Today I am writing my 100th blog. When a TV show reaches its 100th episode, there is cake, champagne, and a celebration. I can't have cake because I'm on this stupid diet, but I do feel like celebrating. When I started doing this back in February, I didn't know how it would go or what I would find to write about. Would anybody even want to read it?
One hundred posts later, I've covered funny things, serious things, everyday things. I've written about people, pets, and pet peeves; husbands, kids, and friends. Sometimes I feel like Andy Rooney, making observations about some obscure thing and then whining about it for a few paragraphs. Sometimes I laugh when I'm writing and hope that whoever reads it will laugh, too. Sometimes I cry, writing about a young soldier who died for his country.
There have been days when I scrounged for something to write about and others when I cranked out three posts in one day for future use. I've tried not to embarrass Fred and the girls too much, and I haven't let all the skeletons out of the closet--yet!
My favorite thing about doing this is the feedback I get from those of you who read it. Thanks to all of you who have commented on the blog site, on Facebook, and by e-mail. It encourages me and gives me more incentive to keep going when I know others are enjoying it. With everything there is to read online nowadays, I'm thrilled that some of you choose to read me!
Let me know if there are any past posts that you'd like me to follow up on, or suggest topics I could cover in the future. Thanks!
I made it through day 1 of the diet yesterday without mishap. Today I'm going to Madison and spending the night with Erica; I know she will keep me on the food straight and narrow. Tomorrow I'm getting together with my friend Mary--she and her family are visiting Wisconsin before their move to China a month from now.
Here's to the next 100 blogs--starting Thursday!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Battle of the Bulge
Ok, it is time to get serious. Erica's wedding is less than a year away, and I have to lose some weight. I'm announcing this for public consumption in the hopes that some of you will help keep my nose to the grindstone--and my head out of the refrigerator--by questioning my progress and offering encouragement.
I know what I have to do; I've done it before. It just seems harder to get motivated the older I get. Seeing myself in pictures is more depressing than motivating, as is shopping for clothes.
So here we go. These are the things I plan to do, starting now:
--eat fruits and veggies like there's no tomorrow
--drink water by the gallon and limit myself to one Diet Dew per day
--no fast food AT ALL; limit eating out as much as possible
--no baking for Fred and me
--eat dark chocolate for a treat when I need one
--don't skip lunch so I'm starving by supper
--eat smaller portions and no seconds
--make decent meals even when Fred's not here
--continue walking the dogs 5 times a week
If anyone has more suggestions, please share. I will report here once a month and let you know how I'm doing. If I haven't achieved a reasonable weight loss by December 12th, my nephew Ryan's wedding, there will still be time to get hypnotized, have my jaw wired shut, or go to a fat farm before Erica's. (haha, just kidding)
If you want to do this with me, misery loves company. E-mail me and we'll make a plan: The Biggest Loser with no trainers and no televised weigh-ins. In the meantime, I'll go shred my recipe for cookie dough brownies and make a sign for the fridge: "50 years/50 lbs."
Wish me luck!!
I know what I have to do; I've done it before. It just seems harder to get motivated the older I get. Seeing myself in pictures is more depressing than motivating, as is shopping for clothes.
So here we go. These are the things I plan to do, starting now:
--eat fruits and veggies like there's no tomorrow
--drink water by the gallon and limit myself to one Diet Dew per day
--no fast food AT ALL; limit eating out as much as possible
--no baking for Fred and me
--eat dark chocolate for a treat when I need one
--don't skip lunch so I'm starving by supper
--eat smaller portions and no seconds
--make decent meals even when Fred's not here
--continue walking the dogs 5 times a week
If anyone has more suggestions, please share. I will report here once a month and let you know how I'm doing. If I haven't achieved a reasonable weight loss by December 12th, my nephew Ryan's wedding, there will still be time to get hypnotized, have my jaw wired shut, or go to a fat farm before Erica's. (haha, just kidding)
If you want to do this with me, misery loves company. E-mail me and we'll make a plan: The Biggest Loser with no trainers and no televised weigh-ins. In the meantime, I'll go shred my recipe for cookie dough brownies and make a sign for the fridge: "50 years/50 lbs."
Wish me luck!!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Hot Weather Horrors
The past week's wave of heat and humidity here brought to the forefront several of my pet peeves about summer--primarily of the "attire" variety. Some of the things I find objectionable might be deemed sour grapes and actually appreciated by other people. Like my husband, for example. Whether the case be envy or disgust, here is my list.
--Men wearing flip-flops. (We called them "thongs" when I was a kid, but that term is now used for teeny underwear.) For some reason, flip-flops on guys don't seem masculine. And who wants to look at big hairy toes in a restaurant or store?
--Braless women in air-conditioned places. Outside in the 90 degree temperatures, these ladies may not attract undue attention, but put them in the overly chilled dairy section and their lack of chestical coverage almost pokes your eyes out!
--A sub-category of number two: women, after a certain age, should not go braless at all. At least not in public. The lack of support that may go unnoticed beneath a winter coat or sweatshirt will be glaringly obvious in a thin summer top--like two water balloons hanging there, waiting to be dropped on someone's head.
--Women who have spent so much time in tanning booths or on the beach that they look like they could be made into a pair of leather boots and matching skirt. A golden tan is attractive--wrinkled snakeskin in a color not found in nature is ugly and unhealthy.
--Middle-aged men in Speedos. I didn't witness this in person last week, but caught a glimpse during footage on the local news taken at a public pool. A guy would practically need to be Michael Phelps to look good in a suit like that at any age, but if you're over 40 it's just a shameless attempt to show off the package. If the package can even be seen beneath the gut overhang, that is.
Ok, I'll stop here lest I seem overly critical of my peers. I'm just going to put on a tube top and go shop for ice cream.
--Men wearing flip-flops. (We called them "thongs" when I was a kid, but that term is now used for teeny underwear.) For some reason, flip-flops on guys don't seem masculine. And who wants to look at big hairy toes in a restaurant or store?
--Braless women in air-conditioned places. Outside in the 90 degree temperatures, these ladies may not attract undue attention, but put them in the overly chilled dairy section and their lack of chestical coverage almost pokes your eyes out!
--A sub-category of number two: women, after a certain age, should not go braless at all. At least not in public. The lack of support that may go unnoticed beneath a winter coat or sweatshirt will be glaringly obvious in a thin summer top--like two water balloons hanging there, waiting to be dropped on someone's head.
--Women who have spent so much time in tanning booths or on the beach that they look like they could be made into a pair of leather boots and matching skirt. A golden tan is attractive--wrinkled snakeskin in a color not found in nature is ugly and unhealthy.
--Middle-aged men in Speedos. I didn't witness this in person last week, but caught a glimpse during footage on the local news taken at a public pool. A guy would practically need to be Michael Phelps to look good in a suit like that at any age, but if you're over 40 it's just a shameless attempt to show off the package. If the package can even be seen beneath the gut overhang, that is.
Ok, I'll stop here lest I seem overly critical of my peers. I'm just going to put on a tube top and go shop for ice cream.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
What Really Matters
I'm sorry that Michael Jackson died Thursday. He was a talented, innovative entertainer, an icon of my generation. His bizarre behavior and lifestyle may have tarnished him in his later years, but his musical legacy will last for generations to come.
All that said...what the HELL is wrong with this country's media?? Ever since the news broke on Thursday, there has been nonstop coverage of every miniscule tidbit the "reporters" can dig up. The first night it was all repetition and speculation. They scrounge up people who may have known Jackson well--or hardly at all--and interview them; they put together panels of "experts" who basically say nothing but like to hear themselves talk; they draw parallels between this death and Anna Nicole Smith, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe...and it goes on and on. The only person who's probably happy about the unending coverage is the governor of South Carolina, whose disappearance and extramarital affair was the big story of the day before. Now he's no longer on the front page for his bad behavior.
I have a suggestion. Why doesn't the media devote a whole day of coverage to each of our troops that are lost in Iraq and Afghanistan? Why don't we learn about the childhoods, families, accomplishments, dreams, and sacrifices of these heroic people who are actually doing something for the well-being and protection of the U.S.?? "Knowing " each of these warriors would make them real to all of us, not just the families who lost them. They wouldn't be an abstract statistic, easy to be forgotten or ignored as we go about our lives. It might make more people want to do something for the troops still over there and for their families here--or make us work harder to bring them all home as soon as possible.
Do the networks think there's not enough interest in this topic? Is it too much of a downer? Are we such simpletons that we can only perk up our ears when a celebrity name is mentioned?
I hope we care more than that. The media should care; it's the military that has maintained their freedom of speech all these years to broadcast some of the dreck they consider news.
Here's some news you may not have heard about. 1st Lt. Brian N. Bradshaw, 24, also died June 25th, in Kheyl, Afghanistan of wounds suffered when an IED detonated near his vehicle. He was from Steilacoom, Washington and deployed from Fort Richardson, AK. He was a member of the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment, 4th Airborne Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division. He wasn't a celebrity, there was no scandal, no sensationalism. He was just a hero who was there for you.
All that said...what the HELL is wrong with this country's media?? Ever since the news broke on Thursday, there has been nonstop coverage of every miniscule tidbit the "reporters" can dig up. The first night it was all repetition and speculation. They scrounge up people who may have known Jackson well--or hardly at all--and interview them; they put together panels of "experts" who basically say nothing but like to hear themselves talk; they draw parallels between this death and Anna Nicole Smith, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe...and it goes on and on. The only person who's probably happy about the unending coverage is the governor of South Carolina, whose disappearance and extramarital affair was the big story of the day before. Now he's no longer on the front page for his bad behavior.
I have a suggestion. Why doesn't the media devote a whole day of coverage to each of our troops that are lost in Iraq and Afghanistan? Why don't we learn about the childhoods, families, accomplishments, dreams, and sacrifices of these heroic people who are actually doing something for the well-being and protection of the U.S.?? "Knowing " each of these warriors would make them real to all of us, not just the families who lost them. They wouldn't be an abstract statistic, easy to be forgotten or ignored as we go about our lives. It might make more people want to do something for the troops still over there and for their families here--or make us work harder to bring them all home as soon as possible.
Do the networks think there's not enough interest in this topic? Is it too much of a downer? Are we such simpletons that we can only perk up our ears when a celebrity name is mentioned?
I hope we care more than that. The media should care; it's the military that has maintained their freedom of speech all these years to broadcast some of the dreck they consider news.
Here's some news you may not have heard about. 1st Lt. Brian N. Bradshaw, 24, also died June 25th, in Kheyl, Afghanistan of wounds suffered when an IED detonated near his vehicle. He was from Steilacoom, Washington and deployed from Fort Richardson, AK. He was a member of the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment, 4th Airborne Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division. He wasn't a celebrity, there was no scandal, no sensationalism. He was just a hero who was there for you.
Friday, June 26, 2009
The Big Lake
Wisconsin really is a beautiful state. I grew up in the hills and coulees of La Crosse County, believing it really was "God's Country," just as Heileman Brewery's beer slogan claimed it was. After a few more years of traveling around the Badger state, I think the term can be applied to almost everywhere in Wisconsin. The Dells, the Mississippi River, Door County, the Pike River, Lake Michigan, northern Wisconsin lakes, western Wisconsin bluffs and farms...and, of course, Lake Superior--the place that has seemed to captivate me more than anything in the past five years.
Fred and I headed to Bayfield Wednesday on the Harley, hoping to escape the hot mugginess of the past few days here. We took a slightly out-of-the-way route since he had a meeting in Drummond first. As we drove highway 13 approaching Bayfield, the scenery was gorgeous--glimpses of Lake Superior on the right, fields of pink, purple, and white lupine, and green hills surrounding the little town on the water. We arrived around 5:30 and checked into our hotel, the Winfield Inn and Gardens. Every room has a view of the lake, and the flower gardens and landscaping make it a lovely, peaceful haven. We freshened up and decided to eat at Maggie's--a multi-colored building decorated with all varieties of flamingos! The food was excellent, and the specialty margarita I had was even better. After dinner we took a ride around the apple orchards on Highway J, a road the locals call the "fruit loop." The lake in the background made it a spectacular picture, Madeline Island there just waiting for us.
Yesterday morning we were up early to take the ferry to the island. It was a huge ship that held several cars, plus two large trucks and a tour bus on our trip. I was a little worried when Fred said, "I have a dilemma. If the boat goes down, do I save you or the Harley?" Hmm...what a guy! The ride was about 20 minutes, the view of Bayfield on the hill so pretty as it receded behind us.
Madeline Island is much less "touristy" and crowded than I expected it to be. I'm fascinated by the people who choose to live on an island in far northern WI, so far away from everything I take for granted. No fast food or big box stores here! (thank God) We had breakfast on the deck of Grandpa Tony's restaurant and then took off for Big Bay State Park. We hadn't planned to hike--it was pretty hot--but we walked out to the Point for the spectacular views of the lake and rock formations along the shore. Of course, Fred had to raise my blood pressure by crossing the fence--and going out onto a high, narrow rock with huge boulders and the water right below. We walked down to the sandy beach where the water was shallow and two families of Canada geese were swimming with their babies. Fred wanted to take the boardwalk to the "lagoon", but we went down the wrong trail the first time; after walking, walking and getting hotter and hotter, I was sure he planned this just to keep me from doing any shopping! We finally found the boardwalk and the lagoon, then headed back to the bike. Suddenly Fred stopped me and pointed at a doe, heading straight toward us on the boardwalk! She didn't seem afraid at all. Of course, that was the moment I discovered my camera's memory card was full, and I quickly deleted some old pictures to get a shot of the deer.
We were hot and thirsty, so headed back to LaPointe. We went to the island's historical museum to see some of the local history and items from the early settlers there. At 2:30 it was time to take the ferry back to Bayfield and the long ride back home. The weather certainly cooperated with us--both days were beautiful and perfect for riding. We took Highway 2 home, through Ashland, Hurley, and then 51 to Minocqua. We stopped for ice cream at Culver's, where CNN was running nonstop the news of Michael Jackson's death. Back to reality...but we are already talking about other things we want to do in Bayfield the next time we go back. Like SHOPPING!
425 miles...more sunburn...another sore butt. But definitely worth it to spend time on the Big Lake.
Fred and I headed to Bayfield Wednesday on the Harley, hoping to escape the hot mugginess of the past few days here. We took a slightly out-of-the-way route since he had a meeting in Drummond first. As we drove highway 13 approaching Bayfield, the scenery was gorgeous--glimpses of Lake Superior on the right, fields of pink, purple, and white lupine, and green hills surrounding the little town on the water. We arrived around 5:30 and checked into our hotel, the Winfield Inn and Gardens. Every room has a view of the lake, and the flower gardens and landscaping make it a lovely, peaceful haven. We freshened up and decided to eat at Maggie's--a multi-colored building decorated with all varieties of flamingos! The food was excellent, and the specialty margarita I had was even better. After dinner we took a ride around the apple orchards on Highway J, a road the locals call the "fruit loop." The lake in the background made it a spectacular picture, Madeline Island there just waiting for us.
Yesterday morning we were up early to take the ferry to the island. It was a huge ship that held several cars, plus two large trucks and a tour bus on our trip. I was a little worried when Fred said, "I have a dilemma. If the boat goes down, do I save you or the Harley?" Hmm...what a guy! The ride was about 20 minutes, the view of Bayfield on the hill so pretty as it receded behind us.
Madeline Island is much less "touristy" and crowded than I expected it to be. I'm fascinated by the people who choose to live on an island in far northern WI, so far away from everything I take for granted. No fast food or big box stores here! (thank God) We had breakfast on the deck of Grandpa Tony's restaurant and then took off for Big Bay State Park. We hadn't planned to hike--it was pretty hot--but we walked out to the Point for the spectacular views of the lake and rock formations along the shore. Of course, Fred had to raise my blood pressure by crossing the fence--and going out onto a high, narrow rock with huge boulders and the water right below. We walked down to the sandy beach where the water was shallow and two families of Canada geese were swimming with their babies. Fred wanted to take the boardwalk to the "lagoon", but we went down the wrong trail the first time; after walking, walking and getting hotter and hotter, I was sure he planned this just to keep me from doing any shopping! We finally found the boardwalk and the lagoon, then headed back to the bike. Suddenly Fred stopped me and pointed at a doe, heading straight toward us on the boardwalk! She didn't seem afraid at all. Of course, that was the moment I discovered my camera's memory card was full, and I quickly deleted some old pictures to get a shot of the deer.
We were hot and thirsty, so headed back to LaPointe. We went to the island's historical museum to see some of the local history and items from the early settlers there. At 2:30 it was time to take the ferry back to Bayfield and the long ride back home. The weather certainly cooperated with us--both days were beautiful and perfect for riding. We took Highway 2 home, through Ashland, Hurley, and then 51 to Minocqua. We stopped for ice cream at Culver's, where CNN was running nonstop the news of Michael Jackson's death. Back to reality...but we are already talking about other things we want to do in Bayfield the next time we go back. Like SHOPPING!
425 miles...more sunburn...another sore butt. But definitely worth it to spend time on the Big Lake.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
This and That
**It has been so hot and humid the past few days that I was concerned about our dogs. They have such thick fur, and haven't even shed much of their winter coats yet. They don't have as much shade as they did in their old kennel, so yesterday I went to Menards and bought each of them a kiddie swimming pool. I hauled 45 gallons of water out there and filled the pools, waiting eagerly with my camera to watch them cannonball into their instant heat relief. Well--there wasn't much splashing going on. Kaya got into Koko's pool briefly, drank several times out of her own, and finally stood in it for a few minutes, cooling her feet. Bum and Koko, however, hid in their shelters, flatly refusing to get wet. Maybe they'll figure out today that cool water feels good! Their brother Beatle is probably spinning in his grave--he loved to flop into a pool with all his puppy heart. I've walked the dogs at 7 AM the past two days to avoid the worst of the heat and humidity, but it's still miserable.
**Speaking of misery, I did a little clothes shopping at Kohl's again yesterday, as evidenced by the dent in the dressing room wall where I banged my head in frustration. I'm hoping that if we pay extra, the photographer will put my head on a diffeent body in Erica's wedding pictures.
**Ok, I admit it: I watched "The Bachelorette" last night. I usually have it on in the background while I'm reading, and I catch enough of it just to know which of the bachelors are jerks or weirdos. One is a musician who--unbeknownst to Jillian, the Bachelorette--has a girlfriend at home and is on the show just to gain publicity for his soon-to-be-released CD. He has come right out and said this to the other guys, but she is blind to it and has kept him there week after week. Another guy has a foot fetish and wants to rub her feet every time they are alone together. Eeeww!! I would not want my daughter to find a guy by going on national TV and making out with characters like these!!
**Tomorrow Fred and I are going to Bayfield. Weather permitting, we'll take the Harley. We're staying at an inn on the lake, and Thursday will take the ferry to Madeline Island. We've received several suggestions from friends about places to eat, shop, and explore, so I'll be back in a couple days with highlights. In the meantime, stay cool!!
**Speaking of misery, I did a little clothes shopping at Kohl's again yesterday, as evidenced by the dent in the dressing room wall where I banged my head in frustration. I'm hoping that if we pay extra, the photographer will put my head on a diffeent body in Erica's wedding pictures.
**Ok, I admit it: I watched "The Bachelorette" last night. I usually have it on in the background while I'm reading, and I catch enough of it just to know which of the bachelors are jerks or weirdos. One is a musician who--unbeknownst to Jillian, the Bachelorette--has a girlfriend at home and is on the show just to gain publicity for his soon-to-be-released CD. He has come right out and said this to the other guys, but she is blind to it and has kept him there week after week. Another guy has a foot fetish and wants to rub her feet every time they are alone together. Eeeww!! I would not want my daughter to find a guy by going on national TV and making out with characters like these!!
**Tomorrow Fred and I are going to Bayfield. Weather permitting, we'll take the Harley. We're staying at an inn on the lake, and Thursday will take the ferry to Madeline Island. We've received several suggestions from friends about places to eat, shop, and explore, so I'll be back in a couple days with highlights. In the meantime, stay cool!!
Monday, June 22, 2009
An Empty Nest Father's Day Weekend
Saturday morning Fred and I set out at 7:15 AM on the Harley, bound for Custer--near Stevens Point--for the Midwest Renewable Energy Fair. The sky was clear blue and the day on the way to 85 degrees. After stopping for a yummy breakfast at the IHOP in Wausau, we headed south and arrived at the fair. Fred was interested in information on solar and wind energy, and there were plenty of sources for both. I thought the scene looked like a Woodstock 40th reunion--lots of guys with long gray pony-tails and middle-aged women without bras. (I won't reveal if I was one!) There were exhibits on all kinds of renewable energy, but also on organic farming, composting, energy efficient vehicles, raising animals for clothing, sustainable living, natural soaps, candles, lotions, conservation cemeteries--where you are buried without embalming in a biodegradable box. These were just a few of the hundreds of exhibits, workshops, and speakers. Fred picked up literature and listened to a couple speakers, and I was happy with some great root beer and a free canvas bag from WPS. The exhibition tents were really hot, and after almost 3 hours we were ready to get back on the bike and cool off. We had hoped to visit Heidi and family in Wisconsin Rapids, but their boys had ball games in two different places. So we headed north, stopping in Auburndale at Cutler's Antiques and Mercantile. We love browsing through these kinds of stores, even thought they smell like Grandma's attic or basement! Fred takes longer to look at everything than I do, but we can't buy anything big when we're on the bike. He picked out a metal Jack Daniel's container with four heavy drink glasses and JD napkins inside for his bar at the cabin.
We continued on a route that would take us near Rib Lake and stopped for short visits with a couple friends we used to teach with. By then I was having trouble getting on and off the Harley--hot, sunburned, and suffering from major "biker butt." We arrived home 12 hours and 280 miles from when we left.
It was an enjoyable day, and before bedtime Fred whined until I gave him his Father's Day presents early. He never did guess what I'd gotten him; a stop at the Leinie's Lodge in Chippewa Falls last week provided a Leinenkugel's canoe paddle from which hang small canoes bearing the names of various Leinie's beers. He also got a Leinie's rain gauge and ice bucket. His guess had been camouflage suspenders!
Yesterday I made him a breakfast of eggs and sausage and let him take my money playing gin. He made a trip to Menards to buy some lumber for our deck, and also replaced a basement window. (He's coming right along on his Honey-Do list!) He received phone calls from all five daughters throughout the day, and not one asked him for money! He watched a little golf on TV, I made chicken and rice and a banana nut cake for supper, and he ended the day with a couple beers outside while burning some scrap wood.
I think he enjoyed the weekend, even though he didn't get to see any of the girls. Hopefully next year he'll see them all the weekend before Father's Day--at Erica's wedding.
We continued on a route that would take us near Rib Lake and stopped for short visits with a couple friends we used to teach with. By then I was having trouble getting on and off the Harley--hot, sunburned, and suffering from major "biker butt." We arrived home 12 hours and 280 miles from when we left.
It was an enjoyable day, and before bedtime Fred whined until I gave him his Father's Day presents early. He never did guess what I'd gotten him; a stop at the Leinie's Lodge in Chippewa Falls last week provided a Leinenkugel's canoe paddle from which hang small canoes bearing the names of various Leinie's beers. He also got a Leinie's rain gauge and ice bucket. His guess had been camouflage suspenders!
Yesterday I made him a breakfast of eggs and sausage and let him take my money playing gin. He made a trip to Menards to buy some lumber for our deck, and also replaced a basement window. (He's coming right along on his Honey-Do list!) He received phone calls from all five daughters throughout the day, and not one asked him for money! He watched a little golf on TV, I made chicken and rice and a banana nut cake for supper, and he ended the day with a couple beers outside while burning some scrap wood.
I think he enjoyed the weekend, even though he didn't get to see any of the girls. Hopefully next year he'll see them all the weekend before Father's Day--at Erica's wedding.
Friday, June 19, 2009
No News Is Good News
The "news" seems more frivolous every day, more like the gossip that tabloids parlay.
Ridiculous stories that don't really matter on TV and radio, internet chatter.
Jon and Kate Gosselin soon may be splitting; this is big news? You've got to be kidding!
Kate was caught spanking one daughter's behind. How come no one cared when I used to spank mine?!
Interrupt programming, call up the press! The First Lady walked Bo wearing shorts, not a dress!
Some guy dressed in drag to collect his mom's pension; Cher's daughter's becoming a man, did I mention?
President Obama just swatted a fly, but PETA reacted like he'd killed a guy.
Palin made Letterman sound like Godzilla; why won't she just take her butt back to Wasilla?!
Favre might be going to join Minnesota, but I don't give a damn! Not one single iota!!
The real news is violent, sad, and depressing--that nut in Korea with more missile testing.
Economy's busted and two wars ongoing; gas prices rising, the deficit growing.
Maybe the "pseudo-news" keeps us from cracking--provides a distraction when humor is lacking.
Even the local news adds to this function: "Ed Gein, the Musical, soon starts production."
The county Republicans' picnic's a bummer; their big guest of "honor" is-tada!- Joe the Plumber!
So hang in there, friends, things are bound to improve; but if you can't stand it, just turn off the news.
Ridiculous stories that don't really matter on TV and radio, internet chatter.
Jon and Kate Gosselin soon may be splitting; this is big news? You've got to be kidding!
Kate was caught spanking one daughter's behind. How come no one cared when I used to spank mine?!
Interrupt programming, call up the press! The First Lady walked Bo wearing shorts, not a dress!
Some guy dressed in drag to collect his mom's pension; Cher's daughter's becoming a man, did I mention?
President Obama just swatted a fly, but PETA reacted like he'd killed a guy.
Palin made Letterman sound like Godzilla; why won't she just take her butt back to Wasilla?!
Favre might be going to join Minnesota, but I don't give a damn! Not one single iota!!
The real news is violent, sad, and depressing--that nut in Korea with more missile testing.
Economy's busted and two wars ongoing; gas prices rising, the deficit growing.
Maybe the "pseudo-news" keeps us from cracking--provides a distraction when humor is lacking.
Even the local news adds to this function: "Ed Gein, the Musical, soon starts production."
The county Republicans' picnic's a bummer; their big guest of "honor" is-tada!- Joe the Plumber!
So hang in there, friends, things are bound to improve; but if you can't stand it, just turn off the news.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Hair Despair
When I look through the piles of photo albums we have that catalog our lives, one question always pops into my mind: why did I wear my hair that way??! It seems that no matter what the era, my hairdo always looks stupid to me now. Maybe at the time I wore each style it was (unbelievably) in vogue--or wouldn't my friends and family have told me it wasn't?!
I started kindergarten with a pixie cut and by first grade looked like Opie Taylor. From then on I let it grow, and by my junior year in high school it was down to my butt. I had heavy thick bangs that hung in my eyes and probably led people to think I was covering up a caveman forehead. Before my senior year, I broke up with my boyfriend and wanted a new look, so I got it cut shoulder-length and kept it like that until the summer after sophomore year at UW-Eau Claire. Then I decided I wanted to look like Princess Diana. The beautician cut it a lot shorter than hers, but I liked it ok and kept it that way until 1983 when I got a Little Orphan Annie perm. That's how I was wearing it at our wedding (picture to come later this fall) and for much of the '80s. In the last part of that decade when I was pregnant with Katie, I got a different cut, and it looked like a curly red version of Cleopatra's triangular wedge. Personally, I think it's the worst look I ever wore, but nobody clued me in!! The '90s brought a mullet look that evolved gradually into the new millennium and the way I wear it now. Of course, there were a few variations in lengths and shapes during the years I wore each style, but I can say emphatically that they all mortify me now.
Twenty years in the future I may look back and think my current style looks ridiculous. However, by then I'll be more concerned that it's silver instead of red. Nobody is fooled by a redheaded 80-year-old. But I just said a few days ago that I don't mind being a dork--so I just might draw my last breath with a shade of russet or strawberry or carrot on my head. It will not, however, be curly or shaped like a triangle.
I started kindergarten with a pixie cut and by first grade looked like Opie Taylor. From then on I let it grow, and by my junior year in high school it was down to my butt. I had heavy thick bangs that hung in my eyes and probably led people to think I was covering up a caveman forehead. Before my senior year, I broke up with my boyfriend and wanted a new look, so I got it cut shoulder-length and kept it like that until the summer after sophomore year at UW-Eau Claire. Then I decided I wanted to look like Princess Diana. The beautician cut it a lot shorter than hers, but I liked it ok and kept it that way until 1983 when I got a Little Orphan Annie perm. That's how I was wearing it at our wedding (picture to come later this fall) and for much of the '80s. In the last part of that decade when I was pregnant with Katie, I got a different cut, and it looked like a curly red version of Cleopatra's triangular wedge. Personally, I think it's the worst look I ever wore, but nobody clued me in!! The '90s brought a mullet look that evolved gradually into the new millennium and the way I wear it now. Of course, there were a few variations in lengths and shapes during the years I wore each style, but I can say emphatically that they all mortify me now.
Twenty years in the future I may look back and think my current style looks ridiculous. However, by then I'll be more concerned that it's silver instead of red. Nobody is fooled by a redheaded 80-year-old. But I just said a few days ago that I don't mind being a dork--so I just might draw my last breath with a shade of russet or strawberry or carrot on my head. It will not, however, be curly or shaped like a triangle.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Art of the Gift
The other day Fred was looking through the Fleet Farm flyer and he said, "If you need some Father's Day ideas for me, there are some things I want at Fleet Farm." Umm..."What??!" I asked in disbelief as I mentally scrolled back a month. "I seem to recall that Mother's Day weekend you went to the cabin because--and I quote--"you're not my mother"--and I didn't get a card or a gift from you." A sheepish silence ensued and the topic was dropped.
Fred's gift giving has had its ups and downs over the past 25 years. For one of our first Christmases together, he bought me a food processor--and he still hasn't lived it down. He told me it was because of the blender so I could make daiquiris, but I suspected that he wanted the meat grinder to make hamburger during deer season. The lesson learned was that an appliance only makes a good gift if the recipient asked for it.
When the girls were little, he made sure that I always had presents to open from them at Christmas and Mother's Day. One year when they were older, they all neglected my birthday and I was feeling a little bummed. When they realized their goof, I was given some hastily made cards. Fred's said "This will never happen again." Katie's said, "You deserve a card on your birthday."
Some of the more memorable gifts he has given me are a mother's ring, a sapphire ring, a large picture for above the fireplace, a jewelry armoire....when I lost a lot of weight after having Katie, he gave me a card and money for new clothes--even shopping with me for some of them. The sweetest gift--for no particular occasion--was a card with $500 to spend at my Grandpa and Grandma Timm's estate auction after they died in 1987. I was able to buy my Grandma's China cabinet and her hope chest as well as several small items that to me are priceless.
I have every card he's ever given me, from before we were married until now. He still sends me one in the mail once in awhile, just because he's thinking about me.
I was going through these memories as I drove over to Elk Mound yesterday, and I realized that I really wanted to get him a Father's Day present. I knew just what I wanted to buy, something that he has mentioned to me a few times. That's all I'm saying because he has the uncanny knack of figuring out my gifts for him from just a few clues. I will say that it's not an appliance, and I didn't buy it at Fleet Farm. I don't care if that disappoints him--after all, he's not my father!!
Fred's gift giving has had its ups and downs over the past 25 years. For one of our first Christmases together, he bought me a food processor--and he still hasn't lived it down. He told me it was because of the blender so I could make daiquiris, but I suspected that he wanted the meat grinder to make hamburger during deer season. The lesson learned was that an appliance only makes a good gift if the recipient asked for it.
When the girls were little, he made sure that I always had presents to open from them at Christmas and Mother's Day. One year when they were older, they all neglected my birthday and I was feeling a little bummed. When they realized their goof, I was given some hastily made cards. Fred's said "This will never happen again." Katie's said, "You deserve a card on your birthday."
Some of the more memorable gifts he has given me are a mother's ring, a sapphire ring, a large picture for above the fireplace, a jewelry armoire....when I lost a lot of weight after having Katie, he gave me a card and money for new clothes--even shopping with me for some of them. The sweetest gift--for no particular occasion--was a card with $500 to spend at my Grandpa and Grandma Timm's estate auction after they died in 1987. I was able to buy my Grandma's China cabinet and her hope chest as well as several small items that to me are priceless.
I have every card he's ever given me, from before we were married until now. He still sends me one in the mail once in awhile, just because he's thinking about me.
I was going through these memories as I drove over to Elk Mound yesterday, and I realized that I really wanted to get him a Father's Day present. I knew just what I wanted to buy, something that he has mentioned to me a few times. That's all I'm saying because he has the uncanny knack of figuring out my gifts for him from just a few clues. I will say that it's not an appliance, and I didn't buy it at Fleet Farm. I don't care if that disappoints him--after all, he's not my father!!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Love in a Loaf
If I have ever visited you, I've more likely than not brought you a loaf of poppy seed bread. My mom gave me the recipe years ago, and I've since made it zillions of times. It's more like eating cake than bread--it's moist, sweet, and the almond flavor and orange juice glaze are what makes it especially tasty.
I've taken it to work and sent it to work with Fred; mailed it in packages to friends and family; brought it to potlucks and holiday meals. I make it for our annual canoe trip, for the Barry-Berry golf marathon in August, and for my step-daughters at Christmas. (They have the recipe, too, but tell me mine always tastes better. ) I've given it to the employees at the Elk Mound and Menomonie post offices for their help with all the soldier packages I mailed there. I submitted the recipe for the Anysoldier cookbook; they published the bread recipe separately from the glaze, so if you bought the book you have to look in two places.
I like the fact that the recipe makes two loaves--one to keep and one to give away. Last week I made it and gave away both loaves. One was for our neighbors, and the other I gave my new friend Cindy when we met to go walking.
Here is the recipe for anyone I haven't given it to: 3 c. flour, 2 1/2 c. sugar, 1 1/2 tsp. baking powder, 1 1/2 tsp salt, 1 1/2 T poppy seeds; 1 1/2 c milk, 1 1/2 tsp vanilla, 3 eggs, 1 1/2 tsp almond extract, 1 cup plus 2 T vegetable oil. Combine all ingredients and mix for two minutes. Pour into 2 greased loaf pans and bake at 350 for one hour. Glaze: 3/4 c. powdered sugar, 1/4 c. orange juice, 2 tsp melted margarine, 1/2 tsp almond extract. Whisk together ingredients in small bowl and pour over the loaves while they're still warm. I usually take a fork and poke a few holes in the bread so the glaze really soaks in.
I have another recipe that is almost the same, but it's for bars instead of bread, and they have powdered sugar frosting. Almost too sweet to eat!
If I'm ever abducted by aliens, I will say, "I come in peace--and here is a loaf of poppy seed bread."
I've taken it to work and sent it to work with Fred; mailed it in packages to friends and family; brought it to potlucks and holiday meals. I make it for our annual canoe trip, for the Barry-Berry golf marathon in August, and for my step-daughters at Christmas. (They have the recipe, too, but tell me mine always tastes better. ) I've given it to the employees at the Elk Mound and Menomonie post offices for their help with all the soldier packages I mailed there. I submitted the recipe for the Anysoldier cookbook; they published the bread recipe separately from the glaze, so if you bought the book you have to look in two places.
I like the fact that the recipe makes two loaves--one to keep and one to give away. Last week I made it and gave away both loaves. One was for our neighbors, and the other I gave my new friend Cindy when we met to go walking.
Here is the recipe for anyone I haven't given it to: 3 c. flour, 2 1/2 c. sugar, 1 1/2 tsp. baking powder, 1 1/2 tsp salt, 1 1/2 T poppy seeds; 1 1/2 c milk, 1 1/2 tsp vanilla, 3 eggs, 1 1/2 tsp almond extract, 1 cup plus 2 T vegetable oil. Combine all ingredients and mix for two minutes. Pour into 2 greased loaf pans and bake at 350 for one hour. Glaze: 3/4 c. powdered sugar, 1/4 c. orange juice, 2 tsp melted margarine, 1/2 tsp almond extract. Whisk together ingredients in small bowl and pour over the loaves while they're still warm. I usually take a fork and poke a few holes in the bread so the glaze really soaks in.
I have another recipe that is almost the same, but it's for bars instead of bread, and they have powdered sugar frosting. Almost too sweet to eat!
If I'm ever abducted by aliens, I will say, "I come in peace--and here is a loaf of poppy seed bread."
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Summer People
Our peaceful little hamlet here is being invaded by summer people. We are the second house on Silver Lake Road, and back along the lake are at least a dozen houses on the water. Only a few of these places are lived in year round, so we've gotten used to a generally quiet and annoyance-free existence. But--since Memorial Day weekend, that has begun to change. By Friday afternoon, one car after another is heading past our house and into the woods, many of them speeding and kicking up dust with their boats and trailers. The elderly people who live right at the edge of the woods have put a "Slow Down" sign on their lawn the past two weekends. It is basically a one-lane road, so there's no place to go if speeders encounter someone coming the other way. I have already had to jump to the side and pull my dog with me to avoid a vehicle coming like a bat out of hell.
I've seen several dogs on the road without leashes--which makes walking ours a headache and gives me concern about our outside cats. Our dogs are always harnessed and on a long lead, but it takes all I have to hold them back if we encounter another dog. If the dog is loose, I don't know what to expect for myself or our dog.
The weekend newspaper, The Star Journal, and all of the shopping flyers come on Saturday, and there are usually a couple left in the box yet by Wednesday. Since the invasion of the Summer People, the papers have been disappearing rapidly, leaving us regulars to stake out the mailbox and grab one as soon as they're delivered, or go without.
What's the reason for this rude and thoughtless behavior? Do they have an undeserved sense of entitlement and no regard for their neighbors who live here all the time? It's just like the people who have taken firewood from our land at the Amberg Hilton or ridden 4-wheelers on our trails: if it's here, and nobody's looking, it's ours for the taking.
I'm not sure there's anything we can do to improve the situation here, except maybe discuss it with some of the other year-round inhabitants. And when I'm walking, I may just let the dogs poop on some Summer People's lawns.
I've seen several dogs on the road without leashes--which makes walking ours a headache and gives me concern about our outside cats. Our dogs are always harnessed and on a long lead, but it takes all I have to hold them back if we encounter another dog. If the dog is loose, I don't know what to expect for myself or our dog.
The weekend newspaper, The Star Journal, and all of the shopping flyers come on Saturday, and there are usually a couple left in the box yet by Wednesday. Since the invasion of the Summer People, the papers have been disappearing rapidly, leaving us regulars to stake out the mailbox and grab one as soon as they're delivered, or go without.
What's the reason for this rude and thoughtless behavior? Do they have an undeserved sense of entitlement and no regard for their neighbors who live here all the time? It's just like the people who have taken firewood from our land at the Amberg Hilton or ridden 4-wheelers on our trails: if it's here, and nobody's looking, it's ours for the taking.
I'm not sure there's anything we can do to improve the situation here, except maybe discuss it with some of the other year-round inhabitants. And when I'm walking, I may just let the dogs poop on some Summer People's lawns.
Friday, June 12, 2009
If My Life Were a Musical
The other night Fred and I watched a little bit of "Oklahoma". As always when I watch a musical, I thought about how funny it would be if people in real life periodically dropped what they're doing, launched into a big production number with singing and dancing, then resumed their previous activity as if nothing weird had just happened.
Fred occasionally dances me around singing a nonsense song about what we're going to do today, but if I were making my life into a musical there would have to be some planning to it, a plot, some conflict--and real songs.
I get up in the morning, look into the mirror, and sing, reminiscent of Julie Andrews:
"Cookies and brownies and pies and lasagna; these are the treats that will pack the pounds on ya. Beer battered fish with some hot onion rings--these are a few of my favorite things.
When no clothes fit, when my pants split, when I'm feeling fat...I jump off my butt and get out of my rut--Oh no! I just squaaaaashed a cat!"
After a busy day, Fred comes home from work, gives me a kiss, and asks "How was your day?" I say brightly, "I went shopping!!" He looks at me sternly and begins to sing to the tune of "You're the One That I Want" from Grease: "We've got bills! They're multiplyin' And we're deep in the hole from the stuff that you've been buyin. No more shopping at Kohl's!!
You better shape up! Girl, we need a plan! And I've got to count on you! You better shape up, you've gotta understand! There's no equity in shoes! Or in clothes--and that Kohl's Cash won't buy food!!"
Me: "But I bought it for YOU! Ooo ooo ooo, honey! I bought it for you! ooo ooo oo, honey! I bought it for you! ooo ooo ooo--it's what you need! Oh yes indeed!!"
After he chastises me like that, we spend the evening with me in stony silence and him making overtures to get back on my good side. He finally looks at me, wiggles his eyebrows, and suggests, "Why don't we go to bed early?" I look at HIM, and he starts singing:
"To dream the impossible dream! To ask, and she doesn't say no! To keep her awake past 10:30; to make her wear flannel no more!!! This is my quest! To bring sexy back! No matter how hopelessly it's off the track! To fight for romance--it's not a lost cause. To be willing to march through the hell that we call MENOPAUSE....!!"
Of course, eventually we'd make up, probably after a few more songs. I realize the next morning that we could use some time away together, so I sing to "If I Only Had a Brain" from The Wizard of Oz: "I could use a short vacation--a few days' liberation from cleaning, chores, and dogs. (piccolo interlude) Grab the helmets, coats, and saddlebags; let's leave behind the daily drag and take off on the HOG!!"
We'd ride off into the sunset, problems solved, happy once again, with music reaching a crescendo behind us. THE END.
Fred occasionally dances me around singing a nonsense song about what we're going to do today, but if I were making my life into a musical there would have to be some planning to it, a plot, some conflict--and real songs.
I get up in the morning, look into the mirror, and sing, reminiscent of Julie Andrews:
"Cookies and brownies and pies and lasagna; these are the treats that will pack the pounds on ya. Beer battered fish with some hot onion rings--these are a few of my favorite things.
When no clothes fit, when my pants split, when I'm feeling fat...I jump off my butt and get out of my rut--Oh no! I just squaaaaashed a cat!"
After a busy day, Fred comes home from work, gives me a kiss, and asks "How was your day?" I say brightly, "I went shopping!!" He looks at me sternly and begins to sing to the tune of "You're the One That I Want" from Grease: "We've got bills! They're multiplyin' And we're deep in the hole from the stuff that you've been buyin. No more shopping at Kohl's!!
You better shape up! Girl, we need a plan! And I've got to count on you! You better shape up, you've gotta understand! There's no equity in shoes! Or in clothes--and that Kohl's Cash won't buy food!!"
Me: "But I bought it for YOU! Ooo ooo ooo, honey! I bought it for you! ooo ooo oo, honey! I bought it for you! ooo ooo ooo--it's what you need! Oh yes indeed!!"
After he chastises me like that, we spend the evening with me in stony silence and him making overtures to get back on my good side. He finally looks at me, wiggles his eyebrows, and suggests, "Why don't we go to bed early?" I look at HIM, and he starts singing:
"To dream the impossible dream! To ask, and she doesn't say no! To keep her awake past 10:30; to make her wear flannel no more!!! This is my quest! To bring sexy back! No matter how hopelessly it's off the track! To fight for romance--it's not a lost cause. To be willing to march through the hell that we call MENOPAUSE....!!"
Of course, eventually we'd make up, probably after a few more songs. I realize the next morning that we could use some time away together, so I sing to "If I Only Had a Brain" from The Wizard of Oz: "I could use a short vacation--a few days' liberation from cleaning, chores, and dogs. (piccolo interlude) Grab the helmets, coats, and saddlebags; let's leave behind the daily drag and take off on the HOG!!"
We'd ride off into the sunset, problems solved, happy once again, with music reaching a crescendo behind us. THE END.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Yee-haw!
Five years ago, according to Erica and Katie, I went over to the Dark Side: I started listening to country music. Fred had gradually become a fan about a year before that, instead of tuning in to the pop/rock stations we'd listened to throughout our marriage. I eventually got tired of switching the stations in the house and car back to "my" music, and the country stuff started to grow on me. I liked how nearly every song told a story, and how much truth there was in the lyrics. Some songs actually made me cry when I heard them--the Christmas one about the little boy who didn't have enough money to buy shoes for his dying mother; Martina McBride singing "In My Daughter's Eyes"; The Tim McGraw song, "If You're Reading This," about a soldier killed in war. Many made me laugh. In "The Truth About Men", Tracy Byrd and friends sing "When you come over at halftime and say 'Does this dress fit too tight?' We just look you in the eye with a big fat lie and say, 'Uh uh! Looks just right!" Smart man!!
Now that we're in Rhinelander, we live about 5-6 miles from the site of the annual Hodag Country Music Festival. The 4-day event runs from July 9-12 this year, and the line-up includes some big names in country music, past and present: Blake Shelton, Miranda Lambert, Sawyer Brown, Phil Vassar, Neal McCoy, the Zac Brown Band, Merle Haggard, and Glen Campbell, to name a few. Friends have told us that we'll probably be able to hear the music right here at our house!
We would love to have any friends and family who are country fans head north for some of the performances. Just let us know, and we can have our own hoedown here on Silver Lake Road. (I know Erica and Katie won't be coming, so their room will be available!) Go to http://www.hodag.com/ for line-ups and ticket information.
In the meantime, I'll be singing along with Hodag country radio, 97.5, imagining Trace Adkins ogling my badonkadonk and Brad Paisley checking me for ticks. And remember: "Girls lie too...we don't care how much money you make, what you drive or what you weigh...size don't matter anyway...we like your friends and we love your mom....girls lie too!!"
Now that we're in Rhinelander, we live about 5-6 miles from the site of the annual Hodag Country Music Festival. The 4-day event runs from July 9-12 this year, and the line-up includes some big names in country music, past and present: Blake Shelton, Miranda Lambert, Sawyer Brown, Phil Vassar, Neal McCoy, the Zac Brown Band, Merle Haggard, and Glen Campbell, to name a few. Friends have told us that we'll probably be able to hear the music right here at our house!
We would love to have any friends and family who are country fans head north for some of the performances. Just let us know, and we can have our own hoedown here on Silver Lake Road. (I know Erica and Katie won't be coming, so their room will be available!) Go to http://www.hodag.com/ for line-ups and ticket information.
In the meantime, I'll be singing along with Hodag country radio, 97.5, imagining Trace Adkins ogling my badonkadonk and Brad Paisley checking me for ticks. And remember: "Girls lie too...we don't care how much money you make, what you drive or what you weigh...size don't matter anyway...we like your friends and we love your mom....girls lie too!!"
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Dork Factor
My daughters would be the first to tell you that I am a dork. (Fred actually suggested that I treat this topic as a mini-series.) When the girls take me to comedy movies, they either sit in the row ahead of me or slink down in their seats when I laugh louder than anyone else there. In Old Navy, the sound system playing "Respect" by Aretha, I energetically chanted "sock-it-to-me, sock-it-to-me, sock-it-to-me" as they ran in the opposite direction. I say excuse me when I run into mannequins. I can't operate the motion-detector towel machines in public bathrooms--I really think there's a Candid Camera crew somewhere in the back, laughing as people frantically wave their arms for a towel to emerge. The toilet I use invariably flushes 3 times while I'm sitting there, and then won't do it when I want it to. I stand at the sink, waiting for the water to come on automatically, and a young woman says "you have to turn on the faucet." What a dork!
Last week I was cheerfully walking to the mailbox and gave a big wave to a male neighbor driving by. Then I looked down and saw that my zipper was down--not just open, but gaping. Yesterday I discovered that I had inadvertently recorded 92 hours of "What Not to Wear"--a show I don't even watch.
Twenty years ago I probably would have been mortified by the dorky things I now do in public. I think that having kids is one thing that helps get us over caring whether other people think we're cool or not. After holding a baby with up-the-back diarrhea while in line at the DMV, or cupping a handful of Teddy Graham vomit as I got out of the car in downtown Mindoro, it's hard to worry about public opinion.
Getting older also contributes to our worrying less that we might look stupid or unattractive. Yesterday I combed every aisle of the grocery store looking for the canvas bag that I thought had fallen off my cart. I probably looked like an idiot, peering around the endcaps and eyeballing other people's carts to see if they had swiped my Wisconsin Badger bag. Hey, it cost $2.50!! I finally gave up and checked out, then found the bag in the truck where I'd left it.
At the last high school reunion I attended, I wore a spandex tummy-flattening undergarment to make myself look thinner. (Fred swears that when I peeled it off later, it ricocheted around the room, nearly decapitating him) I wore it again for a wedding in Madison, and by the time we reached Eau Claire I could hardly breathe. I decided, I've got to be me! I wiggled out of the constricting thing in the front seat of the car, knowing that all the guests would be looking at the bride that day--not my stomach. (I hope that will be true at Erica's wedding, too!) I wear pantyhose with sandals, Fred's shorts when I walk the dogs (because his have pockets), and a pair of reading classes that make me look like Clark Kent. Yes, I'm a dork--but who cares? It reminds me of the poem I used to teach my freshmen, called "Warning" by Jenny Joseph. Part of it says "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me...I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells...and learn to spit." As we live life, what makes us happy becomes more important than what we think other people want or expect us to be. So be yourself--I won't think you're dorky!!
P.S. A rebuttal from Fred: "Cheryl's Monday blog created quite a stir here at home and in Eau Claire with Paul--Lauri's husband. After consulting him, I brainstormed a female equivalent of the Honey-do List. In an effort to not be sexist, we felt that wives should have a list of chores, too. So I'm coming up with a list for Cheryl to see how she likes it. Maybe now the Honey-Do List won't seem as funny!!"
Last week I was cheerfully walking to the mailbox and gave a big wave to a male neighbor driving by. Then I looked down and saw that my zipper was down--not just open, but gaping. Yesterday I discovered that I had inadvertently recorded 92 hours of "What Not to Wear"--a show I don't even watch.
Twenty years ago I probably would have been mortified by the dorky things I now do in public. I think that having kids is one thing that helps get us over caring whether other people think we're cool or not. After holding a baby with up-the-back diarrhea while in line at the DMV, or cupping a handful of Teddy Graham vomit as I got out of the car in downtown Mindoro, it's hard to worry about public opinion.
Getting older also contributes to our worrying less that we might look stupid or unattractive. Yesterday I combed every aisle of the grocery store looking for the canvas bag that I thought had fallen off my cart. I probably looked like an idiot, peering around the endcaps and eyeballing other people's carts to see if they had swiped my Wisconsin Badger bag. Hey, it cost $2.50!! I finally gave up and checked out, then found the bag in the truck where I'd left it.
At the last high school reunion I attended, I wore a spandex tummy-flattening undergarment to make myself look thinner. (Fred swears that when I peeled it off later, it ricocheted around the room, nearly decapitating him) I wore it again for a wedding in Madison, and by the time we reached Eau Claire I could hardly breathe. I decided, I've got to be me! I wiggled out of the constricting thing in the front seat of the car, knowing that all the guests would be looking at the bride that day--not my stomach. (I hope that will be true at Erica's wedding, too!) I wear pantyhose with sandals, Fred's shorts when I walk the dogs (because his have pockets), and a pair of reading classes that make me look like Clark Kent. Yes, I'm a dork--but who cares? It reminds me of the poem I used to teach my freshmen, called "Warning" by Jenny Joseph. Part of it says "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me...I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells...and learn to spit." As we live life, what makes us happy becomes more important than what we think other people want or expect us to be. So be yourself--I won't think you're dorky!!
P.S. A rebuttal from Fred: "Cheryl's Monday blog created quite a stir here at home and in Eau Claire with Paul--Lauri's husband. After consulting him, I brainstormed a female equivalent of the Honey-do List. In an effort to not be sexist, we felt that wives should have a list of chores, too. So I'm coming up with a list for Cheryl to see how she likes it. Maybe now the Honey-Do List won't seem as funny!!"
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Doing for Them as They're Doing for Us
I've written about this topic before, but it is a cause dear to my heart--so please bear with me. If I can get even a couple more readers to support the troops, I will be happy. This past week was an extraordinary one as far as mail from military contacts is concerned. I received 3 snail mail letters--one in a package!--and two e-mails. Here are some excerpts:
From Iraq: "Your letters remind me of why I'm here and who I'm here for. We very much appreciate the time and effort you took to keep our morale high. I liked hearing about your family. I never rode a motorcycle, and I plan to change that when I come back."--SPC Charles C.
From Afghanistan: "Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. When we receive care packages from people such as yourselves, it means the world to us. It is truly like Christmas every time we get a package. I spent two and a half years in Sheboygan as an Army recruiter...great time, great beer, great brats!"--SFC Jason H.
From Iraq: "Thank you so much for your supportive thoughts. Boxes always make soldiers feel better. We are food inspectors, animal technicians, and veterinarians. Your pet menagerie must keep you entertained! Thank you!" --SSG Diana N.
From Iraq: "Thank you SOOOOOOO MUCH! Got your wonderful package this weekend and it was AWESOME! Almost made me feel like I was back home in the Midwest. You are the best, and what you are doing for me and others is the best example I can think of as yet another reason why the U.S. is the most wonderful country the world has ever seen." --Maj. Sean G.
(I also supported Sean in Afghanistan 3 years ago and sent him homemade chocolate chip cookies in this box. FYI, the military forbids homemade treats unless you know the person)
Darrin T. is in the Navy, now stationed in San Diego. I sent him packages when he was aboard the USS Essex in the Persian Gulf in 2004-05. Katie and I met him and his family when we visited San Diego in March. Last week he sent me a package with three Navy coins and his command patch with this note:
"I just wanted to give something in return for all the things you have done for me and my family. Thank you for supporting the troops and myself. All of your e-mails and packages were greatly appreciated. Thank you for all you do!"--E6 Petty Officer First Class Darrin T.
These are just a few examples of how much it means to our troops to hear from home. It breaks my heart that I can't support every one of them. Since I can't send them all packages, I also write as many letters as I can.
If you would like to get involved, go to anysoldier.com for all the information you'll need, or e-mail me and I would be glad to help.
One last thing from Jason: "The next time you see a soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine passing by, please take the time to say thank you. It means more to us than you could ever imagine. It is what keeps us going...we do it for the love of our great country."
From Iraq: "Your letters remind me of why I'm here and who I'm here for. We very much appreciate the time and effort you took to keep our morale high. I liked hearing about your family. I never rode a motorcycle, and I plan to change that when I come back."--SPC Charles C.
From Afghanistan: "Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. When we receive care packages from people such as yourselves, it means the world to us. It is truly like Christmas every time we get a package. I spent two and a half years in Sheboygan as an Army recruiter...great time, great beer, great brats!"--SFC Jason H.
From Iraq: "Thank you so much for your supportive thoughts. Boxes always make soldiers feel better. We are food inspectors, animal technicians, and veterinarians. Your pet menagerie must keep you entertained! Thank you!" --SSG Diana N.
From Iraq: "Thank you SOOOOOOO MUCH! Got your wonderful package this weekend and it was AWESOME! Almost made me feel like I was back home in the Midwest. You are the best, and what you are doing for me and others is the best example I can think of as yet another reason why the U.S. is the most wonderful country the world has ever seen." --Maj. Sean G.
(I also supported Sean in Afghanistan 3 years ago and sent him homemade chocolate chip cookies in this box. FYI, the military forbids homemade treats unless you know the person)
Darrin T. is in the Navy, now stationed in San Diego. I sent him packages when he was aboard the USS Essex in the Persian Gulf in 2004-05. Katie and I met him and his family when we visited San Diego in March. Last week he sent me a package with three Navy coins and his command patch with this note:
"I just wanted to give something in return for all the things you have done for me and my family. Thank you for supporting the troops and myself. All of your e-mails and packages were greatly appreciated. Thank you for all you do!"--E6 Petty Officer First Class Darrin T.
These are just a few examples of how much it means to our troops to hear from home. It breaks my heart that I can't support every one of them. Since I can't send them all packages, I also write as many letters as I can.
If you would like to get involved, go to anysoldier.com for all the information you'll need, or e-mail me and I would be glad to help.
One last thing from Jason: "The next time you see a soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine passing by, please take the time to say thank you. It means more to us than you could ever imagine. It is what keeps us going...we do it for the love of our great country."
Monday, June 8, 2009
Honey-Do
Last week during lunch with my friend Lauri, the conversation turned to our husbands--and the merits of giving them lists of jobs to do around the house. Lauri started spring/summer with such a list, and her projects both at home and their lake cottage are already nearly completed.
My dear Fred used to teach building construction, and during the summers off from school would build decks, shingle roofs, and do other remodeling jobs for people--but not accomplish much at home. It took three years for him to finish remodeling our bathroom--much to the amusement of our friends--and we even had a "bathroom-warming" party when it was finally done. In Elk Mound he wanted to replace the kitchen counters, and visualizing three years of preparing meals on the dining room table, I discouraged that idea.
I'm not complaining (too much)--he works extremely long hours, travels a lot, and it's not due to laziness that the chores don't get done; it's a simple lack of time. Having a cabin that he's constantly making improvements to cuts even more into the spare time he does have. Just FYI, these are the projects currently in progress at the cabin, or that he has purchased materials for: a deck for the hot tub, kitchen cabinets, redoing the bunk beds, improving the roads through the woods, finishing the front addition, finishing the back bedroom and shower room, doing firewood for winter. (My theory is that he thinks if he finishes all these he will die--so something always has to be "in progress")
Over the weekend we were talking about the things we want to get done at the house here this summer, and to my surprise he said, "Why don't you make a list of the jobs you want done, and I'll make a list, and we'll choose from the two." WOW! He's suggesting a honey-do list??! Ok...these are the jobs I want done most: put a shower door and a linen closet in the bathroom upstairs, replace the basement windows, and replace the storm door off the living room. These are fairly simple jobs that don't require a massive time commitment and can be accomplished rain or shine. Then he gave me his list: build a deck from door to door; redo the front of the garage, and build stairs to the top of the silo.
Oh oh. His list requires good weather and working outside, while my jobs are all indoors and could be pushed to fall or winter if needed. Will I have to pull out the big guns and withhold favors to get him on my list? "You can turn up the TV yourself!!" "If that shower door doesn't get done, I won't wash your underwear!"
So far, so good. A day after the list was made, he has replaced one basement window (for me) and a window in the garage (for him). The summer is begining on a good note. Check in with me in September and we'll see what my honey did!!
My dear Fred used to teach building construction, and during the summers off from school would build decks, shingle roofs, and do other remodeling jobs for people--but not accomplish much at home. It took three years for him to finish remodeling our bathroom--much to the amusement of our friends--and we even had a "bathroom-warming" party when it was finally done. In Elk Mound he wanted to replace the kitchen counters, and visualizing three years of preparing meals on the dining room table, I discouraged that idea.
I'm not complaining (too much)--he works extremely long hours, travels a lot, and it's not due to laziness that the chores don't get done; it's a simple lack of time. Having a cabin that he's constantly making improvements to cuts even more into the spare time he does have. Just FYI, these are the projects currently in progress at the cabin, or that he has purchased materials for: a deck for the hot tub, kitchen cabinets, redoing the bunk beds, improving the roads through the woods, finishing the front addition, finishing the back bedroom and shower room, doing firewood for winter. (My theory is that he thinks if he finishes all these he will die--so something always has to be "in progress")
Over the weekend we were talking about the things we want to get done at the house here this summer, and to my surprise he said, "Why don't you make a list of the jobs you want done, and I'll make a list, and we'll choose from the two." WOW! He's suggesting a honey-do list??! Ok...these are the jobs I want done most: put a shower door and a linen closet in the bathroom upstairs, replace the basement windows, and replace the storm door off the living room. These are fairly simple jobs that don't require a massive time commitment and can be accomplished rain or shine. Then he gave me his list: build a deck from door to door; redo the front of the garage, and build stairs to the top of the silo.
Oh oh. His list requires good weather and working outside, while my jobs are all indoors and could be pushed to fall or winter if needed. Will I have to pull out the big guns and withhold favors to get him on my list? "You can turn up the TV yourself!!" "If that shower door doesn't get done, I won't wash your underwear!"
So far, so good. A day after the list was made, he has replaced one basement window (for me) and a window in the garage (for him). The summer is begining on a good note. Check in with me in September and we'll see what my honey did!!
Friday, June 5, 2009
A Smile with Petals
Why do flowers make us happy? Unless you're allergic, you probably enjoy this time of year for all the beautiful blossoms and their fragrances adorning yards, gardens, and the woods and fields around us.
I shopped for flowers yesterday to plant in the yard, and just looking at all the colorful varieties made me amazed at nature's bounty of beauty. I don't have a green thumb, and I tried to choose the kinds I've managed to keep alive in the past: pansies, petunias, marigolds, geraniums, and salvia, to name a few. I also bought a pot of gazania because they look like small sunflowers.
I inherited several varieties of perennials when we bought the house in Elk Mound, and 13 years later they are still blooming in spite of my ignorance. I've never planted perennials and would have to do some research before trying it. I can handle annuals because they're supposed to die after a year--it can't be blamed on my poor care!
Sunflowers are my favorite flower, and I've never successfully grown any. I tried a few times, but after sprouting up 2 or 3 inches, they always died. I think it was too shady for them in our yard in Elk Mound. My friend Lauri gave me two packages of sunflower seeds after we moved to Rhinelander, and I hope to have success with them here in our big sunny yard.
While raising flowers is one pleasure, receiving them from someone is another. A call from the florist about an impending delivery or a knock at the door from someone bearing a vase or bouquet can turn an ordinary day into a memorable one. I've always told Fred not to spend money on flowers for me because they don't last very long--but he has still surprised me a few times over the years. The one I remember the most is the arrangement he got me when I became a published greeting card writer. Christmas poinsettias, birthday bouquets from friends, wildflowers in a glass from the girls...and one of the most memorable: a Christmas arrangement sent by one of "my soldiers" who was in Iraq at the time.
I usually take pictures of these floral gifts since they'll be wilted and losing petals in a week or two. Even though their beauty won't last, the picture--and the feeling the flowers gave me because someone thought I was special--will be with me always.
I'm off to plant!
I shopped for flowers yesterday to plant in the yard, and just looking at all the colorful varieties made me amazed at nature's bounty of beauty. I don't have a green thumb, and I tried to choose the kinds I've managed to keep alive in the past: pansies, petunias, marigolds, geraniums, and salvia, to name a few. I also bought a pot of gazania because they look like small sunflowers.
I inherited several varieties of perennials when we bought the house in Elk Mound, and 13 years later they are still blooming in spite of my ignorance. I've never planted perennials and would have to do some research before trying it. I can handle annuals because they're supposed to die after a year--it can't be blamed on my poor care!
Sunflowers are my favorite flower, and I've never successfully grown any. I tried a few times, but after sprouting up 2 or 3 inches, they always died. I think it was too shady for them in our yard in Elk Mound. My friend Lauri gave me two packages of sunflower seeds after we moved to Rhinelander, and I hope to have success with them here in our big sunny yard.
While raising flowers is one pleasure, receiving them from someone is another. A call from the florist about an impending delivery or a knock at the door from someone bearing a vase or bouquet can turn an ordinary day into a memorable one. I've always told Fred not to spend money on flowers for me because they don't last very long--but he has still surprised me a few times over the years. The one I remember the most is the arrangement he got me when I became a published greeting card writer. Christmas poinsettias, birthday bouquets from friends, wildflowers in a glass from the girls...and one of the most memorable: a Christmas arrangement sent by one of "my soldiers" who was in Iraq at the time.
I usually take pictures of these floral gifts since they'll be wilted and losing petals in a week or two. Even though their beauty won't last, the picture--and the feeling the flowers gave me because someone thought I was special--will be with me always.
I'm off to plant!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The Order of Love
Most of us have heard about the birth order concept--how the sequence of our birth in relationship to our siblings affects our personality development. Much of that development is shaped by the way our parents respond to us, which tends to change a bit from one baby to the next. Parents are likely to focus on every detail of the firstborn child's progress, chronicling all of the "firsts," providing much one-on-one interaction, and expecting independent and helpful behaviors when baby number two arrives. Consequently, firstborns are often high achievers and expect a lot from themselves and others.
As a firstborn, I possess many of the qualities associated with that position: organized, responsible, bossy, conscientious, anxious. That doesn't sound like a very enjoyable person to be around! I think I'm less uptight and more fun than those adjectives would suggest, but the words definitely applied to my days as a student. I can also see the same qualities in Erica, though she doesn't have anxiety issues and is more like Fred in other respects.
With our 25th anniversary coming up this fall, I was wondering what the experts would say about our compatibility based on birth order. Obviously Fred and I are pretty well-matched to have been together this long, but does birth order have anything to do with it?
It turns out that the best possible match in a relationship is a female oldest/only child who marries a male who is the youngest in the family and has older sisters. Fred isn't the youngest boy--he has a brother who's 11 months his junior--but he has 3 older sisters. Being the oldest, I was always the mother hen with my sisters and brother, and that maternal feeling continues when we enter romantic relationships. The man who has older sisters is used to having women take care of and dote on him. Rather than being a super-achiever, he possesses more of the fun-loving, spontaneous qualities that balance out the firstborn partner's seriousness. So I guess our match is a good one based on this theory. It explains a lot as I look back over the years of me doing most of the traditional "woman's work" around the house and him encouraging me to be more flexible and try new things.
As far as the rest of you are concerned, here's what the research says about other romantic birth order combinations:
--Middle child and youngest: good match, especially if the middle child is a secondborn and has some firstborn qualities
--Firstborn and middle child: good match if middle child leans toward having youngest child traits
--Middle child married to middle child can be positive or negative. These people tend to avoid conflict as much as possible and keep things to themselves, resulting in a lack of communication.
The worst combinations seem to be "likes marrrying likes." Two firstborns are apt to argue a lot and have control issues. Two lastborns will have a lot of fun, but things may go bad if one of them doesn't assume some responsibility and control. Two only children who marry each other will have power issues, plus not know much about the opposite gender since neither had siblings to relate to.
So--while for some of us, considering birth order when choosing a life partner is already a moot point, it might be a factor to think about for all you singletons out there. And it could make a new opening line...."so, do you have any brothers and sisters?"
As a firstborn, I possess many of the qualities associated with that position: organized, responsible, bossy, conscientious, anxious. That doesn't sound like a very enjoyable person to be around! I think I'm less uptight and more fun than those adjectives would suggest, but the words definitely applied to my days as a student. I can also see the same qualities in Erica, though she doesn't have anxiety issues and is more like Fred in other respects.
With our 25th anniversary coming up this fall, I was wondering what the experts would say about our compatibility based on birth order. Obviously Fred and I are pretty well-matched to have been together this long, but does birth order have anything to do with it?
It turns out that the best possible match in a relationship is a female oldest/only child who marries a male who is the youngest in the family and has older sisters. Fred isn't the youngest boy--he has a brother who's 11 months his junior--but he has 3 older sisters. Being the oldest, I was always the mother hen with my sisters and brother, and that maternal feeling continues when we enter romantic relationships. The man who has older sisters is used to having women take care of and dote on him. Rather than being a super-achiever, he possesses more of the fun-loving, spontaneous qualities that balance out the firstborn partner's seriousness. So I guess our match is a good one based on this theory. It explains a lot as I look back over the years of me doing most of the traditional "woman's work" around the house and him encouraging me to be more flexible and try new things.
As far as the rest of you are concerned, here's what the research says about other romantic birth order combinations:
--Middle child and youngest: good match, especially if the middle child is a secondborn and has some firstborn qualities
--Firstborn and middle child: good match if middle child leans toward having youngest child traits
--Middle child married to middle child can be positive or negative. These people tend to avoid conflict as much as possible and keep things to themselves, resulting in a lack of communication.
The worst combinations seem to be "likes marrrying likes." Two firstborns are apt to argue a lot and have control issues. Two lastborns will have a lot of fun, but things may go bad if one of them doesn't assume some responsibility and control. Two only children who marry each other will have power issues, plus not know much about the opposite gender since neither had siblings to relate to.
So--while for some of us, considering birth order when choosing a life partner is already a moot point, it might be a factor to think about for all you singletons out there. And it could make a new opening line...."so, do you have any brothers and sisters?"
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
It Was the Third of June...
A few years ago on this date, a bunch of us were sitting around the campfire after a day on the river, and I asked, "What happened on the third of June?" Fred, who'd had a few too many Jack Daniels, replied, "Billie Joe MacAlliTHter jumped off the TallahatTHie Bridge!" Slurred speech aside, he was correct. The song "Ode to Billie Joe" by Bobbie Gentry went to number one in the '60s, and people have been trying to interpret its meaning ever since. I wasn't even 10 years old when it was popular, and listening to it gave me the creeps--the haunting music and the mystery of the lyrics that were more than I could figure out. People are still speculating as to what exactly happened in the song, and Bobbie Gentry never gave an explanation. There are three big questions: What was the nature of the relationship of the narrator and Billie Joe? Why did he jump off the bridge? What did he and the narrator throw off the bridge prior to his suicide?
I have never come up with satisfactory answers to questions 2 and 3, and I won't hypothesize now. I'll just let you read the lyrics and see what you come up with. If you figure it out, let me know.
"It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day. I was out choppin' cotton and my brother was balin' hay. And at dinner time we stopped and walked back to the house to eat--And Mama hollered out the back door "y'all remember to wipe your feet" And then she said "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge" "Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge" And Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas, "Well, Billy Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits, please" "There's five more acres in the lower forty I've got to plow" And Mama said it was shame about Billy Joe, anyhow. Seems like nothin' ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge, And now Billy Joe MacAllister's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge. And Brother said he recollected when he and Tom and Billie JoePut a frog down my back at the Carroll County picture show. And wasn't I talkin' to him after church last Sunday night?" I'll have another piece of apple pie, you know it don't seem right" "I saw him at the sawmill yesterday on Choctaw Ridge" "And now you tell me Billie Joe's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge" And Mama said to me "Child, what's happened to your appetite?" "I've been cookin' all morning and you haven't touched a single bite" "That nice young preacher, Brother Taylor, dropped by today" "Said he'd be pleased to have dinner on Sunday, oh, by the way" "He said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge" "And she and Billy Joe was throwing somethin' off the Tallahatchie Bridge." A year has come 'n' gone since we heard the news 'bout Billy Joe. And Brother married Becky Thompson, they bought a store in Tupelo. There was a virus going 'round, Papa caught it and he died last Spring. And now Mama doesn't seem to wanna do much of anything. And me, I spend a lot of time pickin' flowers up on Choctaw Ridge, And drop them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge."
*Sorry the lyrics don't publish here in verse form!
I have never come up with satisfactory answers to questions 2 and 3, and I won't hypothesize now. I'll just let you read the lyrics and see what you come up with. If you figure it out, let me know.
"It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day. I was out choppin' cotton and my brother was balin' hay. And at dinner time we stopped and walked back to the house to eat--And Mama hollered out the back door "y'all remember to wipe your feet" And then she said "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge" "Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge" And Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas, "Well, Billy Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits, please" "There's five more acres in the lower forty I've got to plow" And Mama said it was shame about Billy Joe, anyhow. Seems like nothin' ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge, And now Billy Joe MacAllister's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge. And Brother said he recollected when he and Tom and Billie JoePut a frog down my back at the Carroll County picture show. And wasn't I talkin' to him after church last Sunday night?" I'll have another piece of apple pie, you know it don't seem right" "I saw him at the sawmill yesterday on Choctaw Ridge" "And now you tell me Billie Joe's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge" And Mama said to me "Child, what's happened to your appetite?" "I've been cookin' all morning and you haven't touched a single bite" "That nice young preacher, Brother Taylor, dropped by today" "Said he'd be pleased to have dinner on Sunday, oh, by the way" "He said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge" "And she and Billy Joe was throwing somethin' off the Tallahatchie Bridge." A year has come 'n' gone since we heard the news 'bout Billy Joe. And Brother married Becky Thompson, they bought a store in Tupelo. There was a virus going 'round, Papa caught it and he died last Spring. And now Mama doesn't seem to wanna do much of anything. And me, I spend a lot of time pickin' flowers up on Choctaw Ridge, And drop them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge."
*Sorry the lyrics don't publish here in verse form!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
History of a House
I've been wondering about the history of the house we bought here and the people who have lived in it over the years. Since moving in last October, we continue to receive mail addressed to two different surnames. No one had lived here in the year before we bought it because the interior was being almost totally remodeled. The guy we bought it from lives in California and only spends the month of July at his childhood home on Spider Lake Road. He told us that an old lady who lived here made great cookies when he was a kid. The rock foundation of the house has 1913 written in stones--which I think is cool because two of my grandparents were born that year. The papers we signed at closing said the house was built in 1960, but that may have been when an addition was put on. A neighbor I talked to said a farmer lived here for 30 years, and there used to be hundreds of deer in the fields where the pine trees now stand.
The original barn is gone, but we still have the milkhouse and the concrete part of the silo. Fred wants to build a "clubhouse" on top of the silo and turn the milkhouse into a bunking space for guests. I actually think it would make a great writing studio...!
I spend a lot of time alone here, and I think the place might have a ghost. The closet door in the girls' room is often open, even though I always shut it firmly after I've been in there. There is a moaning sound in the kitchen, and I've heard tapping and knocking when I'm in the shower. It's probably just the wind--or I've been watching "Medium" too much. Pretty flimsy evidence of supernatural habitation, I know, and even if there were a ghostly presence, it's not a scary one. Probably just a farm wife who used to make great cookies.
I really like living here, and since I loved living in our Elk Mound house, I'm glad I'm able to say that. I do feel a stronger connection to the past of this house, probably due to time spent on my grandparents' farm and with my grandma--another excellent cookie maker. Since I follow in that tradition, maybe I should do some carving in the old foundation stones for whoever lives here 100 years from now. "Cheryl was here with Ranger cookies, 2009." (And now I'm in the upstairs closet!)"
The original barn is gone, but we still have the milkhouse and the concrete part of the silo. Fred wants to build a "clubhouse" on top of the silo and turn the milkhouse into a bunking space for guests. I actually think it would make a great writing studio...!
I spend a lot of time alone here, and I think the place might have a ghost. The closet door in the girls' room is often open, even though I always shut it firmly after I've been in there. There is a moaning sound in the kitchen, and I've heard tapping and knocking when I'm in the shower. It's probably just the wind--or I've been watching "Medium" too much. Pretty flimsy evidence of supernatural habitation, I know, and even if there were a ghostly presence, it's not a scary one. Probably just a farm wife who used to make great cookies.
I really like living here, and since I loved living in our Elk Mound house, I'm glad I'm able to say that. I do feel a stronger connection to the past of this house, probably due to time spent on my grandparents' farm and with my grandma--another excellent cookie maker. Since I follow in that tradition, maybe I should do some carving in the old foundation stones for whoever lives here 100 years from now. "Cheryl was here with Ranger cookies, 2009." (And now I'm in the upstairs closet!)"
Monday, June 1, 2009
Easy Rider
I am right now SO excited about the greatest invention since the bread machine and the Swiffer mop: the riding lawnmower!! I know, I know, it's been around for decades, but we have never had one. Today I decided to make my maiden voyage on our new Poulan Pro Lawn Tractor Model XT--which I'm sure stands for "extra terrific." First I read through the instruction manual so I wouldn't wreck it right away. After one run-through, I decided it might as well have been written in Japanese for as much as I understood it. So, I took the manual out to the garage and sat on the mower as I read it again, matching up all the gadgets on the machine with the pictures in the book. After I had a rough idea of how to start, reverse, engage the mower blades, and stop, I backed out of the garage and took off. How AWESOME! Smooth ride, easy steering, twice the mow width of the push mower, and hardly any effort involved on my part. I soon figured out how to closely edge around trees and other obstacles, leaving just a few areas that will require trimming with the push mower or weed whip. My complaints are minor--I had a can of pop in the handy dandy can holder, and got a mouthful of grass clippings when I took a drink because the can cover had blown off. For some reason I also feel like I have grass down the back of my pants. But those are irrelevant issues compared with the 2+ hours I saved over the last time I mowed here--plus I'm not dying of heat stroke, don't have noodle arms from 4 hours of pushing, and don't have the annoyance of starting it with multiple pulls on an uncooperative rope.
Sorry if I'm boring you, but I will take my thrills where I can get them. I don't need a red sports car or even a new Harley--maybe just an Ipod so I can groove as I cruise on the PP XT. Who says almost-50 can't be a joyride?!
Sorry if I'm boring you, but I will take my thrills where I can get them. I don't need a red sports car or even a new Harley--maybe just an Ipod so I can groove as I cruise on the PP XT. Who says almost-50 can't be a joyride?!
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