Our county commissioner came barreling into our office this morning. When he comes in, it's kinda like when a sheriff's deputy comes in (bringing you gifts of pot lights). They probably mean very well, and I haven't done anything wrong, but I still have to do a mental checklist just to make sure.
It was a very pleasant visit. He informed me that an interview I gave several months ago was finally on the air.
Brian, the commissioner, is good friends with a man in England (don't ask for the connection, it's a long story) that hosts a weekly agriculture radio program on the BBC radio station. I'd liken him to a Larry Steckline here in Kansas... with a really cool accent. Anyhoo, Alan came to visit this summer/fall/themonthsruntogether and Brian brought him by my office. I knew that they were coming by for a 'chat,' but I had no idea that he was going to shove a little recorder device in my face. Thank goodness it wasn't on camera because when the microphone-recorder thing came out it instantly became my burning red face and chest. Apparently, this is one of my more attractive defense mechanisms, along with uncontrolled, uncomfortable giggling. You can hear that around minute 12 of the interview.
The program is only available for one week, so don't dally. Or do dally and probably be better off because of it.
Here's a link, but there are no promises that it works.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p0122hxt
If not, go to BBC.co.uk and search for Lincolnshire Farming, episode 30/12/2012. I begin around minute 10. If you keep listening, you can hear several other GW folks speak after me.
Enjoy!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Christmas Recap
There's nothing really noteworthy to mention here lately, but I'm feeling a bit neglectful (is that even a word? The longer I blog the more I have a tendency to make up words.) of this blog and thought I should update everyone on our boring little life.
Christmas came and went without any major happenings. Lots of card games of pitch were played (both Wesley's side and mine), good food, good stories, good laughter, good presents. Wesley didn't get to come to my folks' on Christmas day (which really stunk. Wes not coming, not the day at my folks'.) He stayed home and chopped ice. Ah, the life we lead. I always chuckle to myself when Wesley's mother feels the need to apologize and explain to me why Wesley needs to stay home and chop ice. To which I always have to tactfully mention in my reply, "I know. I understand. This is how we grew up. This is not new, etc., etc."
The Christmas tree came down yesterday (woohoo!). We got it out of the house in the exact same manner that it went in. We got a running start at the door and didn't slow down. There is now a gigantic tree carcass in our front yard waiting for its final trip to a creek or pond's washout grave site. Never again, my friends. Never again. It was amazing how large our house seemed yesterday when I moved all our furniture back to their original locations. Even the hubs, who is oblivious to anything that happens within 100 yards of our house, took notice and commented on it.
Enough riveting news for one day. Please, everyone, collectively hold your breath until the next exciting round of adventures in Greenwood County.
Christmas came and went without any major happenings. Lots of card games of pitch were played (both Wesley's side and mine), good food, good stories, good laughter, good presents. Wesley didn't get to come to my folks' on Christmas day (which really stunk. Wes not coming, not the day at my folks'.) He stayed home and chopped ice. Ah, the life we lead. I always chuckle to myself when Wesley's mother feels the need to apologize and explain to me why Wesley needs to stay home and chop ice. To which I always have to tactfully mention in my reply, "I know. I understand. This is how we grew up. This is not new, etc., etc."
The Christmas tree came down yesterday (woohoo!). We got it out of the house in the exact same manner that it went in. We got a running start at the door and didn't slow down. There is now a gigantic tree carcass in our front yard waiting for its final trip to a creek or pond's washout grave site. Never again, my friends. Never again. It was amazing how large our house seemed yesterday when I moved all our furniture back to their original locations. Even the hubs, who is oblivious to anything that happens within 100 yards of our house, took notice and commented on it.
Enough riveting news for one day. Please, everyone, collectively hold your breath until the next exciting round of adventures in Greenwood County.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Christmas Tree
We cut down a Christmas tree last Sunday afternoon. I'm not a big fan of real trees in the house.
Scratch that, I'm not a big fan of pasture-cut cedar trees in the house. I have a friend that lives in town and she has a lovely, real tree that she purchased from the grocery store parking lot and I think it's gorgeous. My frugal nature keeps me from purchasing one of these, however.
We have a hand-me-down artificial tree from Wesley's mother and it looks just fine, but for some reason I had a moment of weakness and told Wesley it might be fun to have a real tree this year. (Actually, it was more like I was trying to suck up just a little after the whole go-to-your-aunt's-for-Thanksgiving-and-come-home-with-free-furniture thing.)
So last Sunday afternoon we loaded up two pickups full of friends and drove around in pastures and CRP fields trying to find the perfect Christmas tree. I was totally prepared, too. I measured the designated area in our home where the beloved tree was going to be placed and I decided that we could comfortably fit a tree approximately 36" wide in our designated area. I even took a tape measurer with me to the pasture. Apparently, though, in the heat of the chase we may have gotten a bit carried away and forgotten to actually utilize the tape measurer when we were out and about.
Wanna know how big our Christmas tree is?
8 foot x 8 foot x 8 foot.
That's right, we live in a 1,000 square foot house and we have a 850 square foot tree (approximately). We had a bit of trouble with the tree tipping over when we tried to stand it up inside the house. Once, as it was falling over, I dove to grab the tree and our friend Cody dove to jerk his three year old daughter out of harm's way. We finally wedged the top against the ceiling and it helped our balance situation out tremendously. Needless to say, there is no angel or star tree-topper this year.
Not only is the top wedged against the ceiling, we placed the tree in front of our south door. We can live without using it for three weeks or so. Wesley and the other men used baling twine to tie the top, middle, and base to the door hinges and door handle for some extra security and stability. You know us, safety first.
We also had to move a dresser from its normal location and the loveseat has been temporarity moved to the middle of the living room. Minor details.
I feel like we are turning in to the Griswalds. If you hear me call Wesley, 'Sparky' please help me snap out of it.
Scratch that, I'm not a big fan of pasture-cut cedar trees in the house. I have a friend that lives in town and she has a lovely, real tree that she purchased from the grocery store parking lot and I think it's gorgeous. My frugal nature keeps me from purchasing one of these, however.
We have a hand-me-down artificial tree from Wesley's mother and it looks just fine, but for some reason I had a moment of weakness and told Wesley it might be fun to have a real tree this year. (Actually, it was more like I was trying to suck up just a little after the whole go-to-your-aunt's-for-Thanksgiving-and-come-home-with-free-furniture thing.)
So last Sunday afternoon we loaded up two pickups full of friends and drove around in pastures and CRP fields trying to find the perfect Christmas tree. I was totally prepared, too. I measured the designated area in our home where the beloved tree was going to be placed and I decided that we could comfortably fit a tree approximately 36" wide in our designated area. I even took a tape measurer with me to the pasture. Apparently, though, in the heat of the chase we may have gotten a bit carried away and forgotten to actually utilize the tape measurer when we were out and about.
Wanna know how big our Christmas tree is?
8 foot x 8 foot x 8 foot.
That's right, we live in a 1,000 square foot house and we have a 850 square foot tree (approximately). We had a bit of trouble with the tree tipping over when we tried to stand it up inside the house. Once, as it was falling over, I dove to grab the tree and our friend Cody dove to jerk his three year old daughter out of harm's way. We finally wedged the top against the ceiling and it helped our balance situation out tremendously. Needless to say, there is no angel or star tree-topper this year.
Not only is the top wedged against the ceiling, we placed the tree in front of our south door. We can live without using it for three weeks or so. Wesley and the other men used baling twine to tie the top, middle, and base to the door hinges and door handle for some extra security and stability. You know us, safety first.
We also had to move a dresser from its normal location and the loveseat has been temporarity moved to the middle of the living room. Minor details.
I feel like we are turning in to the Griswalds. If you hear me call Wesley, 'Sparky' please help me snap out of it.
Monday, December 10, 2012
I wasn't lying!
Remember a few weeks ago when I stated that Wesley did not possess the ability to shut off the work-related, common sense part of his brain? I promise, I was not lying.
One night last week the girls barked up a terrible storm. I was already having a sleepless night and knew that my opening the window and hollering at them to quiet down would do little to actually change the situation. So..... I pulled the 'wife card.'
I nudged Wesley to wake him up so he could get up and yell at them. My first nudge did not succeed in rousing him, so I tried it again.
"Wes, can you get up and yell at the girls for me?" I whispered.
"WOMAN, HUSH UP! SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE."
"Honey, what are you doing? Can you get up and yell at the girls for me?"
"DAMMIT WOMAN, YOU NEED TO HUSH UP WHEN I'M COUNTING! NINE BULLS OUT - GEEZ!"
It was about that point in our 'conversation' that I realized one of us was still in a really, really deep sleep. Like I said, the man's brain just never shuts off. And for the record, there really weren't any bulls out. He checked the next morning when I relayed the story to him.
One night last week the girls barked up a terrible storm. I was already having a sleepless night and knew that my opening the window and hollering at them to quiet down would do little to actually change the situation. So..... I pulled the 'wife card.'
I nudged Wesley to wake him up so he could get up and yell at them. My first nudge did not succeed in rousing him, so I tried it again.
"Wes, can you get up and yell at the girls for me?" I whispered.
"WOMAN, HUSH UP! SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE."
"Honey, what are you doing? Can you get up and yell at the girls for me?"
"DAMMIT WOMAN, YOU NEED TO HUSH UP WHEN I'M COUNTING! NINE BULLS OUT - GEEZ!"
It was about that point in our 'conversation' that I realized one of us was still in a really, really deep sleep. Like I said, the man's brain just never shuts off. And for the record, there really weren't any bulls out. He checked the next morning when I relayed the story to him.
Friday, November 30, 2012
A little funny for Friday
I honestly don't know why it tickles me so much, but this is just one of those things that I have to share. My apologies.
I have written previously about how folks don't like to give out more than four digits when providing their phone number and how odd our little radio station is at times. This morning it seemed like every little quirky oddity (as opposed to a normal oddity) was rolled all up into one.
A man called in this morning to the radio station. "I've got a Ford tractor and two llamas for sale. 4992." (Seriously. I didn't make any of that up.)
And my absolute favorite was the caller who had the rattlesnake/skunk incident several months back. "Yup, Skunk-man here....."
I don't even remember what Skunk-man was calling about. I was tuned out, giggling uncontrollably and trying to stay on the road. Happy Friday, folks.
I have written previously about how folks don't like to give out more than four digits when providing their phone number and how odd our little radio station is at times. This morning it seemed like every little quirky oddity (as opposed to a normal oddity) was rolled all up into one.
A man called in this morning to the radio station. "I've got a Ford tractor and two llamas for sale. 4992." (Seriously. I didn't make any of that up.)
And my absolute favorite was the caller who had the rattlesnake/skunk incident several months back. "Yup, Skunk-man here....."
I don't even remember what Skunk-man was calling about. I was tuned out, giggling uncontrollably and trying to stay on the road. Happy Friday, folks.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Spelling games
Have you ever noticed that when long lost buddies get together they revert back to "that age?" You know, the age of their good 'ol glory days. You think that it's just my husband that has this odd affliction? I beg to differ.
Friends of ours came to visit a few weekends ago and I spent the rest of the evening babysitting and catering to what felt like three 16 year old boys. Well, 16 year old boys that happen to be drinking whiskey.
They played for HOURS in the shop with a basketball, shooting hoops from ridiculous angles and giggling like..... well, a bunch of 16 year old boys. They played H-O-R-S-E, P-I-G, and I think someone mentioned playing a really long spelling game like E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T but I don't think anyone really had the attention span for such a long word by that time of the evening.
Contrary to what one might believe, I love nights like these.
Friends of ours came to visit a few weekends ago and I spent the rest of the evening babysitting and catering to what felt like three 16 year old boys. Well, 16 year old boys that happen to be drinking whiskey.
They played for HOURS in the shop with a basketball, shooting hoops from ridiculous angles and giggling like..... well, a bunch of 16 year old boys. They played H-O-R-S-E, P-I-G, and I think someone mentioned playing a really long spelling game like E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T but I don't think anyone really had the attention span for such a long word by that time of the evening.
Contrary to what one might believe, I love nights like these.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Touche
Every once in a while Wesley has a very valid point and knocks me down a rung or two on my ladder. It is very well known that my frugal nature makes me have a tendency to hoard others' discarded items and redo them. Painting, refinishing, new hardware - I love to do it all.
Thanksgiving weekend was especially fruitful for me as I got an "heirloom" rocking chair from an aunt and a cabinet that will soon become our bedside table. I say "heirloom" because we may or may not have told that to Wesley to increase my chances of getting to take it home. Whoopsidaisies. And no, he never reads what I write on here, thank goodness.
As I pulled in to the shop on Sunday morning with my lovely new-to-me cabinet, Wesley was strangely silent. I did my best to defend myself.
"Honey, just think how much money we save when I redo all this furniture myself."
His reply?
"I'm just worried about the day that we're going to have to build a $100,000 house to store your $10 finds in."
Damn. I hate it when he's right.
Thanksgiving weekend was especially fruitful for me as I got an "heirloom" rocking chair from an aunt and a cabinet that will soon become our bedside table. I say "heirloom" because we may or may not have told that to Wesley to increase my chances of getting to take it home. Whoopsidaisies. And no, he never reads what I write on here, thank goodness.
As I pulled in to the shop on Sunday morning with my lovely new-to-me cabinet, Wesley was strangely silent. I did my best to defend myself.
"Honey, just think how much money we save when I redo all this furniture myself."
His reply?
"I'm just worried about the day that we're going to have to build a $100,000 house to store your $10 finds in."
Damn. I hate it when he's right.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Queen of Frugal, Meet Captain Obvious - King of Common Sense
I did something brilliant. Absolutely genius. Stunning. Magnificent. I combined my love of photography and frugalness (frugality, frugaling) into one lovely gift for my husband.
Our bedroom has needed decorating ever since we moved in. Not that Wesley was complaining, mind you, but I thought that a nice photo from our place would be a welcome addition.
For weeks I scanned the internet ads and Sunday paper coupons, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Lo and behold, one day I finally found it - Free 8x10 enlargements for a limited time only! I pounced upon the opportunity and sent my photo off to become even huger wonderfulness, beyond the basic 4x6 greatness that it already was! (Yes, the English language is too much for me to master today.)
It took another month after getting the picture back that I finally made it to a big town with a Hobby Lobby. I hit them up with a 50% frame sale, used a 40% coupon on the mat and patiently waited another month for my picture to finally be complete.
I brought the photo home and showed it to Wesley, so excited that I could barely hold it steady for him to admire.
"Hmph. Well this is just depressing. Look how high the water level in the pond used to be. This sucks."
The wind rushed out of my sails and my ego popped, all in one foul swoop. I know that he didn't mean to be unkind, its just that he can't shut off the part of his brain that is constantly at work and turn on the one that allows him to simply admire things at face value..... kind of like how I can't shut off the part of my brain that wonders if I can find a better deal for something by using double reward points with store X or double coupons at store Y.
We are cursed.
Our bedroom has needed decorating ever since we moved in. Not that Wesley was complaining, mind you, but I thought that a nice photo from our place would be a welcome addition.
For weeks I scanned the internet ads and Sunday paper coupons, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Lo and behold, one day I finally found it - Free 8x10 enlargements for a limited time only! I pounced upon the opportunity and sent my photo off to become even huger wonderfulness, beyond the basic 4x6 greatness that it already was! (Yes, the English language is too much for me to master today.)
It took another month after getting the picture back that I finally made it to a big town with a Hobby Lobby. I hit them up with a 50% frame sale, used a 40% coupon on the mat and patiently waited another month for my picture to finally be complete.
I brought the photo home and showed it to Wesley, so excited that I could barely hold it steady for him to admire.
"Hmph. Well this is just depressing. Look how high the water level in the pond used to be. This sucks."
The wind rushed out of my sails and my ego popped, all in one foul swoop. I know that he didn't mean to be unkind, its just that he can't shut off the part of his brain that is constantly at work and turn on the one that allows him to simply admire things at face value..... kind of like how I can't shut off the part of my brain that wonders if I can find a better deal for something by using double reward points with store X or double coupons at store Y.
We are cursed.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Only in Greenwood County
As I pulled out the drive on Sunday afternoon I saw a snowflake hit my windshield and I thought "Only in Greenwood County would anyone be golfing on a day like today."
As I pulled into the golf course parking lot and saw the overflow of vehicles I shook my head.
As I watched my husband and his friends play bumper cars with the golf carts I covered my face.
As I watched the awards being handed out in the clubhouse later that afternoon I noticed that all the winning teams donated their prize money back to the cause we were there to support and I was touched.
Later that night, as the crowd made their way into the community building, there was a bountiful buffet provided for all the hungry souls. Free of charge. I was starving and I was moved.
There was a raffle for several items that night and time after time people would win really nice prizes, only to donate them back and ask that they be auctioned off to raise more money. I was teary-eyed.
There were also a ton of designated auction items and the same thing happened with them time and again, auctioning and re-auctioning them. I was floored.
The family that we were there to raise money for stood up to speak and I, along with everyone in that room, was an absolute wreck.
Only in Greenwood County.
As I pulled into the golf course parking lot and saw the overflow of vehicles I shook my head.
As I watched my husband and his friends play bumper cars with the golf carts I covered my face.
As I watched the awards being handed out in the clubhouse later that afternoon I noticed that all the winning teams donated their prize money back to the cause we were there to support and I was touched.
Later that night, as the crowd made their way into the community building, there was a bountiful buffet provided for all the hungry souls. Free of charge. I was starving and I was moved.
There was a raffle for several items that night and time after time people would win really nice prizes, only to donate them back and ask that they be auctioned off to raise more money. I was teary-eyed.
There were also a ton of designated auction items and the same thing happened with them time and again, auctioning and re-auctioning them. I was floored.
The family that we were there to raise money for stood up to speak and I, along with everyone in that room, was an absolute wreck.
Only in Greenwood County.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Example of Fuddy-duddyness #861
I don't think that this one can be topped.
Wesley is on the board for our county Cattlemen's Association. As his wife, I am entitled to these eventful experiences and am asked to aide him in many of his exciting endeavors. This weekend, I had the PRIVILEGE and HONOR of accompanying him to the annual banquet and was allowed to spend the evening with him until the evening festivities ended.
"What ended the fun and games of this eventful night fueled by the live band and flowing booze?" you might ask yourself.
Good question.
Me.
That's right. I had reached my limit of drunk 40+ year old cougars grinding (sorry Grandma) on one another and so I instigated the turning on of lights and ending of fun for the night. I was the kill-joy. I was the buzz-kill. I was every mean, nerdy, fanny-pack wearing, fun-hating chaperone you have ever encountered.
In short, a 26 year old girl not only asked a band to turn down their music (twice!) but also finally shut them down and asked their 40+ year old groupies to disperse so that the fuddy-duddy and her husband could go to bed before 2 am.
Yep, that really happened. Pray for us.
Wesley is on the board for our county Cattlemen's Association. As his wife, I am entitled to these eventful experiences and am asked to aide him in many of his exciting endeavors. This weekend, I had the PRIVILEGE and HONOR of accompanying him to the annual banquet and was allowed to spend the evening with him until the evening festivities ended.
"What ended the fun and games of this eventful night fueled by the live band and flowing booze?" you might ask yourself.
Good question.
Me.
That's right. I had reached my limit of drunk 40+ year old cougars grinding (sorry Grandma) on one another and so I instigated the turning on of lights and ending of fun for the night. I was the kill-joy. I was the buzz-kill. I was every mean, nerdy, fanny-pack wearing, fun-hating chaperone you have ever encountered.
In short, a 26 year old girl not only asked a band to turn down their music (twice!) but also finally shut them down and asked their 40+ year old groupies to disperse so that the fuddy-duddy and her husband could go to bed before 2 am.
Yep, that really happened. Pray for us.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
She's the man
I work in a field that is traditionally and predominantly populated by men. Most people "go with the flow" when they find out that a female now holds this position. Most people.
In the past two weeks I've come across two codgers that weren't so happy with this fact.
Example #1: A farmer came into the office with very specific questions regarding soil testing, crops, cattle, the whole enchilada. After playing 20 questions with him and doing a very respectable job of holding my own he looked around the office and said, "Well, that's all nice but where's the man around here?" To which I replied, "I am the man around here." He looked at me with a bit of bewilderment in his eyes - probably due to the fact that he had no option in the office but to talk to me. I decided to keep the uncomfortableness going.
"Yep," I said. "Can you believe they went and hired a woman?" It was like I had pulled the words right out of his mouth, and he wasn't too thrilled that I had beat him to the punch.
Example #2: I was on the phone with a producer that was absolutely adamant that he had met HIM before. "You, know, the man that runs things around there."
Uhhhhh-huhhhhhh. I made sure to ask him, twice, if he meant my predecessor, Jeff.
"Nope, I met HIM at Jeff's retirement party and had a great talk with HIM and I just can't wait till I'm back in town and I can have a nice long talk with HIM and HE can help me with my problems."
I finally couldn't take it any longer. "Sir, I don't know who you met at that retirement party, but I am the HIM around here." (It didn't sound quite like that but I can't remember my exact words. Something equally genius.)
Funny thing, the silence of confusion and disappointment sounds very similar over the phone.
In the past two weeks I've come across two codgers that weren't so happy with this fact.
Example #1: A farmer came into the office with very specific questions regarding soil testing, crops, cattle, the whole enchilada. After playing 20 questions with him and doing a very respectable job of holding my own he looked around the office and said, "Well, that's all nice but where's the man around here?" To which I replied, "I am the man around here." He looked at me with a bit of bewilderment in his eyes - probably due to the fact that he had no option in the office but to talk to me. I decided to keep the uncomfortableness going.
"Yep," I said. "Can you believe they went and hired a woman?" It was like I had pulled the words right out of his mouth, and he wasn't too thrilled that I had beat him to the punch.
Example #2: I was on the phone with a producer that was absolutely adamant that he had met HIM before. "You, know, the man that runs things around there."
Uhhhhh-huhhhhhh. I made sure to ask him, twice, if he meant my predecessor, Jeff.
"Nope, I met HIM at Jeff's retirement party and had a great talk with HIM and I just can't wait till I'm back in town and I can have a nice long talk with HIM and HE can help me with my problems."
I finally couldn't take it any longer. "Sir, I don't know who you met at that retirement party, but I am the HIM around here." (It didn't sound quite like that but I can't remember my exact words. Something equally genius.)
Funny thing, the silence of confusion and disappointment sounds very similar over the phone.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
This is worse than Bambi's dad dying
I hauled a couple of calves to the locker this morning to be butchered. I didn't think much about it, and to tell you the truth I was actually pretty excited. Fresh beef! Woohoo!
As I unloaded the calves I noticed that there was a heifer with a bit of a bad eye. Not a big concern of mine, seeing as how I don't find eyeballs delectable.
I returned the pickup and trailer home and stopped Wesley to let him know that I had finished my task.
"What did you think of that steer you dropped off?" he asked.
"He was nuttier than squirrel poop and I'm glad he's losing his head" or something similar was my reply.
"Um, did you notice anything about that other calf?...." I could tell it was a loaded question.
Instantly, my mind raced over the past one to 24 months, trying to figure out where I might recognize this one, nondescript heifer from.
"Well, I noticed that she had a.........well, she had BAD EYES! YOU JUST KILLED MY LITTLE BLIND BUCKET CALF THAT I RAISED LAST YEAR!" I screamed.
"Um, technically, you just did."
Sidenote: When dropping some sort of great revelation on your wife do not also take the time to argue with her and point out insignificant details.
As I unloaded the calves I noticed that there was a heifer with a bit of a bad eye. Not a big concern of mine, seeing as how I don't find eyeballs delectable.
I returned the pickup and trailer home and stopped Wesley to let him know that I had finished my task.
"What did you think of that steer you dropped off?" he asked.
"He was nuttier than squirrel poop and I'm glad he's losing his head" or something similar was my reply.
"Um, did you notice anything about that other calf?...." I could tell it was a loaded question.
Instantly, my mind raced over the past one to 24 months, trying to figure out where I might recognize this one, nondescript heifer from.
"Well, I noticed that she had a.........well, she had BAD EYES! YOU JUST KILLED MY LITTLE BLIND BUCKET CALF THAT I RAISED LAST YEAR!" I screamed.
"Um, technically, you just did."
Sidenote: When dropping some sort of great revelation on your wife do not also take the time to argue with her and point out insignificant details.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
On this day in history...
Apologies - I feel like being brief today.
Two years ago today, Wesley and I got married. The day after our wedding we woke up early, opened presents, and by noon were ready to get back to normal. As Wesley loaded his overnight bag into the feed pickup he took off his wedding ring, handed it to me and left to drive the two hours back to our new home and doctor calves. I stayed at my folks that day and helped my dad doctor a couple of his calves.
Wesley mentioned to a friend once that he liked me because I was plain. He later amended that statement to say that he meant low maintenance, but he probably hit the nail on the head just as well the first time.
Wesley called me during lunch to see what my plans for tonight were. We could go out tonight to a big town for supper or we could drive around and feed calves, wheel up pens and just be low key.
I dare you to guess how we're celebrating tonight.
Two years ago today, Wesley and I got married. The day after our wedding we woke up early, opened presents, and by noon were ready to get back to normal. As Wesley loaded his overnight bag into the feed pickup he took off his wedding ring, handed it to me and left to drive the two hours back to our new home and doctor calves. I stayed at my folks that day and helped my dad doctor a couple of his calves.
Wesley mentioned to a friend once that he liked me because I was plain. He later amended that statement to say that he meant low maintenance, but he probably hit the nail on the head just as well the first time.
Wesley called me during lunch to see what my plans for tonight were. We could go out tonight to a big town for supper or we could drive around and feed calves, wheel up pens and just be low key.
I dare you to guess how we're celebrating tonight.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
We DEFINITELY Do Not Play Well With Others
Some months ago, I told a story about how the girls apparently don't play well with others. My evidence was a decapitated coyote head and family of baby raccoons in my yard after a night of debauchery.
Sunday morning, I stayed in the house for several hours with the girls, attempting to tackle a mountain of dishes and laundry. I had finally tackled enough of those two mountains that I felt I could move outside and begin some other, equally fun tasks like weeding and watering my flowers. I opened up the back door and instantly the two girls flew past me and took off like a shot.
I didn't immediately see the coyote that was standing beside the pickup and almost in the garage door of our shop. He turned to run as soon as the girls began chasing. Loop and Laurie ran like cheetahs after that coyote, barking up a storm the entire way. And by bark, I don't mean "Woof (please leave the premesis) woof (at your earliest convenience)." This was an incredibly guttural Ima gonna kill you type of growl/bark. I too began running and followed after the girls at a MUCH slower pace, shouting obscenities that helped to solidify the fact that we didn't want coyotes that close to our house ever again, just in case there was any lingering doubt in his mind.
After a lengthy chase the coyote finally inched away from the girls and ran back towards the pond. I called the girls back to me and the three of us tried to settle back down.
As if that weren't enough to make this an epic story..... did I forget to mention that I was on the phone with my aunt the entire time? My bad. Yes, that's right, I was on the phone with her as I opened the kitchen door and all the commotion ensued. Since I forgot to hang up the cell phone in my hand, Aunt Chelle was privileged to hear everything first hand. I believe it sounded something like this:
"What the? YOU DIRTY @#$%^&*()_)(*&^%$##@@$!@#$%^&*()(*^%#@!@##%^!!#$^&*#!!@#$%&*(&^$%$@!#%%&*)(&%#!@#%&))*^%#%!#%%^&*)*(
........um, hello? Oh, you're still on the line? Whoops."
Sunday morning, I stayed in the house for several hours with the girls, attempting to tackle a mountain of dishes and laundry. I had finally tackled enough of those two mountains that I felt I could move outside and begin some other, equally fun tasks like weeding and watering my flowers. I opened up the back door and instantly the two girls flew past me and took off like a shot.
I didn't immediately see the coyote that was standing beside the pickup and almost in the garage door of our shop. He turned to run as soon as the girls began chasing. Loop and Laurie ran like cheetahs after that coyote, barking up a storm the entire way. And by bark, I don't mean "Woof (please leave the premesis) woof (at your earliest convenience)." This was an incredibly guttural Ima gonna kill you type of growl/bark. I too began running and followed after the girls at a MUCH slower pace, shouting obscenities that helped to solidify the fact that we didn't want coyotes that close to our house ever again, just in case there was any lingering doubt in his mind.
After a lengthy chase the coyote finally inched away from the girls and ran back towards the pond. I called the girls back to me and the three of us tried to settle back down.
As if that weren't enough to make this an epic story..... did I forget to mention that I was on the phone with my aunt the entire time? My bad. Yes, that's right, I was on the phone with her as I opened the kitchen door and all the commotion ensued. Since I forgot to hang up the cell phone in my hand, Aunt Chelle was privileged to hear everything first hand. I believe it sounded something like this:
"What the? YOU DIRTY @#$%^&*()_)(*&^%$##@@$!@#$%^&*()(*^%#@!@##%^!!#$^&*#!!@#$%&*(&^$%$@!#%%&*)(&%#!@#%&))*^%#%!#%%^&*)*(
........um, hello? Oh, you're still on the line? Whoops."
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Sherlock Holmes Am I
Around here, folks ship a lot of cattle.
Around here, lots of folks drink lots of beer.
The other morning as I was driving to work, I noticed driving down the blacktop road were three cattle trucks. This is not so unusual. What made me smile was the fact that there were three cattle trucks and following them was a Keystone light semi. While this particular, um, flavor of beer is not for everyone, it is a favorite of our neighbor Billy.
One by one I saw all of the cattle pots turn on their blinkers and the Keystone light semi sat behind them patiently, never attempting to go around the convoy.
I called Wesley and asked if any of our neighbors were planning to ship cattle that morning.
"Yeah, there's a whole crew over at Billy's place. Why do you ask?"
No reason, Honey. No reason.
*Although I should take some sort of journalistic liberty and end the story there, for Billy's sake I must throw in the disclaimer that I did not, in fact, ever see the beer semi go to Bill's house. Bummer for him.
Around here, lots of folks drink lots of beer.
The other morning as I was driving to work, I noticed driving down the blacktop road were three cattle trucks. This is not so unusual. What made me smile was the fact that there were three cattle trucks and following them was a Keystone light semi. While this particular, um, flavor of beer is not for everyone, it is a favorite of our neighbor Billy.
One by one I saw all of the cattle pots turn on their blinkers and the Keystone light semi sat behind them patiently, never attempting to go around the convoy.
I called Wesley and asked if any of our neighbors were planning to ship cattle that morning.
"Yeah, there's a whole crew over at Billy's place. Why do you ask?"
No reason, Honey. No reason.
*Although I should take some sort of journalistic liberty and end the story there, for Billy's sake I must throw in the disclaimer that I did not, in fact, ever see the beer semi go to Bill's house. Bummer for him.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
One good picture
Weddings have gotten terribly out of hand. Even our wedding was too much, and we tried to keep it as simple as possible. We had originally hoped to keep it really, really small and simple, but thanks to some backhanded comments from the peanut gallery it grew to be a bit more than that. But that's another story, I digress.
So where were we? Oh, yes, weddings have gotten too out of hand. I think that people try to turn it into such a production and they forget that the entire point is not to build up such elaborate pomp and circumstance but to revel in the fact that two people are making a commitment to God and not just to each other. I don't believe there should be a year (or more) of planning and feeding someone's inner narcissistic monster. I don't believe that on your wedding day you should feel like you are be followed by paparazzi.
Really, all you need to remember your wedding day is one good picture.
Think about looking back on your parents' and grandparents' wedding pictures. One picture is worth way more than 1,000 words. No doubt that in their pictures they look fresh faced, perhaps a bit flushed, excited, nervous, overjoyed, anxious, scared, happy - all of those things. No doubt that when the majority of those pictures were taken there was not a professional photographer prompting them to elicit all these emotions and "tilt your head to the left - chin down."
Am I slamming all photographers? Well, I'm not trying to, believe it or not. I love photographing things. Am I drawing some sort of parallel between the amount of pictures one must have of themselves and their level of narcissism and the declining length of the average marriage? Perhaps, but that's more of one parallel and one inverse correlation, but now we're just splitting hairs. Believe it or not, in some sort of twisted way I'm trying to get back to my original point - 40 years from now you need to be able to look back on your wedding day, holding the hand of the person you married and look at just one good picture.
On that note, happy belated 40th to my aunt and uncle, and happy 30th to my folks. Congrats on your marriages and getting one good picture.
So where were we? Oh, yes, weddings have gotten too out of hand. I think that people try to turn it into such a production and they forget that the entire point is not to build up such elaborate pomp and circumstance but to revel in the fact that two people are making a commitment to God and not just to each other. I don't believe there should be a year (or more) of planning and feeding someone's inner narcissistic monster. I don't believe that on your wedding day you should feel like you are be followed by paparazzi.
Really, all you need to remember your wedding day is one good picture.
Think about looking back on your parents' and grandparents' wedding pictures. One picture is worth way more than 1,000 words. No doubt that in their pictures they look fresh faced, perhaps a bit flushed, excited, nervous, overjoyed, anxious, scared, happy - all of those things. No doubt that when the majority of those pictures were taken there was not a professional photographer prompting them to elicit all these emotions and "tilt your head to the left - chin down."
Am I slamming all photographers? Well, I'm not trying to, believe it or not. I love photographing things. Am I drawing some sort of parallel between the amount of pictures one must have of themselves and their level of narcissism and the declining length of the average marriage? Perhaps, but that's more of one parallel and one inverse correlation, but now we're just splitting hairs. Believe it or not, in some sort of twisted way I'm trying to get back to my original point - 40 years from now you need to be able to look back on your wedding day, holding the hand of the person you married and look at just one good picture.
On that note, happy belated 40th to my aunt and uncle, and happy 30th to my folks. Congrats on your marriages and getting one good picture.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Basic Instincts
I have a paralyzing fear of snakes. Well, let's say semi-paralyzing fear of snakes. Thus far, when encountering a snake's presence I have never lost the ability to shriek and scream like a little girl.
As I grow and mature; however, I have found that I am learning better, more efficient ways to cope with their existence. Maybe existence is too strong of a word, seeing as how I chopped one into little pieces with a shovel a few months ago. Anyhoo, my main point is that I'm getting better at not just screaming and crying when I see a snake.
Case in point? Tuesday of this week.
I had just finished hanging clothes out on the line and needed to walk inside to the utility room and grab my next load of wet clothes. As I opened the door I saw something wiggle out of the corner of my eye. I looked down to see a little nasty creepy-crawler right underneath the door stoop.
In the half-second that I had to process information, I remembered that there is a slight gap between the bottom of the screen door and the door stoop and it might be possible for the little snake to wiggle in to my beloved home, especially since I had the heavy storm door open as well.
How do you prevent a snake from making his way into your home without touching him? By growling, of course.
Yes, my primal fears and natural instincts worked together to solve a problem and that is what they came up with. An odd "GRAAAAAAWWWWW" that sounded like a cross between a drunken sailor, a bear and a lion.
It managed to do the trick, though. Instead of slithering into my house, it decided that weirdos resided in this particular residence and he should probably have no part in that. Good choice, Mr. Snake. Good choice.
Maybe I should just go back to screaming. I really hope that Grandma Curry wasn't in her yard to witness that little escapade. I have a feeling she prays for me a lot.
As I grow and mature; however, I have found that I am learning better, more efficient ways to cope with their existence. Maybe existence is too strong of a word, seeing as how I chopped one into little pieces with a shovel a few months ago. Anyhoo, my main point is that I'm getting better at not just screaming and crying when I see a snake.
Case in point? Tuesday of this week.
I had just finished hanging clothes out on the line and needed to walk inside to the utility room and grab my next load of wet clothes. As I opened the door I saw something wiggle out of the corner of my eye. I looked down to see a little nasty creepy-crawler right underneath the door stoop.
In the half-second that I had to process information, I remembered that there is a slight gap between the bottom of the screen door and the door stoop and it might be possible for the little snake to wiggle in to my beloved home, especially since I had the heavy storm door open as well.
How do you prevent a snake from making his way into your home without touching him? By growling, of course.
Yes, my primal fears and natural instincts worked together to solve a problem and that is what they came up with. An odd "GRAAAAAAWWWWW" that sounded like a cross between a drunken sailor, a bear and a lion.
It managed to do the trick, though. Instead of slithering into my house, it decided that weirdos resided in this particular residence and he should probably have no part in that. Good choice, Mr. Snake. Good choice.
Maybe I should just go back to screaming. I really hope that Grandma Curry wasn't in her yard to witness that little escapade. I have a feeling she prays for me a lot.
Monday, September 10, 2012
New Shoes
When I was little we didn't go shopping very often. New shoes were quite the luxury. When we did manage to get new shoes it never failed.... within 12 hours I would be wearing them either out in the pasture or out in the lots and pens. Its not that I WANTED to get them dirty, its just that I would come home from school, get distracted by something I'm sure was reallllllly important and forget to change out of them.
I was sure that someday I was going to outgrow this.
Friday night on our way to watch the high school football game, we got a call from a neighbor saying that he saw smoke to the west of us and was just sure it was one of our pastures on fire. Wesley and I dropped everything and immediately went to check it out.
Although it wasn't our pasture (thankfully), it was a neighbor's and we felt obliged to help them out. When the first volunteer fire truck showed up Wesley hopped on, grabbed the hose and started spraying while I followed along behind and stomped out the flare ups that happened at every cow pattie.
Halfway through this exciting adventure I paused and looked down, actually absorbing what was going on and not just in an epinephrine overdrive.
My brand new, white tennis shoes (which I knew was a dumb idea) were no more. They were more of an ash-gray color and stinky from all the smoke.
Some things never change.
I was sure that someday I was going to outgrow this.
Friday night on our way to watch the high school football game, we got a call from a neighbor saying that he saw smoke to the west of us and was just sure it was one of our pastures on fire. Wesley and I dropped everything and immediately went to check it out.
Although it wasn't our pasture (thankfully), it was a neighbor's and we felt obliged to help them out. When the first volunteer fire truck showed up Wesley hopped on, grabbed the hose and started spraying while I followed along behind and stomped out the flare ups that happened at every cow pattie.
Halfway through this exciting adventure I paused and looked down, actually absorbing what was going on and not just in an epinephrine overdrive.
My brand new, white tennis shoes (which I knew was a dumb idea) were no more. They were more of an ash-gray color and stinky from all the smoke.
Some things never change.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Pot Lights
I love to watch home interior design shows. Something that is totally "in" these days are recessed lights. I remember calling them "pot lights" before all the PC dictators took over and made us start calling everything "vintage" instead of "antique." Frankly, I feel like they can kiss my "gluteus maximus." Like that, PC dictators?
Back to my story. I don't feel that I can ever call them pot lights again. Nope, this time I'm following a trend and sticking to calling it recessed lighting. Wanna know why?
Yesterday, a member of our local sheriff's department walked into my office. Not that I had done anything wrong, but seeing someone in that line of work always makes me do a quick mental checklist of ways that I may have majorly screwed up in the recent past.
After exchanging pleasantries and some idle chit-chat the nice officer asked if I would be interested in some grow lights for any agronomy projects that I might have coming up. My frugal nature couldn't pass up such an opportunity and I of course assured him that we could indeed use them.
"Okay, great, let's go get them out of our storage shed. They came from a drug bust and the case finally closed so we don't need them as evidence anymore."
Um..... come again? I froze in my tracks while a million thoughts raced through my head. "Do we need to clean them or something?"
"Nah, they don't have any residue on them or anything, just scrape the evidence number off them if you want."
It was at this point I realized how odd this conversation really was and I immediately turned to one of my less attractive defense modes when faced with an uncomfortable situation. I began to giggle uncontrollably.
The officer looked at me in a really strange manner from that point forward and I'm sure that my giggling helped turn this into a one-time only gifting of unwanted material from their department.
So now I have these two lovely grow lights that set in the corner of my office. See why I can't use the term "pot lights" ever again in my life?
Back to my story. I don't feel that I can ever call them pot lights again. Nope, this time I'm following a trend and sticking to calling it recessed lighting. Wanna know why?
Yesterday, a member of our local sheriff's department walked into my office. Not that I had done anything wrong, but seeing someone in that line of work always makes me do a quick mental checklist of ways that I may have majorly screwed up in the recent past.
After exchanging pleasantries and some idle chit-chat the nice officer asked if I would be interested in some grow lights for any agronomy projects that I might have coming up. My frugal nature couldn't pass up such an opportunity and I of course assured him that we could indeed use them.
"Okay, great, let's go get them out of our storage shed. They came from a drug bust and the case finally closed so we don't need them as evidence anymore."
Um..... come again? I froze in my tracks while a million thoughts raced through my head. "Do we need to clean them or something?"
"Nah, they don't have any residue on them or anything, just scrape the evidence number off them if you want."
It was at this point I realized how odd this conversation really was and I immediately turned to one of my less attractive defense modes when faced with an uncomfortable situation. I began to giggle uncontrollably.
The officer looked at me in a really strange manner from that point forward and I'm sure that my giggling helped turn this into a one-time only gifting of unwanted material from their department.
So now I have these two lovely grow lights that set in the corner of my office. See why I can't use the term "pot lights" ever again in my life?
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Patient Update
No worries, folks. Loop's minor surgery set her back for a whopping 2.5 hours. Her stitches look good (go me!) and I'll take them out in about 2 weeks. AND, we saved a ton of money by stitching her ourselves! Before you read that last sentence and go postal on my frugal nature, please believe me when I say that I felt competent in my capabilities and if it had been something really major I would in fact spend the money to heal my beloved bestie. Pretty sure I ruffled some feathers on that last comment.
On a sidenote, my poor mother. I wonder what goes through her head sometimes when I call. Like when I lived in east Texas and she got a random call, "Hey, Mom, how do you know if you have a concussion?"
Or last Saturday as I was prepping for Loopie's stitch-up job. "Hey, Mom, do you know where I could find some hemostats?" (A tool used in surgery procedures.)
Her response is almost never varies. ".....sigh...... Um, why?...."
"No reason, just curious."
On a sidenote, my poor mother. I wonder what goes through her head sometimes when I call. Like when I lived in east Texas and she got a random call, "Hey, Mom, how do you know if you have a concussion?"
Or last Saturday as I was prepping for Loopie's stitch-up job. "Hey, Mom, do you know where I could find some hemostats?" (A tool used in surgery procedures.)
Her response is almost never varies. ".....sigh...... Um, why?...."
"No reason, just curious."
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Sad, sad day
Wesley and I got home from a high school football game last night and Loopie was in a shy mood. We could tell that something was wrong, but of course she wouldn't tell us. We were pretty sure that she had just found some mineral bags and torn into them like usual, but I didn't feel like finding the mess and cleaning it up last night. I kicked both of the girls out to their pen at bedtime and didn't think anything more of it.
This morning, Loopie was still out of sorts. She kept hiding under things and staying very close to me at all times. Very peculiar. I thought that maybe she had a tick the size of Texas on her that could be causing her so much distress. After feeling around on her legs and belly I found that she had a 4-5 inch gash across her poor little tummy. I'm a sucky dog pseudo-parent. And I wish it had been something simple like a tick instead. I still can't get a strait answer out of Loopie or Laurie on how this happened, but I'm guessing it had something to do with a nasty game of Truth or Dare.
Long story short, a phone call to our vet got me loaded up with all the supplies and goodies I needed to stitch her back together. There was a quick little 60 mile round trip to pick everything up and then we preceeded to perform our minor little patch up job on the kitchen floor. (Don't freak out, it wasn't near the food prep areas, and it WAS on the floor.)
So now I sit here typing and just waiting on my patient to wake up. Although we don't have a proper, padded room for her to recover in, Loopie is resting comfortably on her denim pillow. (Sidenote: Everything I have ever known has been in terms of animals, and then I have to make the connection of how it relates to humans. I remember asking my mother if she had to recover after her surgery in a padded room. She was not impressed. More impressed; however, than when I was little and asked her what she did with her afterbirth and I hoped she wasn't like a cow. That's another story for another day though...)
This morning, Loopie was still out of sorts. She kept hiding under things and staying very close to me at all times. Very peculiar. I thought that maybe she had a tick the size of Texas on her that could be causing her so much distress. After feeling around on her legs and belly I found that she had a 4-5 inch gash across her poor little tummy. I'm a sucky dog pseudo-parent. And I wish it had been something simple like a tick instead. I still can't get a strait answer out of Loopie or Laurie on how this happened, but I'm guessing it had something to do with a nasty game of Truth or Dare.
Long story short, a phone call to our vet got me loaded up with all the supplies and goodies I needed to stitch her back together. There was a quick little 60 mile round trip to pick everything up and then we preceeded to perform our minor little patch up job on the kitchen floor. (Don't freak out, it wasn't near the food prep areas, and it WAS on the floor.)
So now I sit here typing and just waiting on my patient to wake up. Although we don't have a proper, padded room for her to recover in, Loopie is resting comfortably on her denim pillow. (Sidenote: Everything I have ever known has been in terms of animals, and then I have to make the connection of how it relates to humans. I remember asking my mother if she had to recover after her surgery in a padded room. She was not impressed. More impressed; however, than when I was little and asked her what she did with her afterbirth and I hoped she wasn't like a cow. That's another story for another day though...)
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
I am bilungual
Are you super impressed and jealous that I indeed know two languages? One is English, the other is sarcasm. Up until now I had wondered if it could be considered more of a dialect because technically its still the same English words that you are speaking.... But considering the events of last weekend I don't think that is the case any longer.
I like to drive horses that pull wagons, buggies, plows, whatever. I enjoy it very much and I have done this my entire life. I would also like to think that just by looking at me, one might be able to tell that I have indeed driven more than one wagon, one time in my life.
Last Friday night I was asked to drive a wagon during the grand entry of a local rodeo and haul the Rodeo committee's chairman and vice-chairman around. No problemo. Not only did I haul them around, I was in the arena a few more times hauling barrels for the barrel racing both in and out. Again, no problemo.
After the rodeo ended that evening, a local woman who I thought had a fairly good grasp on the fact that this was a normal occurrence for me, I enjoy outdoor activities, I am my father's only son, etc., asked, "Oh my, you did a good job with driving that big ol' horse! How did you learn to do that?"
To which I replied, "Well, I watched a couple of videos on the internet this afternoon and it looked simple enough. I'm glad it went alright!"
Her very eager, very serious reply? "Oooooh - I need to watch those too!"
I just waiting for that rumor to make it around town and finally get back to me. That's me, master you-tube-video-watcher.
I like to drive horses that pull wagons, buggies, plows, whatever. I enjoy it very much and I have done this my entire life. I would also like to think that just by looking at me, one might be able to tell that I have indeed driven more than one wagon, one time in my life.
Last Friday night I was asked to drive a wagon during the grand entry of a local rodeo and haul the Rodeo committee's chairman and vice-chairman around. No problemo. Not only did I haul them around, I was in the arena a few more times hauling barrels for the barrel racing both in and out. Again, no problemo.
After the rodeo ended that evening, a local woman who I thought had a fairly good grasp on the fact that this was a normal occurrence for me, I enjoy outdoor activities, I am my father's only son, etc., asked, "Oh my, you did a good job with driving that big ol' horse! How did you learn to do that?"
To which I replied, "Well, I watched a couple of videos on the internet this afternoon and it looked simple enough. I'm glad it went alright!"
Her very eager, very serious reply? "Oooooh - I need to watch those too!"
I just waiting for that rumor to make it around town and finally get back to me. That's me, master you-tube-video-watcher.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Let's synchronize our watches...
Now that I have the J-O-B, I'm not there for the little girls as much as I used to be. We don't get those long walk/runs every morning, and lots of our quality time in general has been compromised. I'm a sucky pseudo dog parent. Laurie really misses getting her toenails painted, but that's another story for another day...
Anyhoo, every morning I drive away with two little angelic faces waving goodbye and wishing me well for the day. 99% of my evenings I also pull into the drive to see two angelic faces eagerly waiting my arrival and asking how my day went.
Earlier this week as I drove home at my usual time, I got a call from the in-laws, telling me that the girls had been at their place during the afternoon...... and that they were at their place (perhaps a few miles away) almost every afternoon. Whoopsidaisies.
I drove thataway to pick them up. Pull into the drive, no girls. No girls anywhere. I called and called for them, all to no avail. I had finally given up and started on my drive home, where lo-and-behold, two little girls were trotting down the road, frantically trying to make it back in time to undoubtedly meet me for their unwritten 5:45 curfew. Whew.
Same scenario. I got home tonight a bit early after a few afternoon appointments. I pulled into the drive and it looked like a ghost town. No Walmart-esque greeters waiting for me eagerly. Bummer.
Lo and behold, at 5:45 I opened up the kitchen door into the shop and looked down to find two angelic faces staring back up at me.
"Where have you been?" I asked the guilty parties, to which I received the smart-alecky reply, "What you talkin' bout, Willis?"
I keep trying to explain to Wesley that if we got the girls some sort of bluetooth/cellphone/intercom system at the house that I could call and let everyone know when I was going to get home. Thus far I have been veto'ed by the boss man. Stay tuned to see if we can get him outvoted...
Anyhoo, every morning I drive away with two little angelic faces waving goodbye and wishing me well for the day. 99% of my evenings I also pull into the drive to see two angelic faces eagerly waiting my arrival and asking how my day went.
Earlier this week as I drove home at my usual time, I got a call from the in-laws, telling me that the girls had been at their place during the afternoon...... and that they were at their place (perhaps a few miles away) almost every afternoon. Whoopsidaisies.
I drove thataway to pick them up. Pull into the drive, no girls. No girls anywhere. I called and called for them, all to no avail. I had finally given up and started on my drive home, where lo-and-behold, two little girls were trotting down the road, frantically trying to make it back in time to undoubtedly meet me for their unwritten 5:45 curfew. Whew.
Same scenario. I got home tonight a bit early after a few afternoon appointments. I pulled into the drive and it looked like a ghost town. No Walmart-esque greeters waiting for me eagerly. Bummer.
Lo and behold, at 5:45 I opened up the kitchen door into the shop and looked down to find two angelic faces staring back up at me.
"Where have you been?" I asked the guilty parties, to which I received the smart-alecky reply, "What you talkin' bout, Willis?"
I keep trying to explain to Wesley that if we got the girls some sort of bluetooth/cellphone/intercom system at the house that I could call and let everyone know when I was going to get home. Thus far I have been veto'ed by the boss man. Stay tuned to see if we can get him outvoted...
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Random thoughts and oddities
*First off, everyone knows that snakes are evil. I mean, the devil was one in the Bible for pete's sake. That being said, if one were to beat a snake to death with a shovel on her parent's veranda while her puppies were watching and she was screaming bloody murder..... Hypothetically, if a snake is to come back and haunt me for the rest of my days, what sort of life form to you believe it would take on? Discuss and get back with me. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder for I-don't-know-what.
*Next subject, (sorry I'm so random today), my family is getting really good at thinking of humorous times in our past and saying, "Blog that." This is one of those times.
Wesley and I got married a few years ago, and it was quite a time. Most people were 'feeling no pain' that night, but definitely the next morning. Of course, when in a 'feeling no pain' state of mind, the genius starts to flow. Cough, cough.
My friend from college, Corey, met Wesley's friend from home, also Corey, that night at our reception. This was a mind-boggling experience for them. Two Corey's. Wooooooowwwwwww.
The two Corey's approached my older sister, their arms around each others shoulders like they were long lost comrades. They explained their predicament to Kara.
"Help us out here. MY name's Corey, HIS name's Corey........ so who's in charge?!"
Which immediately prompted her reply, "Oh my goodness - neither one of you. Ever."
So now when I tell a story involving either one of the Corey's I cease to provide a last name. I now say something along the lines of... "I saw Corey the other day. You know, Corey-Corey who's in charge?" And then I watch as my family members nod their heads in a collective understanding. This can't be normal, right?
*Next subject, (sorry I'm so random today), my family is getting really good at thinking of humorous times in our past and saying, "Blog that." This is one of those times.
Wesley and I got married a few years ago, and it was quite a time. Most people were 'feeling no pain' that night, but definitely the next morning. Of course, when in a 'feeling no pain' state of mind, the genius starts to flow. Cough, cough.
My friend from college, Corey, met Wesley's friend from home, also Corey, that night at our reception. This was a mind-boggling experience for them. Two Corey's. Wooooooowwwwwww.
The two Corey's approached my older sister, their arms around each others shoulders like they were long lost comrades. They explained their predicament to Kara.
"Help us out here. MY name's Corey, HIS name's Corey........ so who's in charge?!"
Which immediately prompted her reply, "Oh my goodness - neither one of you. Ever."
So now when I tell a story involving either one of the Corey's I cease to provide a last name. I now say something along the lines of... "I saw Corey the other day. You know, Corey-Corey who's in charge?" And then I watch as my family members nod their heads in a collective understanding. This can't be normal, right?
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
New Sewing Machines!
I love woodworking and especially refinishing old furniture. Its very tactile. The progression, the change and the results are very visible. It is a great way for me to relieve stress. That, and I get to play with power tools. Its something that I absolutely love.
My dad went to an auction recently and bought several large, crucial woodworking tools for me. Enough to fill an entire two-wheeled trailer. Mom and Dad brought them up to me a few weekends ago. As we were unloading them I may have perhaps acted a bit giddy. Walking on sunshine. On cloud nine. My mom just couldn't understand it and voiced her concerns.
I believe it was my dad who finally said, "Pretend they're like sewing machines." This immediately changed her tune.
"Oooooooh! You got new toys!" she cried.
Not even close, Mom. Way cooler. But thanks for trying.
My dad went to an auction recently and bought several large, crucial woodworking tools for me. Enough to fill an entire two-wheeled trailer. Mom and Dad brought them up to me a few weekends ago. As we were unloading them I may have perhaps acted a bit giddy. Walking on sunshine. On cloud nine. My mom just couldn't understand it and voiced her concerns.
I believe it was my dad who finally said, "Pretend they're like sewing machines." This immediately changed her tune.
"Oooooooh! You got new toys!" she cried.
Not even close, Mom. Way cooler. But thanks for trying.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Reality Check
I have this image in my mind of the perfect yard, somewhat of a cross between the Ponderosa on "Bonanza" and the yard on "The Brady Bunch" (even if that was astro-turf). I'd love it if my yard could rank among these, expertly landscaped and beautifully manicured.
I've even worked out some rough sketches of how and where I'd like to create some lovely rock-gardeny type spots in our yard next to the road. I can see it now. Some taller sunflowers in the back, maybe some hollyhocks scattered in too. Perhaps on the left hand side there would be a tall rock with our brand on it. Lower down I'd have wildflowers scattered around in and amongst the rocks, and at the very bottom I'd have sweet potato vines that cascaded over the small, 6-inch tall rock retaining wall. Sounds lovely, right?
Lets review.
In the past twelve months......
*A cattle truck has backed the entire length of the truck and trailer along my mailbox, scratching the rig and swiveling my mailbox.
*A hired man has backed into my mailbox, and now you have to reach waaaaaaay out of your vehicle window to grab the mail.
* Cattle trucks drive through my yard and driveway to turn around and back into the pens to load cattle.
* Pickups and trailers get parked across my entire yard to create 'wings' and temporary fencing strategies for keeping cattle out of my yard when we're driving them.
* Horses run through my yard during shipping season more than grasshoppers do the entire rest of the year.
* There are enough bones in my yard to re-assemble several sorts of Frankenstein-type calves.
* .....Annnnnnnnnd finally, this morning when calves were shipped from our place and for the third time this season I had two hundred or so calves running through my yard, I finally conceded that perhaps I should give up my dream of ever having a nice yard, complete with an attractive, functioning mailbox, astro-turf and all... Sigh....
I've even worked out some rough sketches of how and where I'd like to create some lovely rock-gardeny type spots in our yard next to the road. I can see it now. Some taller sunflowers in the back, maybe some hollyhocks scattered in too. Perhaps on the left hand side there would be a tall rock with our brand on it. Lower down I'd have wildflowers scattered around in and amongst the rocks, and at the very bottom I'd have sweet potato vines that cascaded over the small, 6-inch tall rock retaining wall. Sounds lovely, right?
Lets review.
In the past twelve months......
*A cattle truck has backed the entire length of the truck and trailer along my mailbox, scratching the rig and swiveling my mailbox.
*A hired man has backed into my mailbox, and now you have to reach waaaaaaay out of your vehicle window to grab the mail.
* Cattle trucks drive through my yard and driveway to turn around and back into the pens to load cattle.
* Pickups and trailers get parked across my entire yard to create 'wings' and temporary fencing strategies for keeping cattle out of my yard when we're driving them.
* Horses run through my yard during shipping season more than grasshoppers do the entire rest of the year.
* There are enough bones in my yard to re-assemble several sorts of Frankenstein-type calves.
* .....Annnnnnnnnd finally, this morning when calves were shipped from our place and for the third time this season I had two hundred or so calves running through my yard, I finally conceded that perhaps I should give up my dream of ever having a nice yard, complete with an attractive, functioning mailbox, astro-turf and all... Sigh....
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Horses in Heaven
I have a buddy, Cash, who is six years old and after Friday's events I think that he's got everything in life pretty well figured out. Better than myself at least.
Cash walked up to my desk and got a piece of candy (yeah, I got a J-O-B, but more on that another day).
Me: Hey, Cash-man, what have you been up to today?
Cash: Eh, not much. My grandma died today.
Okay, think about a low-key way to talk through this so he doesn't start crying.
Me: I heard, Bud, and I'm really sorry. But think about it - your Grandma gets to hang out in heaven now and that's pretty cool, right?
Cash: Yeah, and she's not hurting anymore. That's cool too.
Okay, maybe I'm going to be the one that starts to bawl like a baby.
Me: Hey, Cash, I've got a grandma in heaven too. Do you think that maybe your grandma and one of my grandmas is up there, hanging out and playing and just having a big ol' party?
Cash: Yeah, probably so. And my dad's got a horse up there too, so they're probably riding too.
....And cue the waterworks.
Did I mention that Cash is a pretty cool kid? And, for the record, my dad's got some horses up there too.
Cash walked up to my desk and got a piece of candy (yeah, I got a J-O-B, but more on that another day).
Me: Hey, Cash-man, what have you been up to today?
Cash: Eh, not much. My grandma died today.
Okay, think about a low-key way to talk through this so he doesn't start crying.
Me: I heard, Bud, and I'm really sorry. But think about it - your Grandma gets to hang out in heaven now and that's pretty cool, right?
Cash: Yeah, and she's not hurting anymore. That's cool too.
Okay, maybe I'm going to be the one that starts to bawl like a baby.
Me: Hey, Cash, I've got a grandma in heaven too. Do you think that maybe your grandma and one of my grandmas is up there, hanging out and playing and just having a big ol' party?
Cash: Yeah, probably so. And my dad's got a horse up there too, so they're probably riding too.
....And cue the waterworks.
Did I mention that Cash is a pretty cool kid? And, for the record, my dad's got some horses up there too.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Real Housewives of Greenwood County Episode #468
This episode features a montage highlighting the wonderful, romantic relationship that exists between a rancher and his wife.
*Wes waits till mid-July, mid-afternoon to finish clipping some fence. Watch as he drops Anna off in the middle of nowhere with a half empty bottle of water, a 5 gallon bucket of clips and a pair of pliers. Watch her scream obscenities as he drives away and tells her not to come home till she's completely done.
*In the middle of winter, Wes sits in his warm and cozy feed pickup and drives through a pasture at a slow crawl through the snow and sleet. Where is Anna? She's outside of the pickup on the very top of a stack of small square-bales of hay on the bed of the pickup. She cuts the strings and flakes out each bale to the hungry cows. When she is all done, watch as she yells around the cake feeder to the cab of the pickup, asking Wes to stop and let her in the warm cab. Watch as that doesn't grab his attention and she beats on the metal cake feeder instead. When that doesn't get a response from him either, watch her jump off the bed and begin to run next to the passenger window and beat on it, pleading with her husband to let her in the warm cab. Wes finally gets off the phone, turns to the window and sees through the sleet on the window that a shadowy figure is jumping/running next to his feed pickup. When he finally stops and allows his beloved to enter the pickup he simply states, "Well, why didn't you just say something?" Watch as an exasperated Anna tries to flail her frozen arms at him.
Someday soon we'll try to have this episode out on DVD for your viewing pleasure - don't miss it!
*Wes waits till mid-July, mid-afternoon to finish clipping some fence. Watch as he drops Anna off in the middle of nowhere with a half empty bottle of water, a 5 gallon bucket of clips and a pair of pliers. Watch her scream obscenities as he drives away and tells her not to come home till she's completely done.
*In the middle of winter, Wes sits in his warm and cozy feed pickup and drives through a pasture at a slow crawl through the snow and sleet. Where is Anna? She's outside of the pickup on the very top of a stack of small square-bales of hay on the bed of the pickup. She cuts the strings and flakes out each bale to the hungry cows. When she is all done, watch as she yells around the cake feeder to the cab of the pickup, asking Wes to stop and let her in the warm cab. Watch as that doesn't grab his attention and she beats on the metal cake feeder instead. When that doesn't get a response from him either, watch her jump off the bed and begin to run next to the passenger window and beat on it, pleading with her husband to let her in the warm cab. Wes finally gets off the phone, turns to the window and sees through the sleet on the window that a shadowy figure is jumping/running next to his feed pickup. When he finally stops and allows his beloved to enter the pickup he simply states, "Well, why didn't you just say something?" Watch as an exasperated Anna tries to flail her frozen arms at him.
Someday soon we'll try to have this episode out on DVD for your viewing pleasure - don't miss it!
Friday, June 29, 2012
I pray like a Lutheran and I'm proud of it!
I was recently asked to give the welcome and invocation at an evening event. No problem, right? I stood in front of the 120 attendees and thanked them for coming, their support of our program, blah, blah, blah. I then asked them to bow their heads while I prayed.
There was a very long pause.
At that moment it occurred to me that I had just pulled a very stupid move.
We don't say prayers out loud unless they begin..."Come Lord Jesus, be our guest..."
Don't worry, I prayed as best as I could on the spot and included blessings for all the major things that people normally included. Health, kids, safe travels, rain. It just wasn't necessarily my best impromptu moment.
At this moment I bet that Lutherans are laughing and everyone else is saying "I don't get it."
And after reading that last line all Lutherans will say "This is most certainly true."
Again, all you Methodists, Baptists and Pentacostals didn't get that last joke either.
There was a very long pause.
At that moment it occurred to me that I had just pulled a very stupid move.
We don't say prayers out loud unless they begin..."Come Lord Jesus, be our guest..."
Don't worry, I prayed as best as I could on the spot and included blessings for all the major things that people normally included. Health, kids, safe travels, rain. It just wasn't necessarily my best impromptu moment.
At this moment I bet that Lutherans are laughing and everyone else is saying "I don't get it."
And after reading that last line all Lutherans will say "This is most certainly true."
Again, all you Methodists, Baptists and Pentacostals didn't get that last joke either.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
A Plethora of Possibilites
I have no trouble recalling the crazy events of my life, they seem to happen upon me like raindrops on a palm tree in a hurricane. (Like the analogy? I'm on a roll this morning!)
The biggest conundrum I face right now is the appropriate title for this morning's events. Let's look at some options:
Why I Looked Like a Ninja Warrior-Bandit This Morning
Thank Goodness We Don't Have Neighbors
I Hope That Smell Leaves Soon
Orange Juice: Smooth Going Down AND Back Up!
Are you starting to get the feeling that "stellar" is not one of the top ten ways I would describe my morning? You're so clever, nothing gets by you... Let me start at the beginning, (a very good place to start). Sorry, I couldn't resist breaking out into song. And no, I haven't been drinking.
We found a skunk laying dead in our road yesterday morning. Normally this wouldn't be a huge cause for concern but our neighbors only six miles down the road had a rabid skunk at their place early in the spring and now everyone is a little gun shy. I didn't have time to haul him to the vet for testing yesterday. I simply, absolutely, DID NOT. Keep that in mind for the rest of this story and don't hold my crazy schedule against me.
I asked Wesley to bag him up and leave him somewhere where the girls could not get to him for the day. He did exactly as I asked him and placed the skunk in a Glad trash bag (odor shield, yeah right) and placed the bag inside a closed area on the north end of our shed. I really didn't think much about the skunk after I left the house yesterday morning.
Yesterday night when I got home after my meeting at 11pm, I got out of the car and IMMEDIATELY was reminded about our skunk problem. It smelled absolutely delectable.... if you have the taste buds of a vulture.
Anyhow, I'm going to try to rush through some of the 'yummy' details. Did you know that after only 24 hours in intense heat, a skunk's body will start to decompose enough to make it squishy and drip 'juice' (for lack of a more proper term) out of the bag. This meant that I couldn't place the trash sack in the car - obviously. Also, the stench was so powerful that I had to place a jacket (black) over my nose and mouth, wrap the arms of the jacket around the back of my head, crisscross over to the front and tie a huge knot directly over my mouth, effectively gagging myself and blocking the majority of the smell. (Cue the "why I looked like a ninja warrior-bandit." Not that I've seen a lot of those, but I'm guessing.) Notice I said majority of the smell was blocked, but not all. Thus the part about orange juice going down AND up smoothly. I know, I know, TMI.
Since I couldn't put the bag-o-dead skunk in the vehicle, I had to throw it on the roof rack and take dirt roads 25 miles into town. I had made it alllllllmost the entire way into town when I met an oncoming semi. The force of the rushing wind as he passed by me caused the sack to fly off the roof of the jeep and land in the middle of the road. I calmly (yeah, right) placed my jacket over my nose and mouth again, jumped out of the car, threw the sack back onto the top of the car, and jumped back into the car before it was necessary to attempt to take another breath of air.
Now the reallllly great part. The vet clinic is on the northeast part of town.... right next to the high school. On my way to the vet clinic I ran into a gang of high school and junior high aged girls on their bikes, calmly riding home from morning weight-lifting classes. Needless to say, I didn't make any friends there. I also met Larry, an acquaintance that is running for state representative, at the corner next to the vet clinic. You could certainly tell that it is an election year and he wanted my vote. Even though his windows were rolled down and his eyes appeared to be watering profusely, he still smiled and gave me a friendly wave as I drove by.
I wonder how normal people live their lives...
The biggest conundrum I face right now is the appropriate title for this morning's events. Let's look at some options:
Why I Looked Like a Ninja Warrior-Bandit This Morning
Thank Goodness We Don't Have Neighbors
I Hope That Smell Leaves Soon
Orange Juice: Smooth Going Down AND Back Up!
Are you starting to get the feeling that "stellar" is not one of the top ten ways I would describe my morning? You're so clever, nothing gets by you... Let me start at the beginning, (a very good place to start). Sorry, I couldn't resist breaking out into song. And no, I haven't been drinking.
We found a skunk laying dead in our road yesterday morning. Normally this wouldn't be a huge cause for concern but our neighbors only six miles down the road had a rabid skunk at their place early in the spring and now everyone is a little gun shy. I didn't have time to haul him to the vet for testing yesterday. I simply, absolutely, DID NOT. Keep that in mind for the rest of this story and don't hold my crazy schedule against me.
I asked Wesley to bag him up and leave him somewhere where the girls could not get to him for the day. He did exactly as I asked him and placed the skunk in a Glad trash bag (odor shield, yeah right) and placed the bag inside a closed area on the north end of our shed. I really didn't think much about the skunk after I left the house yesterday morning.
Yesterday night when I got home after my meeting at 11pm, I got out of the car and IMMEDIATELY was reminded about our skunk problem. It smelled absolutely delectable.... if you have the taste buds of a vulture.
Anyhow, I'm going to try to rush through some of the 'yummy' details. Did you know that after only 24 hours in intense heat, a skunk's body will start to decompose enough to make it squishy and drip 'juice' (for lack of a more proper term) out of the bag. This meant that I couldn't place the trash sack in the car - obviously. Also, the stench was so powerful that I had to place a jacket (black) over my nose and mouth, wrap the arms of the jacket around the back of my head, crisscross over to the front and tie a huge knot directly over my mouth, effectively gagging myself and blocking the majority of the smell. (Cue the "why I looked like a ninja warrior-bandit." Not that I've seen a lot of those, but I'm guessing.) Notice I said majority of the smell was blocked, but not all. Thus the part about orange juice going down AND up smoothly. I know, I know, TMI.
Since I couldn't put the bag-o-dead skunk in the vehicle, I had to throw it on the roof rack and take dirt roads 25 miles into town. I had made it alllllllmost the entire way into town when I met an oncoming semi. The force of the rushing wind as he passed by me caused the sack to fly off the roof of the jeep and land in the middle of the road. I calmly (yeah, right) placed my jacket over my nose and mouth again, jumped out of the car, threw the sack back onto the top of the car, and jumped back into the car before it was necessary to attempt to take another breath of air.
Now the reallllly great part. The vet clinic is on the northeast part of town.... right next to the high school. On my way to the vet clinic I ran into a gang of high school and junior high aged girls on their bikes, calmly riding home from morning weight-lifting classes. Needless to say, I didn't make any friends there. I also met Larry, an acquaintance that is running for state representative, at the corner next to the vet clinic. You could certainly tell that it is an election year and he wanted my vote. Even though his windows were rolled down and his eyes appeared to be watering profusely, he still smiled and gave me a friendly wave as I drove by.
I wonder how normal people live their lives...
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Farenheit 451 (approximate heat index)
Its hot here. Freakin' hot. Its our first day over 100 degrees and it never feels like something that should be celebrated. You can always tell when the weather gets this warm and its so unbearably hot that animals will do most anything you want them to, just to get it over, done with, and out of the blasted heat.
I was reminded of this just a few moments ago. All of us (Wesley, myself, Loop and Laurie) have been outside all day (baling, swathing, basking, and digging up my flower beds. In that order.). As I mentioned before, its freakin' hot. (Sorry for using that word so much, Grandma, but it just is.) I finally got to the house and was ready to walk into the kitchen door with the two girls close behind. We have a rule that they must not burst through the doors, rather, they must sit on their bottoms and show their manners before being allowed inside the house. Normally I have to remind them of this rule. Today, I grabbed the doorknob and turned around to remind them gently, "manners," but both girls were thinking ahead. Not only were they sitting down, they had sprawled out with everything from their chin to the tip of their tail on the floor. Heat, apparently, makes you mind your manners.
Now for a Golden Girls moment: Picture it- Sumner County, Kansas, circa 1998. (I always love it when Sophia says that.)
I was around 14 years old and my dad had gotten a pair of huge paint geldings to break for some friends one summer. We had worked with them several times and they always had abounding energy.... if you get my drift. One hot day in July, much like today, Dad and I hooked up Nub and Bub to a disc and he sent me out in the field with them. Normally "whoa" was a word that they didn't respond to heartily, but on that day I remember that I barely had to begin the "wh..." and they were already at a dead stop. Apparently, heat makes you mind your manners.
I finally made it back to my grandad's yard late in the afternoon. It probably wasn't more than 45 minutes that I was out in the field with the team but it felt more like an eternity. All three of us were quite tired and dripping with sweat when we parked it under a shade tree by the breeding stall in Grandad's yard. Dad was there waiting for me. I remember my grandad trotting over from his house at a pretty brisk pace, asking if we were going to be there for a minute. I also remember thinking that he was crazy - I didn't have energy to move another inch.
He trotted back across the yard to his garden and returned with a watermelon. We - Grandad, Dad and I, cut into that watermelon and it was the most juicy, refreshing thing I had ever eaten in the world. I remember the juice running all down my chin and how great that sticky juice felt running down my neck and chest. I didn't care how gross and sticky I was getting. It was cool and it was good. The three of us didn't, and still don't, hang out all that much all together at one time. That afternoon was one of the most perfect memories I have of us all together.
Its funny what triggers my memory. Today, seeing how our girls didn't want to fight the heat and minded their manners before even being asked really set me back about 14 years today, thinking about that team and watermelon with Dad and Grandad. I don't mind the heat so much when I think back to that afternoon...
I was reminded of this just a few moments ago. All of us (Wesley, myself, Loop and Laurie) have been outside all day (baling, swathing, basking, and digging up my flower beds. In that order.). As I mentioned before, its freakin' hot. (Sorry for using that word so much, Grandma, but it just is.) I finally got to the house and was ready to walk into the kitchen door with the two girls close behind. We have a rule that they must not burst through the doors, rather, they must sit on their bottoms and show their manners before being allowed inside the house. Normally I have to remind them of this rule. Today, I grabbed the doorknob and turned around to remind them gently, "manners," but both girls were thinking ahead. Not only were they sitting down, they had sprawled out with everything from their chin to the tip of their tail on the floor. Heat, apparently, makes you mind your manners.
Now for a Golden Girls moment: Picture it- Sumner County, Kansas, circa 1998. (I always love it when Sophia says that.)
I was around 14 years old and my dad had gotten a pair of huge paint geldings to break for some friends one summer. We had worked with them several times and they always had abounding energy.... if you get my drift. One hot day in July, much like today, Dad and I hooked up Nub and Bub to a disc and he sent me out in the field with them. Normally "whoa" was a word that they didn't respond to heartily, but on that day I remember that I barely had to begin the "wh..." and they were already at a dead stop. Apparently, heat makes you mind your manners.
I finally made it back to my grandad's yard late in the afternoon. It probably wasn't more than 45 minutes that I was out in the field with the team but it felt more like an eternity. All three of us were quite tired and dripping with sweat when we parked it under a shade tree by the breeding stall in Grandad's yard. Dad was there waiting for me. I remember my grandad trotting over from his house at a pretty brisk pace, asking if we were going to be there for a minute. I also remember thinking that he was crazy - I didn't have energy to move another inch.
He trotted back across the yard to his garden and returned with a watermelon. We - Grandad, Dad and I, cut into that watermelon and it was the most juicy, refreshing thing I had ever eaten in the world. I remember the juice running all down my chin and how great that sticky juice felt running down my neck and chest. I didn't care how gross and sticky I was getting. It was cool and it was good. The three of us didn't, and still don't, hang out all that much all together at one time. That afternoon was one of the most perfect memories I have of us all together.
Its funny what triggers my memory. Today, seeing how our girls didn't want to fight the heat and minded their manners before even being asked really set me back about 14 years today, thinking about that team and watermelon with Dad and Grandad. I don't mind the heat so much when I think back to that afternoon...
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
867-5309
Sometimes I think that people can get a little too pigeon-holed in their own little worlds and forget that not every place in the world runs exactly the same as them.
Case in point?
Believe it or not, in some parts of the country, when giving out your telephone number, you must include alllllll the numbers. That's right, all seven of them. Whew.
I have been doing a bunch of work on the telephone today and talked to three different people (yeah, that's too much time on the phone in my world) and asked for their numbers. Do you know their responses?
8171.
6871.
7405.
If you call in to the Swap Shop on the radio its the exact same scenario. "I've got an old 'fridge, asking $100. 2964." Sometimes someone from a neighboring town calls in and then they have to give all seven digits (sigh) and sometimes someone from waaaaay out of town (or possible new in town) calls in and they give all seven digits PLUS the area code (gasp!). I doubt many people call to buy those things. Too many numbers to remember. Lets keep it simple folks.
Case in point?
Believe it or not, in some parts of the country, when giving out your telephone number, you must include alllllll the numbers. That's right, all seven of them. Whew.
I have been doing a bunch of work on the telephone today and talked to three different people (yeah, that's too much time on the phone in my world) and asked for their numbers. Do you know their responses?
8171.
6871.
7405.
If you call in to the Swap Shop on the radio its the exact same scenario. "I've got an old 'fridge, asking $100. 2964." Sometimes someone from a neighboring town calls in and then they have to give all seven digits (sigh) and sometimes someone from waaaaay out of town (or possible new in town) calls in and they give all seven digits PLUS the area code (gasp!). I doubt many people call to buy those things. Too many numbers to remember. Lets keep it simple folks.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
My Oh My...
I promise I'm not making this up.
We have a little local radio station (you know, not the first trailer, but drive around back to the second, newer trailer) and sometimes I like to listen to "Swap Shop" during the 8 o'clock hour. Folks can call in to buy, sell or trade items, and you can also call in to publicize any sort of upcoming event.
A man called in this morning to publicize a mud run on Saturday. Not that talking about the mud run in and of itself wasn't exhilarating enough, the man was mid-sentence when he suddenly stopped.
"Uh-oh"
The announcer tried to quiz him. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
"Well, there's a rattlesnake."
The announcer suddenly got very concerned. "Oh no! Where's the rattlesnake at? Is it near you?"
"The rattlesnake is in the skunk's mouth."
At that point I joined everyone else in the county in turning up their radio to maximum volume. From this point forward for the next 2 minutes we heard a riveting play-by-play of the battle to the death between two equally appalling creatures. Yes, its true. I do not love all of God's creatures. Some are just icky.
"Okay, so the mud run, it starts at 1pm and we're selling t-shirts. AGH, THE SKUNK PICKED UP THE SNAKE IN IT'S MOUTH! And I'm going to be wearing our most popular color of t-shirt, its a bright orange color, like the color you wear when you're hunting. THEY'RE RUNNING AT ME! (random running and heavy breathing sounds in the background) I sure hope he don't try to pee on me. (I'm guessing he meant the skunk.) Oh, wait, just a second.... huh, the skunk just fell over dead. Huh, the skunk's dead, the snake looks dead. Heck of a deal. Well, we'll see you at the mud run on Saturday at 1."
Click. Then we heard nothing but dial tone.
We could faintly hear the sound of the announcer laughing hysterically and slapping his hand on either his desk or leg. Finally, he regained his composure and tried to get back on task with Swap Shop. It was a futile effort on his part - the next three callers simply asked if that had been staged or not.... and if he recorded his morning shows because they wanted a copy of the preceding five minutes. Much to the chagrin of the county, it was not recorded. Bummer.
Never a dull moment in ol' GW County.
We have a little local radio station (you know, not the first trailer, but drive around back to the second, newer trailer) and sometimes I like to listen to "Swap Shop" during the 8 o'clock hour. Folks can call in to buy, sell or trade items, and you can also call in to publicize any sort of upcoming event.
A man called in this morning to publicize a mud run on Saturday. Not that talking about the mud run in and of itself wasn't exhilarating enough, the man was mid-sentence when he suddenly stopped.
"Uh-oh"
The announcer tried to quiz him. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
"Well, there's a rattlesnake."
The announcer suddenly got very concerned. "Oh no! Where's the rattlesnake at? Is it near you?"
"The rattlesnake is in the skunk's mouth."
At that point I joined everyone else in the county in turning up their radio to maximum volume. From this point forward for the next 2 minutes we heard a riveting play-by-play of the battle to the death between two equally appalling creatures. Yes, its true. I do not love all of God's creatures. Some are just icky.
"Okay, so the mud run, it starts at 1pm and we're selling t-shirts. AGH, THE SKUNK PICKED UP THE SNAKE IN IT'S MOUTH! And I'm going to be wearing our most popular color of t-shirt, its a bright orange color, like the color you wear when you're hunting. THEY'RE RUNNING AT ME! (random running and heavy breathing sounds in the background) I sure hope he don't try to pee on me. (I'm guessing he meant the skunk.) Oh, wait, just a second.... huh, the skunk just fell over dead. Huh, the skunk's dead, the snake looks dead. Heck of a deal. Well, we'll see you at the mud run on Saturday at 1."
Click. Then we heard nothing but dial tone.
We could faintly hear the sound of the announcer laughing hysterically and slapping his hand on either his desk or leg. Finally, he regained his composure and tried to get back on task with Swap Shop. It was a futile effort on his part - the next three callers simply asked if that had been staged or not.... and if he recorded his morning shows because they wanted a copy of the preceding five minutes. Much to the chagrin of the county, it was not recorded. Bummer.
Never a dull moment in ol' GW County.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Honky Strikes Again
Sunday night Wesley's phone rang. It was the banker calling. That is never a good sign.
They spoke for several minutes and from my limited perspective of the conversation I could garner that a) we were not being foreclosed upon just yet, and b) we didn't have any cattle out and running across the roads.
So.... what's left?
Good question. As soon as they finished their conversation and hung up I began to quiz Wesley about the nature of this peculiar call. As it turns out, we have a set of portable cattle pens. They're pretty cool, kinda similar to the sets of fold-up pens that every single ranch kid in America has played with all their lives, only not on a six inch scale. More like six foot. These pens have wheels on them (hence the "portable" aspect) and can be unrolled and set up in roughly 15 minutes, perfect for working cattle in the middle of any pasture.
Know what else they're good for? Beer gardens.
That's right, the banker man called to see if Wesley would set up his portable pens in the middle of the street, in the middle of town, for a portable beer garden during our town's annual festival. Apparently a beer garden is not official until you have defined boundaries set up. And you know us, always on the right side of official.
As I stated in an earlier post, we don't try to be honky, it just happens.
And yes, I will take pictures.
They spoke for several minutes and from my limited perspective of the conversation I could garner that a) we were not being foreclosed upon just yet, and b) we didn't have any cattle out and running across the roads.
So.... what's left?
Good question. As soon as they finished their conversation and hung up I began to quiz Wesley about the nature of this peculiar call. As it turns out, we have a set of portable cattle pens. They're pretty cool, kinda similar to the sets of fold-up pens that every single ranch kid in America has played with all their lives, only not on a six inch scale. More like six foot. These pens have wheels on them (hence the "portable" aspect) and can be unrolled and set up in roughly 15 minutes, perfect for working cattle in the middle of any pasture.
Know what else they're good for? Beer gardens.
That's right, the banker man called to see if Wesley would set up his portable pens in the middle of the street, in the middle of town, for a portable beer garden during our town's annual festival. Apparently a beer garden is not official until you have defined boundaries set up. And you know us, always on the right side of official.
As I stated in an earlier post, we don't try to be honky, it just happens.
And yes, I will take pictures.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Sleep Deprivation
I have just returned from a long weekend, a week at a 4-H camp, and another long weekend.
I am a bit sleep deprived.
I was just listening to the radio and they said that sleep deprivation is a major contributor leading to an early death.
What the advertisement failed to clarify; however, was if the early death was for those that are sleep deprived or for those that happen to be standing in the vicinity when the aforementioned sleep deprived individuals finally snap.
Any thoughts? Please don't tell me I'm the only one who saw a need for further clarification.
I am a bit sleep deprived.
I was just listening to the radio and they said that sleep deprivation is a major contributor leading to an early death.
What the advertisement failed to clarify; however, was if the early death was for those that are sleep deprived or for those that happen to be standing in the vicinity when the aforementioned sleep deprived individuals finally snap.
Any thoughts? Please don't tell me I'm the only one who saw a need for further clarification.
Friday, May 25, 2012
My Own Worst Enemy
Sometimes I can be my own worst enemy and my habits and tendencies can come back to bite me in the bottom.
Here's a perfect example - my frugal nature. I freak out when someone leaves the light on in a room and walks out, I cease to run the clothes dryer every spring as soon as I'm sure that clothes won't freeze solid on the clothes line, and Wesley knows he can send me into an instant conniption fit by standing in front of an open fridge door. (I cringe just thinking about it.)
He finally came back from Florida and I was soooooooo excited to see him again, as were the little girls. Last night we finally all got to spend some time together and actually talk about his trip. For some reason I was feeling a bit whiny and neglected last night and so I asked him if he brought me any sort of trinket or postcard from the trip. I was pretty sure that Mitch would have gotten something for my sister and I figured that it was reasonable for me to expect a little something as well. His reply?
"Well, I had something in my hand picked out for you, but then I figured I'd just get yelled at for spending money. I put it back."
So here's the amendment to my 'frugal rules.'
If you spend a few hundred dollars on a plane ticket, hotel rooms and meals for a week-long boy's trip, please go ahead and budget $10 on some sort of peace offering for the wife that you left at home to spray mice to death with flea and tick spray. Please and thank you.
Here's a perfect example - my frugal nature. I freak out when someone leaves the light on in a room and walks out, I cease to run the clothes dryer every spring as soon as I'm sure that clothes won't freeze solid on the clothes line, and Wesley knows he can send me into an instant conniption fit by standing in front of an open fridge door. (I cringe just thinking about it.)
He finally came back from Florida and I was soooooooo excited to see him again, as were the little girls. Last night we finally all got to spend some time together and actually talk about his trip. For some reason I was feeling a bit whiny and neglected last night and so I asked him if he brought me any sort of trinket or postcard from the trip. I was pretty sure that Mitch would have gotten something for my sister and I figured that it was reasonable for me to expect a little something as well. His reply?
"Well, I had something in my hand picked out for you, but then I figured I'd just get yelled at for spending money. I put it back."
So here's the amendment to my 'frugal rules.'
If you spend a few hundred dollars on a plane ticket, hotel rooms and meals for a week-long boy's trip, please go ahead and budget $10 on some sort of peace offering for the wife that you left at home to spray mice to death with flea and tick spray. Please and thank you.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Another endearing story about mice
Let's just keep the gross-story theme going, shall we? After posting about my last escapade involving those nasty looking buggers it dawned on me that this was not, in fact, my first time trying to kill a mouse in a rather unique way.
Have you ever tried to strangle a mouse?
As I mentioned a few days ago - I don't touch mice, dead or not. (Except for that one lab in grad school and I still get the heebie-jeebies when I think about it.) A few months ago, as I was walking through the house I saw a little fella out of the corner of my eye dashing into our bathroom. I ran in behind him and shut the door, so we were effectively both trapped in a tiny area together. Genius. This is pretty much where all intelligent thought ceased to happen.
Since I really didn't have a plan past "shut the door" I hurriedly raced a million ideas through my mind. What, might you ask, did I settle upon? Pin him in a corner with a toilet brush holder. So that's exactly what I did. But then I realized that the toilet brush holder itself was also a germ infested and rather disgusting object, so I distanced myself by holding a trashcan up against the toilet brush holder that had the mouse pinned in a corner. I pushed on that trashcan for a full five minute stretch and finally had myself convinced that surely I had effectively squeezed every bit of life-force out of him. I finally left my post temporarily to run across the house, grab my phone and call to let Wesley know he had to return home and remove a rodent at his earliest convenience. Please and thank you.
When I made it back to the bathroom I checked my cluttered little corner to review my genius handiwork.
No mouse.
Seriously? First, I'm not sure how a mouse could survive the squeeze that I had just placed upon him, and secondly, how in the world could he have crawled over all my obstacles? And in the back of my mind I had a third thought - what type of cruel revenge was a mouse on an evil revenge mission able to accomplish?
Between these two events we shall call it a drawl. Anna - 1. Evil little rodents - 1. They may have won one battle, but this is now war.
Have you ever tried to strangle a mouse?
As I mentioned a few days ago - I don't touch mice, dead or not. (Except for that one lab in grad school and I still get the heebie-jeebies when I think about it.) A few months ago, as I was walking through the house I saw a little fella out of the corner of my eye dashing into our bathroom. I ran in behind him and shut the door, so we were effectively both trapped in a tiny area together. Genius. This is pretty much where all intelligent thought ceased to happen.
Since I really didn't have a plan past "shut the door" I hurriedly raced a million ideas through my mind. What, might you ask, did I settle upon? Pin him in a corner with a toilet brush holder. So that's exactly what I did. But then I realized that the toilet brush holder itself was also a germ infested and rather disgusting object, so I distanced myself by holding a trashcan up against the toilet brush holder that had the mouse pinned in a corner. I pushed on that trashcan for a full five minute stretch and finally had myself convinced that surely I had effectively squeezed every bit of life-force out of him. I finally left my post temporarily to run across the house, grab my phone and call to let Wesley know he had to return home and remove a rodent at his earliest convenience. Please and thank you.
When I made it back to the bathroom I checked my cluttered little corner to review my genius handiwork.
No mouse.
Seriously? First, I'm not sure how a mouse could survive the squeeze that I had just placed upon him, and secondly, how in the world could he have crawled over all my obstacles? And in the back of my mind I had a third thought - what type of cruel revenge was a mouse on an evil revenge mission able to accomplish?
Between these two events we shall call it a drawl. Anna - 1. Evil little rodents - 1. They may have won one battle, but this is now war.
Friday, May 18, 2012
I'm Not Weird, I'm Resourceful
As my father's only son (please don't hang on that statement too long, no gender changes were involved) I learned very quickly that if a problem arose, more often than not I had to solve it myself - at least temporarily to get by until Dad could help me with a more permanent fix.
Wesley left last night to spend five days in Florida with my Dad, my brother-in-law, a neighbor and another feller. Yep, a big ol' stag party. Because it is now just the girls and I at the house, we have strategically booby-trapped the entire place. Potential burglars beware.
I had myself mentally prepared for intruders and was walking on pins and needles last night when, suddenly, I heard a chorus of squeaks and whines. Loop, Laurie and I all perked up our ears and began to track down the source of the mysterious sound. After tearing apart the bottom of our dishwasher we finally found our culprit - two mice stuck on a sticky trap and obviously not thrilled by the prospect.
The three of us stared at each other and all agreed that we did NOT want to touch the trap while they were still alive. Or even when they finally died. Those things are gross. So, how do you kill mice without touching them? Have you ever pondered that? We couldn't use diesel fuel inside the house, and we couldn't use kerosene or oil, so we finally settled upon using flea and tick spray. I think that Loopie and Laurie just wanted me to use up as much as possible on something other than themselves.
That's right, folks, if you spray a mouse with enough flea and tick spray, not only will his hair coat be thoroughly protected, but he will also drift off into a deep, deep sleep.
Again, I reiterate, I am not weird, I am resourceful. And I hope they don't start to stink before Wesley gets back. If they do, be prepared for some sort of story involving a scoop shovel inside the house. I'm not scared of mice, but they are just so gross. Its one of the few times that I will play the "girl card."
Wesley left last night to spend five days in Florida with my Dad, my brother-in-law, a neighbor and another feller. Yep, a big ol' stag party. Because it is now just the girls and I at the house, we have strategically booby-trapped the entire place. Potential burglars beware.
I had myself mentally prepared for intruders and was walking on pins and needles last night when, suddenly, I heard a chorus of squeaks and whines. Loop, Laurie and I all perked up our ears and began to track down the source of the mysterious sound. After tearing apart the bottom of our dishwasher we finally found our culprit - two mice stuck on a sticky trap and obviously not thrilled by the prospect.
The three of us stared at each other and all agreed that we did NOT want to touch the trap while they were still alive. Or even when they finally died. Those things are gross. So, how do you kill mice without touching them? Have you ever pondered that? We couldn't use diesel fuel inside the house, and we couldn't use kerosene or oil, so we finally settled upon using flea and tick spray. I think that Loopie and Laurie just wanted me to use up as much as possible on something other than themselves.
That's right, folks, if you spray a mouse with enough flea and tick spray, not only will his hair coat be thoroughly protected, but he will also drift off into a deep, deep sleep.
Again, I reiterate, I am not weird, I am resourceful. And I hope they don't start to stink before Wesley gets back. If they do, be prepared for some sort of story involving a scoop shovel inside the house. I'm not scared of mice, but they are just so gross. Its one of the few times that I will play the "girl card."
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Her nose is growing...
I know that our little girls are not perfect. Occasionally, they tell a fib or two and don't do exactly what we expect of them. Last Saturday night was one of these occasions.
Wesley and I went out for the evening to supper at a friend's house. Not a crap night, but still a great time. We didn't return home until almost 11:15 that night (I'm still trying to recoup that lost sleep) and noticed that the girls were not home. If I hadn't been so doggone tired I probably would have been more worried and lost more sleep over it, but like I said, I was so tired that sleep was something I didn't feel I could afford to lose.
The next morning Wesley drove to his folks' house to feed cattle. He returned shortly with two little girls sitting sheepishly in his front seat. As they jumped down from the seat I immediately began to question why they had spent the entire night gallivanting around the country.
Laurie pounced upon the opportunity with a very well rehearsed excuse. "Well, you know that dog that stays and Gregg and Janell's sometimes - Lou? Well, the other night he invited us over for a sleepover and we thought that sounded like fun and so we went over last night but no one was home and we were confused and we didn't want to seem rude so we stuck around to see if anyone would come over and then it got so late that we didn't want to leave and then get lost in the dark and I didn't want to get in a tangle with one of those danged ol' coyotes you know how I hate those danged ol' coyotes and then it was morning and here we are!"
Loopie just blinked a few times. "I thought it sounded fishy that it was going to be a coed sleepover."
Needless to say, we didn't exactly believe all of their story and both girls were banished to their pen for several hours. I'm giving them extra points for creativity though.
Wesley and I went out for the evening to supper at a friend's house. Not a crap night, but still a great time. We didn't return home until almost 11:15 that night (I'm still trying to recoup that lost sleep) and noticed that the girls were not home. If I hadn't been so doggone tired I probably would have been more worried and lost more sleep over it, but like I said, I was so tired that sleep was something I didn't feel I could afford to lose.
The next morning Wesley drove to his folks' house to feed cattle. He returned shortly with two little girls sitting sheepishly in his front seat. As they jumped down from the seat I immediately began to question why they had spent the entire night gallivanting around the country.
Laurie pounced upon the opportunity with a very well rehearsed excuse. "Well, you know that dog that stays and Gregg and Janell's sometimes - Lou? Well, the other night he invited us over for a sleepover and we thought that sounded like fun and so we went over last night but no one was home and we were confused and we didn't want to seem rude so we stuck around to see if anyone would come over and then it got so late that we didn't want to leave and then get lost in the dark and I didn't want to get in a tangle with one of those danged ol' coyotes you know how I hate those danged ol' coyotes and then it was morning and here we are!"
Loopie just blinked a few times. "I thought it sounded fishy that it was going to be a coed sleepover."
Needless to say, we didn't exactly believe all of their story and both girls were banished to their pen for several hours. I'm giving them extra points for creativity though.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Our lovely little life
The wind has finally subsided for a whopping 20 minutes here in the Flint Hills, so I decided to pounce upon this opportunity and take some close up shots of my flowers before they began to follow their usual 6 inch to-and-fro in front of my camera screen, like they normally do.
The girls were very content to watch me while they soaked up the sunshine. Do you ever just have a good afternoon?
The girls were very content to watch me while they soaked up the sunshine. Do you ever just have a good afternoon?
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| Laurie loves to chew on horns. I think she should either say "Ricccccccoooooola" or "Elementary, my dear Watson" but I haven't really decided if she's more suited for the Alps or if she looks more like Sherlock Holmes with his pipe. Perhaps we should open the floor for a vote. |
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| .....And sometimes it freaks me out when she looks at me and licks her lips. |
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| Some of the lovely yarrow that I planted between the rocks in the border surrounding our porch. |
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| I don't know why I can't rotate this picture so please tilt your head to the left and admire Loopie with her wise, distant gaze. She always looks dignified and elegant. She doesn't lick her lips when she looks at me. |
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| Clematis (I think). I usually mess up and call it some sort of venereal disease. Isn't it great to have a mom that's a nurse? |
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| More yarrow that I got as a transplant from family. (Yea for free flowers!) What - you thought my frugal nature only pertained to matters inside of the home? You are seriously mistaken, my friend! |
Friday, May 11, 2012
I have created a monster
I have created a monster and I never really intended to. Although, does one ever really intend on creating a monster? Discuss amongst yourselves.
Wesley and I have lived in wedded bliss in our little home for roughly 588 days. Actually, its been 588 days. I did the math. During this time, I realize that he's not done much in the house. I feel that he does more than his fair share of providing for our family and therefore I let him slide on some of the more mundane tasks of homemaking, such as loading dishes in the dishwasher. And, lets be realistic. It took a good nine months for him to even get them near the vicinity of the sink. You pick and choose your battles.
Last night, for some unknown reason, my husband took pity on me and decided to help load the dishwasher. He took his plate and silverware dutifully over to the large white receptacle, stood, stared, and studied the two racks of already dirty items.
I watched his brow furrow.
He bent over, studying the contents of the top row. He carefully slid it all the way into the dishwasher. Then he bent farther over, furrowed his brow even more and studied the bottom row. Finally, he turned his head towards me.
"Um, where does the silverware go?"
I laughed, cried, snorted and hyperventilated so uncontrollably while I attempted to slide the bottom rack in and show him that silverware should be placed in the door that I think he is scarred for life. I feel that it is safe to say he will never attempt to touch the dishwasher again. Perhaps I should look into some sort of sensitivity training.
Wesley and I have lived in wedded bliss in our little home for roughly 588 days. Actually, its been 588 days. I did the math. During this time, I realize that he's not done much in the house. I feel that he does more than his fair share of providing for our family and therefore I let him slide on some of the more mundane tasks of homemaking, such as loading dishes in the dishwasher. And, lets be realistic. It took a good nine months for him to even get them near the vicinity of the sink. You pick and choose your battles.
Last night, for some unknown reason, my husband took pity on me and decided to help load the dishwasher. He took his plate and silverware dutifully over to the large white receptacle, stood, stared, and studied the two racks of already dirty items.
I watched his brow furrow.
He bent over, studying the contents of the top row. He carefully slid it all the way into the dishwasher. Then he bent farther over, furrowed his brow even more and studied the bottom row. Finally, he turned his head towards me.
"Um, where does the silverware go?"
I laughed, cried, snorted and hyperventilated so uncontrollably while I attempted to slide the bottom rack in and show him that silverware should be placed in the door that I think he is scarred for life. I feel that it is safe to say he will never attempt to touch the dishwasher again. Perhaps I should look into some sort of sensitivity training.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Don't take that like I said that... Got that?
My train of thought is less like a continuous string of logical, followable ideas and more like fleeting, random strokes of genius. At least that's what I tell myself.
I have learned over the years that if I do not immediately state what is in my head when it appears then this little tidbit of genius will be lost to all posterity and therefore I must verbally spurt it out, usually at a very inconvenient or inappropriate time.
Case in point:
Sunday, Wesley and I went down to visit my folks. We were saying our goodbyes, which this time happened to be a rather somber occasion. We were all standing around, our eyes slightly misty, and my mother said, "Can I come visit you this week?"
Instead of taking two thoughts and placing them in two different sentences with huge pauses inserted for emphasis, my thoughts came out.... "No, and Dad, can I have my pistol back from you?"
For the record, I do not want to shoot my mom. And a huge thank you to my dad for returning my pistol. See? I CAN place two thoughts in two separate sentences! Practice, practice, practice.
I have learned over the years that if I do not immediately state what is in my head when it appears then this little tidbit of genius will be lost to all posterity and therefore I must verbally spurt it out, usually at a very inconvenient or inappropriate time.
Case in point:
Sunday, Wesley and I went down to visit my folks. We were saying our goodbyes, which this time happened to be a rather somber occasion. We were all standing around, our eyes slightly misty, and my mother said, "Can I come visit you this week?"
Instead of taking two thoughts and placing them in two different sentences with huge pauses inserted for emphasis, my thoughts came out.... "No, and Dad, can I have my pistol back from you?"
For the record, I do not want to shoot my mom. And a huge thank you to my dad for returning my pistol. See? I CAN place two thoughts in two separate sentences! Practice, practice, practice.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Ode to a Washing Machine
Well, it finally happened. My washing machine has moved on to greener pastures. Bought the farm. Gone to Davy Jones' locker. After a healthy 17 years of service, she's finally being retired. We had a good run together. Three states, six moves, five roommates.
If you figure that I washed an average of four loads of laundry per week, my cost per wash was $0.08 per load for a washer that I paid only $100 for used. Not too shabby.
Towards the end she really began to decline pretty quickly. There was a problem with the sensor and in order to make it run properly without shutting off mid-cycle I had to weight down the lid with various objects. First, it was one 10 pound weight (its not like I ever used it anyway). Then, I had to use TWO ten pound weights (again, they were getting rusty from not being used by me). Eventually, twenty pounds didn't cut the mustard and I started to create precarious pyramids on the washer lid with weights on the bottom and various detergent buckets, apple juice bottles and half-empty paint cans on the top. Soon, this was not enough either. We then tried to make Laurie do something useful when she is in the house in the afternoons lounging.
She didn't care for her new assignment. It was a successful, yet short-lived, venture.
After much contemplation and research on consumerreports.org (one of my favorite websites of all time), I finally found "the one". What, might you ask, did I choose? I don't really like to venture out of my comfort zone very much, so I got a nearly identical model to my former workhorse, only 17 years younger. AND, the part I'm most excited about is the fact that there was a little, teeny-tiny, microscopic, insignificant scratch on the lid and therefore I paid $150 less than it was originally listed at. Seriously, folks, who cares if your washer looks great on the outside. Within twelve hours of purchasing this washer there were clothes with cattle poop on the inside of it. Lets keep things in perspective here.
So now my dearly beloved retired washer is setting on our front porch. Classy, right? Wesley and I have just not been at our home at the same time long enough to get it moved. I think that Grandma Curry is getting a little anxious, though, wondering if it will become a permanent fixture in my decorating scheme. I'm thinking of setting a pot of flowers on top of the agitator inside the tub and seeing if she flips out. Not terribly nice of me, I know, but I think its a safe venture. She went to the doctor a few weeks ago and they said that her pacemaker was in tip-top shape!
If you figure that I washed an average of four loads of laundry per week, my cost per wash was $0.08 per load for a washer that I paid only $100 for used. Not too shabby.
Towards the end she really began to decline pretty quickly. There was a problem with the sensor and in order to make it run properly without shutting off mid-cycle I had to weight down the lid with various objects. First, it was one 10 pound weight (its not like I ever used it anyway). Then, I had to use TWO ten pound weights (again, they were getting rusty from not being used by me). Eventually, twenty pounds didn't cut the mustard and I started to create precarious pyramids on the washer lid with weights on the bottom and various detergent buckets, apple juice bottles and half-empty paint cans on the top. Soon, this was not enough either. We then tried to make Laurie do something useful when she is in the house in the afternoons lounging.
She didn't care for her new assignment. It was a successful, yet short-lived, venture.
After much contemplation and research on consumerreports.org (one of my favorite websites of all time), I finally found "the one". What, might you ask, did I choose? I don't really like to venture out of my comfort zone very much, so I got a nearly identical model to my former workhorse, only 17 years younger. AND, the part I'm most excited about is the fact that there was a little, teeny-tiny, microscopic, insignificant scratch on the lid and therefore I paid $150 less than it was originally listed at. Seriously, folks, who cares if your washer looks great on the outside. Within twelve hours of purchasing this washer there were clothes with cattle poop on the inside of it. Lets keep things in perspective here.
So now my dearly beloved retired washer is setting on our front porch. Classy, right? Wesley and I have just not been at our home at the same time long enough to get it moved. I think that Grandma Curry is getting a little anxious, though, wondering if it will become a permanent fixture in my decorating scheme. I'm thinking of setting a pot of flowers on top of the agitator inside the tub and seeing if she flips out. Not terribly nice of me, I know, but I think its a safe venture. She went to the doctor a few weeks ago and they said that her pacemaker was in tip-top shape!
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Descriptive features
Sometimes it is necessary to take a step back from the situation that you are a part of in order to realize just how ridiculous it sounds. Sometimes I don't realize how dorky I sound until I re-process a conversation in my head after a period of time has passed. Need examples? How about every time my mother and I try to describe people to one another.
My mother is a hospice nurse, so she primarily deals with an older generation. In high school I worked at a drug store, so I primarily dealt with an older generation. We went to a Lutheran women's convention this weekend, so we primarily dealt with.... you get the picture.
Dealing with an older generation so often has not deterred my mother's ability or methods (or mine) to describe people.
Mom: "You know, that woman we met this weekend - tiny, gray hair, sweet as can be..."
Me: "Glasses?"
Mom: "Well, yes."
Me (in my head): "Well, that takes out everyone but the 92 year old that we ate breakfast with, only because she dyed her hair..."
Mom: "She is a retired farmer's wife..."
Check two more off the list, only because they were pastors' wives.
I wanted to ask if she walked with a slight stoop and wore hearing aids, but of course that wouldn't really get me anywhere. By the end of the conversation I still had no idea who my mother was referring to, but I'm pretty sure we've gotten it narrowed down to 97% of the women at the Holiday Inn convention center in Lawrence this past weekend.
On anther note, I have decided who I would like to emulate when I reach the ripe old age of 92. I don't even remember her name (tiny, glasses, hearing aids, slight stoop, but dyed her hair, which makes her totally stand out) but that woman was AWESOME. As we were eating breakfast Sunday morning, a waiter walked by our table several times with various water and juice pitchers. Once, when he walked by, the little old lady blurted out, "I'm sorry to keep staring, but you're just so HANDSOME!"
My new goal in life is to reach the ripe old age where it is completely acceptable to have no filter. 26 years down, 66 years to go.
My mother is a hospice nurse, so she primarily deals with an older generation. In high school I worked at a drug store, so I primarily dealt with an older generation. We went to a Lutheran women's convention this weekend, so we primarily dealt with.... you get the picture.
Dealing with an older generation so often has not deterred my mother's ability or methods (or mine) to describe people.
Mom: "You know, that woman we met this weekend - tiny, gray hair, sweet as can be..."
Me: "Glasses?"
Mom: "Well, yes."
Me (in my head): "Well, that takes out everyone but the 92 year old that we ate breakfast with, only because she dyed her hair..."
Mom: "She is a retired farmer's wife..."
Check two more off the list, only because they were pastors' wives.
I wanted to ask if she walked with a slight stoop and wore hearing aids, but of course that wouldn't really get me anywhere. By the end of the conversation I still had no idea who my mother was referring to, but I'm pretty sure we've gotten it narrowed down to 97% of the women at the Holiday Inn convention center in Lawrence this past weekend.
On anther note, I have decided who I would like to emulate when I reach the ripe old age of 92. I don't even remember her name (tiny, glasses, hearing aids, slight stoop, but dyed her hair, which makes her totally stand out) but that woman was AWESOME. As we were eating breakfast Sunday morning, a waiter walked by our table several times with various water and juice pitchers. Once, when he walked by, the little old lady blurted out, "I'm sorry to keep staring, but you're just so HANDSOME!"
My new goal in life is to reach the ripe old age where it is completely acceptable to have no filter. 26 years down, 66 years to go.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Fun Facts
Let's be honest. Its Friday and I can't really make out a train of complete thoughts at this point. Its been one of those weeks/months/years. I'll tell you a little bit about my area.
*I traveled to Manhattan for a few days for training-type stuff. My cohort, Amanda, and I were commenting on how terrible the traffic was and that this was the biggest apple that we ever wanted to visit in our lives. (For those uninformed masses, Manhattan, Kansas, is known as the "little apple" as opposed to that other place back east.) We later met with the director of the state 4-H program who went on and on endlessly about the benefits of living in a small town such as Manhattan. Turns out, she lived in Washington, D.C. for a number of years. I guess it all depends on perspective. I prefer mine.
*We had quite a downpour earlier this week and as I was driving home I noticed a van parked ON the sidewalk, under an awning. When I say on the sidewalk I don't mean that they simply jumped the curb. They drove up the handicap ramp, proceeded forward for 10 yards and parked immediately in front of the store that they needed to enter. No one really batted an eye at this. I'm sure they had good reason not to want to get wet. Surely..... right?
*I was on our little hometown radio station yesterday morning to promote our county fair. I had to travel a few miles out into the country to get to the trailer house where they broadcast from. I'll give you directions so you can go visit too. Its about three miles south of town, west side of the road, top of the hill. You'll see the first trailer house with the antennas sticking out of it, but that's not the correct one. If you drive to the backside of this house you'll see that there's another, newer trailer and that's the "new" station. Tricky, I know. Try to keep up.
*We're having Crap Night at our house tomorrow night for Wesley's belated birthday party and you're all invited. What, you ask yourselves, is Crap Night? Crap Night is a tradition that I grew up with in my family and am introducing in GW Co. Families come together and eat snacks and finger food, kids play in one area and leave the adults relatively alone, and kids can say the word crap all they want to and not get in trouble because it's Crap Night. Everybody wins.
*Since this entire post is just a bunch of random thoughts I'm throwing this fun fact in as well. We have one stoplight in our entire county, and between the hours of 10pm and 6am it only serves as a red blinky light. I love our little rural life.
Post Script: Just because we call it Crap Night, this does not mean we eat crappy food. The food is quite delicious, it just isn't necessarily the most healthy. Dieters beware.
*I traveled to Manhattan for a few days for training-type stuff. My cohort, Amanda, and I were commenting on how terrible the traffic was and that this was the biggest apple that we ever wanted to visit in our lives. (For those uninformed masses, Manhattan, Kansas, is known as the "little apple" as opposed to that other place back east.) We later met with the director of the state 4-H program who went on and on endlessly about the benefits of living in a small town such as Manhattan. Turns out, she lived in Washington, D.C. for a number of years. I guess it all depends on perspective. I prefer mine.
*We had quite a downpour earlier this week and as I was driving home I noticed a van parked ON the sidewalk, under an awning. When I say on the sidewalk I don't mean that they simply jumped the curb. They drove up the handicap ramp, proceeded forward for 10 yards and parked immediately in front of the store that they needed to enter. No one really batted an eye at this. I'm sure they had good reason not to want to get wet. Surely..... right?
*I was on our little hometown radio station yesterday morning to promote our county fair. I had to travel a few miles out into the country to get to the trailer house where they broadcast from. I'll give you directions so you can go visit too. Its about three miles south of town, west side of the road, top of the hill. You'll see the first trailer house with the antennas sticking out of it, but that's not the correct one. If you drive to the backside of this house you'll see that there's another, newer trailer and that's the "new" station. Tricky, I know. Try to keep up.
*We're having Crap Night at our house tomorrow night for Wesley's belated birthday party and you're all invited. What, you ask yourselves, is Crap Night? Crap Night is a tradition that I grew up with in my family and am introducing in GW Co. Families come together and eat snacks and finger food, kids play in one area and leave the adults relatively alone, and kids can say the word crap all they want to and not get in trouble because it's Crap Night. Everybody wins.
*Since this entire post is just a bunch of random thoughts I'm throwing this fun fact in as well. We have one stoplight in our entire county, and between the hours of 10pm and 6am it only serves as a red blinky light. I love our little rural life.
Post Script: Just because we call it Crap Night, this does not mean we eat crappy food. The food is quite delicious, it just isn't necessarily the most healthy. Dieters beware.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Dear Verizon
Dear Verizon,
I have mixed feelings about my new phone and its capabilities. I do not remember filling out any sort of questionnaire indicating my preferences towards a phone with rather crude vocabulary. Please don't get me wrong I enjoy utilizing the "Task Manager" application. However, when I speak into my phone "write email about mileage" and it pops up on the screen "write email about my b!tch" I get a bit concerned that perhaps this phone knows me and my often tourette-filled vocabulary a little too well.
Please turn off any sort of recording or data collecting programs on my phone immediately. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.
Sincerely,
Well, you already know who since you are stalking me.
I have mixed feelings about my new phone and its capabilities. I do not remember filling out any sort of questionnaire indicating my preferences towards a phone with rather crude vocabulary. Please don't get me wrong I enjoy utilizing the "Task Manager" application. However, when I speak into my phone "write email about mileage" and it pops up on the screen "write email about my b!tch" I get a bit concerned that perhaps this phone knows me and my often tourette-filled vocabulary a little too well.
Please turn off any sort of recording or data collecting programs on my phone immediately. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.
Sincerely,
Well, you already know who since you are stalking me.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
I'm a P-I-M-P
Normally I try not to post reallllly dirty or vulgar things on here because I know that some of my audience might not approve (hi Grandma!) but I just couldn't resist today.
I got a new "smart phone" cellular phone a few weeks ago, and let me tell you, this thing is light years ahead of me. I'm guessing that I utilize about 2% of its actual capabilities. One of the fun things that I have found on it is a feature called "Task Manager". I often have strokes of genius while driving which makes for very precarious conditions while I try to dig out of my purse a pen and paper and then write across my dashboard while keeping between the lines. No more, my friends. No more.
Task Manager lets me press a little button, talk into the speaker and watch my little words flash across the screen in tidy little bullets for my To-Do lists. Yes, I am easily entertained. Another bonus - when I hold the phone up to my mouth it makes me feel like when I was six and my sister and I played with walkie-talkies all the time. Don't worry, I don't do the "ktchsss" static noise at the end though.
But I digress. I was trying to make out a list of outdoor chores to accomplish when I got home that afternoon. I pushed the microphone button.
"Hook up hose."
My little phone typed away. It is now that I should mention there is no spell check feature and apparently does not make inferences on which homophone to use. The phone typed out...
"Hook up hoes."
I shall now start going by the name "Madame Curry".
I got a new "smart phone" cellular phone a few weeks ago, and let me tell you, this thing is light years ahead of me. I'm guessing that I utilize about 2% of its actual capabilities. One of the fun things that I have found on it is a feature called "Task Manager". I often have strokes of genius while driving which makes for very precarious conditions while I try to dig out of my purse a pen and paper and then write across my dashboard while keeping between the lines. No more, my friends. No more.
Task Manager lets me press a little button, talk into the speaker and watch my little words flash across the screen in tidy little bullets for my To-Do lists. Yes, I am easily entertained. Another bonus - when I hold the phone up to my mouth it makes me feel like when I was six and my sister and I played with walkie-talkies all the time. Don't worry, I don't do the "ktchsss" static noise at the end though.
But I digress. I was trying to make out a list of outdoor chores to accomplish when I got home that afternoon. I pushed the microphone button.
"Hook up hose."
My little phone typed away. It is now that I should mention there is no spell check feature and apparently does not make inferences on which homophone to use. The phone typed out...
"Hook up hoes."
I shall now start going by the name "Madame Curry".
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Breathe...
I know that "they" say God never gives you more than you can handle.
In that case, thank you.
Thank you, God, for thinking that I am incredibly organized, strong, capable, and unstoppable.
Dear Rest of My Day,
Bring it on.
In that case, thank you.
Thank you, God, for thinking that I am incredibly organized, strong, capable, and unstoppable.
Dear Rest of My Day,
Bring it on.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
True Love
You know that point in your marriage when you've passed all points of formality and you finally just accept the other spouse for the crazy person that they really are, not just the "dah-ling" that you were dating? Well, we passed that point in like week two of marriage, but every day I get the chance to experience new little things that make our marriage special.
Case in point:
Its been raining here alllllllllllllllllll week. Please don't take this as an outright complaint. I really am quite happy considering the horrible drought we experienced last year. Rather, think of my malaise as something attributable to my unease with this unfamiliar climatological experience. Anyhoo, we (Loopie, Laurie and I) have been spending an inordinate amount of time in the shop, making baby steps on various little projects that we have laying around.
I was so proud of myself this morning for making significant progress on several projects. "We" simply applied paint to several projects. I always feel like paint makes you feel like you accomplished something BIG; rather than something big. I was on top of the moon when Wesley came home for dinner today.
Me: (bouncing up and down) Wanna see what I did today in the shop?
Wesley: Um, yeah.
Me: (pointing to a specific pallet shelf that I built and painted a bright barn red, located on the North side of our building) So, do you like it?!
Wesley: (looking to the South) Yeah, I think its great, Honey...
I gave him my most disparaging/disapproving look.
Wesley: I'm sorry, you've just hauled so much crap in here to work on, I just don't even pay attention anymore.
So this is what we've come to... the ultimate level of honesty. I thought we wouldn't reach this level until at least year 5. I guess we're on the accelerated program...
Case in point:
Its been raining here alllllllllllllllllll week. Please don't take this as an outright complaint. I really am quite happy considering the horrible drought we experienced last year. Rather, think of my malaise as something attributable to my unease with this unfamiliar climatological experience. Anyhoo, we (Loopie, Laurie and I) have been spending an inordinate amount of time in the shop, making baby steps on various little projects that we have laying around.
I was so proud of myself this morning for making significant progress on several projects. "We" simply applied paint to several projects. I always feel like paint makes you feel like you accomplished something BIG; rather than something big. I was on top of the moon when Wesley came home for dinner today.
Me: (bouncing up and down) Wanna see what I did today in the shop?
Wesley: Um, yeah.
Me: (pointing to a specific pallet shelf that I built and painted a bright barn red, located on the North side of our building) So, do you like it?!
Wesley: (looking to the South) Yeah, I think its great, Honey...
I gave him my most disparaging/disapproving look.
Wesley: I'm sorry, you've just hauled so much crap in here to work on, I just don't even pay attention anymore.
So this is what we've come to... the ultimate level of honesty. I thought we wouldn't reach this level until at least year 5. I guess we're on the accelerated program...
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Fog and Spiderwebs
Who knew that fog and spiderwebs could provide so much entertainment? It was another one of those mornings when I had a list of things to get done.... and then I looked out the window. There was no way I couldn't run across the road and take some pictures. Heaven help us if there is ever an emergency on one of these mornings.
"Honey, make your own tourniquet and I'll be back in a half hour."
"Well, maybe you should have thought of this sunrise BEFORE you poked your eye out. It'll still be there when I get back I guess..."
"If you limped this far you can limp all the way to your grandma's and she can take you to the hospital."
Of course I don't ever WANT to live out these situations, but you get the idea of my priorities. (And yes, I'm joking.)
I wish I could really convey just how still it was this morning, the gentle roll of the fog across the water shed, the delicate dew drops on the spider webs. It was lovely.
Enjoy.
Side note: If you click on the pictures they can appear much larger on your screen so you don't have to squint to see some of the webs.
"Honey, make your own tourniquet and I'll be back in a half hour."
"Well, maybe you should have thought of this sunrise BEFORE you poked your eye out. It'll still be there when I get back I guess..."
"If you limped this far you can limp all the way to your grandma's and she can take you to the hospital."
Of course I don't ever WANT to live out these situations, but you get the idea of my priorities. (And yes, I'm joking.)
I wish I could really convey just how still it was this morning, the gentle roll of the fog across the water shed, the delicate dew drops on the spider webs. It was lovely.
Enjoy.
Side note: If you click on the pictures they can appear much larger on your screen so you don't have to squint to see some of the webs.
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