My Mind.....Lost, Strayed, or Stolen....

Book Review: WhenBad Things Happen to Good Knitters

2012-02-04T10:05:00.003-06:00

Some time ago, (no, I won't say how long, it's too embarrassing) the Taunton Press sent me an exam copy of this book to review. I think it was because I had posted about knitting, and how much I respect the old crafts, knitting, crochet, quilting, embroidery.

Somehow, the book disappeared under a pile of other books, and just recently came to light again. In my house, this is a common occurence, since books are to be found in every room, on shelves, in stacks, or open face down in a chair.

The complete title is When Bad Things Happen to Good Knitters: An Emergency Survival Guide, by Marion Edmonds and Ahza Moore.

It's a handy little volume filled with all kinds of rescue advice, beginning with a chapter on emergency prevention.

It is well organized, with clear illustrations for how to retrieve dropped stitches, various methods of finishing, and all kinds of other knitting emergencies.

The one thing I did not like was the choice of pale green for Section headings. They are difficult to read for me.

This is not a book for beginning knitters. The authors assume some basic knowledge of knitting. So if you are just learning how to knit, there are better instructive books out there. But if you have basic knitting skills, this book can tell you how to overcome almost any error you might make.

I am barely above beginner knitter, and have only made things shaped like squares (for an afghan) or rectangles (baby blankets). I taught myself to knit from a book while pregnant with our first child. With this book as a companion, maybe I will spread my wings and try something a little more complex.

Even for an experienced knitter, this book has advice to offer, especially for someone who does not have a companion knitter to help resolve issues such as (mis)reading a pattern, or what to do if the sleeve of the sweater has somehow sprouted from the chest instead of the shoulder.

I recommend this book for knitters of any level.

Note: I do not receive any remuneration for this review, or for subsequent purchases of the product.

Once Upon a Time

2012-01-24T11:38:00.003-06:00

Is anyone else watching this show? Someone recommended it to us. I didn't think Wick would like it, but he is as intrigued as I am.

If you haven't seen it, the show is based on the idea of taking familiar fairy tale characters and putting them in a town in our world, which seems to be the UNreal world, and the Magic Forest is the REAL world.

A few liberties have been taken with the characters as previously known, but by and large, they are true to their fairy-tale counter-parts.

So....okay, we have Snow White, who is looking for her Prince Charming, who seems to be married to someone else, but maybe she is not real, and maybe their memories have been magically altered.

We have Emma who came to Storybrook in search of the son she gave up for adoption, who just happens to have been adopted by the Evil Queen, who apparently controls all the characters in Storybrook.

Rumpelstiltskin is just as unattractive as in the fairy tales, living in Storybrook as Mr. Gold. But we get a back story to explain why he became wicked and evil.

Henry, the biological son of Emma, has a book of fairy tales, and has assigned character equivalents to each of the people in Storybrook.

I just reread this, and am not sure if it makes sense or not.

We are hooked on the show, and tivo it every week. I grew up reading fairy tales, and loving them, so I guess that explains my obsession with it.

What I can't really figure out is why Wick likes it. He is normally the logical, sane, sequential one of us, while I am totally random and abstract.

Whatever the reason, we enjoy it.

Try it; you might like it.

On a Winter's Day

2012-01-11T12:04:00.002-06:00

All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray.

The lake reflects the pewter color of the sky. Brown leaves carpet the ground, with here and there a maple leaf glowing golden yellow as candle light, or red, scarlet, crimson as a small ember.

Yesterday afternoon, one brave bunny ventured out of his snug, fur-lined nest, and promptly got chased by the dogs for his trouble. One lone squirrel uncoiled from the eiderdown soft comfort of his bushy tail, and chittered at us as we walked by.

It's been raining for two days, non-stop. Slow, soaking rain, just what we need in the time of drought. The lake is up a few inches, which is encouraging.

From the windows that run across the back of the cabin, we can see the spot where paper-white narcissus cast their sweet fragrance in spring. Further along, daffodils will lift their golden trumpets, and the spear-tipped leaves of the iris will herald their purple and white blooms, showing their velvety throats as they blossom.

From this cold, dark, wet landscape life will erupt in just a few months. Perhaps we, too, need a time of cold to reflect, to meditate, to realize how blessed we are, and how much we will have to offer, when spring comes again.

Numbering My Days

2012-01-03T19:14:00.003-06:00

So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.--Psalm 90:12

Three years ago this week, I was released from hospital after nearly two months, facing 4 months of physical therapy and rehab to learn to walk again.

I had just been told that I was permanently disabled, and would never work again.

I was struggling with who I am now, since I am not at all who I was. For months, I struggled with physical limitations, and loss of identity. I didn't know myself any more.

I could not understand why God had not taken me home, when I begged for death. Why was I still here? What was I supposed to do, when I couldn't teach any more?

I still don't have a definitive answer to those questions. I have, however, learned that even though I don't understand, I accept His wisdom. I may never know for sure the reason, if there is just one.

I am learning to see the humor in my life again. I have regained most of my mental acuity. I have been given opportunities to use my teaching skills in small, less-taxing situations other than the classroom.

My grandchildren have availed themselves of my sewing, crochet and knitting skills. My children have told me that I am an important resource for them, because of things I remember, and abilities I have taught them.

Now that Wick is retired too, we are finding new depths of our relationship, new ways to express what has been there all along, but we were sometimes too busy to notice.

We are living full-time at the lake. We have found a new church home. Our relationship with our Lord is growing deeper and broader each day.

Only God the Father knows when our days on this earth shall end. I am satisfied that He knows the number of hairs on my head, the number of beats of my heart, the path that He would have me follow.

He has remodeled my heart from four times its normal size to the size it is supposed to be.
And He has remodeled my spirit to accept whatever may come, because He holds me safe under His wings.

I don't know where I will be a year from now; I just know that wherever it is, He will be with me.

Christmas Weekend Menus

2011-12-21T21:01:00.003-06:00

Whenever we get together with our kids and grandkids, food is a primary concern. It's also a cooperative venture, with all three couples contributing. Some of the grandkids are also now making and bringing their own contributions.

Our plan is to meet at our daughter's Friday night, and be together until Monday morning.

Here is what we plan to eat:

Friday night: chili and cornbread--Jeana

Fixins: Jamie

Saturday breakfast: pancakes (make batter night before, cook as people get up) Syrup-Jamie, bacon Mom & Dad

lunch/dinner: Turkey (Mom and Dad frying the turkey)

dressing, mac and cheese, green beans--Jeana Corn casserole, fruit salad and relish tray-Jamie

Supper: leftovers; meat, cheese and cracker platter, raw veggies and dip (Mom & Dad)

Sunday morning: breakfast casserole--Jeana

lunch: ?? work on leftovers?? Mom is bringing beefy vegetable casserole and a cheese ball; Chips and dip-Jamie

supper: enchiladas--Jeana

spanish rice and beans--Jamie

Jamie will also bring sour cream and extra cheese as toppings, we will bring drinks and lots of

snacks.

Mom and Dad are also bringing banana bread, apple muffins, chocolate chip cookies, Heath bar cookies, and chocolate chocolate chip cookies, and sugar free cheesecake.

Latest bulletin: Jeana has bronchitis, a carry-over from Katoushka's bout with it during Thanksgiving, which I then took home with me, and passed on to Wick. So we may have to freeze everything, and postpone until Jeana is feeling better.

The date on the calender doesn't matter; being together is what is important.

We found a crate of games in the barn, so we will spend a good bit of time sorting through those, and deciding what to keep and what to trash, and then the great debate about what we are actually going to play.

Some of us are hooked on Settlers of Catan, so I'm sure there will be a Settler's tournament. Then maybe chicken foot, which all of us can play at the same time, or a scrabble tournament, or maybe Risk.

Doesn't matter much what we play; we always have a great time. The trash-talking, teasing, singing badly, and family stories will make new memories to go with the ones we already have.

Christmas is for Family

2011-12-15T09:01:00.003-06:00

Last Saturday, we met with my extended family to celebrate Christmas.

My parents had four kids. All four of us married, and had among us 11 kids. All 11 have married, and had kids.

The current count is 54, with several couples still in the child-bearing years, so that number may go up.

Obviously, too big a crowd for anyone's house, so we met at the community center where my folks live.

For years, we all congregated at my mama's house on every occasion, and often just to visit. Her house was Family Central. But we finally had to concede there were just too many of us for her house. My folks now live in a one-bedroom apartment, and there are no large gatherings there, although we try to visit at least once a month.

With so many of us, even a whole day is never enough to visit with everyone as I would like to.

But with phone calls, e-mails, and facebook, we manage to stay in touch, to keep track of the important events in everyone's lives.

All of this to say, after all, Christmas started with one family. A man who took a wife who was already pregnant, and the Child who was born to them on that night so long ago.

That Child came to save us from our sins, and our Father God says we are adopted into His family, brothers and sisters to Christ, co-inheritors of the Kingdom.

So, brothers and sisters, a very merry Christmas to you all.

Our Chihuahuas

2011-11-28T18:10:00.004-06:00

This was Cassie's first major family holiday. She was a bit overwhelmed.

In the photo above, I am holding Sissy, our shy baby. Wick is holding Cassie, who has a black muzzle, as if she has been into the chocolate pudding.

She did not get into any pudding or pie, but tasted every crumb that dropped on the floor.

Our daughter has a large Golden Retriever, Emma, and two cats: Boots and Spencer. Our son has a Boston Terrier named Oreo. Cassie wanted to play with all of them.

Some were more enthusiastic than others.

The cats stared, hissed, and finally ambushed her. They never touched her, but to hear her shrieks, one would have thought she was being skinned alive.

Emma wanted desperately to play. But one little pat from a paw as big as Cassie's head sent her rolling across the floor.

Oreo is bouncy and playful, and a bit closer to Cassie and Sissy's size, but still big enough to send either of them sprawling with one mis-aimed leap.

They mostly played with each other, as they do at home, slept in their bed by my feet as we played Settlers of Catan, and did their best to charm bits of turkey and ham from unwary family members.

Sissy spent as much time as she could wheedle out of me, sitting in my lap with her head tucked under my arm, shivering if anyone else spoke to her or touched her.

After three days with 14 people, four dogs, and two cats, Sissy was doing her happy dance as soon as we got inside our house. Cassie ran around excitedly, sniffing to see that everything was exactly as she had left it.

They are sleeping the sleep of exhaustion as I write, snuggled together under their fleece blankets, noses still twitching at the scent of the left-overs we brought home.

They have no idea that in a month, we will be doing it all over again for Christmas.

Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Thanksgiving Menu

2011-11-22T17:14:00.002-06:00

Since I posted about my myriad lists, I thought I would share our menu for the upcoming Thanksgiving gathering.

We are gathering at Jeana's. Mom and Dad means Wick and me.

Wed night: lasagna, salad and bread (Jeana)

Thursday:

Breakfast casserole (Jeana)

Lunch: sandwiches, BBQ smokies (Jeana)

chips with Rotel dip (Mom)

Supper: Turkey, Dressing, Rolls, Mac and Cheese, Green Beans, Pumpkin Pie (Jeana)

deviled eggs, pecan pie, fruit salad (Jamie)

Veggies and Dip (Mom)

Friday:

Breakfast (Dad)

Late lunch: Ham, Mashed Potatoes, Rolls (Jamie)

Sweet Potatoes, Roasted Veggies, Cranberry Salad, Apple Pie, Gingersnaps (Jeana)

Broccoli Casserole (Mom)

Dinner: leftovers

pimento cheese for sandwiches (Mom)

Sat: Breakfast (Dad)

leftovers again, banana pudding

Sunday: pumpkin bread before church

And here is the list of stuff we still need from the grocery store:

For the roast vegetables:

broccoli

yellow squash

tomatoes (cherry or grape)

For the cranberry salad:

1 bag fresh cranberries

4 apples

4 oranges

For the banana pudding:

vanilla wafers

sweetened condensed milk

cream cheese

cool whip

For the coffee, which we drink from morning til night:

flavored coffee creamer (I like pumpkin or cinnamon sugar cookie right now, but pick something you like.)

For the big Pipaw breakfast the kids expect whenever we get together:
eggs
bacon
sausage
biscuits
grits
Yes, there will be gravy. A tub full of gravy.
pancake mix for Sat.

I baked today for Sunday's breakfast:
Pumpkin muffins
Pumpkin bundt cake
Banana walnut bread
banana walnut muffins
Chocolate banana chocolate chip muffins
Two loaves choc. banana choc. chip bread

The reasoning here is that Sunday morning will be hectic, trying to get everyone ready for church, bathed, dressed, fed, and still in our right minds, so all these bread-like substances will be easy to grab and go out the door.

As my late Mother-in-law would have said, we will have enough food to feed Cox's army!

Six adults, four girls, and four teenage boys.

Too much food? Not enough? Everybody has their favorite thing that we just have to have. When we all still gathered at my mama's, the crowd grew to 54 people. We can't have quite the variety that we had then, with everyone bringing something different, but we do try to include the traditional dishes we all love.

The extended family finally conceded that 54+ people was just too many for one person's house, so now we gather at the clubhouse where my folks live. But by getting together with our kids and grandkids, we are keeping alive the tradition of maintaining family ties, allowing enough time to really visit, to play games, to luxuriate in being with the people we love best.

In the words of the old hymn:

We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;
He chastens and hastens His will to make known;
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing;
Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own.

May all of you, my dear friends, have a most happy Thanksgiving!

Making Lists

2011-11-20T15:31:00.003-06:00

Holy Mama asked if anyone else is a list maker. My hand went up immadiately.

Lists.
Do I have lists.
Grocery list for today, for this week, for stocking up, and for “when I feel especially rich.” Which hasn’t happened yet, but might someday, if we ever win the lottery.

A list of what I need to cook with for Thanksgiving, a list of things I am going to cook, a list of stuff I will make if I have time/feel like it.

A list of menus for Wed. through Sunday, showing what Jeana is making, what Jamie is making, what Wick is making, and what I am making. With an attached list of explanatory notes.

A list of stuff I have been meaning to take to Jeana, Jamie, the grandkids.

And a list of what needs to be loaded into the car now, tomorrow, and on the day. And a list of bedding to take. This is beginning to overwhelm me; I had no idea I had so many lists.

The great advantage of making lists is that at least I will know what I was supposed to do, what I was too tired to do, and what I forgot to do.

But making lists makes me feel as if I have already accomplished something, even though all I have actually done is make lists.

Rainy Afternoon

2011-11-15T21:15:00.002-06:00

We are still in the midst of a drought, according to statistics, which indicate we are shy 20 inches of rain for the year.

Our county and those around us have been under a burn ban for months.

But this afternoon, it rained.

The back wall of our cabin is windows, about 25 feet of windows, looking out onto the lake. It is so beautiful to watch the rain as it starts on the other side of the lake, and gradually moves over the water, like the Spirit of God moving over the face of the deep.

Both our front and back porches have tin roofs, so we enjoy a symphony of rain falling on the tin and running down the ridges, dripping off into the earth. The lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, and we cuddle with our chihuahuas under a hand-made quilt, and watch the blessed rain pour down from heaven.

Let us praise His name for His goodness endures forever.

What a difference three years makes

2011-11-09T19:23:00.002-06:00

Three years ago today, I was in hospital, recovering from surgery for four abdominal abcesses, and expecting to go home by the weekend.

Little did I know that I was just beginning a two-month marathon stay in hospital.

And another surgery.

And kidney failure from a bad reaction to the contrast dye.

And a diagnosis of congestive heart failure, with a heart four times normal, and a projected demise within 10 months, if nothing changed, or I didn't get a heart transplant.

And losing about a pound a day, because I couldn't eat much, and couldn't keep down what little I ate.

And four months of physical therapy.

And having to take disability retirement, or being in a wheelchair and then a walker and now a cane.

But I also didn't anticipate the outpouring of prayers and love from family, friends, friends of friends, and churches and people I had never met.

Or the constant comfort of Bible verses memorized in childhood and teen-age years, speaking of the love and care of God the Father.

Or the way our marriage relationship knit ever closer.

Or the tremendous sacrificial care I would receive from our children and grandchildren.

Or the strong unwavering sense that God kept me here for a purpose, even though I am still not sure what that purpose is.

God is good, all the time.

More Photos

2011-10-17T17:59:00.006-05:00

Here we are with our Sunshine, at a football game, during half-time. Isn't she just adorable?

This the quilt I made for Pie for graduation from high school. It is made of jerseys and t-shirts from her club soccer years. Now, each of the other six grandchildren want one. So I will be doing a lot of quilting over the next few years.

Actually, they don't all want t-shirt quilts. Katoushka has already said she wants an Irish Chain pattern, in green and white, the colors of the university she plans to attend. Buddy and Sunshine do want t-shirt quilts. He graduates next year. Sunshine and Katoushka graduate the next year. I better get my sewing stuff organized.

I guess I should explain that these are not my gradchildren's real names.

Pie is the oldest, and in college, on a soccer scholarship.

Buddy is next, a junior who plays left tackle on the football team our son and my brother coach.

Then Katoushka and Merideth, who are just 3 months apart, currently in 10th grade.

Next is A-man, then Lolly, and last but not least, Big D.

K. and L. play piano, and A. and D. play violin. They are our daughter's kids, and are home schooled.

The nicknames are based on the pet names I have used for them since they were babies.

Their parents want to preserve as much of their privacy as possible, so I don't use their real names.

They are my babies, and my darlings, and we love them immensely. In them we relive our own children's childhood, and through them we glimpse our future. We are so blessed.

Frogs and Rabbits and Other Lakeside Creatures

2011-09-28T19:41:00.003-05:00

During this drought filled summer, we have seen more little rabbits than ever. When I take Sissy and Cassie out after dark, they are everywhere, their little white powder puff tails almost glowing white in the security lights.

They gather mostly in our neighbor's yard, because he waters and his grass is lush and green, unlike ours, which crunches like shredded wheat underfoot.

When we come out, they freeze in place, unmoving, except for their wiggly little noses, which twitch furiously as they attempt to identify our alien scents. Their long ears quiver, as they wait to see if we are going to approach or move away. When the chihuahuas finally notice them, of course, they feel compelled to alert the whole neighborhood, inciting all the other dogs to bark and howl furiously.

As the pandemonium mounts in intensity, the rabbits break free from their freeze, and scatter into the shadows, disappearing in an instant.

Most of the frogs we see are dead and dried little mummies, their tiny bodies lying in the sandy soil, victims of the drought.

The dogs seek out these tiny corpses, rub their faces on them, or pick them up to carry around until they finally drop them elsewhere.

As the lake dries up, the small critters are disappearing. We didn't see a single brood of baby ducks this summer. The frogs are running out of shallow water in which to breed.

We help as we can. We keep the hummingbird feeder filled with sweet nectar; we put our fruit and vegetable parings out behind the back porch for the rabbits, who devour them almost before I get back in the door. We keep the bird feeder full for the jays, sparrows, wrens, robins, cardinals and blue birds.

We can't do anything about the frogs or the ducks or the geese, except hope that eventually, when the lake returns, so will they.

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Pictures I Should Have Posted

2011-09-26T09:24:00.006-05:00

I have already blogged about these subjects, but never posted pictures. So herewith I offer you, from the top:

Mother and Pa

Son and grandson on the football field

Our front door

Our back porch

I have tried five times to upload a picture of us with our cheerleader granddaughter, but failed. Sigh.

I never said I was a computer whiz.

Fires Contained--For Now

2011-09-11T10:58:00.002-05:00

The latest report is that, barring a rising wind, the fires in East Texas are contained. Not out. Just contained.

30,000 acres burned to a cinder in Marion County alone. Many homes, barns, fields and pastures now dry, black, and smoking. A 20 yr. old woman and her 18 month old baby dead in Smith County.

Other parts of our country are flooded. Texas needs rain desperately.

Thank you for prayers for the safety of our loved ones. Please continue to pray for rain, so that the still-blistering ground can cool down, and some of the ashes be washed away.

Wildfires in Texas

2011-09-06T08:45:00.003-05:00

I don't know if y'all are following the news about the wildfires that seem to be consuming Texas. Our son and family live in deep East Texas, and are subject to evacuation any time, and Pie's boyfriend and his whole extended family had to evacuate last night--the fire is within two miles of their homes.

We have been praying all night for them, and I covet your prayers as well.

Without rain, and in a drought so severe that our trees look like they are dying, the fires are very difficult to contain. We need rain desperately.

Seeing this kind of tragedy on the nightly news is bad enough. But now, it has a face--the faces of the ones we love.

We are trusting our loving God to keep our loved ones safe.

Grits: That's What's for Breakfast

2011-08-30T22:09:00.003-05:00

If you are not fortunate enough to be from the South, or live in the South, you may never have encountered the (mostly) breakfast dish called grits.

We Southerners love our grits. No self-respecting Southerner would ever make instant grits. We cook grits until they are creamy, smooth, lump-free. Then we add plenty of butter, a little salt, and a sprinkle of black pepper, and dig in.

You can eat grits alone. Or you can eat grits as part of a big ol' breakfast platter.

I love grits with fried eggs over easy. I like the way the golden yellow yolk runs into the grits, and I love sopping it up with toast.

I have no problem with a little of that skillet gravy slopping over onto the grits; I just sop that up with a biscuit.

Sausage is good with grits. So is ham. And bacon, of course.

Some people add a little syrup over their sausage, or pancakes, and like for the syrup to run into the grits. I don't care for syrup on my grits, but hey, if they like it, I am fine with it.

What I do not like is grits with sugar. You can put sugar on oatmeal, or cream of wheat, or whatever other kind of hot cereal you like. You can add it to your cold cereal, even your frosted flakes. I don't mind. But sugar on grits is just not right.

What brings all this up is that Wick and I had breakfast at the Shed, in Chandler, last Saturday. The Shed is an East Texas legend, and serves up all kinds of down-home cooking, but what we like best to eat there is breakfast; we ordered fried eggs with runny yolks, biscuits with gravy, and a side of sausage, with a big bowl of grits.

As we were waiting for our food, we saw a couple at the next table. She had grits with lots of butter, and salt and pepper. He, however, was pouring sugar on his grits.

Not just a little sugar. A lot of sugar. As in, about an inch of sugar topping his grits, so much sugar that when he stirred, the sugar ran over the side of the bowl.

He must have put half a cup of sugar on his grits. We stared in amazement.

Then we looked at each other, and started laughing, and saying, "did you see that??"
"what was he doing??"

When we finally stopped laughing, I said, " Well...what I say is...if you don't like grits, don't order grits, and then ruin them with sugar."

Next time you go to the store, get you some grits. Go home and cook you up a big pot. Add plenty of real butter, and some salt and pepper. While you are at it, cook you up some sausage and fried eggs and buttered toast. Enjoy.

And if you have plenty left over, I can give you some recipes for great stuff to do with left-over grits.

Just don't add any sugar.

Rain!

2011-08-25T10:12:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, we were in Tyler all afternoon, and it rained! The temp dropped from 105 to 77, there was lightning, and rain, blessed rain, fell for about half an hour.

It was only about a tenth of an inch total, but how wonderful it felt, falling rain, cooler temps (at least for a little while), and what a relief from the 60 days of 100 plus temperatures.

Thank you, Lord!

Will It Ever Rain Again? summer 2011

2011-08-22T17:04:00.002-05:00

It is hot. The hottest summer in years. And the driest.

107 this afternoon, and nearly 60 days of over 100 degree temps.

No rain.

A couple of days ago, for about 5 minutes, we heard the sound of light rain falling on our roof and the trees. Not enough to really even get the cars wet.

But a breath of cooler air.

And a promise that rain will come again.

Chihuahuas Are Like Potato Chips

2011-07-28T18:31:00.000-05:00

We used to have a Pomeranian. Frankie was with us for 16 years, and I always figured I would have another Pom when Frankie left us.
But instead, we rescued a Chihuahua, Sissy, 5 pounds of sweetness. She is a very submissive little dog, and totally attached to me. She is not interested in anyone else, which is hard on Wick, since he is crazy about her.
She does, however, love Little Bob, a Chihuahua who belongs to our friends Bob and Dean. She always wants to play with him, jumping and running and trying to get him to play with her.

So we decided that we would get another Chihuahua, a puppy who would love Wick, and who Sissy would enjoy playing with.

Cassie is eight weeks old, with a black muzzle, and she loves everyone, especially Wick.

But for ten days, Sissy avoided her, refused to sit or lie next to her, and didn't even want to go outside when Cassie was taken out for her house training lessons.

We had been told that Chihuahuas recognize fellow Chihuahuas, and that they were much more inclined to bond with their own breed than with other kinds of dogs. So we were surprised and saddened that Sissy seemed so unhappy about our new puppy.

Then, suddenly, yesterday Sissy initiated play with Cassie. They are so funny to watch, and such a source of entertainment to us.

So that's why I say Chihuahuas are like potato chips. You can't have just one.

This Is Important Stuff Right Here

2011-07-26T18:14:00.002-05:00

I believe that life should be lived every moment. Life never goes on hold. The moments spent with loved ones are the foundation of life, and we should never waste an opportunity to be with them.
I believe in prayer. Constant prayer. Giving thanks for all things, because we never know what lessons we are learning until we live them out.
Treasure every minute with your babies. They are grown and gone before you know it.

I believe in chocolate. Chocolate makes everything better.
I believe in real food:
Real butter, not margarine, or oleo as my grandmother used to call it, which makes it sound even more gross.
Real cream, not whipped topping made of vegetable oil . Ugh.
Real vanilla extract, not imitation, which definitely alters the taste of anything.
Real potatoes, not flakes.
Real rice, not instant.
Real eggs, not stuff in a carton or box. What's really in there, anyway?
Real food, not fat-free. The manufacturers usually replace the fat with sugar, because fat carries the flavor, and sugar is what they use instead, so it isn't really better for anyone.

If it is man-made, in general it is crap. There may be a few exceptions, but I can't think of any right now.

I believe that children are a gift of God, and a blessing.

I believe that mothers who sacrifice their own desires in order to stay at home with their children are blessing them for their whole life. These mothers are raising their own children, instead of paying someone else to do it. I realize that some mothers have no choice but to work, but I believe that God designed us so that two parents, both mother and father, are the ideal people to bring up their children, not paid strangers.

I believe that family comes first.

I believe that it is possible to forfeit one's place within a family. I believe it is possible to renew the relationship, with true love and repentance.

I believe that we are born into a biological family, but we also create family as we grow older.

I believe that I am not a particularly interesting person, and I am always surprised when people remember me after not seeing me for a long time.

I believe that God gives each of us a gift, and that we have a responsibility to use it for His glory.

I believe that I am still alive because God still has a plan for me, something I am supposed to accomplish. I'm not sure what it is, but I am always listening for His guidance.

I believe in marriage. My husband is my best friend, my lover, my greatest fan, and the love of my life. I don't think I could live without him.

I believe that I have talked too much, and should stop now.

Adventures with a Toddler

2011-07-05T22:02:00.000-05:00

Holy Mama asked me to write about the time when Scott was a toddler. There are several stories I could tell, so this may turn into a series.

When Scott was a toddler and Jeana a baby, we lived in a two-story house that was more than 100 years old. The bedrooms were all upstairs. I put the kids down for naps every afternoon after lunch, and usually lay down for a little while myself. Because of Scott's propensity to run off, I locked all the doors and put on the security chains before I lay down.

One afternoon someone knocked on the door about half an hour after I had put the kids down for their naps. When I opened the door, there stood my sister-in-law with Scott by the hand.

She and my brother-in-law were driving down a busy street just a block from our house. They found Scott in the middle of the street, with a rolled-up newspaper, "directing traffic" by swatting at the cars as they passed.

They threw on the brakes, grabbed him up and brought him home to me.

The curious fact is that the doors were still locked and the security chains still latched.

How did he get out of the house? I never found out.

But this is why, when we went out in public, he wore a special harness, with a leash. It was the only way I could keep up with him. I'm not saying it is ideal, nor is it for everyone. But for Scott, it was the only safe option.

I swear the child could climb a straight wall. Maybe he could even walk through them.

Lost & Found

2011-07-03T15:49:00.002-05:00

About two weeks ago, our Sissy got lost. For three nights, she was astray, dragging her little pink leash, despite hours of calling and searching through a heavily wooded area.

We had given up. The creek running through the woods has coyotes and bobcats, owls and hawks, so we were both secretly convinced she was a goner. Aloud, we both said, she is so little and so cute--someone probably found her and kept her.

The third day, we were on our way to buy another puppy, when the phone rang to tell us someone had seen her.

We drove two and a half hours back to where she was lost, and again called and searched. Friends, family and strangers called, looked, and prayed with us. Again, no luck.

The next morning, Wick was up before daylight. About 6:30, he came and got me, and again I called and called. I asked every jogger and bike rider who came by to keep an eye out for our little fur girl.

At one point, we were ready to give up, but Wick decided to make one more effort. About thirty minutes later, he emerged from the woods, dripping blood and covered with scratches, with Sissy in his arms.

Her leash had gotten tangled in a briar patch, and she had wound herself round and round the briars. Wick's arms and legs were covered with scratches from the briars, but he says it was well worth it, to find our Sissy.

God answered my prayers when he sent her to us, and He answered prayers when He sent Wick in the right direction to find her. God cares for us, even in the littlest matters.

Mother's Day 2011

2011-05-10T10:39:00.000-05:00

Dearest Mother in the world,
Once a year our nation celebrates mothers. I celebrate you every day, praising God for letting me be your daughter.
You are a beautiful woman inside and out, full of love and grace.
You are the foundation of my life, the rock to which I cling when sad or hurt.
You have shared your faith and your love like a bottomless spring of sweet water.
Your happiness since marrying Pa overflows to all of us.
Thank you for being you.
We love you.

Jan and Wick

Sissy

2011-04-13T16:13:00.003-05:00

Our new little dog Sissy is beginning to settle in, and has *almost* decided that Wick is not going to hurt her.
Being a puppy mill survivor, she is getting to know a whole new world, and every new sight and sound sets her aquiver, with a heartbreakingly worried look on her little face. Sometimes she runs to me for comfort, but usually she scurries under the futon, or the bed, or the bathroom vanity, and hides her face.
She has found a favorite spot to sleep, under a little lap quilt on the futon. she wants company, and if I am sitting elsewhere, she runs to me as if to be picked up, but the at the last second, runs to the futon and looks back at me to see if I am coming with her.
She loves tiny bits of chicken, pupperoni treats, and little bits of bread crust. She does not like to eat out of a bowl, but prefers to eat from our fingers.
When we go outside, she stays about six inches from my feet, constantly looking up at me and begging to be picked up. I guess grass feels strange to her, after spending so long in a crate.

Other than things we have done for humans, adopting this little dog is the most satisfying thing we have done in a long time. Rescue dogs are truly grateful for what is done for them. We highly recommend rescuing a dog, instead of buying from a breeder.
There are thousands of dogs waiting for a loving home. If you are looking for a dog, won't you give one of them a chance at a new life?

Freeze!

2011-04-08T10:18:00.002-05:00

Wick and I went shopping for a deep freeze this week, an upright, about half the size of the one we had when the kids were younger. That one was the biggest one Sears had, and you could have buried a couple of people in that thing.

Thinking about that freezer reminded me of an experience one of our cats had with the freezer.
She was a little Siamese kitten, full of curiosity. She loved to jump into empty boxes, suitcases, paper grocery sacks--anything enclosed.

Our freezer was in the carport, so unless I needed something, it was out of the usual traffic patterns.

One day I went to the freezer to get some meat to move into the refrigerator freezer.
A couple of hours later, I realized I had not see the kitten lately, so went in search of her. She didn't seem to be anywhere in the house, but cats are good at hiding when they don't want to be found, and rarely come when called, so I wasn't too worried.

Later in the afternoon, I realized I needed something else from the freezer. Normally, I might go several days without opening the big freezer, so this was unusual.

When I opened the freezer door, I found the kitten. She was sitting on the bottom shelf, shivering. When I picked her up, her whiskers were frozen, and just touching them broke some of them off.

If I had not forgotten something from the freezer that day, she would have frozen to death. I guess there must be a special angel for curious kitty cats.

Fortunately, even though we have a new freezer, we no longer have cats. I just hope Sissy isn't as curious as that kitten was.

Seven Random Things

2011-04-04T16:27:00.002-05:00

Kelsey at holymama.org asked me, among several other of her blogging friends, to tell seven random things about myself.

1. I haven't been blogging much lately, because I haven't had much to say. I know, unbelievable, right? I, who *always* has something to say, can't think of anything to say. I suppose it has something to do with Wick retiring, and doing stuff together every day, but then...I wasn't blogging in the months before he retired, either.

2. In case you haven't heard, our Pomeranian, Frankie, who lived to be 16 years old, passed away last month. His demise left a big hole in my heart, and in my life. I still miss him, but not as agonizingly.

3. Probably because this week we got another dog, Sissy the Chihuahua. We named her Sissy because she is scared of everything. She spent the first year of her life locked in a cage, as breeding stock. But her first season, she had one huge puppy which died, and she almost died too, so she was no longer of value as a breeder. Which is how she came to live with us, and we are very happy about that. She has brown eyes, is the color of honey, and weighs about 4 pounds.

4. We are looking forward to warmer weather, and the yearly influx of family and friends who come to the lake during spring break, Easter weekend, Memorial Day, and every chance they get. Last year we had about 35 people here for 4th of July. Swimming, fishing, cooking outside, catching up on all the news, and loving on my kids and grandkids, nieces and nephews and cousins--it's great.

5. Wick built a raised-bed garden for his tomatoes, and I for one am hoping the tomato plants outdo themselves. He plants big ones for him and the tiny grape or cherry size for me. I love them, and could eat them like candy.

6. We finally found just the right kind of drop-leaf table, at a good price. It needs refinishing (thus the good price) but it has 2 extra leaves, and I love the Duncan Phyfe style. Apparently, I don't know how to spell the name, but y'all know what I mean, right? No chairs, but chairs generally don't last nearly as long as tables do.

7. We had a good rain storm this morning, which we needed. We haven't had much rain lately, and the lake is so low we can't get the boat out of the boat house until the water rises. We have one of those pontoon thingys, big enough to take all our kids and grandkids out at once, so we are hoping the water rises enough, before hot weather.

There are a lot of red squiggly lines under words in this post, but I don't know how to spell the words blogspot says are misspelled, so...oh well.

How's that for randomness?

Frankie

2011-03-07T11:44:00.004-06:00

Sixteen years ago, Wick gave me a little double handful of fluff, with a little pink tongue and big brown eyes, as a Christmas gift.
We got him from a breeder near Lake Tawakoni.
She lived at the end of a dirt road, in a run-down mobile home. When we knocked on the door, a raucous voice screeched, "Who is it?"
When the door opened, the voice said, "Shut the d--- door!" It was a large parrot, strutting across the top of a big wire cage. Half a dozen tiny Pomeranians skittered into the room, followed by a couple of dust bunnies--their puppies.
We made our selection, and the woman went into another room to write up the paperwork. The parrot screamed, "Don't you sh-- in that floor!"
It was a cold night, so Wick zipped him up in his jacket, with just the little foxy face sticking out under his chin.

We named our furball Frankincense, Frankie for short. He went almost everywhere we went, making every step we made in the house, and patrolling the back yard for intruders.
He was crate trained, and came to view his crate as a safe retreat when our little grandchildren wore him out playing.

For sixteen years he was my companion, my little buddy, my fur baby.

Last Friday morning, we made the final journey with Frankie. He has gone where good dogs go, and I certainly hope we will see him again in Heaven one day.

Sew What's New

2010-07-14T13:15:00.005-05:00

I've been working on Pie's quilt for almost a year. I have ten days to finish it.

Naturally, nothing has gone smoothly. When I sewed the first seam of the backing to the top, one side puckered up. I had to pick out the whole seam.

Then I had to go to the sewing center to buy a walking foot to do the quilting.

When I went to use the walking foot, I discovered that it required an adapter.

Of course, I didn't have the adapter.

So I had to go back to the sewing center to order one.

While waiting for the adapter to come in, I decided to work on embroidering her bath towels with her name.

I discovered that I couldn't remember how to embroider towels.

So I had to go to the sewing center and get a refresher lesson on how to embroider towels.

Then I realized that I didn't have the materials I needed.

So...I had to go back to the sewing center, where I bought sticky paper. And Solvy. And new needles for the machine.

This morning I did a practice towel.

It actually turned out pretty well.

So I did one of her towels.

And it turned out pretty well.

So what is the trouble now? I'm too tired to do the rest.

So I'm going to take a nap, and do the rest of the towels this evening.

Assuming I don't run into any more shortages, problems, or missing parts, and have to go back to the sewing center.

Oh. I forgot. I do have to go back to the sewing center to pick up the adapter.

I wonder if they are getting tired of seeing me yet.

Hello, Goodbye. Come back soon.

2010-06-20T15:07:00.002-05:00

Last summer, Wick bought me a fancy new sewing machine that has all kinds of bells and whistles. The sewing shop offered free lessons. I'm all over anything free.
Then I heard that my niece was expecting, so I thought I could make a quilt for the baby, using the quilt project to practice the skills I was learning in my sewing classes.

I couldn't find a pattern that was exactly what I wanted, so I sketched out a little house, complete with chimney, clouds, cartoon sun, flowering trees, and a little red path to the door.

A baby quilt is about 45" by 60", so I was able to handle it quite well.

This became the central panel, a sort of "welcome home" for the new baby. The surrounding panels were patchwork, and I was very pleased with the outcome.

Then my son and DIL approached me about making a quilt for Pie, who would be graduating this year. They had a big pile of soccer jerseys, jackets, shorts, t-shirts from all her years of playing club soccer.

Since she has received a soccer scholarship, what a great way to preserve the memories and look forward toward her college years.

Even though I had almost a year for this project, I had to start right away. I'm slow, and have to take frequent breaks, so I needed to get started right away.

The squares are 12" x 12", with two inch lattice strips. As long as I was working with a square at a time, I was fine. Then I started sewing the squares into strips. The pieces began to get heavy and harder to handle.

By the time I had 5 squares across, by 6 squares down, I was struggling. The top got really heavy. I still need to add the borders, and then quilt it, but I don't think I can handle it alone.

Thankfully, Wick has volunteered to help handle the quilt as I sew.

Two quilts.

One to welcome home a new addition to the family.

The other to say Goodbye, as our eldest grandchild spreads her wings, and begins a new stage in her life.

Yes, she will come home now and then, but she will be different every time, as she grows and evolves into young adulthood.

It's easy to say hello.

Hard to say goodbye.

Come home soon, sugar pie.

Loss

2010-02-08T12:32:00.003-06:00

It's a cold, rainy, bleak day.

My niece, who had her first prenatal check-up last week, lost her baby last night.

True, it was not a planned pregnancy. And not the best timing. Her husband is on the short list to be shipped overseas with the National Guard. She has a year-old boy, and less-than-three-year-old girl.

But this baby was wanted, nevertheless.

Wanted by its mother and father.

Wanted by its grandparents.

Wanted by its aunts and uncles and cousins.

A beloved child.

Our great consolation is that this baby is back in God's arms today.

even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,

¹⁶ your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

Moonlight and Ice

2010-01-12T07:07:00.003-06:00

In one of her "little house" books, Laura Ingalls Wilder describes a night of frigid temperatures, when she and her sister Mary went for a walk on the frozen lake.

She describes the path of light created by the moon shining on the ice, and how she and Mary walked and "skated", sliding over the ice, following the moon path.

Each time I have read this passage, I have wondered what it is like to live in a place where water freezes deep enough and hard enough to walk on. I wonder what it is like to live in a place where snow stays on the ground all winter, where even the tightest, best insulated house has cold spots, where the temperatures fall into the teens or lower.

Aside from the snow, that's the kind of weather we have had here this week. One night it got down to thirteen degrees. We have been drinking a lot of hot spiced cider, tea, and cocoa. We have every blanket in the place on our bed, even the "fur" throw I usually keep on my rocker.

The pond at the RV park is frozen over. It has been frozen for five days.

Last night I let Frankie out, and was struck by the light shining on the frozen water, and like Laura, I felt as if it were inviting me to walk that shimmering path.

Unlike Laura, I am not a child, with a child's boundless energy. I am also fighting a sinus infection and bronchitis, so have not actually been outside for several days.

But last night, oh, last night, how I wanted to follow that icy path, to run and slide and run until my lungs hurt, to run and slide along that shining silver path, into the moon.

New Year's Eve

2010-01-07T12:15:00.000-06:00

For the past several years, we have been invited to New Year's Eve parties, but have stayed home and had a quiet evening together.

Last New Year's Eve we spent in a hospital room, drinking cranberry juice and watching New Year's Eve on t.v.

This year, our niece and her family, who have a place here at the lake just a few doors down from us, wanted to have a party.

Hey, a party we can walk to and walk home from, without fighting traffic and dodging drunks. What a deal.

Our son and his family came.

Some cousins came.

Some extended family came.

About fifteen of us, five of whom were teenagers, and we had a great time playing a game called Werewolf, the point of which is to see who is the most convincing liar.

A little drinking.

A lot of eating.

Family stories that made us laugh until we cried.

A guitar lesson that made me laugh so hard I couldn't breathe.

Some people want to be out among the crowd, with all the alcohol and smoke and noise, waiting for the ball to drop at midnight.

For us, midnight came and went without much notice, because we were so involved with each other.

We told our resolutions, some funny, some serious, and talked about the future, with one of the teens leaving for college next summer, and about the past, and good times together.

Not very exciting by some people's standards, but for us...it's the time of our lives.

A Progressive Christmas

2010-01-05T12:09:00.000-06:00

We started by visiting Wick's brother Tommy and his wife Betty in Oklahoma City.

Next, a Saturday with my mama, step-father, siblings, nieces and nephews, their spouses, and kids, and our kids and grandkids.

Then we spent a couple of days in Houston with his cousin Skip and wife Kathaleen.

From there we went to Scott and Jamie's, where Jeana and family met us for a few days.

After a couple of days' break, we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with our dear friends Bob and Dean and their family.

Different foods at each stop. Gifts to open, and the joy of watching loved ones open their gifts from us. Lots of family stories, and laughing, and a few tears as we talked about those who have gone on before us. Kisses and hugs and promises to see each other again soon.

It was wonderful.

But we are glad to be home.

It just seems awfully quiet all of a sudden.

You are what you eat

2010-01-03T11:58:00.003-06:00

Well....if you are what you eat...then this is what I am:
Fritoes
bean dip
raw broccoli, celery, yellow squash, zuccini
fiesta ranch dip
Triscuits
cheese (smoked gouda, colbyjack, cheddar, provolone, havarti, pepperjack, and a couple of varieties I couldn't identify)
ranch dip
onion dip
guacamole dip
fudge
divinity
pumpkin pie
apple pie
candied sweet potatoes
chocolate chip cookies
raw cucumbers in sugar and vinegar
jellied cranberry sauce
cranberry sauce with whole berries
cranberry/orange/pecan relish
spiced walnuts with cumin (Jeana made those)
spice tea
hot spiced cider
hot cocoa
coffee with cream and/or Irish cream and/or spiced rum
hot buttered toast with eggs sunny-side up
smoky maple bacon
pulled pork
ham
roast turkey
smoked turkey
turkey salad
turkey casserole
turkey soup
turkey and dressing (cornbread/biscuit/sage, not light bread stuffing)
beef stew
black eyed peas and cornbread
lime cake (the one Wick's mama used to make)
chocolate covered pretzels
white chocolate covered pretzels
chocolate cookies
red velvet cake

In the weeks from Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve, this is just what I can *remember* eating. I may have forgotten a few things. But not much.

If anyone wants me, I'll just be sitting over here looking out the window, drinking my Slim-fast.
Groan.

High School Football in Texas

2009-11-25T13:07:00.000-06:00

My brother has been a coach for many years. Our son Scott has been a coach for not quite so many years. Chuck and Scott have always had a close relationship, ever since Scott was born, and now they are coaching at the same high school in East Texas.

If you asked either one of them why they teach, they would say, because they won't let me coach unless I teach.

Chuck played football in high school and college. So did Scott.

We lived in Denison, a small town near the Texas-Oklahoma border.

Denison won the Texas state football championship two years in a row. Scott was part of that. And so were we, and the rest of the town.

During the playoffs, businesses closed on Friday night because everybody was at the game.

Season tickets were handed down like family heirlooms.

More people showed up to watch practices than were in the stands for other teams during game time.

In bigger cities, high school football is not quite as intense, but in small towns, with only one high school, it is literally the only game in town.

In Texas, coaches' careers ride on the backs of teen-age warriors battling on the football field. If the team wins, the coach gets to keep his job. If the team looses, he starts looking for another job.

Scott and Chuck are working together now. Their families spend a lot of time together on weekends. We go to the games, and sit with family, watching our guys work.

This year, Jefferson went two-deep in the playoffs. The game was a close one, 14-7. Jefferson lost, but it was a close game. The boys played hard. Only 8 starters are graduating, so next year's team will have a strong foundation of experienced players.

Our grandson will be playing next year.

Once more, we will be sitting in the stands, whether it is 105 in the shade in August, or 45 in November. If it rains, we have water-proof boots, a large plastic dropcloth, and a big umbrella. If it snows, we have thick jackets, fleecy scarves, and wooly gloves.

Rain or shine, hot or cold, we follow our team.

When Scott stopped playing, we thought those days were gone forever.

Next fall is going to be a lot of fun.

Indian Summer Day

2009-11-23T12:40:00.000-06:00

Gaggle of geese, sleeping on the banks of the lake, heads tucked under wings.

One gander, neck stretched high, head swiveling, watching for predators.

Sunshine on our shoulders, warm as a hug.

Lake rippling in a light breeze.

Chicken salad, fresh whole-grain homemade bread, crisp lettuce, sweet onions for a picnic lunch.

Wick laughing as a goose eats stale bread from his hand.

Grandchildren running, climbing, laughing, shouting to one another.

Sated geese drifting away across the water like scattered bread crumbs.

Cast your bread upon the waters, and it will return to you ten-fold.

Mostly in the form of goose poop all over the grass.

An Airline Brat Goes Camping

2009-11-22T12:38:00.002-06:00

Jeana's husband works for an airline. Most of their traveling is by airplane.

However, a few weeks ago, they decided to go tent camping.

They were in the process of gathering up equipment, packing clothes, and putting food in ices chests, when one of the kids asked:

"Hey, will the campground provide towels?"

No, and they don't do hot breakfasts, either.

Going to the Zoo

2009-11-19T09:34:00.000-06:00

Ever since my long illness last winter, I have struggled with limited mobility. I can walk, with a cane, but not very far. I can walk with a walker a little further, because it lets me sit down frequently to rest.

But long walks, trips to the mall, for example, are just out of my range for now.

My darling husband realizes how frustrating this limitation is, and tries to find ways to compensate. He got me an electric wheel chair, but it is large and hard to load, and impossible right now with his right arm in a splint and sling.

So he found me one of those lightweight electric scooters. He struggles to load it one-armed, but it is surprising how often someone volunteers to help with loading and unloading.

A couple of weeks ago, on a beautiful fall day, we took my little red scooter and went to the zoo with Jeana and her children.

Since they are homeschooling, we got to go on a Tuesday, when most kids are sitting in a classroom, instead of roaming the zoo, laughing at the monkeys, and racing up and down the ramps.

We had a picnic, sat in the sun and soaked up its late-fall warmth, picked up the reddest leaves I have ever seen...soft and supple still, a vivid russet red that seemed to glow like an ember in my hand, holding within itself the promise of winter and of the renewal of life in the spring.

Our grandchildren took turns walking along with me, talking about everything we saw, and expressing pride in me for coming along on their adventure, even though I had to do it on my little red scooter.

Wick and I "walked" along together, me able to keep up with his long strides, and laughingly lamenting that we can't hold hands as we stroll--I because I need to steer the scooter, and he because he has his right arm in a splint--closest thing to a normal walk in a long, long time.

Life is full of simple pleasures, things for which to be thankful. On this day, I realized it in the moment, instead of days or years later.

Life is a gift. Love is a gift. I am blessed to have both.

Winter Is on Its Way

2009-11-18T21:29:00.000-06:00

Cold weather, wind blowing, leaves falling like snow.

Chicken is simmering on the stove, filling the air with its fragrance.

We are sitting in front of the fire, toasting our toes, and looking at the lake through the window.

Quilts are on the beds.

Warm houseshoes have been found where they were hiding in the depths of the closet, and sweats, warm, cozy, comfortable, are the attire of the day.

Clouds blow across the sky, with patches of blue sky and sunshine peeking through now and then.

The pantry is full; the freezer is stocked.

The harvest is gathered in.

Our hearts are filled with thanksgiving.

She Has Her Mother's Sense of Humor

2009-11-17T21:27:00.002-06:00

Conversation between daughter Jeana and her eldest, Katoushka, age 13:

K: Why are you wearing a Christmas sweater in October?

Jeana: It's not a Christmas sweater.

K: Yes it is, it's red and green.

J: No, it's red and shades of grey, see?

K: Red and grey? What kind of Christmas sweater is that?

What's REally Important

2009-10-28T20:55:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I wrote about the stuff stolen from the cabin.

Tomorrow Wick will have surgery on his arm.

The stuff that was taken was just stuff. As Wick said, a year ago he was just praying that I would live one more day.

Today I am praying that the surgeon will have the skill to restore Wick's hand and that he will regain total function.

Compared to the risk of losing each other, stuff pales by comparison.

As the Bible says, our true treasures are in Heaven, where no rust corrupts, no moth consumes, and no thief can steal what is truly valuable.

Tomorrow... we have been hoping for two weeks for this surgery to be scheduled, and now it is less than 12 hours away. Jeana will go with him, since I still can't drive. I will stay here with the grandkids, and pray.

Break-in

2009-10-27T08:00:00.000-05:00

We were away from the cabin for more than two weeks after Wick's incident, and apparently, while we were gone, we had uninvited guests.

Unwanted guests.

They took Wick's air compressor, a satchel full of tools, the computer printer, and a digital camera.

They also took most of my jewelry. Not the junk. No, they are much too discriminating for that. They only took the good stuff.

The pearl necklace Wick gave me when I graduated from high school.

The ruby ring I got when I finished my PhD.

My grandmother's opal ring.

Things that have comparitively little monetary value, but to me were priceless.

Banking on the Kindness of Strangers

2009-10-26T18:01:00.002-05:00

Last week Jeana took us to see a surgeon regarding Wick's arm. We had to drive a long way, on unfamiliar roads, and for a long stretch we were on a toll road.

As we approached the toll road, I said I needed to make a pit stop. With all the meds I take, that's a pretty frequent request.

Unfortunately, the lead-up to the toll road is rather desolate--no convenience stores, or fast-food places, or anything else that we could see. Finally, the last exit before getting on the toll road, we saw a bank.

I told Jeana to pull over at the bank. She said, are you going to ask to use their restroom?

I said, any port in a storm.

As I hobbled through the door with my cane, a lovely young lady with a charming smile asked, how may we help you today?

I said, may I use your restroom?

She could have just pointed, but she walked me across the lobby, past the tellers and the glassed-in offices, to a door leading to a hallway where the restrooms were.

With a gracious Vanna White motion, she said, Please let us know if there is anything else we can do for you.

Wow. How lovely, to be treated as a welcome guest, even though I did not have any legitimate bank business to transact, and don't even have an account at that office.

Aren't people kind?

Drugs, Mayhem, and Chihuahuas--The Saga of Little Bob

2009-10-20T08:00:00.001-05:00

One night Jeana and I were talking about our friends Bob and Deen. I happened to mention their little dog, Bob. Jeana wanted to know why they would name the dog the same name as the owner.

So I started telling her about Bob, who is Frankie's only doggy friend.

Now this is an East Texas story, which I pieced together from different sources. I can no longer remember who told what part of the story, but the most noticeable feature of all the narrators was the sense of place--the East Texas way of telling a story, rambling from one thing to another, from one person to another, and all told in that deep East Texas vernacular.

I have consolidated all those voices into one narrator, and tried my best to reproduce how those voices sound.

Wall, y'all ain't been in the neighborhood long enough to know who is who and what is what, but y'all know that house that's right opposite y'all's house on the circle? [We live on a road that makes a full circle.] The one with the fenced yard?

They's just somethin' about folks as would fence up their front yard. Don't seem very welcomin' somehow, does it? Like they don't really want you to come visit. Don't set out on the porch, nor in the yard, nor come 'round nobody else's place neither. And they had a big boy, nearly growed up, and he don't go to school, nor work, nor nothin', far as any of us could tell.

Never seen his daddy hit a lick at a snake with a stick, don't know as he ever worked much either.

The mama, now she had a whole passel of them lil ol dogs, you know them little Mexican dogs, like that'un on the Taco Bell ad, that always said Yo, Key Arrow Taco Bell [yo quiero Taco Bell]?
Them lil dogs ain't big as a minute, none of 'm.

Wall, she had a whole herd of them lil dogs, and she sold'm to folks as wanted one. But then they fell on hard times. Couldn't even pay the light bill. Said they just couldn't afford to feed so many dogs, no matter how little, and just opened the gate and turned 'm loose on the neighborhood.

Wasn't long after that the laws showed up. Just went right in through that open gate, busted down the door, and hauled 'm off to jail.

We always suspected they was dealin' drugs or somethin'

Lots of folks took one of 'm, just picked 'm up off the road. [We are back to the dogs now.]

But a few of 'm hung around, all skinny and scrawny, and lookin' pitiful.

Joyce, across the road, she felt sorry for 'm, and she took up with lil Bob. He was so skinny an' poor lookin', she just had to feed him.

Then, o'course, he kep' on comin' round to her house, lookin' so pitiful, she just couldn't turn 'im away. But you know she's got two dogs already. That big 'n, the one with the crazy blue eyes, that she calls Sonica cuz they found her at the Sonic, and that little'n that looks sorta like them Mexican dogs, that she calls Puppy--that Puppy is mean as a snake, she'd as soon bite you as look at you.

Anyways, she couldn't keep lil Bob cuz of her dogs, she was scared they'd eat him up, so she calls Bob and Deen and asks 'm to take lil Bob.

Now Deen, after her chows Sam and Pam died, she said after somethin' happens to Tabby, that lil black cat, she ain't havin' no more animals.

But she seen lil Bob, and he didn't weigh but two pounds, just skin and bones he was, and she couldn't turn 'im down.

She carried him home, and took him to the vet, and fed him up til he weighed more 'n five pounds--real plump he is now.

Bob, he didn't care much for havin' a dog with his own same name, so they tried to change it, but he wouldn't pay them no never mind no matter what they said, unless they called him Bob.

Wick said it would be easier to change Bob's name than to change the dog's name.

So we call him Bobby, or Little Bob, and he just loves on everybody that comes around, licks on 'em, and wants to sit in their lap, and just wags his tail til he nearly wags hisself off his feet. Cute as a button, and real smart. Hardly ever barks, except at the cows.

He's a good little dog, that Bob. If you like them lil ol' bitty dogs.

Not an Early Morning Sort of Person

2009-10-19T08:00:00.000-05:00

I've never liked getting up early. I need time to wake up, to gather my thoughts, to drink coffee, and pull myself together.

When I worked, I liked to get to school about an hour early, to get organized and ready for the day ahead.

I still get up early, to have time with Wick before he leaves for work, but he doesn't expect much more than minimal communication, a little snuggling, and a few kisses before he goes out the door.

Morning at Jeana's house is different. Saturday morning.... I was not at my best.

First, I had to get up earlier than I wanted, because Frankie insisted on going outside at the crack of dawn.

Then everyone else was up.

All those kids' smiling faces.

Paul Simon's Graceland playing in the background.

Jeana making coffee.

Scott chirping like the early bird who gets the fat, juicy worm.

All that cheerfulness--it's downright depressing.

What Next?

2009-10-18T13:53:00.003-05:00

On Nov. 7, we will be looking back a whole year at the beginning of my hospitalization. I am still far from where I want to be, but still making slow but steady progress.
We have been talking about my progress, and how our relationship with each other has grown during this year, and how much closer we are for having this experience.

Thursday morning, my cell phone rang before 9 a.m., which is unusual. When I answered, a woman's voice said she was calling from the school where Wick teaches.

This is not a good sign.

And I was right. She was calling to tell me that Wick was being loaded into an ambulance as we spoke. He was pushed through a plate glass window, by a student. He was bleeding copiously. The paramedics were applying pressure to try to control the bleeding on the way to the hospital.

So far, up to now, not being able to drive has been just an inconvenience, mostly a matter of waiting for Wick to have time to take me somewhere. Now, I wanted--needed--to get to the hospital to meet him at the emergency room, and I couldn't.

I called Jeana, who agreed to meet him at the ER, find out what his status was, and call me as soon as possible.

It was a long wait, which I could only fill with prayers for his safety, and the skills of the people treating him.

I called his cell phone twice. The first time he sounded fairly normal, even though I could hear the paramedics in the background, questioning him and talking to each other.

The second time, he sounded tired, almost drowsy. He didn't know if they had given him something for pain, and I was afraid he was suffering from the blood loss.

Finally, Jeana was able to call, to tell me more details about what had happened, and what was being done in the ER.

Apparently, the student in question had been a behavior issue even before school started that morning, and Wick was taking him to the campus police officer to discuss his attitude and actions. The student didn't want to go. He struggled with Wick, finally pushing him hard enough, and catching him off balance enough to send him through the window.

He had several cuts that needed stitching up, and had lost a fair amount of blood. The worst news is that some tendons in his right arm were severed, and affected his ability to use three fingers on that hand.

His building principal and an assistant superintendent from the school district came to the hospital to see how he was doing, and to tell him they supported him. His principal brought him out to the RV park, where Jeana was to meet me.

Jeana brought us to her house to stay until Wick sees the surgeon, and we know what is going to be done. Right now, his right arm is in a splint, thickly covered with gauze and ace bandages from shoulder to fingertips.

For a "one-armed" guy, he manages pretty well, but I am having the opportunity to return in very small portion some of the help he has showered on me this past year.

So here we are, staying at Jeana's again, only this time is for Wick, instead of for me. We are hopeful that he will recover full use of the arm and hand, and be able to go back to work after surgery and physical therapy.

Not exactly where we thought we would be, a year ago. Praise God for keeping Wick from bleeding to death, or being injured much worse than he was. Thank God for the people at his school who tried to stop the bleeding, for the paramedics who got him to the ER so quickly, for the nurses and doctors who stabilized him and pieced him back together with all those stitches. And most of all, thank God for Jeana and her family, their willingness to take us in, take care of us, share their home and time and family worship with us.

How do people get through scary experiences, if they don't have God to talk to?

A Fishy Story

2009-09-18T07:32:00.002-05:00

For the past few years, our daughter and family have invited us to join them for a couple of days of their vacation at a condo on a lake. It's always fun, and we usually do something special while we are there, such as going to the wildlife sanctuary or visiting the diosaur tracks in the river nearby.

This year, because I am still not as strong as I hope to be eventually, we just hung out at the condo. The condo has two decks; one is at the level of the sliding glass door, and is lovely for sitting outside and watching the moon come up.

The lower deck, down a flight of steps, has a boat slip, and plenty of space for chairs. The kids spend a lot of time there, swimming and fishing.

Jeana's husband told the kids to keep the small fish they were catching, and later they would use them for bait.

Lolly was excited about catching fish, even tiny ones, but when it came time to cut them up for bait, she got a little teary.

Since I still have trouble with stairs, Scott brought one of the little fish up to show me. As he stood over me (he was standing, I was sitting), the little fish, which we thought was dead, suddenly leaped out of his hand and went right down my cleavage.

Predictably, I squealed and started digging for the little fish, which was squirming his way right down my shirt.

Scott, Jeana, and Wick were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

I finally had to go take a shower and change clothes, because I was so certain I smelled like fish.

I'm telling you, I couldn't make this stuff up!

Coincidence?

2009-09-02T15:05:00.003-05:00

Several weeks ago, I wrote a post about memorizing scripture, and how meaningful it was to me to "hear" those words in my head during my long illness. I set it to auto-post on Monday, 17 August.

At the time, I did not know that on that day I would be back in the hospital, having a defibrillator/pacemaker implanted.

I may have mentioned here that anxiety has plagued me since the long hospitalization last winter. Just thinking about having an i.v. put in pushes me into a full-blown anxiety attack, crying, shaking, wailing...it's not pretty.

Because of this, the surgeon gave me something to take the night before, and again that morning, to "take the edge off" my anxiety.

It did not work.

When the anesthesiologist came in with the i.v. equipment, I went into full melt-down. I ended up in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably, with the sheet pulled up over my head. I was shaking so hard there was no way he could get a needle in a vein.

Wick finally asked everyone to leave the room, so he could talk to me. He rubbed my back and my arms, stroked my face and hair, whispered nonsense phrases, and as he talked, suddenly my voice of comfort emerged from the haze of fear, saying,

Peace. Be still. Be still and know that I am God.

He motioned the anesthesiologist back into the room, who gave me a shot of something, and in a few minutes, the i.v. was in place, and I was drifting into unconsciousness.

But that voice of comfort followed me into the darkness.

It's been more than two weeks now, and everything seems to be working fine with the pacemaker. My incision is healing. My shoulder is not so sore and painful. I am still sleeping a lot, but for me that is part of the healing process.

Was it coincidence that my post about scripture auto-posted on the very day I was having the implant? No. I think it was God's providence, a reminder that He is with us in all things.

I called upon the Lord in my distress, and He answered me.

Bible Verses

2009-08-17T10:49:00.000-05:00

When I was in high school, I had the privilege of taking a two-year Bible study class for credit. Our teacher, Kenneth Istre, was not only our preacher, but also a true student of scripture.

He believed strongly in the value of memorization, a concept that has fallen out of fashion in our schools today. We memorized the books of the Bible, the names of the major and minor prophets, the kings of Israel, and Bible verses.

At the time, I mostly memorized because he required it, and because I wanted to do well enough on the final test to get credit for the class. I also appreciated the poetic beauty of the King James version, which I prefer to all others even now.

As an adult, I have come to appreciate the value of memorizing scripture.

When I was so sick last winter, I couldn't even read. I was too sick, too doped up, to make sense of anything I tried to read.

I had trouble following conversations, or understanding what the doctors and nurses were telling me.

But inside my head, like a never-ending tape, I could hear the verses of comfort I had memorized.

"I lift up my eyes unto the hills; whence cometh my help? My trust is in the Lord"

" He will give his angels charge over thee, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone."

" He took me out of the pit, and lifted me from the mirey clay. He set my feet on a rock and established my path."

An unending stream of comfort and love, bathing me night and day, every waking moment. All because one man expected me to memorize scripture.

Hummingbirds

2009-08-10T10:41:00.003-05:00

Wick hung up a hummingbird feeder out on the deck a few weeks ago. We have enjoyed watching the tiny birds zoom around, and have discovered that they have personalities.

One is very aggressive. He apparently feels that the feeder is his personal property, and whenever others show up, he chases them away, twittering loudly. He then returns to the feeder, perches on it, and chirps, as if to say, I won again.

Another is quite cautious. He flies in circles around the feeder, finally landing, but can't seem to sit still long enough to drink. He keeps jumping into the air, turning himself around in circles, as if watching for the aggressor.

I've read a little about these birds. They are attracted by the color red. They "know" how long a blossom takes to refill its cup with nectar after a feeding, and won't return to that blossom until it has had time to refill.

The little aggressor doesn't know that we keep the feeder replenished, and that whenever he returns, there is always more nectar.

I guess sometimes we are like that with God; our human nature can't encompass the unending bounty of God's love and care for us, so we worry and fret, instead of waiting on the Lord to supply our needs.

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

First Monday

2009-08-03T18:00:00.002-05:00

We went to First Monday in Canton Saturday. First Monday is the biggest "garage sale" in the world.

It started in Canton many years ago, when farmers came to town on the First Monday of each month. Court was in session, and while people took care of their legal business, they could swap for fresh butter, eggs, and produce, and then by a natural evolution, they began to swap for all kinds of other things. First Monday is now a huge tourist draw.

We are lucky enough to live close. We went Sat. morning, poked around for a couple of hours, and had lunch before heading home.

I have missed going to First Monday since I haven't been able to walk far. I still couldn't walk from the parking spot to the first pavillion, but Wick got me a powered chair, and it worked great. He loaded it into the back of his pickup with a couple of ramps, unloaded it when we got there, and presto, I was able to keep up with him and our niece all morning. It was great.

We didn't buy much, but got a lot of ideas about decorating the cabin when we get to that stage.

We lookked at life preservers, ship's wheels, fishermen's floats, old nets, everything from fine antiques to pure dee junk. It was fun just to look and browse, and watch people bargaining.

If you have never been to First Monday, it's worth the trip. There are all kinds of places to stay, and even if you don't buy anything, it's an adventure just to make the rounds.

Of course, buying stuff is sort of the point.

Obsessions, Compulsions, and General Craziness

2009-07-30T20:48:00.003-05:00

I'm not really obsessive/compulsive. But, like most people I think, there are a few things that I really have to do.
1. Folding things: t-shirts, towels, sheets, pillow cases, underpants...all have to be folded into thirds.
2. Stacking things: all washcloths have to be stacked so that the nice fold is on the outer edge, and the edges of the washcloths are to the back or side. Same with sheets and pillow cases.
And towels.
3. When I fold socks in pairs, I alternate the folded edge, so that the stack stays even, not lop-sided.
4. I count things. Like steps. When I go up stairs, or down stairs, I count the steps. If I walk on stepping stones, I count them. If the ceiling tile has rows of dots, I count them. If we are at a football game, I count the number of players on the field, the number of girls in the drill team line, the number of kids in the band playing percussion.
5. When I eat M & Ms, I lay them out in rows, sorted by color. I eat only one at a time, starting with the color of which I have the fewest. I suck on each M & M (if it is only one, is it still M & Ms, or just M?) until it melts before I put another one in my mouth.
6. When I eat dip and chips, it has to come out even. If I have dip left, I need more chips. If I have chips left, I need more dip.
7. I sit on the back deck every morning and drink coffee with lots of cream and a spoon full of Splenda in it. If, for some reason, we have to leave early, and I don't have time to sit out there, my whole day seems off.
8. I don't check my e-mails every day, because when I check, I have to answer anything that needs an answer right then. I can't stand to leave one unanswered. So if I know I don't have time to answer, I don't read.
9. I like for my shoes to match my outfit. If I don't have a pair of shoes that match, that's okay, but if I do, I have to wear them. I can't just wear another pair. I have to wear the ones that match.
10. There are certain blogs I have to read, if I am on line. I don't necessarily comment often, but I do have to read them. It's a good thing there aren't too many of them, or I'd be on line all day.
Well, there you have it, the general nuttiness of my day to day life. Could be worse, I guess. At least none of it hurts anybody else.

Ten things Meme

2009-07-30T13:00:00.000-05:00

Diane, at Diane's Place, posted a meme. Since I haven't been thinking of much to blog about, I thought I'd answer her questions.

1.] How come I can never find: my glasses. my scissors. my cell phone. my memory.

2.] I wish I'd never started: getting pedicures. I love them, and they used to be one of my "life's little luxuries", but now that Wick has to take me everywhere I go, I won't ask him to sit there for an hour while I get my toes painted and my feet massaged.

3.] I wonder why: sometimes I can't think of a thing to write about, and other times, I can't find time to write down all that occurs to me.

4.] Mama always told me: to always wear nice underthings, in case I ever had to go to the emergency room. Naturally, the night I got so sick last November, I had on my oldest, tattiest underthings.

5.] There's this one thing in my closet that I just can't seem to get rid of: shoes. I love shoes. I've worn the same size since I was fourteen. I keep buying them, but hardly ever et rid of any.

6.] My favorite guilty pleasure is: chocolate. Chocolate cake. Chocolate cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Chocolate ice cream. Mocha Java Chillers from Sonic. Mocha Moolattes from Dairy Queen. Chocolate Thunder from Down Under at Outback. Chocolate ice cream. Chocolate sundaes. Hot fudge sundaes. Chocolate. Did I mention Chocolate?

7.] I always forget to: get a bulb for the reading light in my bedroom. It's an odd size, and I need to take it with me to make sure I get the right one. I keep thinking I will get it as I walk out the door to go to town. But I haven't yet.

8.] I have never: been to Europe. Or the Orient. Or Australia. Or South America, central America, or Canada. I have, however, been to Mexico, Grand Cayman, and Jamaica.

9.] I'm obsessed with: oh, now see, if we are going to talk about my OCD tendencies, we need a whole post. Or maybe a series of posts. Because while I am pretty laid back and easy going about most things, there are a few things about which I am Obsessive. Compulsive. or maybe just Crazy.

10.] One of my favorite memories is: when our children were young, and we used to spend cold Sunday afternoons sitting on the rug in front of the fire playing board games and laughing like loons.

Traumatic, Life-Altering Events: Musing

2009-07-28T00:00:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about traumatic events in people's lives, and how it affects them, mostly because I recently experienced a traumatic, life-altering experience.

I have known for at least all my adult life that people experience traumatic events, and are forever changed afterward. I myself have had a few of those experiences. But never before have I felt as fundamentally changed, different, no longer my own self.

I can't explain in what ways I have changed, other than that my writing is not as funny as it used to be. I only know that I'm not me any more. I don't know who I am. I don't react the same way as I used to.

I cry more easily, and more often.

I spend a great deal more time alone.

I have a strange reluctance to be where there will be large numbers of people, and when I am with a lot of people, even people I love, I feel uneasy, and find it very stressful, to the point of needing a two-hour nap afterward.

I often have a sense of dread, as if something really bad is about to happen, and I don't know what it is or how to stop it.

Anxious. I feel anxious.

Tomorrow is my birthday. My darlin asked what I want. I told him I don't want anything; I am just thankful to be alive.

But there is something I want, and I don't think I will ever have it again: I want my life back.

I want me back.

But I think that me is gone forever.

I'm stuck with the new me, and I don't know who I am.

Child-speak, part 4

2009-07-27T16:43:00.000-05:00

When Katoushka was two years old, she did not talk baby talk. She talked in complete sentences, in a very melodic voice, quite clearly, and not only seemed to remember everything she heard, but also to be able to use new words appropriately.

Her parents had a discipline plan, which I had not totally grasped yet, but it seemed to be working very well, and I had a great deal of respect for it, and for them.

So when they left Katoushka with us, I tried to do as I thought they would do. But one day Katoushka did something that she knew she wasn't supposed to do. I told her I was not sure how Mommy and Daddy would handle it, and we were going to wait until they got home and find out what they wanted to do.
She sat in the little red rocker quietly for a few minutes. Then she said, "Mimi, Mommy and Daddy say that those who love me chastize me."

I knew that chastizement meant some kind of punishment, so I called her to me, and gave her a couple of little swats on her thickly diapered bottom, saying, "Precious, I would not want you to think that your Mimi doesn't love you." She returned to the little red rocker, rocked vigorously for a few minutes, and wiped her tears.

I could hardly stand it. My precious little grandbaby was hurt.

But before I could say anything, she came back to my side, spread her arms wide, and said, "Mimi, can we reconcile now."

My heart twisted in my chest. I gathered her into my lap, hugged her, and we rocked until Mommy and Daddy came home.

Note: For clarification, I am adding Jeana's response: " We told her that we chastise her because we love her. I think the difference is important. We certainly do not expect everyone who loves our children to chastise them, nor would we be happy at all if they did."

Jeana wants to be sure there is a distinction between what they actually said, and what Katoushka and I thought she said.

Child-speak, part 3

2009-07-26T16:42:00.000-05:00

Our first grandchild, Pie, wanted to talk, but frequently ran out of words. She was between 18 months and two years old, and her total repertoire included a number of isolated words, mostly names, please, thank you, no, and me (meaning roughly I will do it myself, thank you very much), and a few short phrases.

She often sat in my lap, and when I talked to her, she would respond with one of her words or phrases, whether it fit my comment or not--a steady stream of non sequiters.

When she had run the gamut of her vocabulary, she would stare at me intensely. If I said nothing, she would put her little hands on my cheeks and squeeze them together until my lips opened, and say, "Talk. Mimi. Talk."

I finally figured out that we were having a conversation, and I was falling down on my end of it. She had contributed all she could, and I was supposed to keep the conversation going, while she tried to come up with something else to say.

She is seventeen now. She still sits in my lap occasionally. But now I am the one who feels like saying, "Talk. Pie. Talk."

Child-speak, part 2

2009-07-25T16:35:00.000-05:00

Speaking of children, have I ever told you about our son Scott? He was the most energetic, active, challenging child I have ever known.

When he was two years old, he decided that he needed to explore the larger world, outside the chain link fence surrounding our back yard.

Now this yard was the perfect yard for little children. Dozens of shade trees, lots of toys, stuff to climb on and ride on. But he longed to expand his horizons.

So he climbed the fence.

He went over a chain link fence, the kind with wire "spikes" on the top. He was two years old, so he received a series of bleeding scratches on his little tummy, but that didn't slow him down.

He then walked past our nearest neighbor's house, and found his way into the parking lot of the nearby convenience store, where he spent some time investigating the sucker someone threw down, the ice cream cone someone dropped, the chewing gum someone spit out. How do I know he did this? The evidence was all over his face.

He then decided to direct traffic as cars and trucks pulled into and out of the parking lot. That is what occupied his attention when we, his hysterical parents, found him.

And this was just the first time he "ran away."

No wonder my hair started to turn gray.

Child-Speak, part 1

2009-07-24T16:27:00.000-05:00

When Jeana was small, she had a little trouble with certain words, such as mayonnaise. She pronounced it "bandaids."
She also had a little trouble with the word moustache. Her daddy has had a moustache most of his adult life, and all of her life.

One day we were looking at old pictures; we had looked at pictures of her grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins, talking about who they are, and how related. We came to one of her daddy, pre-moustache.

I said, who is that? She hesitated, then said firmly, Uncle Tommy (daddy's brother). I said, no, that's Daddy.

She looked at the picture, and at me, and then back at the picture, insisting that it was Uncle Tommy. When I held firm that it was indeed Daddy, she said, No! It not!

That not Daddy! He don't have no mattress on his lip!

It's a story we still tell, whenever one of the grandbabies has difficulty with a word.

Precious memories.

Where's My Sense of Humor?

2009-07-24T08:42:00.000-05:00

I spent a couple of hours yesterday rereading some of my oldest posts. The thing that struck me was how many of them were funny, compared to my most recent posts.

I have a strong sense of the ridiculous, especially in my own behavior and attitudes. I used to relate the silly, aggravating, foolish things I said, did, or observed.

What happened to my sense of humor?

Will it come back?

Or is it gone, never to return?

I love to laugh, especially at myself.

Will I never again crack myself up, describing the events of my life?

I LoveYou More

2009-07-22T16:18:00.000-05:00

"I Love You More" is a game we used to play with our children. Here's how it is played:

Press forehead to child's forehead. Whisper, I love you more.

Child responds by holding thumb and forefinger about a millimeter apart, and says I love you more than this.

Parent responds similarly, with thumb and forefinger slightly further apart.

The game continues until both are saying, I love you more than this, with arms outstretched as far as possible. Both then dissolve in laughter and hugs.

Antique Mommy brought up the subject of games we play(ed) with our children, and got me to thinking about precious moments with our children and grandchildren, and I may just do a whole series of these memories.

Right after I wipe away the tears.

Respite From the Heat

2009-07-21T13:07:00.000-05:00

I thought I would write more this summer, since I have more access to the on-line world now, but I haven't. Much of my time has been spent sitting on the back deck, watching the wildlife and the lake and how it changes as the light changes.

But then it started getting hot. I mean, HOT, as in summer in Texas hot. Upper nineties, near 100 or a little above 100 degrees every day. Even in the evenings, the temps lingered in the upper 80s, and with such humidity that sitting outside was not comfortable for long.

So I retreated to the air-conditioned in-doors, and continued my watching under the cooling breeze of the window unit, and an almost unobstructed view, thanks to the twenty five feet of windows across the back of the cabin.

Then...suddenly...a cool front came through, bringing with it wind and rain. It's hard to believe, I know, for anyone who has lived in Texas in the summer, but I actually needed a lap quilt this morning.

It rained almost all morning. Huge lightening strikes and rumbling, growling thunder, as well as sudden thunderclaps that made me jump and made Frankie the Pom bark like a mad thing.

The lake was covered with whitecaps, and the branches of the trees bent and swayed as if they were dancing.

It's mid-afternoon now, and still in the 70s. Unbelievable. Precious time to enjoy being outside again, before the dog days of August arrive. Precious time to be at peace with nature and myself.

Time to ponder a question inspired by Antique Mommy's question: what would your autobiography be titled, if you were going to write one? I came up with one I consider appropriate, given all that has happened in the past seven months: "I Should Have Left a Trail of Bread Crumbs: Where Did My Life Go, and How Do I Get It Back?"

Summer Is Here

2009-06-23T09:56:00.000-05:00

Three weeks ago, we bid adieu to the r.v. park, hitched up the fifth wheel, and came home to the lake for the summer. The days have been warm and sunny for the most part, with a good breeze blowing most of the day.

Since my heart med was increased again, I have been feeling a little under the weather, and have been spending a large part of each day sitting on the shady deck, enjoying the breeze, watching the ducks, geese, herons, egrets, bluebirds, and squirrels.

Sunday was the first day of summer, but since one day has been much like another, it barely made a ripple in my mind.

Most mornings, Wick and I sit out on the back deck, drinking coffee, and talking about what he has accomplished working on the cabin, and what is planned for the next day.
This morning, the breeze died. At 9:00 it is already nearly ninety degrees. Summer is here with a vengeance.

I scan the sky hopefully, looking for rain clouds, but there isn't a cloud in the sky. The only thing that makes the deck bearable is the fact that it is so shady most of the day, and that Wick plugged in a fan to create an artificial breeze.

Even the duck and geese have abandoned our little piece of shoreline, clinging to the shade and staying in the brush most of the day.

This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Even if it is already summer.

One Step Forward and Two Steps Back

2009-06-01T18:03:00.000-05:00

In the 6 months since I was diagnosed with congestive heart failure, the cardiologist has had me come in every two to three weeks for blood work, to see if the dosage of the RX can be increased. For reasons I don't really understand, this prescription has to be increased very gradually. Apparently, jumping to a high dose all at once would not be wise.

I don't mind going to the doctor's office, although I do wish I could drive myself, instead of Wick having to take a day from work to take me. I don't mind (very much) having blood drawn, since the nurse is very good at what she does, and only sticks me once each time. So far, my lab results have been within acceptable ranges, so the RX has been increased a little bit each visit.

The problem is how I feel after each increase. I feel just awful.

When I first get up, I feel pretty good, and try to accomplish whatever I have planned for the day in the first hour or two. After that, my energy dwindles rapidly. By mid-afternoon, I feel as if someone has pulled the plug, and if I don't lie down, I might fall down.

When I went to the dr. Friday, my med was increased again, and the nurse told me how pleased the dr. is with the results of the lab work. She says I will probably get the goal dose level at the next visit. We have had a similar conversation every time I have come in, and she tries to encourage me to feel that I am making excellent progress. She says I am getting better all the time.

I started the higher dose today, and immediately felt the drop in energy.

Today, I wanted to fix a decent meal for Wick for supper, and use some fresh vegetables one of our neighbors gave us this weekend. So this morning, I put out some ground meat to thaw.

After a brief rest, I cut up a quarter of an onion.

After another, slightly longer, rest, I sliced a squash.

After a little longer rest, I sliced a zucchini.

The celery and bell pepper had to wait until I had a little nap.

About two o'clock, I fried the beef.

About three o'clock I started assembling the casserole.

When Wick got home from work, he added the grated cheese and put the dish in the oven.

While it was baking, I took another nap.

My dears, when I am too tired to eat, I know I really have a problem.

On the other hand.....if I am too tired to eat, maybe I won't gain back the 60 pounds I lost this winter.

My question is....how long can I keep "getting better", without getting well?

Carded at the Library

2009-05-31T08:40:00.000-05:00

I have had a library card almost all my life. I vividly remember struggling to learn how to write my name, just so I could have a library card of my own, instead of using my mama's. When we started RVing full time, I did not stop to think what that would mean, in terms of getting a library card. Apparently, most public libraries feel rather strongly that in order to get a card, one must prove residence in the applicable town.

Our driver's licenses show our address at our cabin, since that is where we live. However, since Wick still works in the Dallas area, we stay at an RV park during the week, so he doesn't have to drive so far every day. That means that the closest library is in Dallas. Dallas feels so strongly about "non-citizens" of Dallas that the fee for an outsider (that is, someone who has an address elsewhere) is $250 a year.

Two hundred fifty dollars a year. Y'all. That is exorbitant.

Now, after checking my billfold, I found the following cards:
Mesquite Public Library, from before we started RVing full time.
Chandler Public Library, where we live.
Tyler Public Library, because of a reciprocal deal with Chandler's library.
Seagoville Public Library, since I used to teach there.

Suddenly I remembered that shortly before I went into the hospital, I had filled out an application for the Dallas library, which offers a special deal for people who don't have a Dallas address, but do teach in Dallas.

Even though I had filled out the application, I had not received my card. I still have my teacher i.d., so I thought, why not check and see if I can still get the card.

When Wick got home from work, he took me to the nearest Dallas library branch.
I went to the first desk and explained to the tall, thin, stern-looking man who was sitting at the desk. I told him I had filled out the application at the school where I was teaching, but never received the card. He looked at me over the top of his glasses for a long moment. Finally,with a sigh, he turned to his computer and entered my name, after I spelled it for him three times. Somehow, he did not seem to want to look at my teacher i.d., which would have been easier on both of us, since either I was not speaking clearly or his hearing was impaired.

Finally, he announced in stern tones that I already had a library card.

I responded, yes, I had filled out the application, but did not receive the card.

He said again, the computer says you have a card.

I launched into an explanation about having filled out the application when a library representative came to the school, but I never received the card. I suggested that perhaps the card had been delivered to my mail box at school while I was in the hospital. Since a series of substitute teachers had been covering my classes, one of them might have accidentally picked up the card, but really I had no idea where it might have ended up.

Again, he said, the computer says you have a card.

Wick took me by the arm and steered me to another desk, where a lady was flipping through a magazine. When we got her attention, I explained my plight. She responded by turning to her computer.

She did deign to look at my i.d., and typed in my name correctly the first time.

She said, well, the computer says you already have a card.

Once more I launched into my story about how I applied, but did not receive the card itself.

She looked back at her computer screen, looked at me, and said again, the computer says you already have a card.

This conversation repeated itself about three more times. Wick finally stepped in and asked, how much does it cost to get a new card, if you lose your card?

She said, three dollars.

He pulled out his billfold.

She said, oh, wait a minute, maybe it is in the box of lost cards.

She pulled out a box that looked like it had about three hundred cards in it, and began to go through them.

Wick's patience was wearing thin. He drew three dollar bills out of his billfold, tapped them on edge on the counter, and said again, Just give her a replacement card.

Finally.
I had my own card in my hot little hand.
I felt the same surge of pride and power that I felt when I was five years old, signing my name to get my first library card.

That little piece of card stock was my ticket to the universe. Through books, I could go anywhere, be anyone, learn everything.

Reading.
It's fundamental.

Home for the Summer

2009-05-30T13:03:00.000-05:00

During the school year, we stay in our travel trailer near Dallas to be closer to Wick's job. In the summer, holidays, and weekends, we live at the lake. We are in the process of building a cabin.

We are already living in the cabin, even though it is not finished. Mostly, what we lack is cosmetic stuff, such as ceilings, floor coverings, drawer fronts, etc. The back deck is almost finished--the roof gives us shade in hot weather, and shelter when it rains. I love the sound of rain on that tin roof. This summer, we hope to put up the railings and steps, to give access from the deck to the back yard.

A few weeks ago, several family members came over and helped Wick put the ceiling and floor covering in the living/dining/kitchen area. It looks great. It is wonderful to have people who are willing to give up a Saturday to help.

Next week is the last week of school for this year. We will be home for the summer Thursday afternoon. Home.

Home, where we sit on the deck and watch the sun come up over the lake in the mornings, drinking coffee and waking up.

Home, where we sit on the deck and watch the sun go down over the lake, drinking rum and coke or wine coolers, or hot chocolate or coffee, depending on the weather.

Home, where our hearts are.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

2009-05-28T19:56:00.000-05:00

As noted in a previous post, I had long, very fine hair, past my waist. Since my hospitalization(s), my hair has been falling out by the handful. Every time I brushed it, I had to clean a handful of hair from the brush.

Daughter Jeana suggested that I might want to consider cutting my hair. I had to think about that for a while. A long while.

Finally, while I was staying at Jeana's for a few days, I made the plunge. She took me to the hair dresser who cuts her hair. When I told her I wanted my hair cut to shoulder length, she stared at me for a long moment, and then asked, "Are you sure?"

No, I wasn't sure. I loved my long hair. I took great pride in the fact that my long hair was silky, shiny, and in great condition. But that was before.

After seven weeks in the hospital, rarely eating, I was malnourished. I have grooves in my fingernails that confirm the diagnosis of malnutrition. I lost nearly 60 pounds--almost a pound a day. My body was shutting down peripheral activities, including growing hair. That's why my hair was falling out.

My hair was in a long braid down my back. The hair dresser cut the braid and laid it on the counter. I had braced myself for that moment, because in the past getting my hair cut had been so stressful, usually disappointing, and always something I dreaded.

This time, as I stared at that braid, I realized that it did not even look like my hair. My hair has always been very thick, so thick that most hair dressers said I had enough for two or three people. This braid was thin. Very thin. Not like my hair at all.

I plan to send the braid to Locks of Love, an organization that takes donated hair and turns it into wigs for cancer patients.

When I look in the mirror, I can see tiny new hairs growing in around my face and along my part. My hair still looks thin, but I have to admit it is much easier to deal with at this length, drying faster when I wash it.

I miss my long hair. I miss how it feels against my skin, and how easy it was to put it up with hair sticks.

But, as Jo March noted once, maybe my brains needed a little airing, and maybe I was too vain about it, considering it my one great beauty.

At any rate, I did cut it, and while it may take several years to reach the length it once was, it has already grown noticeably, my bangs already needing a trim after just three weeks.

I wish I had a great punch line to end this post, but I can't think of anything funny, or witty. Oh...except....I didn't cry when my hair was cut this time. Maybe I am growing up after all.

Sisters, Sisters

2009-04-26T14:29:00.000-05:00

Sisters, Sisters;
There were never such devoted sisters...

Fans of the old Bing Crosby movie White Christmas will recognize those lyrics as coming from a duet/dance sequence by Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen. Two of my granddaughters have entertained us with their own version at our family Christmas.

But they take on new meaning as I think about my recent hospital experience. They describe my own two sisters.

Jill, the baby, has a very tender heart and great compassion. Because of work and family commitments, she was not able to stay with me a great deal, but she offered a steady stream of support--books, magazines, cozy house shoes, a dress to wear after I went home, when I couldn't tolerate the pressure of trousers or jeans on my incisions; decorative book marks, phone calls, visits, anything she could think of to comfort me and occupy my thoughts.

Middle sister Judy is retired, and thus able to spend many days and nights in the hospital with me. She talked to nurses, questioned the reason for various procedures, made sure my allergies and diabetes were taken into consideration, and most of all she helped make sense of the flood of information and opinions; during my stay, I saw cardiologists, surgeons, nephrolgists, endocrinologists, psychiatrists, residents, interns, an ever-shifting entourage of medical students who came to view a condition my surgeon said most of the doctors at the hospital had never seen.
Judy listened to everything, remembered it all, and was the liason among all the specialists, making sure that each knew what the others were doing, and that no conflicting medicines were administered. She even talked to the nutritionist about meals that were not appropriate for a diabetic.
When my husband arrived after work, or my parents for their morning visit, Judy was able, as I was not, to explain what was being done, and why, and what the doctors said as they made their rounds.
When I told her how little I remembered, because of all the drugs, she told me what was going on, and reassured my anxieties.

Daughter Jeana had French braided my hair in an effort to keep it tidy and contained, but after several weeks, my hair was a huge matted mess. My sisters, along with my mother, daughter, and husband, took turns for three days, trying to comb it out without pulling it out by the roots or cutting it short.

Sisters.
Such devoted sisters.

A Whole New Me

2009-04-21T22:28:00.000-05:00

Losing more than 60 pounds has affected me in many ways.

For one thing, I didn't recognize myself for a while, when I saw my reflection unexpectedly in mirrors or reflected in windows.

It has certainly affected my wardrobe, which was once rather extensive. I have gotten rid of more than three large trash bags of clothes that were one to three sizes too big.

Just before I went into the hospital, my baby sister told me she had some clothes for me. Her friend's sister had passed away after a battle with ovarian cancer, and the clothes had been hers. I was really looking forward to getting new (to me) clothes, especially since most of them were more expensive than I normally can afford. Now, all those lovely clothes are hanging in my closet, waiting for me to find someone that size who needs a professional wardrobe.

Currently, I have one pair of jeans, one pair of black pants, and three tops that fit.

On the other hand, all my shoes still fit.

I can paint my own toenails.

I can bend over to tie my shoes, and breathe at the same time.

My tummy is flatter than it has been since I had my first baby--and he is in his thirties.

My little granddaughter pointed out that I have lost "a whole me" (she weighs less than the pounds I have lost).

My brother says that since I have lost weight, my face looks like it did when I was in high school (!)

These are all positive developments.

On the other hand....I still need a cane or walker, since my core muscles are so weak.

One of my legs is weaker than the other, which affects my balance.

My exercise routine takes up an inordinate amount of time each day, but then I have nowhere to be and nothing to do at any certain time, so I guess that is not really a problem.

Cooking, while needing a cane or walker, is an adventure, and sometimes a small disaster if I drop something that I can't readily retrieve. I spend several hours a day prepping food and cooking--not because I am making elaborate meals, but because it takes me so long to do.

My hair--oh, dearie me, my hair. I have very long, very fine hair, past my waist. It used to be very thick. But it is falling out. Every time I brush it, a big handful ends up in the brush, and then in the trash.

Not only that, but my eyebrows are disappearing, as well as the hair on my legs--I'm not really complaining about that, though, since it means I really don't need to shave my legs--just pluck about six fine blonde hairs.

Apparently, though, the hair has migrated to my chin. Jeana plucks it for me monthly.

Some of these things will eventually return to normal, I hope, as I progress through physical therapy. Some of the changes, I hope, will be permanent, such as the weight loss.

Some things, such as being retired due to disability, will be permanent whether I like it or not.

So....if you have enjoyed coming here, some things will stay the same. Other things will change. It's going to be interesting, either way.

Home Alone

2009-04-16T19:43:00.000-05:00

Tuesday was a full day. On the way to my two dr. appointments, we stopped at my previous high school to deliver a letter of resignation. I saw my principal, my department chair, and a couple of teachers. It was good to see familiar faces, and to achieve some kind of closure. It also made me wistful....I am going to miss teaching. In fact, I miss it already.

After contributing some blood for lab work, and seeing my surgeon, it was on to the Central Administration building for my school district. We expected to be in and out in five minutes, but were there more than an hour, filling out paperwork, getting advice, and having three different people checking to be sure that I had sent in all the forms I was supposed to complete, and that I had taken care of transferring my insurance.

By the time we stopped for lunch, I was so exhausted I felt like lying down on the tile floor and falling asleep. I was too tired even to eat. So Wick took me home for a nap.

Three hours of sleep, and I was ready to go shopping. After losing so much weight, I now have bought one pair of jeans and one pair of black pants, and three tops. I need new underthings, summer clothes, and some walking shoes, for when I am actually able to go for walks again. We went into three stores, using my walker for balance and for a place for me to sit down when I got too tired. You might think that I would have been excited to be shopping for smaller size clothes, and you would be right--for about five minutes.

After that, I was exhausted again, so Wick took me home for another nap. He was concerned that I might not sleep that night, after sleeping so much that afternoon, plus the late-afternoon nap, but I slept like a rock, and never even knew when he left for work the next morning.

Retirement is not what I expected. We had planned to retire together. I never planned to be home alone all day, while he still had to work. I miss my fellow teachers. I miss the mental stimulation. I do not, however, miss lesson plans, grading compositions, or the pressure of standardized testing.

After three and a half months at my daughter's, with four lively grandchildren to keep me entertained, being home alone all day has been a huge adjustment. I had gotten used to frequent chats with Jeana perched on my walker, and I miss her jokes and sense of humor. I miss her company.

I have never been a huge television watcher. I don't like the constant noise. I can't go outside unless Wick is here, because of the danger of falling on the stairs--my strength and balance are still problematic. I don't know anyone else in the RV park, so I have no visitors. I have been embroidering some kitchen towels with ducks and fish for our cabin kitchen, and it is pleasurable, but not something I can do eight hours a day--it eventually makes my hands ache. If not for Frankie, our Pomeranian, I would be lonely indeed. He keeps me company, entertains me with his funny expressions, and warns me whenever ducks get too close to the window.

I spend a lot of time looking out that window. It's a big one, and I have a good view of the small lake here, which reminds me of our lake at home. I see lots of birds, a few dogs, occasionally someone fishing. This view reminds me that I am not truly alone here.

In fact, I am never alone, since God is a constant presence in my life. How do people manage, who don't have a relationship with Him?

The nurse who does my blood work every two weeks reminds me that in December, I could not move my foot six inches across the mattress, and now I can walk with a cane. I no longer have to be strapped into a wheel chair to keep me from falling out. I can get a meal on the table by suppertime, most days, even if it does take me most of the day to do it. I can dress myself again. I can make myself a sandwich for lunch. I am making progress, however slowly.

I have much to be thankful for.

ICU Angel

2009-04-15T22:03:00.000-05:00

I have joked around about my hospitalization, but the sober truth is, I almost died.
My mama says that my temp went up to 105, and I was diagnosed with heart failure and kidney failure. A lot of people were praying really hard for me.
When I came out of the second surgery, the surgeon said no one could stay with me through the night, since I would be in ICU (Intensive Care Unit). So they all went home.

Some time during the night, I opened my eyes. The room was dimly lit, but I could see that I was in a regular room, not ICU. Someone was sitting beside the bed, holding my hand. Her forehead was down on our joined hands. At first, I thought it was my mother or one of my sisters.

I didn't say anything, but she seemed to sense that I had opened my eyes. She lifted her head, shaking back a thick mane of auburn hair. In a calm, conversational tone, she told me that she had been praying for me. She told me I had gone through the surgery well, but that I needed extra care through the night. She said that she was an ICU nurse, and that she would be with me all night.

She wiped my face and mouth, smoothed my hair, adjusted the pillow, reminded me of the morphine pump, and asked about the level of my pain. She asked me if I wanted to pray, but I was having trouble talking. She asked if I wanted her to pray, and I squeezed her hand. So she prayed for me--with me. Groggy on meds, in terrible pain, I was able to understand what she said, even if I couldn't croak out a word. In my mind, in my heart, I prayed too.

She sat back down on a little wooden stool, and held my hand as I drifted back into unconsciousness.
Each time that I roused, she was there to give me a sip of water, to make me as comfortable as possible, and to pray with me.
The light was always dim, not the bright lights the nurses usually turned on. No one else came into my room through that long, dark, pain filled night.

At last, I awoke to sunshine, and the faces of my family anxiously watching to see if I was okay. The next thing I saw was the little wooden stool, now empty.

I asked about her, the nurse who had stayed with me all night. My sister went to the nurses' station to ask how to contact her, to send a thank-you for her watchful, prayerful care.

The charge nurse said that no person of that name had been on duty in that section, nor in any other section on that floor. Furthermore, she said that no ICU nurse would have come to my room, and that if I needed ICU care, I would have been in ICU.

Who was she, this auburn-haired woman, who held my hand, prayed for me, cared for me through that night?

I think she was an angel.

If she was my imagination, as some of the nurses suggested, where did that little wooden stool come from? If she didn't care for me that night, who did?

God sent her to help me, to take care of me, to keep me alive. To be an embodiment of His Holy Spirit. To be my ICU angel.

How to Lose 55 Pounds in Less Than Three Months

2009-03-28T19:43:00.000-05:00

1. Have 6 infected abcesses in abdomen.
2. Have two surgeries in less than three weeks.
3. Receive diagnosis of congestive heart failure, and kidney failure (reaction to the contrast dye used for CT scans).
4. Spend seven weeks flat on back in hospital.
5. Develop severe loss of appetite and intestinal problems due to infection.
6. Consume less than 500 calories per day, due to #5.
7. Spend two weeks in rehab hospital.
8. Have wound vac for three and a half months.
9. Work with physical/occupational therapists three times a week.
10. Work with wound care nurse to avoid developing infection in abdominal wound that runs from hip bone almost to hip bone, several inches deep.

I could write a book :).

And with that title, it might even be a best seller.

But since those steps involve passing through the shadow of death, I can not in good conscience recommend it.

Four months after the second surgery, I have graduated from wheel chair to walker, and from walker to cane. I am the proud owner of two handicap placards, one for each vehicle. I can eat, dress myself, and even do a little (very little) cooking, sitting at the table, after someone else has assembled the ingredients and stands by to put everything in the oven. I exercise every day, for about an hour, a routine that would take a healthy person perhaps ten minutes.

Every day I am thankful to be alive, to be at home, to be making progress. I struggle with frustration, depression, and my inability to carry out normal daily activities, but when I look back three months, I am amazed at the progress I have made, and thank God for family, friends, and a husband who does for me all the things I can't do for myself.

I know that I will never be the person I was before. In some ways, that may be a good thing. Losing weight is a plus. Having wonderful doctors, and miraculous medicines to keep my heart beating on schedule and my pulse rate from going through the roof.....having family and friends who support and encourage me.......having a God who is with me through it all...... how blessed I am.

I would love to write that book--but I don't think anyone would willingly go through those months, no matter how much weight they want to lose. So I guess my "best seller" will remain a figment of my overactive imagination.

Adventures in Modern Medicine

2009-01-06T19:51:00.000-06:00

Just in case anyone is still checking in here, I thought I owed you an update on where I have been. Back in the early fall, some of my teaching compadres shared with me about this weight loss surgery, lapband. They are all losing weight, looking great, and expressing only enthusiasm, no regrets. One surgeon in particular was recommended, and his group offers a free presentation, so my darling and I decided to go listen.
The presentation encouraged me to make a consultation appointment.
The first thing the surgeon wanted to do, after taking my history, was a preliminary exam. Okay.
Now I have to fill in a little background.
About a year ago, I noticed that my lower abdomen seemed to be getting larger, even though I was not gaining weight. I especially noticed that it was asymmetrical--
larger on one side than the other.
So I asked my pcp about it. She sent me to a local surgeon.
He told me I was fat.
I said, "I didn't need to pay you $300 to tell me I'm fat. I already know I'm fat. I want to know what is the deal with this lump on my tummy?"
He said,"It's fat. What do you want me to do, get a knife and cut it off?"

At that point, the conversation was over. This was almost a year ago.

When the weight loss surgeon looked, he said, "I don't know what is going on here, but before we even talk about weight loss surgery, we need to find out."

Long story short: after about a month of trying to aspirate the abcesses he found, I went into the hospital 7 Nov. Two surgeries and several weeks of rehab later, I got out on 1 Jan.

Those of you who know Jeana of Laughter for Days to Come, my darling daughter, already know I am recovering at her home. Relearning to walk has given me new respect for infants. Having my grandchildren cheer me on while I am doing ankle turns or toe circles, having to have help to get from the bed to the bath, from the living room back to bed, having to ask for everything I need, having them checking off my meds and my exercise routines--it's both humbling and uplifting.

God has richly blessed me with family and friends who have visited, brought books and tapes and MP3 players, who have bathed and dressed me, brushed my hair, and put lotion on my feet.

My husband has poured love down upon me like rain. He is my sunshine, and my sustenance.

And in one of those ironies that reminds me what a sense of humor God has, I have lost 45 pounds--I no longer qualify for the weight loss surgery.

Isn't God great?

Winnebago Journey--Our Lemon is Almost Gone. Chapter Eight

2008-10-04T18:52:00.000-05:00

I know I said I wouldn't post any more about the Winnebago, but the nightmare just seems to drag on and on.

We finally signed all the paperwork, and so did Winnebago, McClain's, and Freightliner. The Winnebago is paid off, the account is closed, and they want to take possession.

Fine with us. There is just the little matter of removing our washer/dryer.

If you have never seen an RV washer/dryer, it is just about the size of a dishwasher, and runs the wash cycle and then the dry cycle all in one front-loading unit. It weighs about, oh, seems like about a thousand pounds, if you are trying to move it by yourself.

In the Winnebago, the cabinet and connections for the washer/dryer are in the same little cubbyhole as the toilet--a space about three feet by three feet. In order to put clothes into the washer, one must sit on the toilet. In order to remove the washer, one must either pull the washer from its cabinet into one's lap while sitting on the toilet, turn sideways, and deposit it onto the floor of the bathroom, or take out the toilet, or have help from a strong man.

Or maybe have a crane.

Suffice it to say that Wick can't/doesn't want to move it by himself. So we made it a condition of final delivery that they send someone, or a couple of men, to pull out the washer and put it into our fifth wheel travel trailer.

They have promised three different dates so far, and haven't come yet.

Right now, they are saying they will be here Monday.

I'm not holding my breath.

Winnebago: "The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. " Chapter 7

2008-09-18T21:10:00.001-05:00

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers." This line is from Henry VI, part 2, by William Shakespeare.
Of course, Will never heard of Winnebago. But this line should have rung in my head like a great bell, the instant we started talking about hiring a lawyer.
In our naivte, we thought that any reasonable person who heard our story would agree that we had a grievance.
We wrote a letter to Winnebago, chronicling our woes, and asked that the purchase contract be rescinded.
Winnebago refused.
We contacted McClain's RV, with the same request.
McClain's refused.

So we went to talk to a lawyer.
Finding a lawyer who handles this type of case was a journey in itself. Most lawyers we talked to were not interested once they found out that there were no excessive damages in the offing. They are more interested in handling cases on contingency, and taking a third or more of the settlement.

We finally found a lawyer who would listen to our story. His immediate response was that we had a solid case.
He said he has never lost a case against Winnebago.
He told us that it would probably cost around $15,000, maybe as much as $20,000.
He was only interested in clients who would commit to going the distance, no matter what.

We talked.
We prayed.
We asked advice from family and friends.

We hired the lawyer, and he filed a suit against Winnebago, McClain's, Freightliner, and the extended warranty company, Coach-Net.

We waited.
And waited.
And waited.

It's been two years and ten months since we started this journey through the legal system.

Some years ago I read a novel, Bleak House, by Charles Dickens. Bleak House is the story of a lawsuit filed in London. The suit wended its way through the British legal system for many years. When it was finally settled, the whole estate which was the subject of the lawsuit had been consumed by legal fees.

I can now identify with the characters in Bleak House.

This case had consumed our time, our energy, and our resources. We have nothing left.

We are in the process of negotiating a settlement which offers neither fairness nor justice.

We are settling for less than we want, less than we deserve, less than we can really afford to lose, because of the amount of money that has been sucked up by the lawyers, the mediator (also a lawyer), and the cost of keeping the Winnebago at least minimally functional.

We are out of patience, and out of money.

The proposal states that we will not reveal the conditions of the settlement by any means, whether by telling others, writing a book, e-mailing, or blogging.

So this will be my last entry about Winnebago.

Let me finish with an admonition: learn from our misfortunes and our mistakes.

Sigh.
Now I have to think of something else to blog about.

I'm sure something will occur to me eventually.

Maybe the fifth wheel travel trailer we are considering...

Winnebago: That's Not Cool. Chapter Six

2008-09-11T21:50:00.000-05:00

The last trip we took in the Winnebago Journey was mid-June, during a drought, in blazing hot weather. We went to Lake Texoma to camp with his brothers and families. When I opened the refrigerator door to fix lunch, we realized that the refrigerator had stopped working.

We drove to Sherman, to North Texas RV, to see if they could fix it. They thought they could. As it turned out, they couldn't.

We made three trips over there, and each time they thought they had it fixed. Wick finally figured out that the fan was not working. So he went to Wal-mart, bought a couple of clip-on fans, and rigged them up to keep the refrigerator working at least temporarily.

Mid-week, the inverter blew out. It took out most of the electrical and electronic equipment, including the microwave, both tvs, the radio sitting on the dash (the one we had to use because the built-in dash radio never worked right, even after being replaced), and the sleep number mattress.

We said to ourselves, well, it could be worse. At least we have insurance through First Extended.

Wrong. Well....we did pay for the coverage. It was in force. But the company refused to pay. Their representative promised to come look at the Winnebago, if we would take it to an "authorized service center"--so we took it to Tyler RV, the closest "authorized" service center to our lake home.

It sat there for over two months, and the representative never arrived. When we called, we were told repeatedly, "He'll be there next week."

Finally, we were notified that the claim had been denied, since the Extended Warranty rep said he thought the damage had been caused by a lightning strike, and we should file a claim with our auto insurance company.

Lightning. In the middle of a drought. There had not been a cloud as big as my hand in months.

A couple of years earlier, lightning struck our pickup. It was quite noticeable. Loud. And scary. It blew out the tires, cracked the windshield, and left a big burn mark on the truck and on the ground, as well as blowing out the electrical system. We knew when it struck, even though we were not actually in the truck at the time.

And we were living in the RV. I think we would have noticed, if lightning had struck the Winnebago.

Our auto insurance company said there was no sign of lightning striking. The man at Tyler RV said he couldn't find any sign of a lightning strike. So we told Extended Warranty. They finally sent someone to actually look at the Winnebago.

He said there was no sign of lightning striking. He was their guy, and he told them they were wrong.

They still refused to pay.

So, when we talked to our attorney, we asked him to add Extended Warranty to the lawsuit.

We had to pay for having the tvs, the microwave, and the refrigerator fixed ourselves.

Because the Winnebago sat on the Tyler RV lot for more than two months, we had to rent an apartment. We live too far from our teaching jobs to commute, and the Winnebago was still at Tyler RV, waiting for someone from Extended Warranty to look at it and make a decision.

The furniture in an RV is pretty much built in. When you move in, you bring your clothes, your cooking utensils, and food, and you are pretty much set. Unlike moving into an apartment.

Renting an apartment involved signing a year-long lease.
And buying furniture.
Couch.
Chairs.
A bed.
A washer and dryer.

So...there we were, still paying a thousand dollars a month for a Winnebago that was immobile, plus rent on an apartment,and furniture we didn't really want or need when we eventually moved back into the RV.

We bought a Winnebago so we could travel.

But whenever we actually traveled, something broke. Every time.

So we were paying for a vehicle that was stationary.

I have to say, I quite resented paying that much every month to live in roughly 300 square feet of space, unable to use the Winnebago for what we bought it for---traveling.

We had the refrigerator fixed, and the tvs, and the microwave. The water heater still was only working intermittently. The rest, we decided, we could live without.

We are still living without those things, nearly three years later, because all our money had gone to pay our lawyer.

And that is the next chapter in our saga.

Winnebago: A Not So Happy New Year. Chapter Five

2008-09-10T17:52:00.000-05:00

During the Christmas holidays, we visited family. We spent New Year's Eve at our niece's house, parked in her driveway. New Year's morning, we started home.

We got about two miles. We were stranded on the service road of a busy highway.

There is no service facility open on New Year's Day.

The next day, we got someone to bring us a new belt. It didn't fit.

The right size belt was not available in Texas. It had to be shipped from Oklahoma. For five days, we were stranded.

By August, we were feeling optimistic enough to make a trip to Oklahoma City.

We didn't even make it to Ardmore. The closest place that had a tow truck big enough to haul a Winnebago was in Oklahoma City.

We had planned to camp at Lake Thunderbird with Wick's brother and his wife. And we had picked up their teen age grandson, so he could go with us to meet them at the lake.

In addition to a teenager, we also had our Pomeranian, Frankie.

Once the Winnebago was hooked up to the tow truck, which took more than an hour, we piled into the little Jeep we had been towing, and started to follow the tow truck. Less than 30 minutes later, the transmission fell out of the Jeep.

So we all piled into the cab of the tow truck. Wick sat in the passenger seat, and Frankie, the boy, and I wedged ourselves on the edge of the sleeper.

Wick's brother agreed to meet us at a highway intersection near a Wal-mart. Unfortunately, the trucker couldn't get off the highway to take us up to the Wal-mart. He pulled over onto a vee between the highway and another highway that was merging with it.

We had thrown a few things into a couple of Wal-mart bags, such as our meds, and a change of clothes. We had to cross a couple of lanes, climb a fence, cross an access road, and walk about a quarter of a mile to get to the Wal-mart. Suddenly, it occurred to us that we could not take Frankie into the Wal-mart.

Looking further down the pavement shimmering in the August heat, we saw a Lowe's lumberyard. We headed there. I collapsed onto a handy folding chair, and Wick went in search of cold water. We poured some over Frankie, who was panting heavily, drank some, then poured the rest over our heads.

Finally, Wick's brother arrived, just in time to prevent his grandson from expiring of embarrassment.

The Winnebago was towed to Freightliner. We expected it to be fixed within a few days.

Thirteen days later, we were still at Wick's brother's house. Fortunately, we are a close family, and get along well. But thirteen days is a long time to have company, and I am sure they were relieved when we finally were able to pick up the Winnebago.

The mechanic at Freightliner told us that it was overfilled with oil, which had spewed out all over the engine, and that the radiator had just water, no coolant. We were nonplussed. After some discussion, we concluded that these problems must have occurred while the Winnebago was at McClain's being repaired.

Our next step was to find a lawyer.

Winnebago: Waiting for Service. Chapter 4

2008-09-10T17:36:00.001-05:00

We bought our Winnebago Journey from McClain's in November.

By June, we had accumulated a list of nine items that needed attention. We called for a service appointment, and were told that it would take about a week to fix everything. Since we were planning a cruise, we set up the appointment for the week we would be gone.

What with the cruise, and a couple of days' travel time, we got back ten days later.

Nothing had been done.

Nothing.

The service manager at McClain's offered us a parking spot so that we could stay in the RV at night, while they worked on it during the day.

None of the items were major--things like a radio that had never worked, a water heater that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't, the energy control panel that burned up, and an air conditioner vent that was broken when the Winnebago was delivered.

The service manager had no excuse for why the work was not done while we were gone.

Most of the items were finally fixed, a week later, but they never did fix the radio. McClain's ordered a new one, but had it shipped to us. Wick took out the old one and installed the new one. It still didn't work right.

All the money we paid for a Winnebago, and the radio never worked right. We had to put a little one on the dash and plug it in.

Winnebago: It Was All Downhill. Chapter 3

2008-09-10T14:49:00.000-05:00

Having replaced the out-of-round tire, and solved the problem of the Schraeder valve, we thought we had taken care of any lurking problems. We planned a trip with two of Wick's brothers and their wives to Colorado, Mount Rushmore, and Yellowstone.

The first few days were delightful. The weather was good, for the most part, and we always enjoy our trips with Wick's brothers. Other than a rainstorm the night we were in Amarillo, parked on the Wal-mart parking lot, the first few days were uneventful.

As we left Estes Park, we were enjoying the sunny day, and the breathtaking views on the mountain roads winding through the high peaks. Suddenly, the dash instruments went out.

We were barreling down a mountain road with no instruments.

Wick couldn't even tell if the engine was running, or if he had brakes. Winnebagos have air brakes, and if they are not working, maneuvering on a steep mountain road can be deadly. Wick radioed to his brothers, explaining the situation; since they were ahead of us, we were hoping they could find a safe place for us to pull over.

Finally, a wide, fairly flat area on the side of the road promised a safe place to coast to a stop.

My sisters-in-law and I stood on the side of the road, half-crying with relief, while the guys tried to locate the source of the problem.

The trouble-shooting ran into a couple of hours, still with no resolution. We decided to drive on to our next stop, driving slowly, hoping for the best.

We were many miles from a service center, and having an RV towed through the Rocky Mountains is strictly a last resort. We made it to the next campground, where the guys kept searching for the problem.

Finally, after four days, Wick was able to find the problem and repair it. A wire had shorted out in the engine compartment.

Our confidence in the Winnebago was dwindling. When we bought this "industry standard", with the "best service record in the industry", we did not anticipate being put in danger of crashing down a mountainside.

Fortunately, our next breakdown, just six months later, was at least in a safer place.

Winnebago: "Industry Standard"? That's a hot one. Chapter 2

2008-09-10T14:27:00.000-05:00

The out-of-round tire was only the beginning of our RV troubles.
We live in Texas. It gets hot here pretty much year 'round. So air conditioner problems are huge for us. When the dash air went out inn the Winnebago Journey, we found it most uncomfortable to drive anywhere in it. The "house" air simply couldn't keep up when we were going down the road.

So we made a trip to the Winnebago dealership for repairs. Now when we were buying the Winnebago Journey, we were careful to specify that we would be living in the Winnebago. Full-time. Not just on vacations. So we asked if full-time RVers get preferential treatment when problems arise. The salesman assured us that we would always go to the top of the list, head of the line, and usually get through within one day.

We spent the day at Freightliner, while they searched for a Schraeder valve. I have no idea what a Schraeder valve is, but apparently it is necessary for the operation of the dash air.

The Freightliner rep told us that in all of Dallas, Ft. Worth, and surrounding metropolitan area, there was no Schraeder valve to be found. He assured us that just as soon as one was located, it would be sent to his store immediately, and he would call us.

We waited.
And waited.
And waited.

Finally, after about six weeks, we called McClain's RV, where we had bought the Winnebago. The service manager said he still had not located a Schraeder valve. Wick asked to speak to the owner, Mr. McClain.

The service manager assured us that he would find a Schraeder valve. We made an appointment. When we got there, he said he still had not located a Schraeder valve.

After a rather warm discussion, the service manager vowed that he would fix our air conditioner that day.

We waited.
And waited.
And waited.

Finally, just before closing time, he told us that the valve had been located and installed.

We asked where he finally found it.

He took it out of another Winnebago on his lot.

We felt for the owners of the other Winnebago, but were delighted that our problem had been fixed.

Or so we thought.

Winnebago: Journey Through Hell From Day One. Chapter One

2008-08-24T14:55:00.000-05:00

Wick and I have been full-timing for about 8 years now. Full time RVers, to be more precise. We started out with an Alfa Gold, which was about 12 years old when we bought it.

Gold is the top of the line Alfa travel trailer. So even though it was an older model, it had some very nice features, such as a ceramic tile counter top, and a stackable washer and dryer. We sold our house, gave most of our furniture to our kids, and moved in.

Living in a 36 foot travel trailer is a big adjustment, after living in a three-bedroom, two bath brick home. You not only have to love your spouse, you also have to like him. There isn't room to get away and sulk, if you are unhappy about something. RV living requires the ability to talk things out, and come to a compromise quickly.

About 2 years into our RV life, we were staying at an RV park in southeast Oklahoma, which is next door to an RV dealer. One rainy Saturday, for lack of anything better to do, we went over to the RV dealer and walked through some fifth wheels. We were impressed with the improvements in features in the new RVs, compared to our older model.

A salesman began to shadow us, pointing out the various features of each model. We were most impressed with a Big Sky Montana, which had 8 ft. ceilings, lots of windows, even a skylight. The salesman insisted on making us a deal, including a trade-in on our Alfa. We agreed to see what he could come up with. But we went back to our Alfa thinking that there was no way he was going to come up with a suitable deal.

He did. It was such a good deal that we moved from the Alfa into the Big Sky that weekend.

For another couple of years, we were happy with our fifth wheel. Then we started looking at motor homes.

Motor homes are those huge, buslike vehicles you see going down the road, often pulling a "toad"--a towed car for use when the RV is parked. They have all kinds of gadgets and features that are usually unavailable in fifth wheels.

We went to a couple of RV shows. We researched on line. We talked to other RVers. We read RV message boards.

Our conclusion was that if we were going to make such an investment, we wanted to go with the best. Winnebago is the original, and advertises itself as "the industry standard", with the "best customer service record" in the industry.

We planned to pay off the RV before we retired, and then to travel at least half the year every year.

What a huge mistake.

From day one, this Winnebago Journey has been one problem after another.

We ordered the coach from the factory, with all the features exactly as we wanted. We were so excited that we could hardly wait for delivery.

The day we went to pick up the Winnebago Journey, we were told that one of McClain's qualified agents would demonstrate how everything worked.

"Qualified agent." Not hardly. This poor guy was almost as clueless as we were, having to look in the literature for instructions for almost everything we asked about. Wick is pretty good with mechanical issues, so we believed that he would be able to figure things out as we went along.

We immediately planned a trip to San Antonio, from Dallas. On the way, we discovered that one of the tires was out of round.

Someone drove that Winnebago Journey from the factory in Indiana to McClain's RV dealership in Alvarado, TX, with a tire out of round.

We should have seen that as the bad omen it was. It was just the beginning of our problems with McClain's, and Winnebago.

Overwhelmed and Underprepared

2008-08-24T10:43:00.000-05:00

School starts officially tomorrow. Students will arrive, expecting teachers prepared to start teaching. Administrators will expect lesson plans, syllabi, course outlines, parent letters.

Friday morning, at approximately 10:03 a.m. Texas time (devastation has a way of making me notice the exact time of tragedies), I was told that I will have not two, but four preparations.

Four different preps.

Oh. my. word.

At that moment, I expected to be hiding in my portable classroom Monday morning, head in hands, wailing.

In my personal life, I am random and abstract. I may spend three days looking for a pet crochet hook, or a particular yarn, only to forget what pattern I was planning to use.

In my professional life, I am concrete. And sequential. I want to be prepared. I want to have everything lined up in rows, alphabetically organized. I have all my handouts stacked in order, square corners, aligned with the edge of the shelf.

None of this is going to happen by Monday morning.

As soon as I got the news about the four different preps, I called my niece Tara(steppinonlegos.blogspot.com), who is one of the most organized people I know, and began to sob into the telephone. She immediately grasped the enormity of my dilemma, and instructed me to come to her classroom during my lunch time.

It's a twenty minute drive, to another town, in a different school district, but I was desperate.

When I got there, she had all her class files up on her computer, ready to load onto my flash drive. She had made an appointment for me with her department chair, who was ready with another set of files, paper handouts, and books she was so generous to give me.

When I got back to my own school, two of the teachers I have just met this week offered similar kinds of help.

Tara helped me because we are family, and that is what family members do: we help each other in time of need. What a blessing it is to be part of a large, close-knit family.

He department chair and the two teachers at my school helped me out of the goodness of their hearts.

Like Blanche DuBois, I found myself depending on the kindness of strangers.

How grateful is my heart today.

Starting Over Again

2008-08-18T21:07:00.000-05:00

Two years ago, Wick and I started teaching in Dallas ISD. He went to the lowest performing middle school in Dallas. I went to the lowest performing high school in Dallas. Not surprisingly, his middle school feeds into my high school.

We thought that we would stay in these jobs until we retire. I was wrong.

In Texas, educational effectiveness is measured by the TAKS test--the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills. Wick's school achieved acceptable status this past year.

Unfortunately, after four years of low performance, my school suffered a drastic reconstruction.

All incoming ninth graders will be accepted. All sophomores and juniors will be sent to other high schools. Only seniors with no deficiencies in their graduation plans will be allowed to return and graduate.

Only a handful of teachers were retained. The vast majority, of which I am a member, were released from our contracts two weeks after school was out in June.

We were informed by voice mail of our fate. Suddenly, all the plans for the new school year melted away. We had to look for new jobs. Since we had no idea what was in store, none of us had requested transfers to other schools, so we had missed the prime season for transferring elsewhere.

We were eventually instructed to attend a job fair on July 31st. Just about 2 weeks from the first day to report for the new school year.

The job fair was a nightmare of noise, confusion, heat, and key people out of pocket. I interviewed with a number of schools, but received no firm offers.

Just as I was about to give up and go home, a principal called and asked me to come back to his table. He told me he wanted to offer me a job, but he couldn't unless a teacher was willing to move from English to French. She wasn't willing.

Several days later, he called again, saying he was now able to offer me a position. I had no idea what I would be teaching, but said yes, I wanted to work there.

Whenever Wick and I change jobs, we pray to be placed where God wants us to be. So I believe that this placement is where He means for me to be, at least for now.

I would like to think that I will be able to stay here, since everyone has been so supportive and welcoming. But if God moves me elsewhere, I will be content to go, since I know that He purposes good and not evil, and will use me to bless the children entrusted to my care.

I found out today that instead of teaching Advanced Placement seniors, as was planned at my former school, I will be teaching 3 sections of sophomore classes, and three sections of pre-AP sophomore classes.

I have 6 days in which to plan lessons, type up a syllabus, and prepare for my students.

I am sad for my former students, scattered to other schools.

I am sad for my friends, displaced as I was, some of whom still have not found permanent placement.

Struggling to learn the names, faces, and teaching assignments of a whole new staff.

Searching for one familiar face in a sea of strangers.

Praying for guidance as I meet new students next week.

Rejoicing that God has provided a place for me to use the gifts He has given me.

Dinosaur Tracks

2008-08-17T17:18:00.000-05:00

Our daughter Jeana(daystocome) and her family invited us to spend a couple of days with them during their vacation. She said the kids wanted to go to Glen Rose to see the dinosaur tracks.

We had never been there. Neither of us is fond of being hot, and we had visions of clambering around a bunch of rocks, probably on a small mountain, in the broiling sun of August in Texas. But we do love our grandbabies, and we love being with daughter and son-in-law, so we said, sure, of course, count us in.

What we didn't say to them, but did say to each other, was, "Well, we can't all go in one vehicle so we will take our car, and if it is just too unbearable hot, we'll be able to leave them there and go find some place air conditioned until they are done looking at dinosaur tracks."

Having paid the day use fee (very reasonably priced at $5 per adult, $3 for seniors), our first stop seemed to confirm my worst fears. We walked to a pile of rocks that gradually sloped down to a river bed, and a sign with a piece of pipe to look through pointed the way to the first set of tracks.

I slathered on my sunscreen, adjusted my sun visor, put on my sunglasses, and trecked over to the sign amid the rocks. I dutifully looked through the little piece of pipe to zero in on where the tracks were, exclaimed at how many and what varied sizes and types, and politely declined an invitation to get up close and personal by hiking down the rocks in the sun.

I sat on a big rock, chatted with other visitors to the spot, some of whom were from England and Australia, and waited for my darlings to return.

We visited another spot, almost interchangeable with the first, as far as I could tell. Again, I perched on a big rock, swigged water from my bottle, and visited with passing visitors until my family came back.

My dear son-in-law said he thought we should go back to the first place, set up our day camp, and go swimming.

Swimming? My ears perked up a bit, since cold water sounded like a great idea on that hot day.

We gathered up the ground blanket, coolers, food, chairs, and assorted paraphernalia for enjoying a day on the river, and hiked down the rocks. Scott found a level spot in the shade, and we unloaded our burdens.

When I saw where we had to hike down to get to the river, I almost backed out. Having suffered a concussion not so long ago, I was reluctant to take a chance on falling and banging my head again. But Wick and Scott went before and after me, guiding me to the easiest path, and steadying me on the steepest parts.

What awaited us was a sort of paradise. Plenty of shade, water shallow enough to wade in, dropping down to chest-deep at a rocky dam, with places to sit on the rocks, get into deeper water, or wade upstream to search for more dinosaur tracks.

Scott brought us watermelon, bottled water, and even our lunch sandwiches, so I wouldn't have to struggle back up the rocks. As the shade moved over the water, he brought down canvas chairs so we could sit in knee-deep water, in the shade of the overhanging trees, and watch the grandbabies swarming up and down the river, finding tracks, dragonflies, minnows, small perch that nibbled on bare toes, and a variety of flora and fauna.

Occasionally a cool burst of water flowed through the natural limestone dam, keeping us quite cool, despite the sun flashing on the slow-moving water.

Other groups came and went, lingering briefly, then moving on to other overlooks, constantly looking for bigger and better .... bigger and better what? I wondered as I lazily swirled the water with my feet, watching the little ones digging in the sand, or befriending other children who came to the river to dig in the sand and paddle in the water.

After all my apprehensions, it was one of the most perfect days of my life, surrounded by loved ones, enjoying the bounty of nature and the beauty of God's creation.

Frankie's Summer Adventure: The trilogy, part III

2008-08-14T19:59:00.000-05:00

When I told our niece that we were planning to take Frankie to the vet to have his teeth cleaned, she asked if we would also take her kitten to be "fixed". I said sure, put him in the travel crate, and we'll be happy to take him along.
When we got to the vet, Frankie started his quivery routine--shaking, making little soft whimpering sounds deep in his throat, and poking me in the face with his wet nose. I told Wick to fill out the paperwork for the kitten and I would do it for Frankie.

The little girl behind the desk asked, What is the kitten's name?

Wick said, Beats the heck out of me. Call him Squirt.

She giggled, and then asked, boy or girl?

He said, Beats the heck out of me.

She giggled again, in disbelief. You don't know if it's a boy or a girl?

He said, Nope--it's not my cat.

Girl: What's he here for?

Wick: To be fixed.

Girl: Hmmm....well, okay, then I'll just put "Castorated", since that will work for a boy or a girl.

Me: (thinking) okay, first, that is not how castrated is pronounced or spelled, and second, the kitten can't be "castorated" if he is a she....but whatever.

The vet tech took Frankie and the kitten back to the other room, and we left.

When we came back in the afternoon, the vet tech brought out the kitten, and the conversation resumed.
Girl: Hey y'all, he's a she, so we "spaded" him.

Wick: Well, that's good that you didn't "castorate" her.

Vet tech: Who are you here for?

Me: Frankie the pom.

Vet tech: okay, I know where he is, I'll go get him.

He left. And he was gone....and gone....and gone.... and when he came back, he said: He won't let me take him out of the crate.

Wick: I'll get him.
He left. And he was gone...and gone...and gone...and finally the vet tech came back and said: he won't let him take him out of the crate either.

So I said: Oh, please--I'll go get him myself.

When I got there, the vet (a man) and the vet tech (also a man) and Wick (most definitely a man) were standing in front of the crate, and there was Frankie, backed up in the furtherest corner of the crate, doing a credible imitation of Cujo the rabid dog. Teeth bared, full throated growls, darting forward to snap at the three men, then retreating into the corner again.

The vet said: After all we have put him through today, getting his shots, being sedated, getting his teeth cleaned, I think he has had it with men.

I stepped forward, and in my lowest, sweetest, poor-baby voice, said: What's the matter, Frankie?

He lept into my arms, practically sobbing with relief. The vet tech said: He snapped at me.

Wick said: What's worse, he snapped at me!

I had Frankie cradled on my shoulder, like the fur baby he is, when Wick tried again to pet him--and he snapped at him again.

Once we paid all the fees, bundled up the kitten in her crate, and got back into the truck, Frankie wobbled over to Wick, sniffed deeply a couple of times, then licked his hand, as if to apologize for snapping at him.

Then he collapsed in my lap, fell fast asleep, and began to snore. Poor little guy, he had had a rough day, and the sedative still had not worn off.

We are back home now, after being on the road for the biggest part of the past three weeks, and Frankie has finally begun to relax. But he is still on his guard, afraid that his summer adventures are not yet behind him.

He is going to go berserk when we start moving back into the RV for the school year that begins next Monday.

Frankie's Summer Adventure: The trilogy, part II

2008-08-11T09:32:00.000-05:00

After we picked Frankie up at Jamie's, we went to visit our niece and her family. We went out to eat, and took Frankie with us. Of course, he can't go into the restaurant, but he would rather go, and stay in the truck, than be left behind. And since we have a diesel truck, we can leave the engine running, and the air conditioner on, so Frankie doesn't get too hot. (our nephew was aghast--burning diesel at $4.65 a gallon, to air condition a dog!)

When we came back to the truck, Frankie was standing on his hind legs in the back seat, anxiously watching for us. When I opened the back door, he lept out and landed spread eagled on the pavement.

Splat! I heard him hit the pavement, heard the sharp click as his chin hit the ground and his teeth snapped together. All four legs were pointing in different directions. He didn't get up.

I snatched him up in my arms, and my niece, who just finished nursing school, began to feel for broken bones. She said, "I don't feel anything out of place," but Frankie was inert in my arms. My heart sank.

Wick said, "He's breathing. Put him down and see what he does."

He sort of scrambled up onto his feet, staggering around, and bent almost double, nose toward his flank. He tried to hike his leg, and fell over. We couldn't help but laugh as he wobbled around like a drunkard.

I snatched him up again, and again, the brand-new nurse felt for broken bones, and checked his eyes, ears, and mouth for blood. She said again, "Everything seems to be okay. Put him down."

He continued to stagger around, but he wasn't whining or panting excessively, so we put him back into the truck and went to niece's house.

When we got there, he attempted to jump out of the back seat again, but Wick was too fast for him, and caught him on the fly. When he put him down on the ground, I was relieved to see that he not only was walking straight, but had enough spunk to bark at Jen's Labrador retriever, Sophie, as he pranced up the walk to the door.

Was he concussed? Did he get the wind knocked out of him? Probably both. Even though he is a tiny fellow, even somewhat dainty in appearance, he's pretty tough. And he still thinks he is big enough to take on a Lab, even after being down for the count only moments before.

Little did he know what the next day would bring.

to be continued....

Frankie's Summer Adventures: The Trilogy, part I

2008-08-11T09:18:00.000-05:00

Frankie, our pomeranian, has had an eventful summer. Unfortunately, he has not enjoyed all of it.

Coming to the lake, he enjoyed. He loves all the rich smells of a lakeside neighborhood: other dogs, cats, racoons, even snakes slithering through the grass. He loves to trot around at our heels as we go up and down the stairs while working on the cabin, up and down the hill to the boat dock, across the street to visit neighbors.

He loves going out in the boat, standing erect at the bow, sniffing the breeze, barking at passing boats and at people waving from their boat houses and docks.

He does not love being left behind when we go on a cruise.

My dear daughter-in-law Jamie volunteered to keep him during that week. She met me at a town half way between our homes. We had a quick lunch, and then Frankie got a treat, a drink of water, a chance to sniff the bushes near the parking lot, and then it was time to say goodbye.

I carried him to Jamie's car, put him on the back seat, petted him, and said to be good. Right up until I shut the door, he was still wagging his tail. But when I shut the door and started to walk away, he realized what was happening.

Y'all, it was like saying goodbye to a child. He put his paws on the window, pressed his nose to the glass, and seemed to be saying Don't leave me!

In addition to having to stay at Jamie's for a week, he had to share house room with Jamie's pug Gracie, and Boston terrier Oreo, an indignity which added insult to injured feelings. Frankie does not approve of people who keep dogs in the house.

Besides having to share attention and petting, he also had to -- gasp -- eat from the same bowl as Gracie and Oreo.

Frankie does not play well with others.

When we came to pick him up after the cruise, however, he seemed to be healthy, and delighted to see us. Luckily, he had no idea what was in store for him the next day.

to be continued...

Fourth of July 2008

2008-08-11T09:06:00.001-05:00

Since we have had our lake place, our kids and grandkids have come to the lake for the 4th. This year, since we have a functional bathroom and kitchen, we extended the invitation to other family and friends.
What an enthusiastic response we got! On the Tuesday before the 4th, Wick's brother and his wife arrived, bringing their fifth wheel travel trailer, parking it in the yard.

On the Wednesday before the 4th, son Scott and his family arrived.

Then our niece and her family, with their Airstream trailer.

And our daughter and her family.

And son Ron and his wife.

And nephew Chip with his family.

And cousins Kim and Susan and Danny.

Thirty people. Wow. We had such a great time.

And the biggest surprise was that all the guys brought their tools, and set to work, finishing the back deck, putting up the joists for the deck roof, insulating the loft, putting up paneling, and they even cleaned up the mess when they were done.

In addition to all that work, we found time for swimming, fishing, going out in the boat, cooking, and best of all, eating.

Brisket. Ham. Roast chicken. Fresh squash, tomatoes, banana peppers, onions, and watermelon. Chips and dips, cookies, and home made cakes to celebrate a July birthday.

Fireworks on the boat dock, soaring into the night sky, bursting into sprays of bright colors, reflected like jewels in the dark water of the lake.

Rocking my sixteen year old granddaughter in my lap when she got her feelings hurt. Singing, telling family stories, remembering those who have passed from this world but not from our memories. Offering thanks before meals, holding hands in a circle.

Five days with family and friends. Counting our blessings. How much better could life get?

"Stocking Up"

2008-05-29T12:53:00.000-05:00

As part of my shopping to save strategies, I often check out blogs with a money saving theme. Some of the comments I have seen regarding couponing and the "drug store game" are critical of people who use coupons, or those who stock up.

The first group contends that couponing takes more time than it is worth. Daughter Jeana has figured out what her hourly "wage" for couponing is, by calculating what she saves weekly, compared to the time it takes to get read to shop. Her hourly rate is more than I make at my job. Of course, couponing is not a full-time job, but it certainly is worth doing, if one is a careful and thoughtful shopper. Besides, most of us can "walk and chew gum at the same time"--that is, we can watch t.v. or have a conversation while clipping coupons.
This group is often also critical of those who coupon, as if they are lower class for trying to save money. Statistically, more middle class, better educated people take advantage of coupons than do people in lower socio-economic groups. Even if I were rich, why should I not save my pennies? In fact, couponing may be one way many middle class families stay in the middle class.

Those who are critical of stocking up contend that one saves more money by making a list of only what is actually needed that week, and sticking to the list faithfully. Now, if you are one of those impulse shoppers who mindlessly throws stuff into your cart as you shop just because it is new, or because it is eye-level, or because it sounds good at that moment, then listing probably would help you stay on track with your spending.
However, those of us who faithfully try to match coupons with sales and items for which we receive ECBs or Register Rewards or rebates--we are shopping from a list, but our list includes not only what we may be out of this week, but also what we know we will need next week, or the next, or sometime in the future.

Stocking up, creating a stockpile of nonperishable items which you or your family uses regularly, is one of the best money-saving tips I can offer. If I let myself run out of toothpaste, toilet paper, shampoo, or body wash, I may have to pay regular price in order to have that product right now. But if I have faithfully shopped specials, rebates, and coupons, then I have the item in stock in my own pantry, cabinet, closet, or bin, purchased on sale, and often free by combining coupons and sales.

My mother-in-law and my own mother were both depression babies--that is, they grew up in a time when every penny had to count, and people had to rely on many strategies just to keep food on the table. One of their favorite sayings was

"Use it up,
Wear it out,
Make it do,
Or do without."

My MIL in particular was great at stockpiling. She had two of the largest freezers sold by Sears and Roebuck on her service porch. They both stayed full all the time, with the bounty of foods she found at great prices. She never paid full price for dried beans, flour, cornmeal, cake mix, meats and poultry, etc. She also stocked up on canned goods whenever they were on special, buying a case at a time of corn, peas, tomatoes, or green beans when they were ten cans for a dollar. When Wick and I married, he taught me the lessons he had learned from her.

I learned from my mother and grandmother too, about growing a garden and canning the produce. The summer I was expecting our second child, I canned all summer--squash, tomatoes, tomato sauce, tomato relish, tomato juice, pickles, anything that could be put into a canning jar. Throughout the following year, if bad weather kept Wick from working on the construction site, we still had plenty of good food on the table.

Stocking up also means that in times of need, I have an abundance to share. When a baby is born, a new couple marries, someone takes an unexpected trip, a family has a financial crisis, I will have the wherewithal to create a basket of useful items at little or no cost.

I think God expects us to be good stewards of the bounty with which we are blessed in this country, and playing the "drug store game" and clipping coupons helps me to be a better steward.

Saving Money at CVS

2008-05-28T14:06:00.000-05:00

Saving money at CVS has become one of my hobbies. Daughter Jeana (daystocome) piqued my interest, and then I discovered moneysavingmom.com, where you can find weekly scenarios for saving lots of money.

Wick is fascinated with CVS sales and Extra Care Bucks (aka ECBs), and how much stuff I bring home, with so little out of pocket. ECBs can be spent like cash in any CVS. In order to get them, you will need to fill out a form at the store or on line, and get a loyalty card.

Yesterday I had a list, some coupons, about $7 in ECBs, and a $3 off $15 purchase coupon, so I was ready to prowl the aisles at our local CVS.

Here's what happened when I went to CVS yesterday:

1. I had a rain check from last month, when Soft Soap Spa body wash was $4.99, with $4.99 Extra care Bucks (ECBs), for 4 bottles. CVS was out every time I went in last month, so I got two rain checks, for a total of 8 bottles. (Their rain checks are available for any product they run a sale on, and do not expire.) Instead of the ECBs, which were for last month, I got 4 bottles of body wash for free, a 19.96 value.

2. I had a coupon for Tums 3 pack, plus ECBs equal to the purchase price--meaning I actually made money on that deal.

3. Same with Rolaids.

4. Tide $5.99, with $1 coupon, plus $2 ECBs on each, and I bought 2 bottles.

5. Aquafresh toothpaste, $2 ECBs, plus a $1 coupon, so I got overage (more in return than I spent) on that.

6. I had a $3 off $15 purchase coupon from CVS (sign up to receive e-mails from them), and my total of merchandise was over $15.

7. Allergy meds CVS brand, received ECBs equal to the purchase price.

8. Excedrin, received ECBs equal to purchase price of $1.99, plus had a $2 off coupon--in effect, they paid me to take the product home.

9. I bought bandaids on sale, even though I didn't have a coupon, because I was out of them, and didn't get them when they were an ECB item.

I walked out with a total of almost $45 in products, paid $11.76 out of pocket, and received $11.78 in ECBs to use next week, so I "made" two cents for shopping at CVS this week.

If you get serious about doing this, buy the Sunday paper in the double bundle (two papers for $2), and start clipping coupons (I learned that from Jeana). Usually the best deals will be a couple of weeks after the coupon comes out, so hang on to it. I have a little coupon file with dividers to keep things organized--a tab for health and beauty, a tab for paper goods, a tab for dairy, a tab for canned/frozen, etc. Keep it in your car, so you always have access to it when you are out and about.

Kroger will double coupons on certain days, so watch the sales, match the coupons with the sales, and shop on double coupon days.

One thing I have learned is that I can not be "brand loyal" if I want the best deals. Another thing is that we now get better quality stuff (brand name shampoos, toothpastes, and so forth) for less money than the generic. And by stocking up when stuff is free, I have an abundance to share with those in need.

On the moneysaving mom blog site, she has a CVS 101 and Walgreens 101, to help people get started, and to explain how each store's system works. Look in the left hand list of previous posts.

CVS, to me, is simpler than Walgreens; many of Walgreens' best deals involve rebates, which I am bad about filing and mailing for, but some people really like getting that check in the mail periodically. Or you can now have the rebates loaded onto your Walgreens saver card, to use like cash at any Walgreens store. They also have what they call Register Rewards, similar to the ECBs at CVS.

In addition to saving money, shopping this way has become a game. If I walk out with at least as much in ECBs as I walked into the store with, I feel as if I "won" this week. I'm no expert, but I am learning to play the game, save some money, and enjoy the process.

Also, learning to shop this way is a sort of dress rehearsal for retirement, when it will be even more vital to make every penny count.

Random Thoughts

2008-04-22T12:56:00.000-05:00

Ok, yes, I know, if you have read my blog *at all*, you know that random thoughts is what we are all about, so okay now that I have cleared that up, on with the randomness.

Last weekend we went to the lake again. In fact, we were there for three days. Because we took Friday off. Just because we could. And our son Scott came too. I guess the three teachers all needed a mental health day.

and what a great day for mental health it was. The sun was shining. The breeze was mildly blowing. Temps in the lower 70's. Just a perfect spring day.

On Friday we did nesting sort of stuff. The guys hung insulation in the cabin, which is still under construction. Wick shampooed the carpet in the RV. I did laundry, and a little mending, and a little (very little) cooking.

On Saturday we went to a street fair in Edom, called April in Edom. Because it was in Edom, and it is in April, see. There was a softball game between the coaches of two nearby towns. There were dogs, and babies, and the smell of kettle popcorn, and oh my word the samples. The samples, y'all. Little bites of chocolate toffee candy. Nibbles of sugar roated pecans. Tiny spoonfuls of raspberry honey, mocha honey, jalapeno honey. Teensy tastes of dips on little pretzel sticks, with names like fiesta chipotle, Mexican ranch, green onion and chive. We didn't even eat lunch--we were full of all those bits, bites, tastes, and nibbles.

Back at the lake, late in the long sunny evening, the guys grilled hamburgers that I pattied up, and Johnsonville beer Brats. If you have never tasted these brats, go right now and get you some, and grill them over charcoal, and you will taste one of the best brats you ever put in your mouth. Add some big baked potatoes loaded with sour cream, cheese, butter, and bacon bits (real bacon, now, not that fake stuff), a bowl of baked beans flavored with tomato, molasses, onion and a chunk of pork, and a big ol' platter of fresh sliced tomatoes, sweet onions, and crispy lettuce leaves, and you have a banquet. At least, we did.

We talked about building a fire, but after our tummies were full of good food, and our lungs full of fresh air, and our skins full of spring sunshine, we all fell asleep by 9:00, sleeping on freshly laundered sheets, dreaming of days just like that one.

Nesting

2008-03-17T19:13:00.000-05:00

Nesting

2008-03-17T18:50:00.000-05:00

Our last night at the lake, Wick and I were sitting in the cabin, looking out through the back glass wall, watching the sun go down, and talking about what is next on our list of stuff to do to get the cabin to the point that we can actually stay in it, instead of having to bring the RV whenever we come (could that sentence have been any longer?)
While we were talking about insulation and window units, he stood up to show me approximately where on the wall he was talking about, and discovered a bird's nest behind one of the insulation bats.
He pulled it down carefully, and we looked inside. There were five little eggs, about the size of jelly beans, pale pink mottled with a darker pink. Since the cabin has been closed in for almost a year, it had to be a last-year's nest, and an unsuccessful one at that.
I felt kind of sad for that little bird, working so hard to build a nest, and then finding that her eggs were duds.
On the other hand, I took it as a hopeful omen: we too are building a nest, in this little cabin on the water, and like the tiny eggs, some of our ideas are duds.
But also like the little bird, we keep working, tearing out, rebuilding, trying again to get it just right.
The Lord God knows every sparrow that flies, and He dresses the lilies of the field, and I know He is watching as we feather our little nest.

Spring Break 2008

2008-03-13T08:26:00.000-05:00

No, we are not at Padre Island, or on a cruise, or skiing. We are at home. Home is our cabin on the lake, where we are building a cabin.
So far this week, we have:
Sat on the dock.
Watched the ducks, geese, and swans.
Leisurely drank coffee and read the paper.
Been to town twice, to pick up groceries, go to CVS to catch the specials, and get a pickup load of insulation and a door for the bathroom.
Stayed up late watching movies on tv.
Slept late.
Sat in the cabin looking at our view of the boathouse, lake, trees and sky.
Swept the cabin twice, trying to get rid of the sawdust, dead ants, and dirt.
Put up some insulation.
Installed a door on the bathroom.
Washed all the sheets and towels.
Stood on the dock and watched the clouds dissipate and the sun peek through.
Enjoyed the extremes of Texas springtime, from freezing at night to shorts weather in the daytime, from fog and rain to bright sunshine.
Bemoaned the accumulation of dirt and grime on our boat over the winter.
Discovered that a wind storm carried off some shingles from our roof and a panel from the deck roof.
Chased the neighbor's chickens, shooing them back to their home.
Thanked God for this place and this time to be here.
Enjoyed.

Love & Romance on Valentine's Day....and it didn't cost a dime

2008-02-13T20:11:00.000-06:00

Valentine's Day is one day of the year that brings out the romantic in most of us. Some people get sucked into the merchandisers' push for us to buy buy buy stuff to prove our love. But one of the most romantic evenings in my memory didn't cost a dime--just a little effort.

DH met me at the door with a lingering hug and kiss, and told me to go take a warm bubble bath. When I got out, he wrapped me in a warm towel to dry off, and handed me a favorite nighty.

He led me back to the living room, where he had gathered and lit every candle in the house. A quilt was spread on the floor, with lots of pillows. Small saucers held cheese slices, crackers, grapes, and a handful of chocolates. Two wine glasses sparkled in the candlelight.

We lay on the quilt, eating cheese and crackers, talking about special times we have shared, hugging, kissing, reliving our courtship, and talking about future plans.

The quilt was one we had used many times, lying on sunny beaches or near campfires, watching the sun on the water or the moon making shadow pictures through the trees. This night was too cold to be outside, but the candlelight was a satisfactory substitute for sun or moonlight, and the piled up pillows felt wonderfully luxurious.

The cheese was ordinary cheddar. The crackers were saltines. The candles and the wine glasses we already had. No wine, just diet coke. We're easy to please, and not burdened with "sophisticated" palates.

Nothing was purchased just for this evening, and it couldn't really have been better.

Well. I guess I wouldn't turn down a few diamonds or rubies, a mink stole, or Godiva chocolates. But only if I could still have that evening. With that man.

Chicken x 3

2008-02-03T09:44:00.000-06:00

Now that it is just me and my darlin at home, it's not quite as vital that we pinch ever penny, but we still try to be thrifty and good stewards of God's blessings. This has been on my mind lately, and got me to thinking about some of the things I discovered as a young wife and mother, SAHM before I ever heard that term, living on my darlin's hard work.

One of my money saving measures was trying to make sure I got the most out of our food dollars, and also trying to save cooking time so that I could spend more time with our kids. Chicken was one of my favorites, because there was so much I could do with it.

First, I boiled a whole chicken. Look for the largest you can find, because the proportion of meat to bone is in your favor with the larger birds. I put the chicken in my dutch oven, added enough water to cover the chicken, put in chopped carrots and onions, garlic, salt and pepper. Simmer until the meat starts falling off the bones. Put the chicken on a platter to drain and cool. Let the broth cool before you try to pour it up.

Bone the chicken. Put the bones back into the broth and simmer another 30 minutes to add flavor and calcium to your broth. Be sure to sieve out the bones when you pour up the broth.

Save the skin. Fry it in a hot skillet to render the fat. Use the fat for flavoring. The skin fries up very crisp, similar to pork rinds; a crunchy treat, but very rich, so be careful how much you let the little'uns eat.

Here are some of the meals you can create from chicken:
1. Dumplings with chicken.
2. rice with chicken. For a creamy casserole, add white sauce or canned mushroom/chicken/celery soup, green peas, and top with grated cheese.
3. chicken salad. Use white meat for company, dark meat for family. Add lots of chopped celery, onion, grated carrot for color, and mayonnaise or Miracle Whip.
4. chicken enchiladas. Use sour cream in the filling.
5. chicken soup. Just add noodles to the broth.
6. salad with chicken bits. Green salad with purple onion rings, cherry tomatoes, and your favorite dressing.
7. chicken spaghetti. Depending on the amount of sauce, cheese, and pasta, this can be stretched quite a bit if unexpected company arrives.
8. noodles with chicken. Buttered noodles --yum! Add a little parsley for color.
9. chicken stew. Like beef stew, but with chicken.
10. shanghai chicken--just add chinese style vegetables and chinese noodles, with rice and soy sauce.
11. chicken wontons--wrap a bit of chopped chicken, a little chopped mushroom and onion and chopped water chestnuts in wonton wraps and fry.
12. chicken rangoon--wrap a bit of chicken and a blob of cream cheese in a wonton wrapper and fry.
From one large chicken, I could make at least three of these recipes, plus having broth left over for other purposes. Freeze the broth in ice cube trays, then put the cubes in a heavy duty freezer container so that you can take out as many or as few as you need for a recipe. Since the broth is pre-seasoned, it will add great flavor to rice, noodles, potatoes, and vegetables.

If your raw chicken has liver inside of it, save the livers to make rumaki--chicken livers wrapped with bacon strips, broiled until the bacon is crisp.
Or make fried livers and gizzards with cream gravy.
Y'all will have to excuse me now; suddenly I'm starving.

Heartbeat of the House

2008-01-30T18:58:00.000-06:00

When I was a very little girl, my daddy brought home a clock for my mama. It was a chiming mantel clock, about a foot and a half tall, with wide carved "wings" around the clock face, and a gilded pendulum swinging back and forth behind a little glass door that had curlycue designs in gold leaf.
In a house with four children, there are few quiet moments, but occasionally in a lull in the chaos the tick-tock-tick of the clock could be heard. The chime sounded once one the half-hour, and chimed the time on the hour. It was so much a part of our home that we rarely noticed it except when it ran down. It had to be wound every eight days. Daddy wound the clock on Sunday nights, setting the hands carefully, and dusting the heavily carved case. No one else ever touched the clock.
The chimes sounded day and night, and during the night, if I woke up, the clock told me if it was middle of the night, or nearly time to get up. If for some reason it wound down and stopped, I had trouble getting back to sleep.

When I married and left home, my darlin husband bought a chiming clock for our house. It wasn't an antique, but it did have a swinging pendulum, and it chimed on the hour and half hour, and its tick-tock-tick measured our nights and days, keeping me company when I was up late rocking a sick baby, and tracking the minutes when one of our teenagers was late coming home.

When our house burned, the clock was one of the things we lost. We replaced it with a pendulum clock that hangs on the wall. Since we currently live in our RV, the clock is in storage. I miss the ticking and the chiming.

When our little cabin is finished, when we are retired and living there, one of the first things I plan to do is hang the clock, and set our home's heart ticking again.

Are You Smarter than a Four Year Old?

2008-01-27T15:09:00.000-06:00

Jeana recently posted about a conversation with her eldest child, which left her feeling somewhat at a loss. It reminded me of a similar conversation some years ago--same child, talking to my husband (Pepaw)
There had been a severe wind storm just a few days before, and my husband, trying to find conversational ground with his four-year-old grandchild, asked:
What did you think about that big wind storm the other night? Were you scared?

K: Actually, Pepaw, it was a vortex. A vortex in the air. Like when you let the water out of the bathtub.

Baffled at this point, Pepaw encouraged her to continue.

K: When you let the water out of the bath tub, it swirls around as it goes down the drain. If you are here, it goes clock wise. If you are in Australia, it goes counter clockwise. The storm last night was like that, only in the air, not in water.

My husband then noticed a large poster on the wall, with an illustration of an ant. He pointed it out, and asked her if she knew why the ant had such a big tummy.

K: Actually, Pepaw, that is the ant's thorax.
She proceeded to give him a brief dissertation on the other parts of the ant, its habits, what it eats.

I don't remember how Pepaw disengaged himself from the conversation, but I do remember his aside to me:
If she is this smart now, we won't even be able to talk to her by the time she is twelve.

After reading Jeana's post, I think I agree with him. Why would either of us think ourselves capable of explaining anything to her?

Tending to My Knitting

2008-01-20T14:35:00.000-06:00

I taught myself to knit from a book many years ago, while expecting my first child. Somehow, it seemed like a good idea--quiet, relaxing, productive. I made two afghans during those nine months, and decided that crochet is more my cup of tea. I gave up knitting until just recently, when I decided to relearn it.
I taught myself to crochet from a book. I taught myself to embroider from a book. I learned to bake bread from a book. These and many other home making skills were once handed down generation to generation, the elder teaching the younger, but as we have become more and more industrialized, and fewer and fewer mothers stay home with their young children, the experience of learning from observation has become less the rule and more the exception.

Where did I get the idea that these skills were important? I remember quite vividly reading Louisa May Alcott's Eight Cousins, in which a guardian uncle who has inherited a half-grown girl child, expounds on the simple skills, crafts, and arts that are dying out, no longer valued by society. Remember, Alcott was writing some 150 years ago, and things haven't gotten better in this area since then.

Somehow I was inspired to learn these "homely" tasks. I wanted to be a good wife and mother in the traditional mold. I was blessed to be able to stay at home with my children until the youngest, Jeana, started school. During those years, we always had some kind of project going, whether it was sewing, cutting and pasting, cooking, embroidery, making curtains, whatever skill I was struggling to acquire at the time.
How much easier, if I had been living close enough to my mother or grandmother to ask questions. They did me the great favor of handing on to me many projects begun by my great-grandmother, unfinished after her death, and I used them as guidelines and inspirations, but how I yearned for a model, a mentor, to guide me.

It has been so long ago that when I had my first child, breast feeding not only was not "in style", but was actively discouraged by many doctors, on the grounds that so few women were successful.
Why were they unsuccessful? After all, women had been breastfeeding for thousands of years, and most had been successful, so why were women in 1971 so lacking? It finally dawned on me. We had no models. Not a single person I knew was choosing to breast feed. I had only seen women breastfeeding in books on natural childbirth. I struggled mightily, encouraged only by my husband. How I would have valued a teacher to guide me.

All this rambling is to say....in the past few years I have realized my dream of passing my "homely" skills on to another generation; I have the opportunity to be for my grandchildren a model and a teacher. Some of them are taking to it quickly and easily. Some are struggling. And some are just more interested in other skills, such as soccer. And that's okay too.

When Katushka calls or e-mails with a question about her knitting or crocheting...when daughterJeana mentions in her blog ( Diversifying Your Stockpile) that she is crocheting and that I taught her how...I once more have that sense of connecting across the years, across the generations, with all those women who came before, who made quilts to warm their families and stretch their budget, who knitted warm socks for their husbands who were going off to war, who baked bread and made their meals "from scratch" every day (must have been a mighty big sack of scratch, to feed all those young'uns).

And that connection feels good.

Dog Lovers?

2007-12-16T09:59:00.000-06:00

I ask you: which do you think is more loveable, a fluffy, affectionate couch-potato Pomeranian like Frankie, or a bug-eyed, hyperactive Boston terrier named Oreo? The question arises because Jeana is answering questions from her readers, and stated that she is selective about the dogs she loves; she loves her own Golden retriever, Emma, and has a soft spot for dachshunds (we had one when she was growing up), and even loves her brother's Boston terrier. I have read the post three times, and still find no mention of my Frankie, who is hands down the most lovable, adorable dog on earth.
Now I am asking you, my readers, to vote.
All three of you.
And you know who you are.