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.