught my glance out of the corner of her eye and instantly she dropped Laurie's throat out of her mouth, the snarl turned into a grin, she wrestled herself out of the tangle of paws and tails that she was in and sat quietly.  Laurie failed to get the message and kept trying to take pot-shots at Loopie while she was sitting so still.  Finally, the two made eye contact and Laurie figured out that they'd "been had".  She quickly adjusted her attitude to mimic Loopie's and there sat the two most angelic figures with beaming smiles on their faces.


They got kicked outside promptly.

The Moat

Has anyone ever known that intense pain and suffering was awaiting them and there was absolutely nothing that could be done to stop it?  (Besides giving birth.)  I guess what I'm really asking is, has anyone else ever tried to feed a blind bucket calf? 

Wes brought me my new little bundle of joy yesterday evening.  He found him out in the pasture and thinks that the intense heat stress coupled with some unknown factor caused him to go blind.  Yuck.  Just because the little guy is blind; however, it does not mean that he is in any way feeble.  That little bugger can kick the crap out of anything.  It is very true that the lack of one sense is compensated for by the others. 

I finally got the calf pinned into a corner, straddled him and got a half of a bottle of milk into him.  Success!  I looked towards the other end of the shed and saw both Loopie and Laurie laying on the concrete staring at me with a pitiful, forlorn look on their faces.  The poor girls were forced to share their space with soooo many bucket calves over the course of the winter and spring and now to have to do it all over again.... sigh.... I felt incredibly guilty.  I needed to make it up to them. 

Sooooo, when the concrete truck came to pour the concrete for our porch several months ago, it was actually wet enough to cut deep ruts in our yard.  And yes, the ruts still exist.  Its on my list of things to do, get off my case.  Wes and I have affectionately named this rut "The Moat".  Once upon a time when there was actually rain in Kansas we saw it filled and the name has stuck since then. 

Because I felt so badly about the little girls having to share their shed space I decided that filling the moat on this miserably hot day would make for a nice peace offering.  I ran the hose across the yard and watched the water begin to flow.  Loopie trotted up peacefully, standing next to the edge, watching her reflection in the water, gently lapping it up and making tiny waves.....

Laurie came like a shot out of nowhere and did a flying cannonball into the middle of the moat, effectively covering everyone in the near vicinity in a muddy, hairy, nasty mess.  "Did she stop there?" you ask yourself.  Not a chance.  Some little switch in her head went off (or went on, depending upon how you want to look at it) and she went absolutely ballistic for the next 15 minutes.  She would run figure 8's around our yard like she was one of the children in the Family Circus cartoons, do a flying cannon ball into the moat, chase after Loopie and myself, laughing as we ran and screamed each time, shake off, and repeat the ENTIRE process.  Over and over and over.... 

Wesley pulled up in the feed pickup last night right at dark.  I thought that maybe, just maybe, it might be dark enough out that he wouldn't notice the state of nastiness that the three of us girls were in.  Man, I was wrong.  It was a toss up as to who got into more trouble, what with Loopie and I pointing the finger of blame (or paw in Loopie's case) at Laurie and vice versa.  I'll call it a draw.  I just know that I can't wait to do it alllllll over again tonight!

I apologize for the blurry nature of these pictures.  These were taken with my camera phone and I was trying to jump near Laurie for a picture and then jump away suddenly before she would start her full body shake.  Its the same sort of adrenaline rush that photographers get when photographing wildlife in the jungle or Serengeti desert I would imagine. 

Fuddy-duddy

I have come to the conclusion that Wesley and I are fuddy-duddies.  And yes, the fact that we use the word fuddy-duddy should probably have been our first hint. 

Don't get me wrong, we both cut a verrrrry wide swathe when we were younger.  And yes, if we ever have children that will grow up to read this post, I will have deleted that sentence.  These days, we enjoy the simple, boring things in life.  We rise early, I pre-make my coffee for the next day during the morning before as soon as I finish my pot, I crochet, garden and do wood working, and Wesley feeds cattle and builds fence for fun.  If we get really wild we load a trailer full of old metal junk from around our barns or out of our lots and pens on the weekends and take it to the scrap yard for extra money.  Two of the past three New Year's Eves, we were in bed by 10:30.  You get the picture...

However, the reality of our fuddy-duddiness really hit us in the face earlier this week.  We threw a 4th of July party this weekend, stayed up till 1am!!! and then worked on raking and baling hay most of the next few days.  Friends of ours called and invited us to supper a few days later and here was the scene:

Me: So..... wanna go out tonight?

Wes: Haven't we already done stuff one night this week?

Me: Technically, it was last week since our party was on Saturday night.

Wes: (blank stare)

Me: You're right, we should probably stay home and keep working. 

And thus our fate as old people for the rest of our lives was sealed. 

Pray for us.

Grandma Curry

There are two women in Wesley's life on a daily basis - his Grandma Curry and myself.  We built our house across the road from hers, just 50 yards north.  I really enjoy living in the middle of nowhere and yet having one neighbor be really close.  At 76-ish years young, that woman can work me into the ground.  No, I don't mean that she gives me a list of chores and works me to death, I mean that she can work circles around me. 

Example:
* At the beginning of the summer Grandma C. asked me if I could do her yard work for her this summer.  She just "couldn't possibly find the energy to mow ever again."  I have yet to touch the grass on her lawn.  If it grows more than 1/4" she's on it like a flash. 

* Grandma C. says that she's retired from cooking.  "I just don't even think I can cook anymore." (Noticing a pattern here?)  I invited her over for Wesley's birthday supper back in April, giving her less than 2 hours notice.  She walks over to our house (since we're only about 50 yards apart) for supper carrying a fresh angel food cake and peaches.

* I'm in the middle of staining our new porch and I needed to leave one afternoon and start swathing hay instead.  Grandma C. offered to paint the bottom of a small wooden table I have sitting on the porch.  I should have known better.  I come back at 9 that night and not only is the entire table stained, she's started some of the porch posts that I haven't gotten to yet!

* And the coup de gras:  I was staining on our porch this morning (yet again, a never ending project) and Grandma C. rides her lawn mower across the road to our yard and says that she's just going to mow for five minutes, in one little spot, I'll never even know she's there... blah, blah, blah.  I hear the mower start up and go around the corner of our house, run for five minutes, and then stop.  "Can it be?"  I asked myself.  "Did she really just do only as much as she promised?  Will she go home and rest now since the high today is 102 degrees?"  I knew it was too good to be true so I just had to go check on her, and I'm so glad I did.  I walked around the corner of the house to see her PICKING UP LARGE ROCKS and moving them out of her mowing path.  "Oh, its no big deal dear, I knew you were busy holding that 6 ounce paint brush staining your porch and these rocks can't weigh an ounce over 20 pounds."  Okay, so she didn't really say that but she might as well have.  You feel about this big when you see someone three times your age kick your butt royally lifting rocks.  Or doing anything at this point really. 

Wesley has learned to laugh at my predicament and thinks its great that she still gets out and is so active.  I do too, but to a POINT!  I called him this morning after I found Grandma C. moving rocks out of her way and she had hopped back onto her mower.  "Honey, dang it, come home and tell your grandma to get off her mower and go home!  Its too hot outside!  She's moving rocks!  She's going to mow our entire yard!!!"

His reply?

"Well, it'd just look tacky if she only mowed half our yard."

.....sigh..... click.

Swathing

Its that lovely time of year again.... haying season. 

Last year was my first year home from grad school and I begged Wesley to teach me how to run his swather.  Its self propelled and I grew up on a hydra-swing machine, which is similar to comparing apples and oranges.  Plus, like every machine it has its little 'quirks' and you must hold your tongue just right when running it or everything will run amok in the blink of an eye. 

It was one of the best pre-marriage testers of all time.  Wesley took me out to a field, mumbled through the directions and walked to the pickup on the edge of the field to leave.  I distinctly remember two phrases from that afternoon as he got ready to leave. 

"This is probably the worst field we own.  Bumpy, rocky...I probably shouldn't have you start out on this one."

and, most importantly...

"Make sure you don't break anything."

Needless to say, within 20 minutes I had completely torn apart the header and we had to get a new one.  Yes, that's right, I tore it up past the rebuilding stage even.  After his initial anger had subsided, Wes admitted that the header was about to break, he just had hoped he could limp it along a few more weeks. 

I try to find the silver lining in situations and now feel that I just helped speed up the updating of equipment. 

Yesterday I got to run the swather again.  Everything went smoothly, and knock on wood, it'll continue to go that way the rest of the season (of course everyone knows it won't).  Just in case though, I took some backup in case I did break something and Wes felt compelled to 'air his frustrations'. 

It's just too hard to stay mad when you see these faces!  At least that's what I'm banking on!

Oops...

Recently, I had a momentary lapse in judgement.  Bigger than normal. 
I decided to paint fence:
a) on a windy day
b) in a bikini top and shorts - in my defense, it was a little traveled road and I wanted to work on a tan
c) with a puppy

You might say it was a trifecta of bad decisions in a very rapid succession.  Not one of my finest moments, let me tell you. 

How did it all end you might ask?  I stood in the middle of the shower while Wesley very patiently took a cotton ball, dipped in turpentine, and rubbed it over all the pretty little silver dots scattered across my body.  I then had to scrub the tub top to bottom (so if you're keeping up with this, I now smelled like turpentine AND bleach) and then take another shower.  Thankfully, the weather was cool for the next few days and I could justify wearing long sleeved shirts in public.  Ohhhhhh, every time I think I may be making a smooth transition into adulthood.... I take one step forward and two giant leaps backward.

The Porch

Crazy, I'm posting on here two days in a row, right?!  Don't worry, its just that my in-laws are out of town and I have to come to their place to feed their cats, so I might as well play on the computer while I'm here too.  Please don't come to actually expect anything like this out of me on a regular basis.  Also, I'm feeling warm and fuzzy today.  Again, please don't expect this from me on a regular basis. 

I've come to the conclusion that few things in life make you feel totally blessed and at peace with the world like a porch does.  Wesley and I just got one put on our house and I've been trying to stain all the boards on it.  Landscaping will come someday, but don't hold your breath. 

In the few short days since it has been completed, I feel a peace come over me every time I'm on it.  I get to have my coffee there in the mornings, a glass of wine at night, and I get to watch the dogs wallow in the dirty water from the tire tracks that have been cut through our yard from the cement truck.  That part really isn't that peaceful.  The dogs (mostly Laurie) wallow around like hogs and then run up to the porch, in which case I make a beeline for the nearest door into the house before they can shake the excess water off themselves and onto me.  I swear I can hear them laugh when they do it.

Wesley drives by the house ump-teen times a day and since the porch has been completed it seems like he takes the time to stop in more often and sit for just a minute.  Him taking a minute makes my day :)

This was taken last night as a monster storm was starting to roll in.


....... And this concludes the warm and fuzzy moment of the day. I hope everyone else gets to enjoy their peaceful place just as much!

Real Housewives of Greenwood County

Has anyone else ever been captivated by the "Real Housewives of Orange County/New Jersey/Atlanta/New York/Beverly Hills" franchise?  I must admit, when I was in college I could not get enough of those shows.  For one, our cable was always free at our apartments and the Bravo channel was included.  It wasn't like I was shallow enough to actually PAY for that channel.  Psssh.  I'm much too cheap for that.  And two, it was fun to see how the 'other half' really lives.  My roommate from Minnesota when I was in grad school was a normal country kid like me and so our evenings at home would often include critiques and colorful commentary about these shows.

Some examples include:

"$500 dollars on groceries?!?!  Why doesn't she use coupons?  And all those heat-and-eat meals... sooo much cheaper if you make it from scratch"

"Her ring is so big it's not even practical.  Ditto on her boobs."

"Man, if I could just have one week with her kids I bet they wouldn't be acting like that anymore."

"I bet my dog could EAT her dog."

"Really?  An entire conversation with a friend and no one asked how much rain the other got?" 

I've tried to contact the Bravo TV network and pitch them my idea for the next installment of the franchise - "The Real Housewives of Greenwood County", but so far I've yet to hear a response back from them.  I could see how perhaps gardening, refinishing wood furniture and talking to your dogs all day isn't exactly Emmy-winning material, but I feel that there is an audience for every show.  I'll keep working on it and keep your ears open for news of a petition circulating to get the show produced. 

Jesus is my savior!!!

This past weekend Wesley and I went to Florida to look at cattle.  Our tour guide for the weekend was a nice, young man with a wonderful, southern family.  Even the two little kids had thick accents which prompted a lengthy discussion as to whom had the "weird accent" - me or the five year old girl.  (It was a draw.) 

Sunday afternoon, eight of our group decided to drive around the countryside and look at more cattle - children included.  We separated into two vehicles so the men could talk freely in one and I took off with the mother, Lucy, grandmother, Debbie, and two kids.  These kids were borderline Einsteins, incredibly articulate, the whole nine yards.  I know that I can be easily impressed, but when a two year old boy walks up to you with his hand outstretched for a handshake... it about blew my socks off!  However, even these kids proved to be human and have their limits with regards to boredom and fatigue...

We rode around in the vehicle looking at cattle all afternoon.  And I mean allllllll afternoon.  Even I was starting to lose a bit of interest, so understandably so were the children.  The older daughter started to get squirmish and then the small boy followed suit.  Lucy put in a Christian music cd to calm them down and divert their attention which lasted for all of five minutes.  Two year old Hunter decided that he wanted to listen to one cd and one cd only - "Jesus is my savior".  Everyone in the car searched high and low- behind car seats, under seats, in the papers on the dash - all to no avail.  By this point in the late afternoon the children were extremely hot, tired and cranky, and the adults weren't far behind. 

Baby Hunter's baby-sized pout quickly escalated into a full-blown fit of rage.  He was buckled into his car seat so the only movement he could really accomplish was flailing his chubby little arms and legs about as hard as he could while screaming in his southern voice "I WANNA HEAR JESUS IS MY SAVIOR!!!!!!!!!".  It actually sounded more like "IWANNAHEARJESUSISMYSAVIOR!!!!!"  Upon hearing this sweet, innocent, cherub faced angel scream like a banshee about Jesus I had to bury my face into the seat in front of me to attempt to muffle my laughter. 

I am just so glad to know that young children can be so incredibly passionate about their faith. 

Wanted: Dead or Alive..... mostly dead

Does anyone else like to hunt coyotes in their bathrobe?  No?..... Just me?...... Hmmm.  I figured there might be more takers.  Let me explain...

Our dogs are not the tiny, whiny, town breed of dogs that bark at every trivial whim.  When they bark it means something evil is lurking in the very near vicinity.  This morning I stepped out of the shower shortly after six, put on my bathrobe, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, etc.  And then I heard it.

The bark. 

Loopie and Laurie have this deep, growly, I-wish-I-could-get-out-of-my-nighttime-pen-and-rip-you-to-shreds bark.  (I have always wondered if its just for show, or if they would really do it...)  Coyotes have been coming closer and closer to our home lately, and so I knew immediately what was up.  I rushed across the bedroom to look out the window and see what direction the little girls were staring at.  I then reached for my gun that I had strategically placed next to my dresser the night before, grabbed a handful of bullets to shove into my bathrobe and slipped on my neon orange house shoes (don't laugh, they were free).  I oh-so-carefully snuck out the utility room door and slipped around the side of the house.  The little girls saw me and immediately stopped barking.  (I think they were excited to see the show that was about to happen.)  The coyote was a long ways away, I took aim and fired.  I grazed the top of his back (my bullet didn't drop as much as I had anticipated) but he took off like a shot. 

After much reflection today, I have now come up with an alternative hunting plan.  I need a way to lure the coyotes in closer.  As it just so happens, Wesley's grandma lives across the road and about 50 yards south of our house.  I think I'm going to get her some coyote calls as a gift and teach her how to use them.  She can call them towards her house and as they run through my front yard I'll have a perfect opportunity to wax them!  I ran my plan by our pastor this morning when I happened to see her out and about at the sale barn.  She laughed, shook her head and said something to the effect of "Oh my child..." which I think is the equivalent of a "Bless your heart" in the south.  When I ran my plan by my mother-in-law she just raised her eyebrows and said, "Wes, you've got quite a woman there...".  I know she likes me.  Well, I think she likes me.  Hmmm.  I hope she likes me...

Stayed tuned for future coyote hunting chronicles!

Glory Days

Ah yes, college.  The best 2-10 years of a person's life where all tact and good taste can be thrown to the wind in favor of a good time.  However, there is a time post-college when one must re-evaluate some aspects of life still affiliated with college and make the necessary adjustments. 

Example: Wardrobes

I helped my sister Karaline paint her new house this weekend and therefore wore old, ratty T-shirts all weekend.  Coming home this morning Wesley called to say I needed to run by the Verizon office in town and get him a new cell phone.  Apparently he wasn't able to find where it fell out of his shirt pocket in the hay field.... but that's another story. 

Anyhooo, I walk into the small town business in all my full glory: unshaven legs still blotchy with paint that refuses to leave, old ratty tennies on my feet, paint splattered shorts, no makeup, hair a mess..... and my shirt.  Oh my good ol' college days painting shirt.  Its electric blue with five inch tall pink letters across the chest that say "SEX - it's in our genes".  Reproduction majors always have the best slogans, true, but I don't think everyone in the phone office had the same appreciation of my college glory days as I once had. 

That shirt is going in the trash tonight.