Firsts and Lasts

This morning was the first Trial Run of the “our 28-year old baby moves to Ecuador” experience we are pretending not to think about. Abby’s third and last field season in her PhD program will officially end on Thursday and on Friday morning she will be heading back to Lincoln for her last semester. She is excited for all the firsts she will experience in her life after nine years of college but my mental countdown of lasts is beginning...and “life with a daughter living thousands of miles away in a new country with language, customs and experiences completely foreign to us” will be beginning before we are ready.

Before Leslie and Ryan moved back here, whenever they left to go back to Colorado, our floor would be littered with toys and reminders of their visit. Dean and I coped with the emptiness by distracting ourselves with shopping. Then we’d come home with purchases we didn’t really need, I’d cry as I picked up all the toys, and we’d mope around for the rest of the day. It was very sad.
Abby's visits have involved alot of cooking and baking so we could send her back on Sunday afternoons with a cooler of food. This also involved alot of us eating the cooking and baking we were doing in order to fill her cooler. Instead of shopping to distract ourselves when she's gone, I see a continuation of cooking and baking. That would be okay except for the resulting eating. My time at the gym has been replaced by working on the BFD and I have begun to fear a larger me in my future. It would be very, very sad…and ugly. It's just a darned good thing Leslie and Ryan live in the same town or we'd be fat and poor.

This final summer weekend we were all so busy with an Emerson and Myra sleepover,



a backyard swimming party, playing with kids,


and the all important activity of shopping at the mall, we didn't have time to do much cooking, which meant Abby left from her last summer weekend home with no cooler of food. We tried to make up for it by going out to breakfast this morning before she hit the highway. I knew I was going to have to change my ways soon or I would be attending my first weight watchers meeting so I resolved this morning that this past weekend was the last of eating way too much and I would only eat an apple for lunch. Some lasts are good. However, our restaurant of choice for breakfast is known for its home baked breads. Not only did I request a "cinnamon roll to take with me, please" but when I was asked if I “would like the butter sauce with it” I said, “sure, why not?” Guess which one I ate for lunch?




Even though I know most of these firsts and lasts would happen whether Abby was moving to Ecuador or Kansas, it doesn’t make me any less sad or make me miss her any less. But I also know many of these firsts and lasts will be exciting and offer all kinds of adventures…being an entomologist living in a country filled with tropical insects—how cool is that?...or Dean and I taking our first trip to Ecuador. Can you see us...skinny woman with reddish hair and skin so white it reflects light and a bearded bald guy wearing sandals with socks. Do you think we'll stick out?

If the cinnamon roll looked tasty (and I can guarantee you it was!) and made you hungry, here are a couple of recipes for a couple of the things I’ve made for Abby over the summer.



Flour Tortillas


7 cups flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons salt
2/3 cup shortening
2 1/2 cups water

I made these for our recent camping trip. It takes about 1 1/2 hours to make one batch of approximately 24 medium-size tortillas. I never seem to be able to get a nice perfect circle but they’re tasty and oh, so much easier to make now that I have a functioning gas stove. Pre-kitchen remodeling I used to try and make them on our ancient 2-burner electric stovetop. Now and then the tortillas would seem to stop cooking so I’d turn up the heat of the burner. When it still didn’t seem to be heating I’d turn it up higher. Even then the skillet still wouldn't be hot so I would lift up the skillet and bang it down on the burner, which would would kick the burner back on. However, by then I would have forgotten I’d cranked the temperature way up and the tortilla would burn. I would say some words I shouldn’t know, throw out the tortilla, turn the heat down, start again, cook a few, the burner would quit working , and again I would turn up the heat, bang the burner, burn the tortilla …

• Blend dry ingredients and shortening together until shortening is incorporated into the flour.
  


• Slowly add water to the dry mixture to form the dough.
  


• Knead dough for several minutes until well mixed.
  
  
  
  
  
• Shape dough into small balls and roll out flat.
  
  
  
  
  
• Cook tortillas on a seasoned and heated cast iron skillet on the top of the stove until there are small bubbles on the top. Then flip the tortilla and cook on the other side.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Pita Pocket Bread
  
  
  6 cups flour
  2 tsp. salt
  2 tablespoons sugar
  1 tablespoon yeast
  2 cups warm water
  
  
  
• Preheat oven and a heavy cast iron pan on the bottom rack to 500 degrees.
  
  
• Mix ingredients together to form a soft dough.
  
  
• Let dough rest 10 minutes on a floured surface.
  
  
• Shape dough into small balls and roll out to about 1/4 inch thick.
  
  
• Let rise another 10-15 minutes.
  
  
• Place pitas on the heavy pan and cook until the pita bubbles up. Bubbles will inflate so the whole top is raised. Turn pita over and cook until bottom side is done.
  
  
• Cool pitas before use or freeze while they are still warm to keep them soft.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I think/hope they were good. I don’t know. Abby took a bunch and Leslie took the rest.

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Firsts and Lasts

Summer Fun

My dad, also known as "Grandpa", "Great-Papa" or "Other Papa", came for a long weekend visit on Thursday. While he was here, instead of slaving outside on the BFD in the heat, sweating alot, and wearing attractive plastic glasses that steam up while generating itchy sawdust that sticks to our sweaty bodies, we felt obligated to go to a baseball game, spend a day on the mountain listening to music, and visit with family. It was torture but we were stoic and didn't complain.

In preparation of my dad's visit, in between work on the BFD, I slipped in a bit (a very tiny bit) of house cleaning last week . The vacuum and I became reacquainted after a long separation, however my friendship with the dust rag is still strained. When Leslie and Ryan came over one night and the girls discovered they could draw really cool pictures on the furniture, Leslie took pity on me and dusted. Later it occurred to me that her act of kindness may have had more to do with preventing the resulting cleanup of dust-covered daughters but I was grateful just the same. When my house is filthy I sometimes leave the vacuum out in the middle of the room so it looks like I'm in the middle of a cleaning frenzy. Because I learned at work recently that spiderwebs stop bleeding, if anyone notices the many spiderwebs decorating our house, I will now also be able to legitimately point out that they are there for medicinal purposes.

Friday night Dean, Dad and I went to the baseball game. The only thing more perfect than sitting outside on a summer evening in front-row seats halfway down the first baseline watching baseball and drinking a beer would be having your team win. Ours did, which only happens when the moon is full, the stars align and my father is still awake at 10:00 p.m., another rarely seen event.



Saturday morning, before we headed up to the mountain for the yearly bluegrass/country music festival, Leslie dropped the kids by for breakfast while she and Ryan searched the garage sales for all items vintage for her shop. Pierce, who is the size of a baby bird but eats like a Sumo wrestler, put his sisters to shame by eating his weight in pancakes. At one point he saw a new platter of pancakes heading to the table whereupon he ditched his fork, quickly grabbed the last three bites of pancake, stuffed them in his mouth, and cheeks bulging, made it known he wanted more.

After breakfast Leslie and Ryan collected their plump son, and the rest of us slathered on sunscreen, grabbed our hats, blankets, cooler, and newly purchased just-like-everybody-else's-camp-chairs-with-a-cup-holder and headed up the mountain. We parked, loaded our gear and shuttled down to the music.



Once at the festival we made short work of preparing our place on the ground and hauling out the food. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for making a macaroni salad at 10:00 p.m. the night before until I looked over at the people to our left and saw they had a small table with appetizers, wine glasses and were uncorking white wine. All they were missing was a tablecloth and finger bowls. We didn't let it bother us though. Well, not much.

We ate



listened to music







made and flew kites



danced





soaked up the sun



enjoyed each other's company



relaxed





and had great fun.

Sunday we filled the day with visiting, eating pizza, searching for raspberries, climbing trees and guessing what time Dad/Grandpa/Great-Papa/Other Papa would get up to leave the next morning.













Monday morning Dad/Grandpa/Great-Papa/Other Papa left for home earlier than a sane person would even consider getting up and a short 9 1/2 hours later was home in time for a late breakfast. He did not stay awake until 10:00 p.m. that night.

Once the weekend was over it was back to the BFD and I am happy to report that the south side of the deck is FINISHED!

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Summer Fun

Progressing

Last Friday morning Abby packed her car with all the essentials needed for a weekend at home, (laptop and dirty laundry), and planned to hit the highway right after work. At approximately 4:45 p.m. she decided she couldn't face the prospect of another three-hour drive. Despite the fact that her parents are counting down each and every moment with her until the big move to Ecuador, after work she drove back to the dorm and unpacked her car. Determined not to be cheated out of a weekend visit with our "soon"-to-be-departed daughter, and in complete denial that she might have wanted a weekend to herself (as completely unlikely as that was), Saturday morning we drove the three hours to see her.

It was Oregon Trail Days and our visit was filled with all kinds of small town activities. We headed to the city park where we watched an Elvis impersonator belting out songs, ate buffalo burgers and perused booths filled with all kinds of arts and crafts. Only in America's heartland can you purchase a man’s barbecue apron created from tidy whities underwear, or a marshmallow gun, or sculptures made of tractor parts. We also viewed a fairly large quilt exhibit where we could vote on our favorite creation although Dean was the only one who cared enough to vote. You’d think Abby and I would have wanted to vote since we actually quilt, but at the time we were just happy to be inside somewhere with fans blowing the sweat off our bodies.

After the quilt exhibit we headed to the local zoo which was small but surprisingly nice, fed the ducks, viewed all the animal exhibits and had refreshing popsicles which were frozen so hard they barely melted in the 90 plus heat. Then we had an early dinner, got back in the car and headed out for the three-hour drive home. Apparently buffalo burgers, popsicles and dinner wasn’t enough food for us though, because we also stopped partway home for ice cream.

Since we neglected the BFD all day Saturday we made up for it by working all, and I mean all day Sunday. We could have used those fans from the quilt exhibit on Saturday but we made do with the umbrella from our patio table. After nearly ten hours of deck time we stood and stared with pride at our progress, then drug our exhausted, sawdust and sweat covered bodies into the house with barely enough energy to shower and crawl into bed.

Things deck-wise are moving along quite nicely, due in part to the fact that after a mere almost 37 years of marriage, I was, for the first time ever, allowed to use a real power tool, not just a baby sander. Who says the surprises end after the early years of marriage? During all of my married life, my technique for getting things done has been to threaten to do it myself and if that doesn't result in action, I am sometimes required to actually pick up and hold a screwdriver or pliers or in desperation, a power tool. This strikes fear into Dean’s heart. His eyes get wide, his heart starts palpitating, his palms start to sweat and he jumps into action---or at least the appearance of action. Multiple projects have been completed in our house as a result of this subtle persuasion. However, now that I’ve been allowed (and I'm still not quite sure why) to use a power tool, specifically a drill, the fear that I may be more heavily involved in all the projects I so carefully add to my ever-growing list is making my own palms sweat.

As it stands now, Dean and I are a fine-tuned deck-rail building machine. My official status has progressed from Slave-girl standing at the ready to hand him any tool requested, to Apprentice who delicately sands the sharp edges of the spindles and those long boards that the spindles attach to (whatever they're called) to my current status of Associate, fully trained in the use of a power drill. I not only drill the pilot holes for the screws but also am responsible for the very difficult and precise drilling of the special little counter-sink hole thingy…whatever it’s called. And after drilling only a few counter-sink hole thingies that were too deep or too shallow or not quite vertical and only breaking one drill bit, which got stuck in the spindle, I’ve gotten pretty dang good at it, even if I do say so myself.

Tonight we decided to take a night off and go listen to the Wednesday night music outside at the art museum. But this morning while I was relishing the thought of a night off, I realized that when I wasn't looking, the grass had grown six inches and tonight was the last chance I would have to mow it until next week. So I did have a deck-free night and we did go listen to the music. I just had the pleasure of mowing the lawn first.

I almost enjoy mowing the lawn the first time or two of the summer because it's proof that winter truly is over and warm weather is near at hand. Otherwise, I hate mowing almost as much as I hate bending over planting little seeds in the garden. And I really hate planting seeds. In order to survive the weekly mowing I talk to myself. "This is good for you. It doesn't matter that your neighbor can push his mower with only the pinky finger. Pushing a mower that is NOT self-propelled will substitute for the weight lifting you haven't been doing because you've been working on the BFD." "Quit whining. Sweating clears all the bad toxins from your body." "So what if you always have to pick up the dog poop when you mow, even though nobody is cleaning your cat litter box for you. The extra walk to the garage for plastic bags and back again to the trash is good for you and the bending over will keep you limber since you never make it to pilates because you're always working on the BFD." My absolute favorite lawn mowing survival technique is gloating. "Yes! My lawn will be mowed before Jack's (my neighbor). I win!" It's irrelevant that Jack doesn't know there is a lawn-mowing competition, let alone the fact that I am on a roll and he is experiencing a losing streak. And the fact that he mows his lawn on the shortest setting while I mow on the highest, resulting in my lawn still being higher than his when I'm finished, has no bearing on the outcome of this competition. What matters is that twice now I have gotten my lawn mowed before his.

Every now and then there is a small unexpected joy during the lawn-mowing ordeal that is better than winning first place in my fantasy competition......like the discovery of the first raspberry of the season.



Okay, not the first......I ate the first one.

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Progressing

Gentlemen, Start Your Power Tools

A mere two summers ago we replaced the decking of our "bigger-than-our-first-house-deck", hereafter known as "BTOFHD" or "BFD" for short. There are no more rotting support beams, there is no more swaying of the deck due to rotting support beams, and there are no more (very few anyway) slivers in feet while walking on this new and improved deck. The only thing that's been missing is rails. Well, not all of the rails. One side of the deck still has some, even if they are spaced far enough apart that a child, or very determined adult, could slip through and drop ten feet to the ground below. The other half of the deck looks like the low platform at a swimming pool, except instead of clear, blue water there are rocks with nice sharp edges. This summer, after some subtle prompting by Leslie, who feared for the lives of her children, and incessant haranguing by me, Dean decided if he ever wanted peace again it was time to build deck rails for the BFD.





There is a logical order to the building, repairing, or completion of a BFD. First, and foremost in this order is, of course, to buy a fancy power tool. Yes, that would be none other than a jointer/planer.

After purchasing this fancy new power tool we realized there was no possible way we could fit the huge box into our little Toyota, and believe me we tried. So it was carefully unpacked and most of it was loaded into the trunk and backseat and driven home by Dean while I patiently waited in the Home Depot parking lot trying to look like I had a reason for sitting on a curb in the sun next to a cart with an opened box and bits of styrofoam and plastic blowing in the breeze. We finally got all the bits and pieces home and assembled and then the subject of a table saw came up.

In order to get rails on this BFD I was more than willing to purchase any tool required, including a table saw, but once the planer/jointer was home and assembled Dean wasn't sure where he'd store another large power tool during the winter. His stall has been filled with the old wood from the BFD (that would be for two years now) and even though I willingly forfeit my spot in the garage during the summer, he knew there was no way on God's green earth I would scrape snow and ice off my car windows in the winter while his power tools stayed warm and dry in my garage stall. Fortunately Ryan was willing to loan us his saw and is eagerly awaiting his turn at the jointer/planer.



Here's the progress so far:

Save the old wood from your BFD for two years in your garage.



Take the old wood



rip, plane and cut





to make new rails



and lots and lots of spindles



with beveled ends.



Allow the little woman to round off the four corners of the spindles with a hand-numbing, vibrating hand-held sander and then use numb hand to precisely hold each spindle as it is attached.



The attachment of the spindles is a multi-step process involving multiple screwdrivers, drills, bits, counter-sinkers, templates, and jigs. There's no such thing as just driving in one screw at each end of a stick of wood in this household!

How many people do you know who can shake their head in dismay one minute when their cordless screwdriver loses power and then perk up when they remember they have a ZEPHYR in their toolchest!



And now the race to complete the BFD rails has begun. One small portion has been completed. We will complete it all before our bodies give out? Or before the winter snows arrive? Is there hope for new stairs?


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Gentlemen, Start Your Power Tools

Why Did the Turtle Cross the Road?

Friday afternoon as we were following Leslie, Ryan and grandkids on our way to meet Abby for a South Dakota camping trip, I started thinking about how it had been at least 15 years since we had camped with both girls at the same time. All at once it occurred to me that with Abby moving to Ecuador in January, this was probably going to be our last family camping trip. I was feeling sad and depressed that I'd probably never get to camp with both girls together again. All the memories of those early camping trips filled my head. Memories like Leslie's disappointment that Yellowstone Park didn't have swings and a slide, or Abby sitting patiently with bread on her head hoping a bird would eat it. Then I remembered that at one point during the teenage years, after one of those "wonderful" family outings, Dean and I looked at each other and said, "why are we doing this? Do we enjoy torturing ourselves?" All at once a final family outing didn't seem like such a sad event. But now I'm back home and this camping trip was better than great and I want to have more, but I'm sure it was our last with everybody, and once again I'm feeling sad and nostalgic.

Once we all arrived at the campsite the first order of business was to set up camp. For Leslie and Ryan that meant doing whatever you do to get a popup camper ready for occupancy. For Dean and I that meant putting up our tent. However, since it was raining, and tents are better put up in dry weather, some of us sat in the car watching while the camper was prepared and then sat inside the camper while the awning was set up. I admit to being a tent-snob and make no excuses for my belief that "camping in a trailer is not camping". However, I'm embarassed to say that it was me who sat in the camper as the awning was set up and sat in the camper until the rain stopped so we could put up our tent, but really, that's not alot different than sitting in your car while you wait for the rain to stop is it?



It seems Dean's membership in the Safety Committee at work didn't carry over into the real world



but the awning was erected, the camper was ready, the rain stopped and we put up our tent.



Once our weekend homes were ready we moved on to the picnic table shelter. This was a relic from the 80s that Leslie and Ryan brought along which required much reading of instructions and scratching of heads. By the end of the weekend we all decided it might have worked better if the openings had faced the benches. And if the purpose truly was to keep insects out, the big bumblebee and other flying bugs who joined us didn't get the word.







We actually saw a bit of sun Saturday morning



and then took a perfectly timed tour of Wind Cave which lasted just long enough to avoid the afternoon rain.



At one point during the tour Myra, now all of four years old, got going a bit too fast down one of the narrow, sloping walkways and in the interest of preventing a nose-dive with ensuing sobbing inside a cave filled with strangers I asked her to slow down. She stopped, looked down at her feet and said, "Feet! Stop running!"

It was a long day for some of us.





Saturday night we went to the fireworks display in Custer. We managed to find a spot approximately 100 yards away from the staging area and we were so close to the fireworks that not only could we hear them explode but we could feel the ground vibrate. During one series of explosions I felt like I was on the Starship Enterprise. "Warp drive, please Mr. Sulu".









Almost as entertaining as the fireworks was the drive back to camp afterwards. First we sat in our car, one of hundreds of other cars, engines running, going literally nowhere. Ryan and Leslie were ahead and finally creeped ahead far enough to take a left into an alley that Ryan thought would be a way out of the gridlock. Not to be left behind, Dean followed. The alley went up a steep hill and as we were nearing the top Leslie got out of their truck, came over to our car window and said, "this is a steep hill and Ryan needs some sp..." next thing you know gravel is flying, tires are spinning, and Leslie is running toward their white pickup. The pickup began moving faster, reached the top of the hill and turned the corner and we watched as Leslie kicked it up a notch running for all she was worth. The passenger door was open and I had visions of my daughter diving into the truck, legs hanging out the door as it continued moving. Fortunately, once Ryan reached the street he stopped and she safely got into her seat.

One afternoon as we walked back to camp from the lake Leslie and I kept hearing squeaking. It was very loud and persistent squeaking. We searched for a bird's nest and just as we were about to give up a woodpecker flew over to a tree and fed the babies that were hidden inside. Those babies never stopped squeaking/chirping the whole time we watched. It must have been very annoying for the parent to bring the food and still hear persistent complaining.



We also saw deer, buffalo, fish, heron, and a poodle. I mention the poodle because I was informed by my daughters that when the air is humid my hair curls up like a poodle. Later, when another camper walked by with an honest to goodness poodle I questioned their judgement but they wouldn't back down.




All in all we had great food, great company, great conversation, great smells and sounds and views and a terrific weekend.






Finally, why does the turtle cross the road? I don't know but I can tell you that he does. On the road to the campground, as you pass by the lake there is a sign that reads, "Caution, Turtle Crossing." One afternoon as we were driving on that road we actually saw a turtle who was just beginning that dangerous journey across the road. I hope he made it.◦

Why Did the Turtle Cross the Road?