tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1795087104933099842024-03-13T09:52:30.896-06:00STILWELLIANThere Is A Voice Inside Of You
That Whispers All Day Long,
"I Feel That This Is Right For Me,
I Know That This Is Wrong."
No Teacher, Preacher, Parent, Friend
Or Wise Man Can Decide
What's Right For You--Just Lisen To
The Voice That Speaks Inside.
--Shel SilversteinCathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.comBlogger335125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-82359963723594623652017-05-26T15:40:00.000-06:002017-05-26T15:40:50.759-06:00Take a Walk on the Wild Side<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Abby had been telling me we
should take a trip to Scotland together for quite a while.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Maybe a year.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Maybe two.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I don’t know.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But long enough that even though it was exciting to talk
about, I didn’t really think we’d ever get around to actually taking the
trip.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And then, all at once last
December she said, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">it’s time to stop
talking about this trip and take it.</span></i><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She made sure I knew that just because in the last few months Jorge's dad had been very seriously ill (and thankfully recovered) and Dean's mom had died, it </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>did
not mean</i> <i>she was worried that </i><b><i>I</i></b><i> was going to die in the near future,</i></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> but </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">we needed to pick the dates, book our tickets,<i> </i>and take this mother/daughter bonding over haggis and beer trip right away. </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2efWcwtPj64/WShWc5yZSHI/AAAAAAAALxg/ySNGk0XtAtQ4Zt7xP-yKEnzgKL9FxnmugCLcB/s1600/IMG_3359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2efWcwtPj64/WShWc5yZSHI/AAAAAAAALxg/ySNGk0XtAtQ4Zt7xP-yKEnzgKL9FxnmugCLcB/s640/IMG_3359.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I figured once we
were in Scotland buses and trains would get us where we wanted to go with the added
benefit of increasing our chances of coming home in one piece.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But not Abby.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She wanted to explore the northern highlands of Scotland where train
stations are limited and buses are infrequent.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And that meant car rental.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The
thought of driving in Scotland scared the bejeezus out of me but Abby said she
would drive if I would navigate, which sounds easy enough unless your navigator
can’t find her way out of cardboard box.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> T</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">hankfully Ms. Google Map did her bit and I only steered us wrong a couple of times so we always managed to end up where we wanted to go – eventually. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Before we arrived at the Inverness
airport we’d been in the Omaha, Detroit or Amsterdam airports or in the air for about 15 hours and our bodies
thought it was 4 a.m., but rather than feeling exhausted, <strike>we were anxious</strike> I was petrified because we
still had to rent a car and drive to our B&B.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p69zVecuCGY/WShWiFxqlSI/AAAAAAAALxk/N1JjFCLbaMw2xiGvRYxfLaLNzF9C1qUOwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p69zVecuCGY/WShWiFxqlSI/AAAAAAAALxk/N1JjFCLbaMw2xiGvRYxfLaLNzF9C1qUOwCLcB/s640/IMG_3360.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>This is me pretending I'm not scared we're going to rent a car and drive in Scotland. </b></span> </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The closer we came to completing the car
rental paperwork, the more nervous I felt.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">As Abby slid into the driver’s seat of our rental car on the “wrong”
side, and I slid into the passenger seat on the “wrong” side, I did my best to
keep my mounting fear tamped down.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> A</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">s
she pulled away from the Enterprise office, even though the left
front wheel went up and over a curb in front of some folks from Texas renting
their own car, as well as the Enterprise sales guy, she kept her composure.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">As we approached the first turn we began the
chant that we repeated regularly throughout the whole trip: </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">stay
left, stay left, stay left, turn left stay left, turn right stay left, turn
left stay left, turn right stay left, stay left, stay left, stay left.</span></i><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I tried really hard not to
increase Abby’s nervousness as she drove the 10 or so miles from the airport to our B&B on the “wrong”
side of narrow roads bordered by half an inch of shoulder, cars coming at us
from the “wrong” direction and roundabouts with multiple lanes of traffic going
the “wrong” way.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> However, I suspect my ramrod straight body, my involuntary gasp whenever I thought my side of the car was coming too close to those sharp-edged curbs and rock walls, and the death grip I had on my phone as Ms. Google directed us, might have caused her some small amount of stress.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">When we finally got to
the B&B and could leave the car and walk to a local pub to unwind it felt to
me like we’d won the lottery </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">– or what I
imagine it would feel like to win the lottery, which I would be happy to
experience so I could really know if winning a million dollars feels as awesome
as surviving our first drive in Scotland.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fJVydfo5AcA/WSc9Fq5w1HI/AAAAAAAALqY/rJU4lNdlS1cB9gjVKsxxSAWO9wTF0Jc7gCEw/s1600/IMG_4755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fJVydfo5AcA/WSc9Fq5w1HI/AAAAAAAALqY/rJU4lNdlS1cB9gjVKsxxSAWO9wTF0Jc7gCEw/s640/IMG_4755.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Yep. That's haggis, tatties and neeps.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It wasn’t long before Abby was
enjoying the curvy, narrow roads and driving like a native.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Heck, she got so good I calmed down enough that <span style="font-family: "calibri";">–</span> sometimes <span style="font-family: "calibri";">–</span> I even looked away
from the cars coming at us and actually looked at the scenery.</span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8obT8VZLqt8/WShcGrc_iFI/AAAAAAAALx0/Vj7WQU2h5egrFoFa9fkOVuesGd178ferwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8obT8VZLqt8/WShcGrc_iFI/AAAAAAAALx0/Vj7WQU2h5egrFoFa9fkOVuesGd178ferwCLcB/s640/IMG_4785.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The views on the way to Stac
Pollaidh, a mountain we planned to hike, </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">were breathtaking, but once we
got there and I looked up at that craggy mountain peak my first thought was,</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> are you kidding me? We’re going to hike up
there!?</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>No way.</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> There's no trail. </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>It looks impossible to hike.</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>And it’s so high.</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>So, so high.</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>
</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>I won</i><i>'t </i><i>make it up there. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My second thought
was, </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>I wonder how Abby’s going to haul me
down when I become paralyzed with fear </i>because ... well ... </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I have a thing about
heights.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And it’s not a O</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">h, golly isn’t this glorious? </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s awesome to be so high</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> kind of a thing.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">No, mine’s more of a </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m going to die,</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">don’t look
down, don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down, oh, sh*t, why did I
look down?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">What the hell am I doing up
here?</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> kind of a thing.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But when your
daughter is brave enough to drive in Scotland, and she really, really, really
wants to hike up a mountain, you really, really, really, really don’t want to
be a gutless chicken and say no.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">As I was
pulling on my backpack, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into, I
looked around at the other people in the parking area and was completely
gobsmacked (as they like to say in the UK) by what I saw.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Every person who was lacing up their boots, putting
on their backpack, getting out their walking sticks and heading out to hike
that mountain had grey or white hair.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So
my third thought was, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">if they can do it,
I can do it.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or at least I can try.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It wasn’t an easy hike.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We did find a trail – but it
wasn’t like what I’m used to in Wyoming where the trails are switchbacks and
the trees conceal the altitude so I can hike oblivious to how high I am.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This trail was pretty much straight up and I
discovered quickly, when I was always lagging 50 – 75 yards behind Abby, that
being in pretty good shape at 64 isn’t the same as being 36.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QT2zsmDGK0I/WSdIuD4S32I/AAAAAAAALr4/65XZIGPmaeM9pHM1iuyo7maH4V_6Cb5eQCLcB/s1600/IMG_5060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QT2zsmDGK0I/WSdIuD4S32I/AAAAAAAALr4/65XZIGPmaeM9pHM1iuyo7maH4V_6Cb5eQCLcB/s640/IMG_5060.JPG" width="480" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I also discovered that photo opportunities are cunning excuses
for a break.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As we were hiking, Abby
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/975584762"><b>mapped our hike with this super cool Strava app</b></a> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">so when we finished the hike we
knew we’d hiked 3.3 miles in an hour and 44 minutes (excluding my frequent </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">photo opportunities)</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> with an elevation
gain of 1,550 feet – for Abby.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mine was
a bit less because I magnanimously volunteered to stay a bit lower to take a
photo of her when she hiked even further up the peak.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r2-boz0Fih8/WSdKOnzwHEI/AAAAAAAALsI/aaL37_YmOf0SgXCWE6TKfSbEd6GvF93fgCLcB/s1600/IMG_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r2-boz0Fih8/WSdKOnzwHEI/AAAAAAAALsI/aaL37_YmOf0SgXCWE6TKfSbEd6GvF93fgCLcB/s640/IMG_0024.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SQV70ZAfgGQ/WSdLI4z6vsI/AAAAAAAALsU/J7vIvyKGWsk3FgWmOaoZs0t-97YK5OyPgCEw/s1600/IMG_5073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SQV70ZAfgGQ/WSdLI4z6vsI/AAAAAAAALsU/J7vIvyKGWsk3FgWmOaoZs0t-97YK5OyPgCEw/s640/IMG_5073.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">(<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S8BrMAsSJxo/WSdLI7qPo8I/AAAAAAAALsY/5oCat_siohMpm4C0l3yVT-O8RVEq788ugCEw/s1600/IMG_5081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S8BrMAsSJxo/WSdLI7qPo8I/AAAAAAAALsY/5oCat_siohMpm4C0l3yVT-O8RVEq788ugCEw/s640/IMG_5081.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>See her tiny arms waving up at the skyline near the center?</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And the app even told us we burned 471
calories.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Wait! What?!</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> Shouldn't that have been 1,</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">471 calories?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Was that enough to cover the celebratory beer
we drank later?</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZAxSe19fBY/WShehlE-sSI/AAAAAAAALyA/bwDDstRROSkZPPDuGhZx9s0zQ3LYhyfygCLcB/s1600/IMG_4999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZAxSe19fBY/WShehlE-sSI/AAAAAAAALyA/bwDDstRROSkZPPDuGhZx9s0zQ3LYhyfygCLcB/s640/IMG_4999.JPG" width="358" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We were both more than ready for
that beer when we got back to town because before we bagged Stac Pollaidh we
had walked 4.4 miles to the Old Man of Stoer.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vAqwci3FwWo/WSdOUDrpLQI/AAAAAAAALs8/RtjTi6ObXM0NF0WpVgOO6RQLb1eY-S1fQCEw/s1600/IMG_5034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vAqwci3FwWo/WSdOUDrpLQI/AAAAAAAALs8/RtjTi6ObXM0NF0WpVgOO6RQLb1eY-S1fQCEw/s640/IMG_5034.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Nj02ynI-lw/WSdORQY3YlI/AAAAAAAALs8/PNv7rSHnHAkY_mXGkV7KfVNDbeawqfkFwCEw/s1600/IMG_5047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Nj02ynI-lw/WSdORQY3YlI/AAAAAAAALs8/PNv7rSHnHAkY_mXGkV7KfVNDbeawqfkFwCEw/s640/IMG_5047.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There was a bit of wind on that hike but
being from Wyoming a little wind didn’t even phase us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nHrf8Q5mRD4/WSdNikSivZI/AAAAAAAALss/xYE2GxPbAR484LHA6TUllDrude-8W3jJACEw/s1600/IMG_3469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nHrf8Q5mRD4/WSdNikSivZI/AAAAAAAALss/xYE2GxPbAR484LHA6TUllDrude-8W3jJACEw/s640/IMG_3469.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">After that, there was no turning
back.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Quinag Mountain was up next.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-txw_bH22Wwg/WSdXTH0HOVI/AAAAAAAALuI/Djr560mktRcByjx879ixm6uf5X7ey7aDACEw/s1600/DSC01743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-txw_bH22Wwg/WSdXTH0HOVI/AAAAAAAALuI/Djr560mktRcByjx879ixm6uf5X7ey7aDACEw/s640/DSC01743.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hike begins on the left and goes toward the right. Yikes!</span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana";"><br /></span></b></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As we discussed the hike, the
elevation gain, and its boot ranking – four out of five from the <a href="https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/"><b>WalkingHighlands website</b></a> (</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">compared to three for Stac
Pollaigh and The Old Man of Stoer) – </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Abby’s eyes were burning with anticipation while mine were smoldering with fear.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-npN_384j2H8/WSdYUZk4-8I/AAAAAAAALuk/NYD3-SFE2XEtOe1_JwAOccA-F6Xl9THTACEw/s1600/IMG_5101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-npN_384j2H8/WSdYUZk4-8I/AAAAAAAALuk/NYD3-SFE2XEtOe1_JwAOccA-F6Xl9THTACEw/s640/IMG_5101.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I
was scared.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I didn’t really know if I
was strong enough to walk that trail, or go that high without being frozen with
fear.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But I didn’t want to let her
down.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And I didn’t want to give up on
myself without trying.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I figured if I
had to, I’d just stop and come up with some really good reason why I needed to
walk back down and take lots and lots of photos from the bottom.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As we hiked up the steep, rocky hillside the constant refrain in my head was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">When I was clambering over rocks I was focusing so hard on not getting my foot caught that when I finally came to a point where I could stand up, still far from the top I might add, I completely forgot my mantra ……… and looked down.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I thought I only whispered my expletive but apparently not because Abby, who was waiting a few feet away, said, <i>Mom?</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>Did you just swear?!</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>Uh, yep.</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>Sorry.</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><i>It just popped out.</i></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yxh1xpBKg-Y/WSdUjbFfIJI/AAAAAAAALtg/TqIrWaCuuvUs38opgwRoPUPti0gE-2NRACEw/s1600/IMG_3514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yxh1xpBKg-Y/WSdUjbFfIJI/AAAAAAAALtg/TqIrWaCuuvUs38opgwRoPUPti0gE-2NRACEw/s640/IMG_3514.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAxuY1FKV2I/WSdYpf14txI/AAAAAAAALuk/0r375WXRUnoFDwu2tDg03A_UQYMcFG-DwCEw/s1600/IMG_5113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JAxuY1FKV2I/WSdYpf14txI/AAAAAAAALuk/0r375WXRUnoFDwu2tDg03A_UQYMcFG-DwCEw/s640/IMG_5113.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We made it to the top of the first <a href="https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/corbetts/"><b>Corbett</b></a> but then we had to walk over a narrow ridge to get to the next one.<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">One small mistake while walking across this 12-inch wide ridge would have resulted in plunging straight down thousands and thousands of feet to certain death. Well .............. that’s what it felt like to me as I was walking across anyway.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aAcYoQfXiJo/WSdUyq_1n_I/AAAAAAAALtg/FuAVDZrA0FkreAgSO7qOCnFeb2-c05wGgCEw/s1600/IMG_3526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aAcYoQfXiJo/WSdUyq_1n_I/AAAAAAAALtg/FuAVDZrA0FkreAgSO7qOCnFeb2-c05wGgCEw/s640/IMG_3526.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>This is me pretending I'm not scared I'll </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>be blown </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>off the edge, </b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>or fall and roll off the edge, </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>or just freeze in </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>place </b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>from terror </b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>partway across.</b></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4R-z0PdBXV4/WSiT1u1t7bI/AAAAAAAALyk/EtG6JJmx0xA6nmwd7RWghfMRBcnoUFQFwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4R-z0PdBXV4/WSiT1u1t7bI/AAAAAAAALyk/EtG6JJmx0xA6nmwd7RWghfMRBcnoUFQFwCLcB/s640/IMG_3528.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Even Abby was a little nervous – about me anyway.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But I did it.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> And s</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">he did it. And we were able to reach the top of the second Corbett.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">If we would have had more time we would have conquered the third. And in case you’re wondering ... not continuing on had nothing at all to do with my 64-year-old energy level. Really.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t7bNwOf5xto/WSdW7zVNX4I/AAAAAAAALuI/La9lUUuorbgbeUuAo2JnUUr8H2FeR7qoQCEw/s1600/DSC01729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t7bNwOf5xto/WSdW7zVNX4I/AAAAAAAALuI/La9lUUuorbgbeUuAo2JnUUr8H2FeR7qoQCEw/s640/DSC01729.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6uUNzxngVIU/WSdWJN0gT5I/AAAAAAAALt0/_Dr81dwNUoQL7U3ETQf1pFrTamVit1fdwCEw/s1600/DSC01718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6uUNzxngVIU/WSdWJN0gT5I/AAAAAAAALt0/_Dr81dwNUoQL7U3ETQf1pFrTamVit1fdwCEw/s640/DSC01718.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r8ziyF6kLc4/WSdWH5eayMI/AAAAAAAALt0/1GD-bhSYiJUYCNKPNv7l2c6ADuRsB1fvwCEw/s1600/DSC01727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r8ziyF6kLc4/WSdWH5eayMI/AAAAAAAALt0/1GD-bhSYiJUYCNKPNv7l2c6ADuRsB1fvwCEw/s640/DSC01727.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">After 6 ½ hours </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">(4 hours walking time), hiking 7.6 miles with
an elevation gain of 2,242 feet we’d done it!</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/976891702"><b>Bagged two of the three Corbetts of Quinag Mountain</b></a>!!</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-veh6ABERHxI/WSdXEg4GsbI/AAAAAAAALuI/SMuX6HT6ri0sOC-QoMilUjYAItTerHd9gCEw/s1600/DSC01741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-veh6ABERHxI/WSdXEg4GsbI/AAAAAAAALuI/SMuX6HT6ri0sOC-QoMilUjYAItTerHd9gCEw/s640/DSC01741.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l1o3yS3SLxk/WSdUq0tPEGI/AAAAAAAALtg/aMOB1rpXz-wXte4HOPhFIOUtIXWT6IT5ACEw/s1600/IMG_3539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l1o3yS3SLxk/WSdUq0tPEGI/AAAAAAAALtg/aMOB1rpXz-wXte4HOPhFIOUtIXWT6IT5ACEw/s640/IMG_3539.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And you know what helped keep me going? – besides Abby telling me I could? – the 75 year old woman who came
up from behind early in the hike and passed not only me but Abby.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We caught up to her as she was taking a short break, leisurely munching
on a piece of chocolate before she headed back down.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She told us she’d summited all three Corbetts
many, many times but she wasn’t going to walk the whole trail that day because
she was </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">with friends who were slow</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Just don’t go down the steep way
when you’re finished, </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">she said</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s way too steep.</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We were both
pretty proud of what we'd done. Not only that, I didn’t fall, I
didn’t twist my ankle, Abby didn’t have to rescue me, and I only swore that one time – loud enough to be heard anyway – even
though when we headed back we got confused and went down “the steep way.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
In our seven days in Scotland we had perfect weather as we hiked more than 50 miles over
indescribably beautiful landscapes under bright blue sunny skies.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The northern highlands of Scotland are a
“wild and remote” place as my British cousin’s wife wrote to me in an e-mail and
she wasn’t kidding.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If you want to </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">get up and close and personal to the local wildlife ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcY_-VuVgYU/WShAwUCK38I/AAAAAAAALu8/ix8LpsSt_q4LllVrT06iF0sHE8kAMbfMgCLcB/s1600/IMG_5128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcY_-VuVgYU/WShAwUCK38I/AAAAAAAALu8/ix8LpsSt_q4LllVrT06iF0sHE8kAMbfMgCLcB/s640/IMG_5128.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0FTC-wskiSQ/WShCHw0BFqI/AAAAAAAALvM/pvToOfTwxa4HKGUCEV1H7GMiBJGmkcRYQCLcB/s1600/DSC01696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0FTC-wskiSQ/WShCHw0BFqI/AAAAAAAALvM/pvToOfTwxa4HKGUCEV1H7GMiBJGmkcRYQCLcB/s640/DSC01696.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">take some great hikes ... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HjaRVHLc6Yw/WShEA6yMO5I/AAAAAAAALvk/lW_gyrb6tfMm-BoV5GwSuaz-URShpVR4wCLcB/s1600/IMG_4966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HjaRVHLc6Yw/WShEA6yMO5I/AAAAAAAALvk/lW_gyrb6tfMm-BoV5GwSuaz-URShpVR4wCLcB/s640/IMG_4966.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r-8NHBLYgjY/WSiXzZYihcI/AAAAAAAALyw/E5BkqR8-1CMDhjjdDz7ETIkAtV6lic7nACLcB/s1600/DSC01690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r-8NHBLYgjY/WSiXzZYihcI/AAAAAAAALyw/E5BkqR8-1CMDhjjdDz7ETIkAtV6lic7nACLcB/s640/DSC01690.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">kick back on the beach ... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vn88dA9Hg1I/WShGDFciHwI/AAAAAAAALv0/ObrbsLHLoZM72MxreYs5mQrwUOCvv89SQCLcB/s1600/IMG_5059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vn88dA9Hg1I/WShGDFciHwI/AAAAAAAALv0/ObrbsLHLoZM72MxreYs5mQrwUOCvv89SQCLcB/s640/IMG_5059.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">or just experience
breath-taking views of the sea and the ocean </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">... </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HqxetwrDngI/WSidhhEoQUI/AAAAAAAALzI/nyZYuXMewD4cqv9mB8Hah12PEYdQsZVnwCLcB/s1600/DSC01628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HqxetwrDngI/WSidhhEoQUI/AAAAAAAALzI/nyZYuXMewD4cqv9mB8Hah12PEYdQsZVnwCLcB/s640/DSC01628.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QelWQVygpIg/WShDPr0MzRI/AAAAAAAALvc/yyCzopOdf7gtgcUZIx8Tf3cj2HS6LQkvQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QelWQVygpIg/WShDPr0MzRI/AAAAAAAALvc/yyCzopOdf7gtgcUZIx8Tf3cj2HS6LQkvQCLcB/s640/IMG_4802.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
the countryside ... <br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-doPErfHskWA/WShLsg2-ACI/AAAAAAAALwg/Icz4a1jjb40SqoW4SbkiXKrOr9E79tZqQCLcB/s1600/DSC01639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-doPErfHskWA/WShLsg2-ACI/AAAAAAAALwg/Icz4a1jjb40SqoW4SbkiXKrOr9E79tZqQCLcB/s640/DSC01639.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">sandy beaches ... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WV5GY6Pv1Ko/WShHwTdCKFI/AAAAAAAALwA/E-gQKVd3wAgOcuZ69xmEwY3e70gcJHwIgCLcB/s1600/DSC01647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WV5GY6Pv1Ko/WShHwTdCKFI/AAAAAAAALwA/E-gQKVd3wAgOcuZ69xmEwY3e70gcJHwIgCLcB/s640/DSC01647.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">rocky cliffs ... </span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1AXyJdgzH28/WShMvmYYXYI/AAAAAAAALws/sMxeq_o8fZ0frTsaT7N3aHxu5Hkq4y_wgCLcB/s1600/IMG_5052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1AXyJdgzH28/WShMvmYYXYI/AAAAAAAALws/sMxeq_o8fZ0frTsaT7N3aHxu5Hkq4y_wgCLcB/s640/IMG_5052.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">and sheep ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OgONgZpC6J8/WShOOaOcRcI/AAAAAAAALw4/MU6FH5CJEkEB95ykvt8_4kHQcDK1bMvMACLcB/s1600/DSC01578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OgONgZpC6J8/WShOOaOcRcI/AAAAAAAALw4/MU6FH5CJEkEB95ykvt8_4kHQcDK1bMvMACLcB/s640/DSC01578.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> sheep ... </span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HlehDi9Puyk/WSiX0KJy3mI/AAAAAAAALy4/9wJJklS45dc1al9M60JBbvlQKOYMT9CWgCEw/s1600/DSC01689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HlehDi9Puyk/WSiX0KJy3mI/AAAAAAAALy4/9wJJklS45dc1al9M60JBbvlQKOYMT9CWgCEw/s640/DSC01689.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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sheep ...</div>
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<div>
<br /></div>
and more sheep ...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TlHuFL0pNIc/WShP_hEnTiI/AAAAAAAALxU/ydifQfQWaa4hLWktazkLK_Qx0rGrhy_hQCEw/s1600/IMG_5039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TlHuFL0pNIc/WShP_hEnTiI/AAAAAAAALxU/ydifQfQWaa4hLWktazkLK_Qx0rGrhy_hQCEw/s640/IMG_5039.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">this is the place to go.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
if you’re like me and you need a little nudge sometimes, go with your child or
somebody younger than you.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Because being
with Abby pushed me to at least try even when I didn’t think I could do
it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And because I did try, I found I could do more than I thought I could.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I survived hiking two mountains and I didn’t fall
off the edge, or roll down the side or get my foot caught in rocks or break my
ankle or cry from fear when I looked down from over 2,000 feet.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So who knows what’s next?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Anything’s possible.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I might even look down the next time I’m in a
glass-fronted elevator.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fju-To2Uprs/WSiMOYVR73I/AAAAAAAALyQ/YlxIhSud5qEbIVI4kv9T83RvAxcQ7tKxQCLcB/s1600/IMG_3430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fju-To2Uprs/WSiMOYVR73I/AAAAAAAALyQ/YlxIhSud5qEbIVI4kv9T83RvAxcQ7tKxQCLcB/s640/IMG_3430.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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</span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-18085437225522780372017-01-26T15:49:00.000-07:002017-01-26T15:53:03.760-07:00Helen, I Am Ready<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">I’ve never been a very political
person.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I read and listen to the news
just enough to feel like I have a basic knowledge of what’s going on in the
world.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I vote but I’ve never gotten
involved in the political process other than the one time I put an Obama sign
in our yard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m not proud of it but
I’ve just never been deeply knowledgeable about world and political
affairs.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I stand back and assume
everything will work out. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">And I’ve never been a brave
person. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not that I haven’t wished I
was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d like to think I could take a
road trip by myself to go visit a friend.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Or drive up to the mountains to meet somebody for hiking or skiing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or drive myself to the Denver airport all by
myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I tell myself I don’t do these
things because I get lost so easily I'm surprised I even found my way out of
my mother’s womb.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But the more likely reason
is I’m just afraid to try.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I admire
women who are not afraid to try new things; women who are brave.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I so wish I was more like them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I’m not.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">H</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">owever, after I recovered from
the despair and shock of Donald Trump’s election I decided I could no longer use fear as an excuse. I have decided I can no longer
stand back and assume everything will work out.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I accept the fact that he is now our President but I do not have to
stand by and accept his lies.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I do not
have to stand by and accept that what Donald Trump seems to care about most is Donald Trump.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I do not have to
stand by and accept Donald Trump's misogynistic comments.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>So when I heard there was going to be a <a href="https://www.womensmarch.com/mission/">Women’s March On Washington DC</a> to
stand up for women’s rights, I wanted to go.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Oh, I really wanted to go.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I wasn’t brave enough to go by
myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I wasn’t brave enough to
drive to the <a href="http://www.marchoncolorado.org/home/missionstatement">Women’s March On Denver</a> by myself to take part in that one either. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">But because of Donald Trump's words and actions, Leslie also felt compelled to attend the Women's March. And because Leslie is brave, she drove Emerson and Myra and I seven hours to Denver where we held hands and, together, we marched. We didn't go to protest Trump's election. We went to to stand up for women's rights and all human rights. We went to show Emerson and Myra that they have a voice. That they can stand up for what they believe. That they can be part of the democratic process. That they can make a difference.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">We found our way to the starting
point, Voorhies Memorial Pond in Civic Center Park, at about 8:30 a.m., an hour
before the march was to begin.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lcJbp236NPc/WIjcvGE4ImI/AAAAAAAALlw/Hisw5yJyKMUUaHuC-MrHGC-w33cYj3xDQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4574%2B%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lcJbp236NPc/WIjcvGE4ImI/AAAAAAAALlw/Hisw5yJyKMUUaHuC-MrHGC-w33cYj3xDQCLcB/s640/IMG_4574%2B%25281%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding the light rail to the march.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"></span>As we
walked through the opening in the archway and saw there were already hundreds
of people ahead of us my eyes welled with tears.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There were women of all ages, there were men,
there were families, there were young girls, there were babies.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Some were carrying signs, some were wearing
pink – hats, scarves, shoes, mittens – and everybody was upbeat and smiling
and excited.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana"; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-884yV-S_1j0/WIjsc5PO93I/AAAAAAAALmc/v5lYS_3eqM4GCTSJMmpV7oFeO0TaqFwMwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-884yV-S_1j0/WIjsc5PO93I/AAAAAAAALmc/v5lYS_3eqM4GCTSJMmpV7oFeO0TaqFwMwCLcB/s640/IMG_4577.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our starting point. The center arch behind us was the beginning of the march.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">We walked around a bit to keep our feet
warm since it was only about 30 degrees but as more and more people arrived we
finally had to find our place and wait for the march to begin.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span> The newspaper
that morning had predicted 40,000 people would attend the Denver march.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We had no idea if we were anywhere close to
that number because all we could see were the people around us. So we hoisted Myra up on my shoulders and
she took some photos of the marchers. But still, we had no idea how to
judge the numbers. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">The time for the march to begin
came and went.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>15 minutes late.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Half an hour late.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We had no idea what the holdup was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Had there been a delay in blocking off the
streets?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Was the person who was supposed
to lead the march late in arriving?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All
we had to do was start walking, how hard could it be to give the signal to
start?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Finally, about 10:15 a.m., 45
minutes after the march was scheduled to begin, we realized we were actually
taking small steps forward and making progress.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">As we neared that central arch where the march began a volunteer
yelled out that the march really HAD started on time.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It had taken nearly 45 minutes for us to
even begin making forward progress because there over 100,000 people
marching! Almost three times more than the
morning paper had predicted.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We walked
through the opening of the arch and were met with a solid mass of people. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">Thousands and thousands of </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">women, men and children chanting and waving signs.<span style="margin: 0px;"> T</span>hey had completely filled the streets and sidewalks out front because there was no room for them where we had been waiting. It was overwhelming.<span style="margin: 0px;"> The waves of emotion that I felt were indescribable and t</span>he tears that had only welled up in my eyes
when we first arrived spilled out this time.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I could not believe my eyes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I felt like I had found my tribe. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And it was liberating.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">And I thank Donald Trump for
giving me that most transforming experience.<span style="margin: 0px;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JJ3YWpUS54I/WIjuTJ7291I/AAAAAAAALm8/7vG1vzrjLXIlff_YOcM3h805a-uto_scQCEw/s1600/civic_center3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JJ3YWpUS54I/WIjuTJ7291I/AAAAAAAALm8/7vG1vzrjLXIlff_YOcM3h805a-uto_scQCEw/s640/civic_center3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from Denver Post on-line.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">Yes, Donald Trump, I thank you.<span style="margin: 0px;">
I thank you e</span>ven though I think you’re a buffoon who will make decisions based on advice from whoever who stroked your ego the
most.<span style="margin: 0px;"> I thank you even </span>though I think our
country and the environment are going to suffer in innumerable ways from those
decisions.<span style="margin: 0px;"> I thank you ev</span>en though I cannot
respect you, because you,
Donald Trump, made me realize I can no longer stand back and do nothing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> You, Donald Trump, have forced me outside my comfort zone. </span>Yes,
you, Donald Trump are making me brave. </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-66715672997641935512016-12-17T11:41:00.000-07:002016-12-17T11:41:32.653-07:00Two Turkeys With One Stone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For those of you who <u>are</u> on my Christmas card/letter list: </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">you've already gotten this letter so you can click delete ......... UNLESS you want to see the photos I've added. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For those of you who are <u><b>not</b></u> on my Christmas card/letter list: This year's Christmas letter was so much like a blog post I figured if I'd gone to all the work to write it, I might as well post it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">December, 2016</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">Autumn lasted
so long this year I was beginning to wonder if we’d be eating Christmas dinner
out on the deck but as it turned out, one day I was digging in the garden, bits
of compost sticking to my sweaty skin, and two days later 12 inches of snow
fell.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I fretted because we still had
half a row of potatoes to dig up but Dean was fretting about his 30 or so wild
turkey “children” because they weren’t eating.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Earlier in the day, as he had walked around the yard shaking his can of
birdseed, they’d followed him like he was the Pied Piper of Turkeyland and watched
as he spread the seed over an area he had lovingly cleared of snow so they
wouldn’t have to punch their ugly little beady-eyed h</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">eads through the snow to
find it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But instead of eating the seed
they just hopped around it, bobbing their heads up and down, squawking.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I suggested that maybe they just weren’t
hungry but he assured me that they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had</i>
to be hungry.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He hadn’t fed them the day
before when it was snowing so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they’re probably
starving!!</i> I thought they were just stupid.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>After all, once they fly over the eight-foot high fence into our garden there’s
almost always one bird too stupid to remember how to fly out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When we see Mr. or Ms. Dim-Wit stuck in the
garden, we open the gate and shoo it toward the opening, only to watch the
pea-brain run right past that wide-open gate, poke its head through the fence,
discover its body isn’t following, run further, shove its head through the
fence, and on and on, until finally! the dingbat flies over the fence to
freedom … or the next fenced in garden.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">Fortunately
winter hadn’t arrived yet when we went to DC to visit Abby or I might have had
to find a turkey-sitter who would send Dean daily updates of his gobblers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She was there working on a three month
temporary detail as Acting Deputy Chief of Staff for APHIS (Animal Plant Health
and Inspection Service) and we thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what
a great opportunity for Abby to share her small one-bedroom apartment AND every
minute of her free time with us for ten whole days!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">While she was hard at work Dean and I
went to museum after museum after museum and we only got yelled at by a museum guard
one time each.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was just glad there
were only a few other tourists around each time it happened so it was only
super embarrassing – not super duper embarrassing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When we weren’t in a museum we were in an art
gallery, and even though art galleries aren’t my thing and I didn’t “get” a lot
of what I saw, or understand why some exhibits were even considered art, I
tried really hard to appreciate it, and most especially tried not to yawn when
Dean was looking my way.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b>When we walked into this gallery the room was filled with objects made of antelope, deer and elk bone </b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b>and my first reaction was, “seriously?” I came all the way to DC just to see more animal stuff? But it was </b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><b>all really pretty cool.</b></span> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><b>Really? This is art? Do YOU “get” it?</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">We also learned
how to ride the metro to where we really <u>intended </u>to go, and even got to
experience the fear, racing heart and barely contained panic when, on one trip,
the train door opened and a metro policeman bellowed “evacuate the
station!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Evacuate the station!”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Addendum to original letter ~~~~ We did actually do more than just go to museums and art galleries. The first weekend we rented a tiny (and from the groans we heard in the back seat apparently shockless) car which we drove to Chincoteague Island so Abby could get her beach fix ....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.....and Assateague Island to see the wild horses.</span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DMfnYrAP4uw/WE8YNbhi2fI/AAAAAAAALjE/NXM67TznlScuiUVTf67klM-ESHqlc7WpwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DMfnYrAP4uw/WE8YNbhi2fI/AAAAAAAALjE/NXM67TznlScuiUVTf67klM-ESHqlc7WpwCLcB/s640/IMG_4051.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The next weekend on Saturday we metro'd and uber'd to Mount Vernon and a street art festival and then on Sunday rented another tiny little rattle-trap car (which was upgraded to a Mercedes!) and we drove to Great Falls on the Potomac River....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">..... and finished the day by pulling up in style to a winery.</span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-My_aqSD-Oh0/WFWE8DC5mTI/AAAAAAAALks/T4QrvkZLbPw3MFNrEn4-KyotRVvBPlgKwCLcB/s1600/Reindeer.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-My_aqSD-Oh0/WFWE8DC5mTI/AAAAAAAALks/T4QrvkZLbPw3MFNrEn4-KyotRVvBPlgKwCLcB/s200/Reindeer.gif" width="156" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;">A</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;">nd now ... back to my original Christmas letter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">Jorge was
only able to visit Abby once while she was in DC because he’s been busy finishing
up the final statistics, lab work, analysis, writing and everything else he
needs to do in order to complete his PhD in the fall of 2017. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Who knows where they’ll live once he finishes
and finds a job (if it’s DC we still have our metro cards!) but wherever it is,
we’ll be brightening their lives with our visits.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">Leslie and
Ryan will be going to DC themselves for a week in April because a few weeks ago
Ryan was chosen as the Wyoming State Teacher of the Year!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They’ll be participating in all kinds of
activities, one of which will be a black-tie dinner at the White House, but
what they’re really excited about is that all five of them will get to go to
Space Camp!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As exciting as that is, I
think Leslie was even more ecstatic when, after a year and a half of taking
classes, studying and writing papers at the same time she was teaching full
time, she finished her Masters in Special Education.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">That means
that I am now the only non-nerd in the family.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If I <u>was</u> a nerd, I would develop
a spreadsheet of the composition, size, shape, texture and weight of every
object Baxter has thrown up.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or I would
analyze the dog food that Angus had been eating to determine why it gave him
seizures.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or I would calculate degree
days to determine the average date of arrival of Box Elder bugs so I’d be armed
and ready for the annual massacre.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or
I’d write a program to model the average placement, circumference and sliminess
of the turkey poop left in our yard so I’d know where to step.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But instead I think I’ll just accept my
non-nerd status and go bake some Christmas cookies.</span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0H5GRdB2WiI/WFWCVruB5mI/AAAAAAAALkU/NrsiIiQ2xqwrIEEqMv7TV-vRT-65xUvgwCLcB/s1600/Animated-Xmas-tree_animation.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0H5GRdB2WiI/WFWCVruB5mI/AAAAAAAALkU/NrsiIiQ2xqwrIEEqMv7TV-vRT-65xUvgwCLcB/s1600/Animated-Xmas-tree_animation.gif" /></a></div>
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<span style="clear: right; color: red; float: right; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><b><i><u><sub><sup><strike><br /></strike></sup></sub></u></i></b></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!!</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"> </span><b><i><sub><sup><strike><br /></strike></sup></sub></i></b></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-195364175812011042016-10-09T16:33:00.000-06:002016-10-09T16:40:12.004-06:00The Brothers Grimm Had A Sister – AKA Construction With Cookies Round Two <br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Once upon a
time in a land where men not only listen but actually hear what their wives are saying, and dogs don’t bark and vomit at three in the
morning, there lived a husband and wife.
And it so happened that one day the wife said to the husband, “oh, my
dear sweet husband. I know it’s only
been about 3 ½ years since we paid those worker bees to install new windows and
oak flooring but do you think you’d have time to frame the windows and put on
new baseboards? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zbNNDgiGoxM/V_qPN00gweI/AAAAAAAALgs/AQdds_3U1gkH9eHwPXD-3KUsl6il377rwCLcB/s1600/IMG_1581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zbNNDgiGoxM/V_qPN00gweI/AAAAAAAALgs/AQdds_3U1gkH9eHwPXD-3KUsl6il377rwCLcB/s640/IMG_1581.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh, and as long as you're at it, would you frame those four doors too? You are so skilled and
so meticulous that I know they would be perfect when you were finished. Plus it would save me lots and lots of
money.” The wife’s husband puffed up
his chest with pride and said, “why yes, of course my beautiful wife. I would <strike>say</strike> do anything to <strike>keep you
off my back</strike> make you happy because I do love you so.” And within days all the windows and doors were
magically adorned with beautiful frames, baseboards graced the floors and the
husband and wife lived happily after.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And now …
here’s how it really went down.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So Dean, do
you have any idea when you’ll be able to frame these windows and doors put on
the baseboards? I’m happy to help in any way I can. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I thought
you already HAD organized your garage. No,
no. That’s okay. If there’s anything I’ve gotten good at during the 44 years I've been married to you it’s being patient. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">What? You’re taking out the wood-burning barrel
stove and having a gas furnace put in?
Really? You hate noise and a gas
furnace is going to blow hot air – and that will be noisy. And anyway, I don’t think taking it out is
going to free up as much space as you think it will.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Wait a
minute. You’re taking off the sheets of metal
from the walls?! But I thought you were
so happy the walls were covered in metal because you want to do some
welding. Don’t you think hanging plywood instead of
drywall just so you won’t have to look for studs and can hang your tools
anywhere you want is a little extreme? HOW many coats of varnish are you putting on those walls?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
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</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-do-tZvFweqA/V_qEzIYSQrI/AAAAAAAALe8/v1XihadQ4pYZbsr5Sj9Lw-TBTfprU-uvwCEw/s1600/IMG_3471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-do-tZvFweqA/V_qEzIYSQrI/AAAAAAAALe8/v1XihadQ4pYZbsr5Sj9Lw-TBTfprU-uvwCEw/s640/IMG_3471.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now that’s
just not fair. I understand that the
wood around the windows was rotting and they were old and leaky. I completely agree that you needed to put in all new windows. But you FRAMED
them?! Yeah … okay … right. It probably is good practice for you before
you come inside and frame windows I really care about. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Hey! You already have TWO workbenches. Just because there’s more room without that
barrel stove doesn’t mean you need another workbench. I really don’t think you need one that
humongous just to lay out all the framing wood so you can stain it before you cut
it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Seriously?! You're painting the ceiling???</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">O</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">kay, you’re
right. Your
<i>no-cars-are-allowed-in-here-garage/workshop</i> does look very neat and
organized. No, no. I understand.
I just wasn’t expecting it to take four months. But I’m so excited that now you can begin
framing the windows and doors and putting on baseboards. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C1C1MNvYu7M/V_qE0nkOqeI/AAAAAAAALfA/zsaq-vlgC9UP3OEqxREhSVUr6Tl7YC4TgCEw/s1600/IMG_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C1C1MNvYu7M/V_qE0nkOqeI/AAAAAAAALfA/zsaq-vlgC9UP3OEqxREhSVUr6Tl7YC4TgCEw/s640/IMG_0002.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">What?!!???!!!! What do you mean you’re going to refinish
that antique dental cabinet you got at the auction before you begin working on
the windows? I don’t care if it takes up
space in your garage and you need to get it stripped and sanded and stained and
shellacked so you can move it into your art room and free up space to work on
the wood for the windows. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rCJfIhEWyLY/V_l-zEHc8YI/AAAAAAAALek/JufAfNYnMTsp2p73gfKFCoWBHp0UuSWHwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rCJfIhEWyLY/V_l-zEHc8YI/AAAAAAAALek/JufAfNYnMTsp2p73gfKFCoWBHp0UuSWHwCLcB/s640/IMG_4021.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You know
what? Since you haven’t framed those
doors yet I decided to have them replaced. Because
I don’t like them, that’s why. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2N6MOfZiO8s/V_qFhWumJCI/AAAAAAAALfE/154fUIm16z8KMLG0Frfa7u0Had21DNPgACLcB/s1600/IMG_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2N6MOfZiO8s/V_qFhWumJCI/AAAAAAAALfE/154fUIm16z8KMLG0Frfa7u0Had21DNPgACLcB/s640/IMG_0024.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ey4LOniQWLs/V_qGFBRg0fI/AAAAAAAALfM/i-XVMSsSaF4hz1Gm6jqKSfB4Wpd-iiV_QCLcB/s1600/IMG_0058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ey4LOniQWLs/V_qGFBRg0fI/AAAAAAAALfM/i-XVMSsSaF4hz1Gm6jqKSfB4Wpd-iiV_QCLcB/s640/IMG_0058.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Of
courses I didn’t NEED to but you didn’t NEED to put in a gas furnace, build a
humongous workbench and stain a dental cabinet either. That’s
right. You smell lemon because while my
bees were hard at work putting in the doors I baked them lemon cookies. Oh, you wanted some? I'm so sorry. I gave
the worker bees all the left over cookies when they left.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_joQ8VEv24A/V_qGdRjBqWI/AAAAAAAALfU/nGi0G1iYLH0WtGDa8EJDsRq010-D6CfbgCLcB/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_joQ8VEv24A/V_qGdRjBqWI/AAAAAAAALfU/nGi0G1iYLH0WtGDa8EJDsRq010-D6CfbgCLcB/s640/IMG_0035.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Guess
what? I decided as long as my worker
bees were here hanging new doors I’d also have them open up the doorway between
the dining room and the family room because a couch won’t fit through that
narrow doorway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOMhmdWzOkU/V_qIid3N59I/AAAAAAAALfw/pcq2yjCbJLwCNu3r268r9r0YHtf4whyxwCLcB/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOMhmdWzOkU/V_qIid3N59I/AAAAAAAALfw/pcq2yjCbJLwCNu3r268r9r0YHtf4whyxwCLcB/s640/IMG_0036.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You don’t remember we
talked about buying a new couch for the family room? Huh.
All the fumes from the stripping solution probably killed some of your
memory cells. Maybe it killed your sense of smell too since you didn't smell the chocolate cookies I
baked the worker bees.
Nope. Sorry. No cookies left. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DVAbM4m5Te0/V_qHzKqtM2I/AAAAAAAALfk/y_VVxAo7DPgYSDi0FizhU9hIL-lvSAK5wCLcB/s1600/IMG_0041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DVAbM4m5Te0/V_qHzKqtM2I/AAAAAAAALfk/y_VVxAo7DPgYSDi0FizhU9hIL-lvSAK5wCLcB/s640/IMG_0041.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s not my
fault they ran into electrical wires when they opened the doorway and they had to call an electrician.
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ixevJBqNBa8/V_qIOksC-PI/AAAAAAAALfs/dXa4BXArqNoKJitFV1-dqHSWTfz8cgOcACLcB/s1600/IMG_0037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ixevJBqNBa8/V_qIOksC-PI/AAAAAAAALfs/dXa4BXArqNoKJitFV1-dqHSWTfz8cgOcACLcB/s640/IMG_0037.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You should just be glad you weren’t the one who had to crawl around in a
sweltering attic rerouting wires. That
electrician really deserved those oatmeal chocolate chip cookies I baked him. Oh, sorry. Did you want some?
He took the rest of the cookies with him when he left. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh,
sure. I know I could have probably done
the drywall work on the door opening but YOU could have also been framing the
windows. I didn't think you’d want any of those frosted lemon cookies so I gave my drywall bee all the rest when he left. </span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UH6sXS1cp0M/V_rDSd_1dCI/AAAAAAAALhU/CdJ6A580vMkFsBQw1ffrGTABM3xE1xDgACLcB/s1600/IMG_0053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UH6sXS1cp0M/V_rDSd_1dCI/AAAAAAAALhU/CdJ6A580vMkFsBQw1ffrGTABM3xE1xDgACLcB/s640/IMG_0053.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you my drywall bee came today to do the final sanding and left before I could give him the rest of the zucchini bread. Of course you can have some!</span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qjN-79IrsIU/V_qKpaGVQDI/AAAAAAAALgM/eaVUI1GqDKgLrA7uycUO0UiN62hp62XHQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qjN-79IrsIU/V_qKpaGVQDI/AAAAAAAALgM/eaVUI1GqDKgLrA7uycUO0UiN62hp62XHQCLcB/s640/IMG_0006.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You know what? I’m not going to have the floor where they
removed part of the wall patched. I’m going to have the whole family room laid with oak flooring. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That way it’ll match all the rest of the
house. Don’t worry. I’m saving all that money by having you do
all the trim work on the windows and doors, remember? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yes, I was a little concerned about not being here to bake for my floor bee since we'll be on vacation when he lays it but I think it will be fine if I bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies and leave them for him. I've heard we get a snack on the flight out of Sheridan so you don't need to worry about bringing any with you. Yes, I’m sure he’d love some of your chokecherry jam and syrup.</span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ubLtiIO3ao/V_qMD1k_aAI/AAAAAAAALgY/hVNbDRfNwyABGPmRL59YBHY3FEL9h4MWQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ubLtiIO3ao/V_qMD1k_aAI/AAAAAAAALgY/hVNbDRfNwyABGPmRL59YBHY3FEL9h4MWQCLcB/s640/IMG_0001.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">When we
get home from our vacation, since you’ve finished your dental cabinet, I’ll be more
than happy to help you any way I can when you put back the family room baseboards and start the trim work. Yes, yes. It IS gorgeous. I was just surprised it took you nearly 12 weeks to finish it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Whaaaaat?!!!!! You think the baseboards you removed from the
family room need to be stripped and sanded and re-stained before you put them
back????!!! <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> What
do YOU think?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Really. I feel much better now. I’ve adjusted to having the very large two-piece china cabinet, file cabinet, liquor cabinet and computer printer stored in the living room and our bedroom. No, really. I don’t mind waiting indefinitely to unpack and replace everything that had been in them until you’ve stripped, sanded and stained those baseboards. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Well since you ask. I’ve been looking at that counter in the
guest bathroom. If I had that replaced
it would sure spruce it up in there.
But I noticed the cabinets are sitting on the counter so I’d need to have
those removed first and heck, as long as I have to do that I might as well replace
them. Do you think new cabinets and counter would make the bathtub and tile look old?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh, sure. I know having you trim all those windows and doors for me isn’t saving enough to completely renovate a bathroom. But ever since we’ve moved in I <u>have</u> been wanting to strip the
wallpaper from our bedroom and bathroom and paint the walls. Although ... if the walls aren’t in great
shape I might need to have them textured because I don’t think I want to put
wallpaper back up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Did you say something? Oh, sorry. I didn't hear you. I was sorting through my cookie recipes.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-61645379594897782912016-08-11T18:41:00.000-06:002016-08-11T18:41:30.148-06:00Chokin’ On Chokecherries
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">Based on her
first and last visit here about three years ago, my sister, Shelly, would tell
you I refuse to turn on the central air – no matter what. Just because I responded, “it will cool down tonight,”
when she politely hinted, “it’s a little warm in here,” as the sweat trickled
down her temple and pooled in her ear canal, I’m pretty sure she thinks I wouldn't turn it on because I’m too
cheap to pay the higher electric bill. I
don’t know where she could have gotten that idea. I buy the almost highest quality box wine I
can find and I don't cover the holes in my gardening gloves with duct tape because I'm too cheap to buy a new pair. I do it because it
makes them sturdier. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">Anyway, that’s in
the past because this summer has been so hot I actually turned on the air
conditioning for a couple of hours – twice! And Dean turned it on a bunch of times –
sometimes for several hours at a time. I
would have survived without it but it does feel pretty okay to walk into a cool
house and have the sweat on my body quickly dry leaving only an imperceptible
layer of salt on my skin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">The heat hasn't been good for my mood but it has
been good for ripening the berries our 5,628,173 chokecherry trees. </span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bss8Y1zHwv4/V60A_Vj2ESI/AAAAAAAALbQ/lSljfWRmB7UbELS_rYlq-iHNCpp8boo9QCLcB/s1600/IMG_0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bss8Y1zHwv4/V60A_Vj2ESI/AAAAAAAALbQ/lSljfWRmB7UbELS_rYlq-iHNCpp8boo9QCLcB/s640/IMG_0016.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">The birds and deer have been feasting on all those fat juicy berries, and even Angus grabbed a mouthful of
berries once during his search for the perfect place to hike his leg. </span><span style="font-family: calibri;">Last year Dean picked and processed the chokecherries all by himself but
this year I magnanimously offered to help.
And he took me up on my offer. Wait,
what?! He made us each a high-tech
chokecherry container (patent pending) out of an old milk jug </span><span style="font-family: calibri;">and off we went into the
chokecherry jungle. Even though it felt like 125 degrees outside, we girded our loins, donned our armor and bravely got scratched, scraped and gouged as we picked pounds and pounds of fruit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">I was carefully
picking each berry one by one, gently dropping them into my special chokecherry
vessel when Dean walked over and said, “no, no, no, no, no, do it like this,”
grabbed a branch with one hand, grasped a handful of berries with his other
hand and stripped them off straight into the special chokecherry
container. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">Boy that speeded
things up. It wasn’t long until my
special chokecherry container was so full I had to waddle into the house cradling
it just like a pregnant belly. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">Then the
real work began. It broke my heart when Dean,
aka Mr. Smucker, told me he wouldn’t let me stir the boiling pot of splattering
berries or scoop the simmering liquid into scalding jars ...</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZTQJgoxgP0/V60C4Q0NkkI/AAAAAAAALbo/R6wqjGKqLx07Yof78oef2XI_eVRKswnHgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZTQJgoxgP0/V60C4Q0NkkI/AAAAAAAALbo/R6wqjGKqLx07Yof78oef2XI_eVRKswnHgCLcB/s640/IMG_3858.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Splatter burn and beard splatter. Yech.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">but he would
<i>let</i> me help sort the berries with stems from the berries without stems. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">It was okay if the berries he used to make jam and
syrup had stems, but the 20 pounds of berries Abby asked us to bring her so she can make chokecherry mead this winter ... they had to be stemless. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My alcohol supplier.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">I hope this winter Dean invents a
special chokecherry sorter. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">When the
cooking and processing was in full swing the whole house was so steamy and hot
I felt like I was back in the Ecuadorian Amazon, except there were no monkeys
chattering at me as they jumped from branch to branch. Not that we didn’t have our own
wildlife. Our wild animals were just so hot they sprawled
out like road kill, the only movement being their oscillating eyeballs as they
kept a lookout, hoping for random chunks of food to drop miraculously right in
front of their noses </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cp3yumUfJAE/V60HDuxnlkI/AAAAAAAALcE/JWw8vpmSB0M40Ll72ygUqcyJztx7sJdaACLcB/s1600/IMG_3897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cp3yumUfJAE/V60HDuxnlkI/AAAAAAAALcE/JWw8vpmSB0M40Ll72ygUqcyJztx7sJdaACLcB/s640/IMG_3897.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angus thinking maybe a carrot will drop out of the sky.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1l91p6GRocw/V60HGppopjI/AAAAAAAALcQ/EYcxCj_aIRo31gwhh_oqudm3_L_uTWt9ACEw/s1600/IMG_3903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1l91p6GRocw/V60HGppopjI/AAAAAAAALcQ/EYcxCj_aIRo31gwhh_oqudm3_L_uTWt9ACEw/s640/IMG_3903.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Baxter hoping a currant muffin or the box the currants came in or a piece of rubber ... </div>
<div>
or a hair tie, or anything, anything at all will fall from the sky and land by his mouth.</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-83a42qlPIEU/V60ZHJ_UA3I/AAAAAAAALdQ/TGtO3xhBB4w1ULKhlbwq1fJenq7APGkMgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-83a42qlPIEU/V60ZHJ_UA3I/AAAAAAAALdQ/TGtO3xhBB4w1ULKhlbwq1fJenq7APGkMgCLcB/s640/IMG_3925.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Sophie is waiting for her dinner to appear on a silver platter. And Maisie ... </div>
<div>
the lump under the blanket ... she's part ostrich and just doesn't care.</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: calibri;">Mr. Smucker
suffered some complications during his jam processing. There were remarks about where that liquid
pectin could go and how it could get there, disparaging comments about poor directions and other words and
phrases I feel are best left unprinted. Those jam batches that stubbornly refused to
thicken and set were renamed syrup. So now we have lots of chokecherry jam and lots
and lots and lots and lots of chokecherry syrup. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1YzDQrOiX1w/V60J0PIfm9I/AAAAAAAALcY/59ZdfsdBtc4UhlFi5xiJJYJAaPopqv34ACLcB/s1600/IMG_0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1YzDQrOiX1w/V60J0PIfm9I/AAAAAAAALcY/59ZdfsdBtc4UhlFi5xiJJYJAaPopqv34ACLcB/s640/IMG_0011.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's even more. I was just too lazy to take a more recent picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri;">Dean was
driven to find relief from his jam and syrup stress through fire and alcohol. I'd recently read that any webworms growing on the chokecherry trees <i>should be removed and disposed of</i>. Next thing you know he was outside, evil glint in his eyes, brandishing his loppers. He piled
up the branches with squirmy worms encased in webs, poured gasoline on them, lit them on fire and chanted and hooted as he
danced around the flames. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x6Ltydrhh-s/V60L6VAM2zI/AAAAAAAALc0/0wT_z6wZ_eENEl_coMB0lBM4PZn0oDB6gCLcB/s1600/IMG_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x6Ltydrhh-s/V60L6VAM2zI/AAAAAAAALc0/0wT_z6wZ_eENEl_coMB0lBM4PZn0oDB6gCLcB/s640/IMG_0003.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri;">Can you
picture it? Dean dancing and hooting
around a fire? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MH8pk717BTk/V60LNrJsIfI/AAAAAAAALcw/OmW0TuFYxj8LsqtwbmvtpebESHv3RVi-QCEw/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MH8pk717BTk/V60LNrJsIfI/AAAAAAAALcw/OmW0TuFYxj8LsqtwbmvtpebESHv3RVi-QCEw/s640/IMG_0004.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancin' and hootin'!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri;">You know that didn’t
happen. He just burned them up, meticulously
cleaned up the charred worm bodies and ashes and then, inside a cool air conditioned house, he made
chokecherry brandy, gin and vodka. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9gmQQUKZF4s/V60MqmWPi_I/AAAAAAAALc4/a_ujA_8eouMd8siG0qdIh1cHzQhnolgZgCLcB/s1600/IMG_0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9gmQQUKZF4s/V60MqmWPi_I/AAAAAAAALc4/a_ujA_8eouMd8siG0qdIh1cHzQhnolgZgCLcB/s640/IMG_0013.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri;">In a month or so we can try it. I
hope it’s good, because if my sister ever does come back out to visit me, if I ply her with enough of that chokecherry liquor, maybe she won’t
notice if I haven’t turned on the air conditioning.</span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-74268028417614813192016-07-31T11:49:00.000-06:002016-07-31T14:36:26.427-06:00Mary Mary … How’d That Garden Grow?<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Way back this spring I decided to turn a patch of
grass in the front of the house into a wildflower garden. I had this vision of masses of flowers so
colorful and so thick that it would feel like I was looking at a painting by
Monet. We got rid of the grass, brought
in top soil and wheel barrow after wheel barrow full of compost, and raked and
smoothed until the soil was just crying out for seeds. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i_76_sCDO8Q/V50O4eVhWVI/AAAAAAAALZI/Cx3s_R2hj4EPilefPIcUFwVg0wkxk4LqQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i_76_sCDO8Q/V50O4eVhWVI/AAAAAAAALZI/Cx3s_R2hj4EPilefPIcUFwVg0wkxk4LqQCLcB/s640/IMG_0013.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I gathered all the seeds I’d saved, bought and been given, mixed them all together in a bowl, sprinkled them all over the soil,
raked them in a bit and watered. And
waited. And watered. And waited.
And finally….lots of things began to pop through the ground and grow and the more they grew the more excited I got imagining how spectacular this garden was going to be.
So I kept watering and watching and waiting for blossoms. I didn't do any weeding because I was afraid I might pull up a flower. The plants kept growing
and I kept watering, but nothing bloomed.
And then one day Dean said to me, <i>other than those couple of poppies
and the four volunteer tomato plants, there’s nothing growing here but weeds</i>.
I was crushed. How could that be? I thought I'd done everything right. I'd given them good soil and made sure they had enough water. Why wasn't that enough? I had to start over. We got rid of the weeds and I planted already growing plants to replace my flower-weeds and those plants are doing well – so far. I’m still not convinced
all those plants we pulled up were weeds.
I have a sneaking suspicion some of those "weeds" were really flowers, but that could just be my hurt pride refusing to accept that I was
a complete failure as a seed planter.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I suppose I should admit that I was
defeated by garlic starts also. I
prepared the soil, gently planted all the little green shoots of garlic, watered
and waited and watered and waited. And …
nothing. Not one garlic poked its little
green head up out of the soil to say hello.
It was an even bigger failure than my Monet garden. I know we didn’t need all 48 starts to
grow. It’s not like we live in vampire
land and are changing out our garlic necklaces every day. But not one?!
Really??</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The onion starts I planted came up and looked good for quite
a while until, one day, they just laid their little green bodies on the dirt and
never stood up again. It looks like the
bulb is growing but the plant just lies there looking limp and lonely. I suppose that’s not a total failure but I
don’t think I can call it a success either. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nuf6nxU_S7M/V50Pr1L4osI/AAAAAAAALZQ/AkM5SrXmntUNxXu0h3FFEjcf4bkOpMY5QCLcB/s1600/IMG_3906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nuf6nxU_S7M/V50Pr1L4osI/AAAAAAAALZQ/AkM5SrXmntUNxXu0h3FFEjcf4bkOpMY5QCLcB/s640/IMG_3906.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I also planted beets, a couple of types of lettuce and some
mustard. Really? I planted mustard?
What was I thinking?! Thank God Dean didn't realize it was out there until it seeded or he would have been trying to slip slimy green stuff in everything he cooked. The lettuce was doing well
until I pulled up the seeded-out mustard, which
exposed it to the rabbits, who were ecstatic we’d planted it for them. The beets look like they’re happy and
producing baby beets underground but we haven’t tried digging them up yet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My only real success has been the potatoes (once the turkeys
stopped digging them up). They
grew like, well, like potato plants. And
produced potatoes. Which we’ve been
eating. We have enough potatoes to see us through til the next millennium I think!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7MPecCNIC3o/V54ro1dM8XI/AAAAAAAALac/b0HdEzbTsv84HEdKnBXHZkjdodMf5iGewCLcB/s1600/IMG_3923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7MPecCNIC3o/V54ro1dM8XI/AAAAAAAALac/b0HdEzbTsv84HEdKnBXHZkjdodMf5iGewCLcB/s640/IMG_3923.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A guy at the local greenhouse said he’d heard
that stringing fishing line around a garden would keep deer out because they
can sense the fishing line but not see it, so I put it around the potato garden and it seemed to
work. No deer tracks. No chomped off potato
leaves. Know why? Because I discovered deer don’t really LIKE potato
plants! Oh, well. It seemed to keep the turkeys from scratching the potatoes up which was even better. It’s not there now though because the
other day I tripped trying to get through it and
ended up tangled up in a mess of poles and fishing line.
Once I got the line unwrapped from my legs I wadded it up in a ball and jammed it into the garbage. At that very moment turkey heads popped up everywhere, their internal radar
began emitting beeps and blips and they showed up – this time with their
little turklets in tow. </span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EOdxWDKoYOA/V50QbWA71eI/AAAAAAAALZU/Q1rmYVAC5fwGQFNTijaIXT8Tc3JEmUeUwCLcB/s1600/IMG_0006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EOdxWDKoYOA/V50QbWA71eI/AAAAAAAALZU/Q1rmYVAC5fwGQFNTijaIXT8Tc3JEmUeUwCLcB/s640/IMG_0006.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I didn’t
need to speak turkey to know what was going on out there. <i>Listen up my chicklets. This area has just been opened up to summer grazing
but don’t forget to come back here when it’s cold and snowy because last winter
the guy threw out seed – lots and lots of seed.
Until that cranky lady made him stop.
Trotley? Are you listening? Trotley!
Pay attention! Stop pecking your
sister. Now follow me everybody and I’ll
show you where I found a nice selection of yummy slugs.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Even though I don’t really believe it’s going to work, I deer
proofed the tomatoes up front using the same fishing line system. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2JuyrQ2yMvM/V50SIkn7KpI/AAAAAAAALZs/GG1MNFc7oC0WH07zoDafq7e4J2BDwLyOACEw/s1600/IMG_3905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2JuyrQ2yMvM/V50SIkn7KpI/AAAAAAAALZs/GG1MNFc7oC0WH07zoDafq7e4J2BDwLyOACEw/s640/IMG_3905.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see the fishing line? No? You must be part deer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I figure if a fishing line system protected gardens from deer as well as an
eight foot tall fence nobody would have eight foot tall fences around their gardens in deer country
but what the heck. It has to work better
than the two systems Dean used last year.
The first system he tried was to plant six stinky Marigolds near the tomatoes because deer don’t
like to go near stinky things. Ha! The second thing he tried was this: </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2qz-kgt1u4g/V54knu0W5mI/AAAAAAAALaM/XQ_mclKQjwgA5b-dVOwZ70e-fa8zPFcvwCLcB/s1600/IMG_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2qz-kgt1u4g/V54knu0W5mI/AAAAAAAALaM/XQ_mclKQjwgA5b-dVOwZ70e-fa8zPFcvwCLcB/s640/IMG_0002.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">When he realized we actually needed to use the car now and then he added more old fencing, the wheel barrow, hunks of metal, empty metal garbage cans, a huge tree stump, car parts, and any other old, dirty, rusty
and ugly pieces of metal he could find. That
pretty much worked but I held my head in shame every time I walked out of the
house. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The Marigold plants that failed in protecting the tomatoes
from death by deer last year, succeeded spectacularly in reseeding themselves this year and
exploded into a massive orange Marigold garden. Even after transplanting dozens and dozens of
them to other areas in the yard, pots and barrels, there are still hundreds of
them growing and blooming. My little volunteers aren't exactly the vision of a Monet-like wild flower garden I had this spring, but if I can get a garden like that without even planting a seed, just think what I can get if I ever figure out how to get any seeds I plant to grow!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-glZxUE7h4R0/V50R7F2somI/AAAAAAAALZg/JdmZNTwkuFwutS7afhRln00Gu8QDEJIdACLcB/s1600/IMG_3860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-glZxUE7h4R0/V50R7F2somI/AAAAAAAALZg/JdmZNTwkuFwutS7afhRln00Gu8QDEJIdACLcB/s640/IMG_3860.JPG" width="640" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZtEr3m8rgE4/V50SAJCEZWI/AAAAAAAALZo/G1sV18DMFrs0f8QR307Te-waTTtpowIQwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZtEr3m8rgE4/V50SAJCEZWI/AAAAAAAALZo/G1sV18DMFrs0f8QR307Te-waTTtpowIQwCLcB/s640/IMG_3859.JPG" width="480" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1edOAmKK6vc/V50R9Q6QmyI/AAAAAAAALZk/mcgWcS262Kcq1gd05lPjp4NK3Pjx8tRqACLcB/s1600/IMG_3861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1edOAmKK6vc/V50R9Q6QmyI/AAAAAAAALZk/mcgWcS262Kcq1gd05lPjp4NK3Pjx8tRqACLcB/s640/IMG_3861.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-28538722496006849742016-07-19T15:39:00.000-06:002016-07-19T15:39:25.047-06:00♪ I Love A Parade ♩ ♫ ♥ ♥ <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This year three little hummingbirds found my feeders. The largest is a shimmery green. There is also a smaller less colorful bird as well as a really tiny one. If I’m outside when one of them zooms toward
the feeder I can hear the humming vibration of its wings beating furiously as
it pokes it pointy beak into the feeder attached to my front window. Now and then I see it perch on the edge of
the feeder or on the tomato cage nearby but only for a few seconds before it
zooms back to the feeder to drink the clear sweet nectar it needs to supply the
energy to keep those wings beating.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hxyjoWf4emY/V45eg9rj0NI/AAAAAAAALX4/80QBphdlProb4m-yOW-_XIuTzSt3zpOtACEw/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hxyjoWf4emY/V45eg9rj0NI/AAAAAAAALX4/80QBphdlProb4m-yOW-_XIuTzSt3zpOtACEw/s640/IMG_0130.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry that's the best picture I could get. Most of the time all I got was a blur of wings.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been feeling a little hummingbird-like recently. As it’s gotten hotter outside my body’s been
vibrating with energy as I water half an acre of grass, five flower and one
vegetable garden, one hanging flower pot, six barrels of flowers, eight flower
pots of peppers and tomatoes as well as four fruit trees, a raspberry plant and a
grape vine. On top of that I've been lovingly and faithfully watering <strike>eight</strike> <strike>seven</strike>
<strike>five</strike> <strike>three</strike> <strike>two</strike> one itty bitty blue spruce start I got as part of my Arbor Day Foundation membership (which I accidentally joined thinking I was joining the Audubon Society). I can't figure out what's been happening to them though. They were doing great for weeks, growing and getting new little bright green buds and then, one at a time, one day they would be green and healthy looking and the next they would be crispy and brown. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pvxDfDmlpjo/V45g_3P_ETI/AAAAAAAALYQ/WDGrlysWqnMxW8X7_VaOJU_LYAlVcZUgACEw/s1600/Pinetree2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pvxDfDmlpjo/V45g_3P_ETI/AAAAAAAALYQ/WDGrlysWqnMxW8X7_VaOJU_LYAlVcZUgACEw/s400/Pinetree2.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry little spruce. I did my best for you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dQ7UpSqWQG0/V45hB7haC6I/AAAAAAAALYM/fK4Y72xVsq0UKIS4R0-Aw5Ai2MhV3CHZwCLcB/s1600/PineTree1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dQ7UpSqWQG0/V45hB7haC6I/AAAAAAAALYQ/2OsDJ5658_8LmH9TNHFTrJpI1JBan5_MgCEw/s1600/PineTree1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dQ7UpSqWQG0/V45hB7haC6I/AAAAAAAALYQ/2OsDJ5658_8LmH9TNHFTrJpI1JBan5_MgCEw/s640/PineTree1.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All my hopes are pinned on you my little spruceling.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">All that watering, death, and lawn care takes it out of me so, like my little hummingbirds, I also need to drink sweet nectar so I'll have the energy to keep going.
Mine just happens to be red and
comes from a box. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I miss that automatic sprinkler
system we had in Casper but we are on an irrigation
ditch system here. The up side is the
water costs next to nothing. The down
side is we use a pump which we have to turn on and off manually. Even though Dean was in charge of watering the lawn and gardens in Casper, somehow I have become the watering specialist here in Sheridan. Dean used to just turn a dial and leave. I drag out the hoses, set up the
sprinklers, turn on the pump and start watering ... move the sprinklers ... water ... move the sprinklers ... water … until it’s time to turn off the pump,
roll up the hoses and put away the sprinklers.
It takes me about a day and a half to water everything and that takes a lot of energy. But I look at this duty as my own personal challenge because no
matter how hard I try, at some point while I am moving or adjusting a sprinkler,
I end up with the business end of the sprinkler pointing straight at me. Just once I would like to water everything and stay completely dry, although onsidering the number of times that creek water has hit me square in the face, I suppose I should just be happy I haven’t come down with Giardia
… yet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The whole town of Sheridan was vibrating with energy last
week because it was WYO Rodeo week. There
were activities every day of the week, not the least of which was the rodeo, but Friday
(according to the five people I overheard) was a national holiday. Because Friday <span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">–</span> Friday was parade day. The WYO Rodeo Parade is no ordinary parade. Okay.
It is. But the night before the
parade is definitely not ordinary.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cf9R8xCyZhY/V41UnFt25OI/AAAAAAAALVg/hGV3jUirRQgBSLUPMTc1UYIm_Alb_9OkACLcB/s1600/IMG_3733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cf9R8xCyZhY/V41UnFt25OI/AAAAAAAALVg/hGV3jUirRQgBSLUPMTc1UYIm_Alb_9OkACLcB/s640/IMG_3733.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yep. <u>The evening before the parade</u> people bring
out their chairs, set them up, rope them together, leave them, and show up the
next day with their “perfect” spot for parade viewing reserved. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gBZSbnWaOHA/V41Un8h7MHI/AAAAAAAALVk/keuKMgnHLxIJTfEEI7jeN-Ckb6-J4nKtQCEw/s1600/IMG_3738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gBZSbnWaOHA/V41Un8h7MHI/AAAAAAAALVk/keuKMgnHLxIJTfEEI7jeN-Ckb6-J4nKtQCEw/s640/IMG_3738.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Parade Day begins with a pancake feed downtown where for a mere
$5.00 all are welcome to stand in a half block line, get a plate of
pancakes, slather on syrup and sit elbow to elbow outside with a few hundred of
their closest friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qah4dZDKLmc/V41VchYwLuI/AAAAAAAALVs/DfAaWm9a1LcRoTFAmMi86fn-hYKeUfvjQCLcB/s1600/IMG_3741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qah4dZDKLmc/V41VchYwLuI/AAAAAAAALVs/DfAaWm9a1LcRoTFAmMi86fn-hYKeUfvjQCLcB/s640/IMG_3741.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gwq2Y0or_oc/V41VdP_TvHI/AAAAAAAALVw/NndTzQFRoV8fmxa4t3iC2mVR16LdIOfAACLcB/s1600/IMG_3742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gwq2Y0or_oc/V41VdP_TvHI/AAAAAAAALVw/NndTzQFRoV8fmxa4t3iC2mVR16LdIOfAACLcB/s640/IMG_3742.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dean and I
skipped the pancakes and sat in a local bakery where we indulged in a cup of smooth, mellow coffee and a mouth-watering, artery-clogging pastry while we watched as preparations for the
second event of this big day were completed – the Sneakers and Spurs Rodeo Run/Walk. We didn’t see anybody running in spurs but
one little girl put on her best tutu for the event. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f91ZdQOaxqI/V41WozXEKnI/AAAAAAAALWA/BHFWm5f6JgUUNpmZjx2irRYtWjINnezeQCLcB/s1600/IMG_3755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f91ZdQOaxqI/V41WozXEKnI/AAAAAAAALWA/BHFWm5f6JgUUNpmZjx2irRYtWjINnezeQCLcB/s640/IMG_3755.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">By the time the last person staggered across the finish line
most of those reserved chairs were filled with people because now it
was time for the Bed Race where groups of people decorate a bed and push it
down the street just so they can have the honor of saying they decorated a bed
and pushed it down the street faster than anybody else. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dean and I did not have a reserved chair to
sit in for the race but we did manage to find a section of curb where somebody
had chalked “reserved for no chairs” so we settled in and had a perfect
view of the bed race. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JA5aNAnGGZc/V41YVEo7OcI/AAAAAAAALWc/7Kj3Rw2eTFw57M_9uushT0k9dvl-Ich8ACLcB/s1600/IMG_3775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JA5aNAnGGZc/V41YVEo7OcI/AAAAAAAALWc/7Kj3Rw2eTFw57M_9uushT0k9dvl-Ich8ACLcB/s640/IMG_3775.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Before the parade
began I noticed a guy in the building across the street hard
at work mudding a wall.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_CeK3riIfQ/V41XSNNHMAI/AAAAAAAALWE/OOSBVF0OQDUoBoMV8DZ9Zh7XX_kfsHzjwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_CeK3riIfQ/V41XSNNHMAI/AAAAAAAALWE/OOSBVF0OQDUoBoMV8DZ9Zh7XX_kfsHzjwCLcB/s640/IMG_3761.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Poor guy has to
work on this national holiday,” I told Dean.
It turned out that when the parade began, that guy and his fellow worker
had the best seats in the house. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_pO1jxBCXoE/V41XSXZW7nI/AAAAAAAALWI/fT2ZOeey89EToVhah0Ezs31jVozWstg_gCEw/s1600/IMG_3785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_pO1jxBCXoE/V41XSXZW7nI/AAAAAAAALWI/fT2ZOeey89EToVhah0Ezs31jVozWstg_gCEw/s640/IMG_3785.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And then it was parade time!
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4p_XHctqR-o/V45mERY3MbI/AAAAAAAALYc/SdiM_5l69g8TdkL924-fihgRRFffpOIqACLcB/s1600/IMG_3780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4p_XHctqR-o/V45mERY3MbI/AAAAAAAALYc/SdiM_5l69g8TdkL924-fihgRRFffpOIqACLcB/s640/IMG_3780.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As in all parades there were cowgirls and cowboys.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WkHIMQSvKOU/V41Xy3t796I/AAAAAAAALWQ/ehVZgmrpnGgqbnqjYT1D48P_EJUZV11FwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WkHIMQSvKOU/V41Xy3t796I/AAAAAAAALWQ/ehVZgmrpnGgqbnqjYT1D48P_EJUZV11FwCLcB/s640/IMG_3764.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There was the color guard.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wb6HMDwf9N4/V41Y-_Z2P4I/AAAAAAAALWk/ryb_d7UKP44EVjoxK20mlVJLCu7EmloDwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wb6HMDwf9N4/V41Y-_Z2P4I/AAAAAAAALWk/ryb_d7UKP44EVjoxK20mlVJLCu7EmloDwCLcB/s640/IMG_3783.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There were bands. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d4FLwPR0KAI/V45mGVLaIRI/AAAAAAAALYg/TzSfTzZ9HHQOx7F0hm0N4Iixg8JGEJo7QCEw/s1600/IMG_3788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d4FLwPR0KAI/V45mGVLaIRI/AAAAAAAALYg/TzSfTzZ9HHQOx7F0hm0N4Iixg8JGEJo7QCEw/s640/IMG_3788.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">T</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">here were
floats. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ubi4sUBfkMs/V41aDboIyCI/AAAAAAAALW0/fpjlzbd8wjYVzLecdQmqCpSx3tJnyJ1FgCEw/s1600/IMG_3797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ubi4sUBfkMs/V41aDboIyCI/AAAAAAAALW0/fpjlzbd8wjYVzLecdQmqCpSx3tJnyJ1FgCEw/s640/IMG_3797.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And of course there was what no parade can be without <span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">– </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">dancing fruit.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Boc0l3fuoGk/V41aD8pbu-I/AAAAAAAALW4/CxVE_v7crLk34B3SOpwiKhAhj09A2_FWACEw/s640/IMG_3800.JPG" width="640" /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Because
this parade was in Sheridan Wyoming, home of the oldest polo field in the
United States on which polo has been played continuously and because native American dancers and drum teams had come for the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoBjlriTTxY"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Indian Relay Races</b></span></a> and the First People’s Pow Wow … there was a lot of finery and a lot of horses. Lots and lots of horses. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pagu3fL3NFc/V41a-iQyLAI/AAAAAAAALXE/iueAYcv7Z8IdEaGywTIT0TrfhUVry6BMwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pagu3fL3NFc/V41a-iQyLAI/AAAAAAAALXE/iueAYcv7Z8IdEaGywTIT0TrfhUVry6BMwCLcB/s640/IMG_3791.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YhSlRL3GbnU/V41bl2kTTNI/AAAAAAAALXI/rZVxXEPTEc0mIbJcCtlKeTGz9mpTCJHWgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YhSlRL3GbnU/V41bl2kTTNI/AAAAAAAALXI/rZVxXEPTEc0mIbJcCtlKeTGz9mpTCJHWgCLcB/s640/IMG_3793.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fv-M_sND43U/V41c24lIRuI/AAAAAAAALXg/Xj4r-54B6KML91YJkkXhTc-2MocNac2cgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fv-M_sND43U/V41c24lIRuI/AAAAAAAALXg/Xj4r-54B6KML91YJkkXhTc-2MocNac2cgCLcB/s640/IMG_3808.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XBf2CDDVbM8/V41c2SzwtcI/AAAAAAAALXc/mq6tMKFQVv435TN8hLlMQfQGOO2lueWdACLcB/s1600/IMG_3810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XBf2CDDVbM8/V41c2SzwtcI/AAAAAAAALXc/mq6tMKFQVv435TN8hLlMQfQGOO2lueWdACLcB/s640/IMG_3810.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woRgzHKdbvQ/V41c2PT9D6I/AAAAAAAALXY/55PpOauF9Rk-xI6-FPbkR9DttP5GiVEnQCLcB/s1600/IMG_3813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woRgzHKdbvQ/V41c2PT9D6I/AAAAAAAALXY/55PpOauF9Rk-xI6-FPbkR9DttP5GiVEnQCLcB/s640/IMG_3813.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-55DCVo6Ws4c/V41c_ZUkMKI/AAAAAAAALXk/y0SX4eAge1QS3T_qr6O2Im8_VW6USIW0QCLcB/s640/IMG_3817.JPG" width="640" /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Of course, being the political year it is, there were also a
few political statements. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7gxuueZDDMI/V45nHsrtitI/AAAAAAAALYs/PIesdI09W7McE1ChSjuKNz9VXmG274z8QCLcB/s1600/IMG_3766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7gxuueZDDMI/V45nHsrtitI/AAAAAAAALYs/PIesdI09W7McE1ChSjuKNz9VXmG274z8QCLcB/s640/IMG_3766.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kllHfSDGybE/V45nKxZM5YI/AAAAAAAALYw/r-J4i-neUtU-8y1bAm3Kp0Du9f5nSwebgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kllHfSDGybE/V45nKxZM5YI/AAAAAAAALYw/r-J4i-neUtU-8y1bAm3Kp0Du9f5nSwebgCLcB/s640/IMG_3828.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>(It's hard to see but the left fake dead person says BLM and the right says EPA. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>The above two photos in no way represent the views of the blogger. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>As in SERIOUSLY guy running for Congress?!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Could your "float" BE any more tasteless and offensive?)</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">An hour and a half later the march of the street sweepers signaled the end of the parade. If Dean and I were younger, the next night we might have gone to the
culmination of all the week’s activities – the street
dance. But it didn’t begin until after
the rodeo ended (which was about an hour past my bedtime) and was scheduled to
go until 2 in the morning. I have a feeling a lot of golden nectar was consumed that night because with all that dancing I
bet those people expended as much or more energy as my little hummingbirds. </span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-19123916780852270922016-05-17T12:21:00.000-06:002016-05-17T12:21:22.494-06:00You and Me Gomer<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I always thought I knew myself pretty well.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Better than anybody.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">After all, I live in my body.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I hear all the thoughts in my head.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I know exactly how I feel every moment of
every day.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I know if I am pretending or if I am being
honest.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I almost always know what words
are going to trickle, fall, gush, or burst out of my mouth and sometimes I even
filter them. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I know I am boringly predictable.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I am a creature of habit and I don’t adjust
to any kind of change easily or quickly.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I know I believe less is more and clutter, disorder and prolonged noise
make my fingers twitch with the desire to fill a dumpster and my brain desperate
for a cool, dark, quiet cave. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dean’s pretty proud of the fact that he thinks he knows me
even better than I know myself.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">He thinks he can predict what I’m going to do and how I feel about just about
everything. Although honestly, </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I don’t think that’s
really anything to brag about since I’m as predictable as Baxter. About 4:30 every afternoon he begins drooling and looking toward his dog bowl and I start working my way closer and closer to the box of wine on the counter. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Anyway, the guy’s been married to me for
almost … um, wait a second, just need to do some subtracting … 43 … no … </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">44 … yeah, 44 … 44 years now, so he <b>should</b>
know a lot about me.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">His favorite confirmation
of his prowess is that he can guess what I’m going to order in a restaurant 95%
of the time.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The only reason he doesn’t
guess correctly the other 5% is because sometimes I like to order something he’d
never ever think I would order – just so I can see his reaction.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">On those times I don't really even want to eat what
I order.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I really want to order what I
know he thinks I’m going to order, but sometimes I just don’t want to be that boring,
predictable me anymore.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sometimes I just
want to mentally raise my fist and shout “YES!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">You AREN’T right about me all the time!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Surprise! ”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Even though, if I try hard, I can surprise Dean, I very rarely
surprise myself. However, unexpectedly,
I have recently done just that. I have been enjoying gardening! I never,
in my wildest dreams, expected I would become a tiller of soil; a planter of
seeds; a grower of vegetables – a gardener.
Oh, I would plant a few flower seeds and shove some annuals in a pot every spring but Dean
has always been the gardener. He would dig up the soil and choose the seeds and
buy the plants. But it wouldn't take long until he would feel overwhelmed and he would look at me, sad
and exhausted, and convince (and by that I mean bribe) me to help.
The problem was, I was the one who ended up duck walking along the raised beds, reaching over and planting one miniscule seed at a time … over and over and over … while Dean
always managed to keep busy with other gardening chores which always allowed him to stand upright. Later, when the weeds had overtaken the
garden, he'd somehow convince me to help pull weeds. That meant I had to crouch next to the garden bed or kneel on the sharp, scratchy bits of
wood chunks he’d thrown down to make a garden path, stretch my body across the bed, grab a weed and pull, because God forbid I step onto the soil and risk damaging his tender plants. I didn’t have fun. I did not like gardening.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But something happened this spring.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Maybe it's because I have more time now
that I’m retired.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or maybe it's because while
Dean spent the last five and a half months turning the garage into his
longed-for, dreamed-of, years-in-the-planning workshop, I spent the last couple
of those cheerless winter months yearning for spring and warm weather and sunshine and
dreaming of what I could do after I was finally able to break myself out of my gloomy
winter cocoon.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or maybe it was because I
realized if <b>I</b> was in charge of planting, I could make beautifully straight rows instead of just a mass of seeds sprouting.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I could have a tidy, organized garden.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> If <b>I</b> was in charge of planting I could make sure the garden section of beets was just beets, not beets and an errant columbine and surprise pumpkin and volunteer cucumber. </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or maybe I got excited
when I realized I could keep a gardening journal with notes of what I’ve
planted.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And I could draw diagrams of where
I’ve planted things. That has to work way better than what I did last fall when I brought some plants home from Abby's garden, stuck them in the dirt here and there thinking I would move them to where I really wanted them this spring and now I can't remember what I brought or where I put them. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Winter teased me with random days of summer temperatures and as soon as we'd get a couple of those warm days I was ready to plant. Dean
would have to tell me more than once that just because it’s 75 with bright sunshine one day
didn't mean it wouldn't be 30 with snow the next. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We live in Wyoming after all.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But finally, May 9 (I know this because
I checked my gardening journal!) I planted potatoes.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p2wEQJI2Jtc/Vzo9s4543SI/AAAAAAAALT8/aLG7rGNQVh8uZNhO7h9ug8SeNa2s_UYvQCKgB/s1600/IMG_3590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p2wEQJI2Jtc/Vzo9s4543SI/AAAAAAAALT8/aLG7rGNQVh8uZNhO7h9ug8SeNa2s_UYvQCKgB/s640/IMG_3590.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Actually I planted some of those potatoes
three times.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">A couple of days after I’d planted, I was
admiring my beautiful, almost straight rows of potatoes, when I
noticed a couple of the ridiculously long sprouts were visible, as well as a
loose potato.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I told Dean I thought those
turkeys he’d been feeding all winter long, <b>right where he knew the garden was
going to be</b>, had come looking for food and scratched up my potato starts.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q0xqU_6fPjQ/VzpDWar3b0I/AAAAAAAALUg/5D6qDZg4aNIxHwwwDShp_XY7cSgWZXTuQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q0xqU_6fPjQ/VzpDWar3b0I/AAAAAAAALUg/5D6qDZg4aNIxHwwwDShp_XY7cSgWZXTuQCLcB/s640/IMG_0004.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making their morning trek across the creek and up the hill ...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BBpWMu1Y8iI/VzpDUBqP2RI/AAAAAAAALUc/4vHNMb-gCzgXbDW_Z0_AnoNkOgN7kLouwCKgB/s1600/IMG_0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BBpWMu1Y8iI/VzpDUBqP2RI/AAAAAAAALUc/4vHNMb-gCzgXbDW_Z0_AnoNkOgN7kLouwCKgB/s640/IMG_0005.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... to their breakfast bar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He told me he didn’t see any turkey tracks
and just shrugged when I asked what else would cause a potato to just pop out
of the ground.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I reburied the sprouts
and the potato and the next day two or three more potatoes had somehow magically
just popped up out of the ground and landed hither and yon.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And more sprouts were inexplicably uncovered.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I KNEW it was those stupid turkeys but Dean
didn’t seem to think his beloved birds would be so inconsiderate as to destroy
my potato bed.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I reburied the freed
potatoes and spouts – again.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">A day or
two later there were even <b>more</b> sprouts lying on top of the dirt and four or
five potatoes scattered among the rows.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That was it!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I knew it was
those dang turkeys because I could see definite areas where they’d scratched.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So I reburied all the potatoes and sprouts, cursed
the birds as I covered my rows with as much woven wire as I could find (I’m
still waiting for Dean to say, <i>aren’t you glad I didn’t get rid of that?</i>) and
I jammed in tomato cages to cover the areas where I didn’t have enough
wire.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So far my potatoes have been safe
but if I see one more loose potato ... I’m going for Dean’s BB gun. </span> </div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Considering the fact that I pretty much always prefer rice over potatoes I'm more than a little surprised to think that I would even consider shooting at a turkey just to protect a bunch of spuds. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Maybe I should note that in my
gardening journal.</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-33963989292465167152016-04-30T16:28:00.002-06:002016-04-30T16:28:40.729-06:00I'm Not Glinda<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Recognize this?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s sunshine.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Streaming in and filling our house with warmth.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sunshine – reflecting off that ubiquitous dog
fur dust and dander blend which is flung from those two little ponies after
turning circles five times one way, two the other and pawing at the rug that
never moves no matter how often they try before they drop to the floor.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sunshine – bouncing off the fur floating around
our ankles as we walk from room to room.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">There’s so much fur in the air, on the floors, in my coffee mug, on my
tablet screen, stuck to the bottom of my socks, on the counters, in the
refrigerator and cooked into our food that by rights those dogs should be
bald.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or at the very least, Dean and I
should have hacked up at least one fur ball in the past three years. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s been hard to see the fur in the air lately though
because the sun hasn’t been shining for days and days and days and days……..and
days and days and days.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s been
endless clouds and dreariness and cold and mist and rain and more clouds and grey
and bleakness and as if that wasn't enough, even more wet, cold, cloudy, gloomy days.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I don’t think I’d even care if I could see all the fur I’m eating and
drinking if only the sun would come out. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">All the cold, gloomy weather of late has been making me a
little cranky.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dean … he might tell you
I’ve been a </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">lot</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> cranky, but it’s all your
perspective.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Right?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">A REALLY cranky me would … uh … I can’t
really say because … um … well … hmmmm ... maybe I have been just a </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">little </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">crankier than I thought.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-80872601898510865132015-11-15T15:53:00.000-07:002015-11-15T15:53:59.623-07:00You're Only Old Once ~ Dr. Seuss<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s been just a bit over a year since Dean and I walked out
of the office, drove for the last time from Casper to Sheridan and began living
the life of retirees.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Even though we chose
to live here, it was still a bit unsettling to move to a town not knowing a
soul other than Leslie and Ryan, Emerson, Myra and Pierce who are busier than ... well, I don't know anybody or anything busier than they are. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s taken a while, but the more activities
we participate in and the more events we attend, the more often we see familiar
faces and the more chances we have to visit with somebody other than each
other.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And who knows, as time goes on maybe
we’ll make friends too, like Angus and Baxter who go rushing up to the lady
working at Home Depot when she calls out “the boys are here!” whenever she sees
them.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The first few weeks and months of
retirement have been challenging in ways we hadn’t anticipated.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">For example, I had no inkling that even
though I could sleep as long and as late as I want, each morning I would force myself
to crawl out of bed somewhere between 5:45 and 6:00 a.m. just so I can have one
hour, completely alone, in a quiet house, with my coffee, a cat in my lap and a
book. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And Dean, he had no idea I wouldn't want to listen to NPR 12 hours per day.</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Like most newly retired people, when asked how it’s going,
we say, “it’s great!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We really love it! </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">You should do it!” because who wants to admit
that maybe the reality hasn’t quite lived up to the expectation.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m not saying I don’t think there is a small minority who immediately find retirement to be everything they hoped for and more. I'm saying that I think for most people, the longed-for dream of a relaxed and contented retirement soon gives way to the reality of adjusting to changing roles, new routines, and the realization and acceptance (or not) that life has an expiration date. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">No matter how much we work toward
it, plan for it, want it, and think we are prepared for it, retirement is a
life change.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And change – well, that’s not always
easy.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It involves a lot of patience and
strength and courage.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">After we moved here, each morning I would wake up feeling enveloped
in an intense feeling of sadness. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It
didn’t usually last long, but it sure wasn’t the way I expected to feel first
thing in the morning, and it always surprised me.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I suspect retiring just days before the
mighty Wyoming winter blew in with all of its sub-zero temperatures and snow
and ice-covered roads wasn’t the wisest choice but I think my sadness
was mostly caused by a combination of a couple of things.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">One being I didn’t feel like I knew my place
anymore.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I felt a bit like I was
standing on the outside looking in.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And
the other being that each night when I went to bed, I worried that the next day
I wouldn’t be able to find enough to do to fill all those hours looming ahead of me.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">That went on for a very long time.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But then, all at once one day I realized that
I couldn’t remember the last time I felt like I'd awakened in a cocoon of sadness.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I wasn’t waking up worried about how to keep
myself busy during the day anymore; I was waking up worried I wouldn’t have enough
hours to do everything I wanted to do.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yes,
a lot of what I did involved flour and sugar and butter, but there were lots of
things that didn’t. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Like crafty
things.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yep.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I got crafty.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">No, not sneaky crafty like I am when I get Dean to do something for me
that he really doesn’t want to do.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">No.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I mean Pinterest stepping
stones kind of crafty.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We have a garden area right in front of the compost bins and
I was tired of walking all the way around it with my bowl of scraps just to avoid the dirt and mud.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I wanted a mud-free path leading through the
garden.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">B</span><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">ut I didn’t really want to use those boring paving stones
you can get at Home Depot. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Okay.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That’s a lie.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I would have been fine with boring paving stones from Home Depot but
Dean had this humongous collection of broken plates and cups and pottery cluttering
up …. I mean just crying out to be used.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Plus I thought it would be a great project to do with Emerson, Myra and
Pierce.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">What better Nana/grandchild
bonding moment could there be than letting them jam their hands into a box of
broken jagged-edged pottery and then mash the pieces into some thick and gooey
concrete?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I had planned
to use an old cake pan from Salvation Army, fill it with concrete, let the kids
push their shards of pottery into the goo and ta da! a stepping stone.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But Dean didn’t think a cake pan would be deep enough so he cut 2x4s and screwed them together and made a form that
would hold about 30 pounds of concrete.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yes.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m not kidding.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">30 pounds.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Per step.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Once the form was made
we began breaking up the pottery and as I looked at those jagged pottery pieces
it occurred to me that it would be easier to design a mosaic with nice
straight-edged tiles rather than uneven bits of smashed pottery so (and I still
can’t believe I said this) I suggested we buy cheap tiles from the Habitat
ReStore rather than use his heap of pottery bits. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So off we went and shortly came home with a
bunch of nice straight tile.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LjfnospuXgo/VkjSiQkl38I/AAAAAAAALN0/1ercwDbrDQk/s1600/IMG_0006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LjfnospuXgo/VkjSiQkl38I/AAAAAAAALN0/1ercwDbrDQk/s640/IMG_0006.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We figured it
would be a good idea to make the first stepping stone by ourselves so we could
fine tune the process before we let the grandkids loose on a pile of tile
pieces and 30 pounds of quick-drying concrete. So I laid out my design on a
piece of cardboard which, even though I was able to use nice smooth tile, still
involved a lot of trial and error.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I'd fit some pieces together and then decide I didn't like the color combination. Or I'd find the right color of tile but it wouldn't fit.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It was a lot like putting a puzzle together.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I finally got my design looking just the way
I wanted it and then I transferred the design, one piece at a time, from its
cardboard base to the wet cement.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I
thought it would be easy to just lay each piece on the cement and push gently
down but instead I had to kind of push and wiggle each one back and forth, squishing
it in far enough to cover the sides of the tile.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That, of course, displaced some concrete
which would squish up toward the sides of the form and each time I pushed in
another piece even more concrete was squished out and over the top of the
form.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It got messy.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That’s when we decided we should probably
limit the grandkids’ involvement to just letting each of them design a mosaic.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We didn’t think Leslie and Ryan would
appreciate us bringing the kids home with their fingers cemented together and chunks
of cement dangling from their hair and stuck to their clothes.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Actually, Dean must not have felt like scraping
anymore concrete off of me either because after the first stepping stone he took control
and made five more steps all by himself using the kids’ designs as well as his
own.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We now
have 180 pounds of bright, colorful stepping stones leading through the
garden.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’d like to make some more next
summer for other places in our yard, but before we do we’re going to have to make
some modifications because the other day, when I stepped on them after it had
rained I discovered those polished tiles are slicker than snot when they get
wet.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></span></div>
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8LUAuSm5bNw/VkjVx5quNDI/AAAAAAAALOg/uLDQp8-_58g/s1600/IMG_0037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8LUAuSm5bNw/VkjVx5quNDI/AAAAAAAALOg/uLDQp8-_58g/s640/IMG_0037.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I guess it’ll be
an on-going process of adjustments.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Kind of like retirement
has been.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Some parts have fit together
nicely and some haven’t, but as we keep
trying new things I know soon, very soon, all these parts are going to come
together.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And it will be great.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And amazing.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And when we say that – we won’t be lying. </span></span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-59254413871750407532015-09-08T17:23:00.000-06:002015-09-08T17:27:21.309-06:00The Currant Price Of Muffins<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the things that never occurred to me before I retired
was that during this garden-harvesting time of year I wouldn’t be able to walk
into the break room and grab one or two Flintstone-club-sized zucchinis for my
yearly zucchini bread.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It also hadn’t
occurred to me (since we’d never needed one before) that Dean, forward thinking
as always, would grow a zucchini plant in the garden.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The up side is that now, instead of baking my
traditional artery-clogging, diabetes-inducing, blood-pressure-spiking treats,
I have zucchini right out my back door and I am baking with a healthy
vegetable.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The down side is I have a
bajillion zucchini right out my back door and I am under pressure to pick,
grate, mix and bake dozens of zucchini muffins, loaves of bread and a cake or
two in order to keep Dean from making me eat it in a casserole or salad or
pancake or lasagna or way too many other zucchini dishes where sugar is not the
main ingredient.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In case any of you are
also trying to stay out of the stuffed zucchini boat, you can <a href="http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/zucchini-muffins"><span style="color: red;">click here</span></a> for an
awesome zucchini muffin recipe I recently found.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unfortunately it only makes six muffins.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">SIX muffins!?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What’s the point?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All that
shredding and mixing and waiting for them to bake for six measly muffins?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Get real.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I quadrupled the recipe.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s
become my new favorite recipe and the last time I grabbed a green club from
the garden and whipped up another batch I got crazy healthy and cut back on the sugar to <i>only</i> triple the amount. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next time I might lose control and try
substituting applesauce for some of the vegetable oil.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Although vegetable oil … it’s a vegetable … right?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">like zucchini … which is good for you …
Anyway, don’t these just look, as my mom used to say – luscious? </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mmmmm. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They were.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love them.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9FmOEFk7_MU/VeioB2TZJ9I/AAAAAAAALC4/hvKmir5xo6M/s1600/muffins.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9FmOEFk7_MU/VeioB2TZJ9I/AAAAAAAALC4/hvKmir5xo6M/s640/muffins.jpeg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No. Those aren't little lightbulbs. They're our first tomatoes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You know who else really, really loves them?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Baxter.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That little tinkling sound Dean and I heard as we watched TV one night (and thought
it was Maisie or Sophie playing with a glass on the counter) was Baxter’s
rabies tag tinkling on the cooling rack as he ate zucchini muffin after
zucchini muffin after zucchini muffin – nine muffins plus that small loaf of
bread.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think the only reason he
didn’t eat them all was because he couldn’t reach any more.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> And </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m using the term “ate” loosely because
Baxter does not chew.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He swallows his
food whole.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh no!</i></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh no!</i></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh no!</i></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s what I said when I walked into the kitchen about 9 p.m. and saw
what Mr. Sneak had done.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dean came to
see what was going on but didn’t care about the missing muffins.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He pointed out to me that raisins and grapes
and currants are bad for dogs.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And those
muffins were loaded with currants.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Based
on the amount Baxter had wolfed down we figured he’d eaten about ½ cup of currants.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What we didn’t know, until
Dean Googled, was that currants are so deadly that small amounts can cause
acute kidney failure.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh no!</i></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh no!</i></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh no!</i></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is that what you just said?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s what Baxter should have said.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did you know there is a Pet Poison Hotline?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.petpoisonhelpline.com/">There is.</a></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Did you know they charge </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">$49.00 per call? They do. I called our vet office’s emergency number instead.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Dean paced with furrowed brow, I dialed,
crossed my fingers and hoped she would tell me that all those websites saying
currants could kill our dog were exaggerating and ½ cup was nothing to worry
about.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Only she didn’t say that.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She told me to call that Poison Hotline for
Idiot Pets.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I called, gave them my
credit card number and crossed my fingers and hoped this person would tell me
that all those websites stating currants and raisins and grapes could kill my
dog were exaggerating and he was an idiot, but he’d be fine.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Only she didn’t say that either.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ms. Poison said they were deadly.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>And</i>, she said, <i>nobody knows how many it takes
to be deadly so we have to assume that even one little currant could shut down
his kidneys</i>.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then she asked me if we
were positive that Angus hadn’t eaten any of the muffins.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Uh oh. We didn’t think he had.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We thought he was lying on his pillow under
the desk the whole time we were watching TV but we didn’t know for sure.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We couldn’t be positive.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She told us to give each of them 2 ½ tablespoons of hydrogen
peroxide in order to induce vomiting. We were supposed to squirt it in the side of their cheek
using a syringe.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We had the hydrogen
peroxide, but not the syringe.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dean was
frowning and grumbling and heading for his shoes and keys.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But wait!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remembered he had a small blue bulb syringe he used to clean the wax
from his ears when his hearing got so bad that even though he was happy not to
hear my latest project ideas, he couldn’t hear anything else he wanted to either.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He carefully measured the hydrogen peroxide
into a little shot glass, sucked it up into the little blue bulb syringe, and slipped the tip right along Baxter's clenched teeth, into his cheek, and squirted while I
tried to hold on to 87 pounds of snorting, squirming dog.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have you ever given your dog 2 ½ tablespoons of hydrogen
peroxide?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No? Well let me tell you what
happened with Baxter.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The liquid began
foaming as soon as it entered his mouth.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And he made this nasty gagging noise and fought like crazy to get away from me.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ms. Poison Lady had told me it could take up
to 10 to 15 minutes for him to vomit – or as she phrased it – <i>induce vomiting
and get a good result</i> – but the way he was gagging I didn’t think he’d make it
10 to 15 seconds.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Baxter and I ran to </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">the back door
and along the way he shook his head which caused all that
foaming hydrogen peroxide to fly everywhere.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> On the wall, on the couch, on the floor, on the desk ...
</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As it turned out he did not “have a good result” within the 10 to 15
minutes.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He did not have any result at
all.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So he got a second 2 ½ tablespoon
dose.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The second time, I straddled him,
wrapped my arms around his chest and held on for dear life while Dean squirted
the liquid into his cheek.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That time I could
feel him swallowing.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once again we ran
to the door and that time, as soon as I got his gagging, foaming body outside
he had a very good result.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Two very good
results actually.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Both loaded with
currants.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Poor Angus.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He also had
two very good results with only one dose of Hydrogen Peroxide and, as we
suspected, nary a currant in sight.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I crossed my fingers when, around 10:30 p.m. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I called back the Poison Control Hotline For Stupid
Parents of Idiot Animals to report that we’d <i>had very good results</i>
hoping she’d say all was fine.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After
all, we figured all those muffins had been in his belly less than an hour
so pretty much all of them had to have been abruptly relocated along with his evening's dinner.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
she did not say that.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She felt we should
call our vet back and take Baxter in for some kind of charcoal treatment to
soak up any toxins which might have been left in his belly. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ms. Poison Lady
said he would also need “supportive care” which apparently meant somehow
flushing his kidneys but which I assumed really meant me handing over my credit
card number, my checkbook, and my first born child at our vet’s office and
leaving Baxter with them for who knows how long.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Poison lady didn’t even change her mind
when I told her I'd shined a flashlight at Baxter's <i>results</i> so Dean wouldn't miss any when he scooped it into a colander which he then swished with his fingers while I rinsed it with water from the hose until there were only currants and a few dog food chunks left. So we were close to positive that almost every stinking currant from his “very good result” was now in our colander, not in his belly.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She just pointed out to me that <i>animals never empty their stomachs completely when they vomit and we had one dog once who had eaten only one little currant and died and another who had eaten a lot but was fine so you just never know</i>. So I thanked her for her help, hung up and said, “forget that.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not doing that.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s too much.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s over the top.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seriously?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One little currant could kill Mr. Iron Belly?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mr. I Eat Pies and Hearing Aids and Leggos
and Fabric?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His kidneys would shut down
if one measly currant was left in his belly?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No way.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not doin’ it.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went to bed.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dean went to bed.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Angus went to his pillow.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Baxter went to his pillow.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then I got up the next morning and Baxter
was still on his pillow. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His eyes were open,
staring and glassy.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Ohhhhhhhh Nooooooooo</i>......................</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is that what you just moaned quietly to yourself?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sorry.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was fine.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He has an iron belly, remember?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did worry that I’d screwed up and he would
have a delayed reaction and I'd have to live with the guilt. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And when the
vet called me in the morning to check on him I worried she might think I was a bad
dog mother when I told her I didn't think the risk was great enough to bother her </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">late at night and bring him in (which she probably knew meant I didn't want to pay what it would cost)</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> But she was very understanding. </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She just asked for our case number and called
the Poison Hotline for Really, Really Stupid Owners of Dogs herself.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was
decided we should have a blood panel run on Baxter three days in a row
just to be sure he really was okay and his kidneys weren't going to shut down. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So
we did.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And guess what?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was fine.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My bank account – not so much.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
really hope he enjoyed those muffins.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They cost $18.00 a piece.</span></div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-35438115219545385132015-06-25T14:03:00.001-06:002015-06-25T14:03:59.126-06:00Spiders, Ducks And Me<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dang…..where
have I been?! Here! I’ve been here! And there are so many things I’ve been wanting
to tell you about. Like the sod that was finally laid and the seeds that were planted to reclaim the pipeline that was replaced in the right-of-way two years ago. </div>
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We’d had some
hot, dry weather before the grass worker bees came out in mid-May but just as
they laid the last bit of sod, it started raining. <i>How
perfect is that</i>? we thought. This
whole sod thing couldn’t have happened at a better time. Now we don’t have to water. </div>
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It rained
that day. And the next. And the next.
It never stopped raining. For weeks. I thought about writing a blog post but it was
so cloudy and cold and wet it was just too depressing. And then one day it actually stopped raining and I sat down at the computer to type, but with with all the wet weather my fingers had grown webs. I tried, but it was just too hard and took too long to peck out each
word with hands that looked like duck feet.
And on top of that, the bottoms of my feet had developed a layer of slimy
mold so when I sat at the
computer, valiantly attempting to type, my feet kept sliding away from my
chair. I finally just had to give up. But today I realized my fingers didn’t belong on a duck anymore and I could walk barefoot without sliding across the floor so here I am! <br />
<br />
I should tell you about my two week adventure painting the house – all by myself. (Okay, in complete honesty I painted it all except for the high peaks on the front and back which is Dean's bailywick. I can't go higher than a step ladder or I'd shake so much I'd spill even more paint than I normally do.) The first day I'd only been painting 45 minutes when a thunderstorm blew through and I had to frantically grab my paint tray and get off the ladder before I became a lightening rod. After that I started monitoring the prediction for rain (which changed hourly) so most of the time I knew when to pack it in and get off the ladder before I was either drenched or toasted. After a few days it finally quit raining but the mosquitoes were so bad instead of becoming soaked with rain I had to soak myself in bug spray. And THEN, mistakenly thinking I'd overcome the weather and the mosquitoes, the cottonwood trees let loose into a blizzard of white and cotton would drift down and plop into my paint and stick to all the wipes and smears and globs of paint on me. And the weather prediction doesn't tell you when a breeze is going to come up and blow white fluff into your paint. I'm sure Dean was overcome with guilt and oh so sad that he didn't get to experience that adventure but while I was painting he was sick with a cold and spent his time coughing, blowing, sleeping and/or sitting with his head in his hands and a cold towel on his head……until he finally recovered on the day I finished painting. Hmmmmm……. </div>
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Maybe I should tell you how I spent two days this week getting the deck ready to stain by scrubbing it on my hands and
knees with a stiff bristle brush and my pot scraper ... sweating ... even though I was drenched in soapy water. But instead, I’m going to tell you how, way back before the sky opened up and I mutated into part duck, we turned
our water feature into a garden.</div>
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Everybody
thinks water features are so awesome. Goldfish swimming in a small pond of water ruffled by the calming
sounds of water rippling down a small waterfall, up into the re-circulation pipe, then down the waterfall again – a contemplative sanctuary. When we first looked at this house we thought our water feature was beautiful
and sounded soothing too. But then we discovered the putrid stink of decayed and rotting leaves and stagnant water we had to clean out every spring. And we decided to make it a into a garden.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those leaves are just waiting for snow melt so they can rot and stink and turn to slime.</td></tr>
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I thought it would be a simple project. We
could just remove the rocks, move the dirt so we could poke holes in the plastic liner, stick a planter or something in the open space in the cement wall and then add more dirt and plant a garden. Go ahead. Don’t hold back. Laugh til you snort. I just never learn. Of course we couldn’t just stick a planter or something in the opening. We had to break out the cement
wall because otherwise <i>it wouldn’t look nice</i>. </div>
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So
I suggested … come on ... you're laughing already? seriously? … I suggested we fill in the hole with cement blocks or those stones you use to build a wall. It was going to be mostly covered by dirt anyway. Right? Or if he felt he had to, Dean could paint it. Paint a mural on it. I suggested he put his artistic talent to
use. But no. Whatever we would use to fill the the opening in the middle of the cement wall to keep the dirt in wouldn’t match the cement wall so it still <i>wouldn’t
look nice</i>. So ........ Dean got the sledge hammer and broke it out. </div>
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But guess when he did it? Come on. Just guess. He broke it out AFTER he had sent me squeezing through that
bitty opening to pry the staples and nails out of the wood that was holding the
piping that went into the pump to recirculate the water for the water
feature. AFTER I crawled through a tiny crevice into a dank, dirty, claustrophobic, spider haven.</div>
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I should have eaten more
cookies during the basement construction.</div>
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Of course,
once the wall was out and he laid the stones for the new back wall I made the
mistake of telling him it slanted. To
the left. See it? What's wrong with me? Don't I <u>ever</u> learn anything?</div>
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I thought .............. really .... try and hold it down ...... I thought he could just build up the bottom of the slanted side with some dirt or some kind of flat rock or something and then lay the wall stones on to make it level but of course not. Duh. What was I thinking? He built a small form, mixed up a batch of cement, got out his level and did it the “right
way.” </div>
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Then, of course there was a debate
about the space between the top of his new wall and the bottom of the
deck. I thought the space looked tacky. Dean thought the plants he was planning to
grow would cover it. I wanted to build
the wall all the way above the bottom of the deck. Dean did not.
We compromised. Dean said he will
add more rocks to fill in the gaping holes between the top of the wall and the
bottom of the deck. But it can’t be just
any rock or it won’t <i>look nice</i>. He will add rocks that speak to him and are special and will be accepted by all the other rocks or ..........whatever. I don't even try to understand the rock part of his brain anymore. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Once the
wall was finished I was ready to spread out the dirt, add a boatload of the compost
we’d gotten from the dump, and get planting.
But oh, no. We had bags and bags
of wood chips I’d dug out from under our swing and our neighbor said he would take them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. Dean laid the stones and I figure in about five years the baby woolly thyme plants will have filled in the sides.</td></tr>
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But they were mixed with dirt and we couldn’t give him messy, dirty wood
chips. Oh no, no, no. We had to sift them so the dirt went into the
new garden and our neighbor got nice clean wood chips. </div>
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Finally we spread the dirt, mixed in the compost and waited for it to warm up enough to plant. And then it started raining
and we got busy building the arc and then once it quit raining it stayed cold and
cloudy so it isn’t exactly the Garden of Eden out there yet but at least next
spring we won’t have to muck out putrid, slimy leaves. But back when we had to ... gosh those finger webs I grew this year would have really come in handy.</div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-62689465847549429362015-05-18T15:41:00.000-06:002015-05-18T15:57:49.413-06:00Houdini and the Sausage<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .6in; margin-right: .8in; margin-top: 0in;">
<i>What did you think would happen to you
after you ate your “sister’s” $1,500.00 not-covered-by-insurance hearing aid? You'd already chewed your way out of your hard-sided dog
crate. And eaten your “mother’s”
fund-raising pie. And eaten all of her hair
ties. And you ate your “brother’s” leggos. And chewed up your “sisters’” miniature
plastic people. Plus you kept finding new ways
to open the back gate latch and escaping. Your “parents’ were so busy and so tired and yet they still fed you and
cared for you and forgave you. And then …
then ……………. you ate Emerson’s hearing aid?!?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who? Me?</td></tr>
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<o:p> </o:p>And that’s why,
a couple of months ago, Angus’s brother, Baxter, came to live with us. And why we spent most of a day last week
setting up the outdoor dog kennel Baxter brought along with him. We spent half our time driving to town to buy
one size of rubber mat at Tractor Supply and then driving to Big R to buy
another size only to discover the Big R’s pad cost waaaaaaay more than we
wanted to pay which meant we had to drive home to re-measure and recalculate
and by the time Dean had come up with a new plan he was hungry so we had to take
a lunch break. Then we drove back to
Tractor Supply to return the pad we’d purchased earlier and bought two different
ones, after which we drove to Home Depot and bought 10 paving stones. And then, finally, we drove home. We hitched up the cart to the John Deere, loaded
the mats and stones, drove them over to where we wanted the kennel, carefully
placed the mats on the grass, laid the paving stones in the area the rubber
mats didn’t cover, set the kennel on top and ta da! we were finished! </div>
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Nope. That would have been the <i>good enough</i> way. That would not have been the RIGHT way. Oh, no.
And we always do things the right way.
Oh sure, we did carefully place the paving stones and the cumbersome, super
heavy mats on the grass. But then Dean meticulously
cut the ground around the edge
of the mats and stones with his utility knife so we’d know the EXACT
boundary. THEN, we picked up the super
heavy cumbersome rubber mats, carefully lifted the paving stones, set them
aside, and dug up the grass. And
smoothed the edges. And leveled the
ground. And THEN, </div>
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once again, we very
precisely laid the super cumbersome, heavy rubber mats and the paving stones
into the edged, scraped and leveled area.
And then and only then, did we …. FINALLY ….. carry over the dog kennel
and set it down. And it fit perfectly. I mumbled <span style="font-size: x-small;">“you were right,”</span> and Dean barely
gloated. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So now, after
two months, the dogs can be safely outside when we don’t want to play the odds
and leave them alone in the house. Not that they haven't been free range in the house many times before. Baxter had been over here to play with Angus most days of the week anyway so having him full time hasn’t really made a huge difference. We were already used to the furniture-shifting wrestling
matches and fur rising up like fog from a lake when we walked through the
house. The cats were somewhat hesitant
at first but they have gradually adjusted.
I don’t worry about their panicked sprints through the house when Baxter
chases them because it’s the only exercise they get and the vet did tell me
they need to get exercise somehow. </div>
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When Baxter
first arrived I cringed a bit when I thought about what the dog food bill would
be but Angus, aka The Sausage, is now on a diet so we haven’t had to buy all that much extra
dog food after all. What’s really
increased is the dog poop cleanup which, between the two of them, is always a
treasure hunt. So far the fully intact four-inch
square of bright red cloth I used (not anymore!) to clean my iPad screen mashed in Baxter’s
poop pile has topped the small blue plastic foot nestled in Angus’s poop. I did notice this morning, though, that I’m
missing a bright green footie …. THAT could brighten tomorrow’s walk!</div>
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-82701879388699918352015-05-06T08:35:00.000-06:002015-05-06T08:35:12.159-06:00Tongue Tied By Beauty<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This isn’t
the way I thought retirement would go,” Dean said. As I bent down to throw
another humongous chunk of cement over the bank, making sure I threw it <i>exactly between those two trees and far enough that it
lands on the bank, but not so far it lands or rolls into the water</i>, I
was thinking I wasn’t going to tell him that those two trees now had areas of missing
bark and that somehow chunks of cement had gotten into the creek. But when I wasn’t
thinking that, I was thinking I agreed with him and that we needed a break from the yard projects that
seemed to have taken over our lives. So
we did. Take a break. We ignored our aching joints, stiff backs,
swollen fingers and throbbing feet and took Emerson to the Tongue River Canyon for
a day of hiking. </div>
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The grass
was tender and lush and the boys took advantage of it to do some grazing, which
I know </div>
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from Googling they eat for one of three reasons: 1. they need some fiber, 2. they just enjoy
the taste of tender grass, or 3. (and
most likely) they think it’s fun to gag and run straight for my area rug where, just as I get my arms around them and start dragging them toward the wood floor, they barf up a pile of bile and long-slimy grass blades. </div>
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When they weren’t foraging
they were sniffing, snorting, drooling and enjoying any water we came across.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a
pleasant surprise to discover that all the cement hurling, compost digging,
dirt turning, stone lifting, stooping, bending and twisting we’d been doing over the last weeks had
made my body stronger which made it easier to crouch down (and even back up!) to take photos of all the different wildflowers and unique displays
of nature. </div>
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I’d really hoped my photos would
entice <a href="http://acornergarden.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: red;"><b>the nature/flower-loving friends</b></span></a> we’ve known since high school to come out</div>
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and experience the wonders of Wyoming (and see us!) but my photographic talent (or lack of) was<br />
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hampered by the fact that I had no idea how sharp, or even what, was in the viewfinder of my<br />
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camera. I could have easily remedied
that problem, but hiking with reading glasses just seemed so, oh, I don’t know, old. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XBBCeFkbvD8/VUkxeqsRxyI/AAAAAAAAKsw/cEPyLIchefM/s1600/IMG_0056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XBBCeFkbvD8/VUkxeqsRxyI/AAAAAAAAKsw/cEPyLIchefM/s1600/IMG_0056.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit to Emerson -- oh, to have young eyes again ....</td></tr>
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After I got home and realized most of the photos I’d taken were blurry, I decided next time I’d just suck it up and wear them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squirrel banquet hall</td></tr>
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If I’d been wearing them I would have been able to see what I zoomed in to instead of needing to get up close and lean back to get the “perfect” shot. That way I wouldn’t have ended up like a turtle on its back when my water-bottle-filled backpack
pulled me over, which was much more humiliating than wearing reading glasses on a hiking trail. </div>
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Dean, who I’ve apparently ruined by making him “wait while I just take a quick photo,” of course couldn’t help me up until he’d made me “wait while I just take a quick photo.”<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The culprit</td></tr>
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We’d hiked
the Tongue River Canyon Trail a few times in the last couple of years but had
never made it as far as the meadow area. If you ever want to push yourself a bit farther
and a bit harder than you initially planned on, take a 11 ½ -year old hiking
with you. “I’m pretty sure we can go </div>
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farther,” Emerson would say. And farther
we’d go. This time we made it to the meadow. And next time ... next time we’ll hike to the meadow and beyond!</div>
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The hike out
took half as long as the hike in. Partly
because more of it was downhill, but mostly because Emerson spent her time
talking on her rock phone and the more she talked the faster she walked.
She obviously got much better reception than my cell phone. Mine said “searching” the whole way out but Emerson made multiple calls to friends and family. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hi
Mom. Nana and Papa thought we should
have ice cream after we get back. What
do you think? Yeah. I think it’s a good idea too cuz it’s free ice cream. What’s Dad doing? Is he playing the drums in his underwear again? Okay, I gotta go. I need to call Nolan. Bye.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hi Nolan’s
Mom….Mrs. McCready. Is Nolan there? Okay, thanks.
Oh, hi Nolan. I’m just hiking
with my Nana and Papa. Oh, wait,
sorry. Hold on. ‘What Papa?
Okay. I’m just talking to Nolan.’ Nolan?
Sorry. My papa was just asking me
a question. Oh, we're just hiking and then we’re going to get ice cream when we get back.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She
talked ….<o:p></o:p></div>
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And talked …<o:p></o:p></div>
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And talked. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Her phone
lost its charge just as we reached the car.
Or imagine it did because it was very quiet in the backseat on the ride
home. The dogs were sacked out in the
back dreaming of the next time they’d get to graze on grass, Emerson was
reading the last chapter of a book and maybe trying to decide which sprinkles
she’d be putting on her ice cream. I don’t
know for sure but I wouldn’t be surprised if Dean was trying to figure out how
he could talk me out of the next project I suggest. And I
was wondering if, once we got home, I’d have time to suck down a couple of Ibuprophen before I had to run for the dog barf cleaning solution.</div>
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<o:p></o:p>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-22013798850072767262015-04-30T17:04:00.000-06:002015-04-30T17:04:18.604-06:00Boxing In Spring<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
All I wanted
to do was plant some pansies. I thought
it would be a simple matter of pouring potting soil from a bag into the
planters attached to our front porch, grabbing a pansy by its neck, yanking it
out of the little plastic rectangle without leaving half the roots behind, sticking
it in the dirt, watering it and then waiting for it to bloom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>I’ll
just mix in some new potting soil with this old dirt and then plant. Right?
I don’t need to replace all the soil with new stuff do I? It’ll be good
enough without all new soil, right?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That
should work. But you need to dig the
dirt down and line the inside of the boxes with heavy plastic before you add
the potting soil. If you don’t, the wood
is going to rot out because those planters weren't built correctly.</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And that was
my mistake. Asking. Because Dean thinks that projects need to be
done “the right way” not just the “good enough way.” I never learn. I should just proceed with my plans quietly,
but no, I have some idiotic need to double-check the procedure with Dean before
I begin. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>There’s
no end to this dirt. It’s just one huge
box with two sides and some front boards.
The dirt goes all the way to the ground.
There is no bottom to the boxes. How
do I line each box with plastic if the dirt goes all the way to the ground?</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7lepd7Ro0C8/VUKigAiaWtI/AAAAAAAAKq0/I17n8LaQkXA/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7lepd7Ro0C8/VUKigAiaWtI/AAAAAAAAKq0/I17n8LaQkXA/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't that why we have children? So we have grandchildren who will feel sorry for us and do the hard work?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I heard his
heavy sigh from all the way over by the garage.
He tore himself away from sorting the pile of screws scattered among all
the other “you never know when I’ll need this” bits and pieces of detritus
covering his workbench and walked over.
He looked. He thought. He looked some more. He sighed some more. And finally – delivered his verdict.<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I need to rebuild it. You can’t plant flowers now. I need to take it apart and put in new wood. See there?
See where it’s getting ready to rot?
If you just add dirt, even if you line it with plastic, it’s going to
rot completely and then in a year or two you won’t have any boxes at all for
planting flowers. It needs to be done
“the right way.” It won’t take that
long. </span></i><br />
<br />
And then he went to get his “tear
down almost perfectly fine flower boxes tools.”</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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My jaw
clenched, the back of my head began to throb, and my shoulders tensed because I
knew his sense of “not that long” was not the same as mine. I cursed myself for not just throwing in more
dirt and quietly pushing in those pansies. I had a sinking feeling the planter was going
to go the way of my favorite rocking chair which has been stored in a box
somewhere in the wood and metal strewn jungle, otherwise known as Dean’s garage, waiting
to be reassembled – for over 25 years – all because I’d once innocently
mentioned one of the joints was loose. I
didn’t want the planter parts to also disappear into a forlorn heap never to be
seen again. I wanted to plant flowers in
those boxes and I wanted to do it now. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Fortunately, over the years I’ve become a bit more skillful
at offering creative solutions to a problem.
And let’s face it, what I’m really saying is I’ve figured out how to
manipulate Dean to get what I want pretty much all the time … usually … mostly …
a lot … for sure sometimes. </div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>What if we just dig out all the dirt and enclose the boxes by putting boards on the top? I can fill pots with flowers and set them on
top and that way there won’t be dirt inside to rot out the wood. Plus, the best thing is you won’t have to
rebuild the whole thing</i> (and I won’t have to wait 1,000 years until I can plant
flowers.)<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
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He looked, he thought, he
looked again, he thought some more, then he nodded just slightly and agreed
that was a good solution. He started
sawing boards for the top, I did my part and attached the boards, and before the day had ended we
had planters built “the right way” with pots of pansies soaking up the sun. </div>
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<br />
If only I could find that box of rocking chair parts. I could start to cobbling it together the “good enough way” and ..... maybe .....<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-69895732519166996762015-04-15T15:59:00.000-06:002015-04-15T16:26:09.695-06:00Don’t Choke On Your Cookie<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It’s a cold,
wet, grey day today and seeing a snowflake or two mixed in with the rain
reminded me about shoveling snow which reminded me how sad Dean must feel since he can’t feed his snow-shoveling
obsession now that we’ve moved to Sheridan. Oh, I suppose he could shovel
our rocked driveway and parking area but it would take him about three days, and
why would he anyway, when our very nice neighbor plows it out with his tractor?
Sadly, all he can shovel is about a 10 foot square section of pavement at
the bottom of the front porch, and the back deck which, hey, now that I think
about it, he never shovels. <b><u>I</u></b> shovel the
back deck. Does that mean he really wasn’t
obsessed with shoveling after all, but only lusted after snow-free pavement? OR does that mean he only seemed obsessed
over shoveling our driveway in Casper because he didn’t like the way I shoveled? I know he didn’t – like the
way I shoveled – because he would always go back over any portion I cleared, slowly and methodically scraping his shovel under every tiny bump of snow I left. And then, even though the newly shoveled driveway and sidewalk were practically snowflake free, he would sweep them! But that obsession
is behind us now, replaced with his pruning obsession.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Oh,
yes. He didn’t stop with the cottonwood
trees. He moved on to the chokecherry
forest. <br />
<br />
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<br />
Last summer I’d <strike>hacked</strike>,
<strike>slashed</strike>, <strike>whacked</strike> carefully pruned the parts that came close to putting my
eye out every time I mowed. This week
Dean decided to take care of the branches that were hanging over the fence and,
as long as he was at it, cut out the dead wood.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Unfortunately his pruning obsession involved me – again. I had to pull cut limbs through eye-gouging, skin scratching branches which pulled out hunks of my hair, grabbed
at my clothes, got tangled in the limb I was dragging out, and gave me lots
of chances to practice the words Dean used when his baby chainsaw threw off it’s
chain – again and again and again. I dragged those limbs (and my exhausted shaky-legged body) to the slash pile somewhere between 572 and 1,529,023 times. And
the worst thing about it? There were no
cookies waiting for me at the end.
Again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But that’s okay. I made up for it today because yep, today I baked. For my bees. The two replacement windows for my sewing room finally arrived yesterday and Troy and Darrin buzzed on over this morning to install them. These windows were so loose they rattled every time a car drove by and if you slid those little tabs at the top to the side, the window would fall out. <br />
<br />
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Since I wouldn't be seeing them anymore after today I thought I’d send them off with not only the lemon crinkle cookies which were a big hit last time they were here, but also Magic Cookie Bars.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Of course before I gave them the plate of cookies I had to <strike>eat</strike> taste-test one or two or, heck, I don’t know…. a bunch. It was kind of strange and a little sad knowing everything was now finished and I wouldn't see them again. But guess what? I will! Because one of the windows had a broken pane. <br />
<br />
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<br />
Can you believe that? I’m sure it arrived that way and my bees had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that they will now need to come back to replace the pane in two or three weeks. As they were leaving, Troy sighed and wistfully told me that of all the cookies I’d made, today’s lemon cookies and the rum balls I’d made when he was first here installing our upstairs windows, nearly a year and a half ago, were his two favorite. <br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I1guKCk3tTA/VS7IvEOvMEI/AAAAAAAAKp8/V73KAhZPBS0/s1600/IMG_1575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I1guKCk3tTA/VS7IvEOvMEI/AAAAAAAAKp8/V73KAhZPBS0/s1600/IMG_1575.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
And Darrin asked me for the lemon cookie recipe. Oh..........gosh, you don't think they’re developing a cookie obsession ..... do you? </div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-59688346575718225652015-04-02T14:47:00.000-06:002015-04-02T14:48:30.432-06:00Just Down the Road From Hooterville<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was a pruning workshop at our local greenhouse last weekend and Dean suggested I go along with him so I could learn a better way to cut back the chokecherry forest trying to take over the yard. I agreed it was probably a good idea since randomly hacking at
them with big scary shears while I yell “die you chokecherry bush” or “you’re
outa here sucker!” hasn’t really been very effective.
<strike>Thankfully</strike> Unfortunately
I came down with a head cold the day before the workshop (which is what I get for mentioning one too many times that I haven’t been sick since our <a href="http://stilwellian.blogspot.com/2013/02/mo-joe-please.html"><span style="color: blue;">last trip to Ecuador</span></a><span id="goog_185445536"></span> almost 2 ½ years ago) so I <strike>got to</strike> had to miss that stimulating lecture. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Yx-6asIM80/VR2PzlgMLOI/AAAAAAAAKl4/H5hnoKj-C6E/s1600/IMG_0110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Yx-6asIM80/VR2PzlgMLOI/AAAAAAAAKl4/H5hnoKj-C6E/s1600/IMG_0110.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What? Doesn't everybody wear Christmas socks and sandals when they're sick?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It might have been better if Dean had missed
it. When he got home he was obsessed
with the two huge cottonwood trees in our yard.
He took me outside and told me they’d never been properly maintained. He swept his hand up and around. <i>See? They should only have three main limbs and this
one has way too many. And they</i>’<i>re
shooting out to the side, not straight up like they should be. And look at the other tree. It’s not as bad but it still has too many limbs
and those limbs are growing out, not up.
And look at all those dead branches.
They need to go.</i><br />
<br />
Oh, it’s not
like he hadn’t been out there trimming trees already. And it’s
been a good thing because the more dead wood he’s cut out of those cottonwoods,
the fewer little branches and twigs I’ve had to rake up off the ground – which seems
to be <u>my</u> obsession. But after this
pruning workshop he came home determined that something had to be done before
those two big trees fell on the house and garage. The longer he looked at the trees the more
convinced he became we needed to have them cut down. All I saw was money pouring out of our
savings account into two big holes in the ground where trees used to stand. I mentally tried to calculate if the value of
the firewood they would provide would offset the cost of cutting them down. And that’s when I made my mistake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Why don’t we
just cut as many of the limbs off as we can ourselves, and then we can get a
bid to remove the trees, only we’ll leave the trunks and you can carve them? That should reduce the cost, don’t you
think?</i> It wasn’t long before Dean was
decked out in his coveralls, safety glasses, boots and earphones and he was up
on a ladder with his chain saw.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8bHc75-5_rA/VR2W9KL2iYI/AAAAAAAAKnY/GOlsGdEG_2A/s1600/IMG_0115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8bHc75-5_rA/VR2W9KL2iYI/AAAAAAAAKnY/GOlsGdEG_2A/s1600/IMG_0115.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
“If
you want to help, you could drag the branches off,” he told me. If I wasn’t so dang obsessed with a twig-free lawn I
would have played the head-cold card.
But instead, my chest slathered in Vicks and my head filled with snot, I
filled my pockets with Kleenex and started hauling.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vICZvuDCDuM/VR2i8G4RYVI/AAAAAAAAKoI/_sMc2nW0XKY/s1600/IMG_0140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vICZvuDCDuM/VR2i8G4RYVI/AAAAAAAAKoI/_sMc2nW0XKY/s1600/IMG_0140.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our very own slash pile.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
I knew we
were in trouble when I saw him standing on his ladder eyeing one big branch
that reached over the garage roof. <b><i>It’s
going to fall on the garage if you cut it!!</i> <i>Insurance doesn’t pay for stupidity!</i></b> He acted like he couldn’t hear me through his headphones but I knew he could, because earlier when I’d asked the boys, in a in a normal
conversational voice, “which of you dug this hole in the pen?” Dean had lifted
his earphones and said, “what?”<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vV1AX54sFBE/VR2Uv8VaMGI/AAAAAAAAKnE/OHG9GKtZ4_k/s1600/IMG_0143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vV1AX54sFBE/VR2Uv8VaMGI/AAAAAAAAKnE/OHG9GKtZ4_k/s1600/IMG_0143.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes. You see two dogs. That's another story for another post.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
He cut
the branch partway and then tied a rope to it and handed the end of it to me
and told me to “hold it tight.”<br />
<br />
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
In his
infinite wisdom he must have thought I would be able to guide the branch away from the garage as it came crashing down once he finished sawing. It didn’t work. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-27grnhZOt4U/VR2Th-D8msI/AAAAAAAAKmU/BtEtIljLs_U/s1600/IMG_0123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-27grnhZOt4U/VR2Th-D8msI/AAAAAAAAKmU/BtEtIljLs_U/s1600/IMG_0123.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
After he
nonchalantly pointed out to me that he could easily pound out the dent in the roof,
he moved on to the second cottonwood. The
house and garage were safe from any branches falling from this tree but that
didn’t mean it was without its pruning challenges. At one point Dean’s eyes were bigger than his
toy chain saw. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YZfMHlUlMJQ/VR2TlVKqneI/AAAAAAAAKmc/VjvZBb0qG9U/s1600/IMG_0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YZfMHlUlMJQ/VR2TlVKqneI/AAAAAAAAKmc/VjvZBb0qG9U/s1600/IMG_0127.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
He told me he’d need to finish sawing the branch with a
hand saw. I pictured him walking back with a <u>hand</u> saw. You know.
The kind you hold in your hand.
With no power cord attached. <br />
<br />
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<br />
I
didn’t even waste my breath expressing my opinion this time. I just counted his fingers and watched for
spurting blood as the tree branch fell very nicely ...<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7Onsw239aA/VR2a6hkTJRI/AAAAAAAAKnw/9W4Wqkrj1f4/s1600/IMG_0134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7Onsw239aA/VR2a6hkTJRI/AAAAAAAAKnw/9W4Wqkrj1f4/s1600/IMG_0134.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
... and settled snugly into the V of another tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<br />
Dean stared at it for a
while and then decided the two of us could just pull it out. But the vaporub had cleared my head by
that time and <u>my</u> brain was functioning, so I suggested he hook a chain to the ol’ John Deere instead.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FP37LWgG5YU/VR2U2U5vEhI/AAAAAAAAKnM/FXcvdMxS2D8/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FP37LWgG5YU/VR2U2U5vEhI/AAAAAAAAKnM/FXcvdMxS2D8/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
When he finally decided he’d cut every branch
within his reach I swear I saw the cottonwood branches sag in relief. But, if I was a chokecherry, I’d be nervous. As we were picking up the tools and cleaning
up the branches, I saw him staring intently at them, gently stroking his chainsaw.<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AZMasJIeGr8/VR2mc4B5THI/AAAAAAAAKoU/WReQkpXcOXg/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AZMasJIeGr8/VR2mc4B5THI/AAAAAAAAKoU/WReQkpXcOXg/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The end.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
</div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-8407372851889444362015-03-30T13:09:00.000-06:002015-03-30T13:11:50.388-06:00Baking For Myra<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yep. Baking again.
Sometimes we just have to accept that we are who we are and we do what
we do. I began all the baking to
distract myself while the bees were here because having people in and out all
day long just made me nervous. Even if
they were super nice guys I couldn’t ever really relax while they were
here. What would they think if they saw
me basking in the sun on the couch with my eyes closed? Or watching TV in the middle of the day? Or what if Dean scratched himself in the
wrong spot just as they looked at him? It made for stressful days and when I’m
stressed I bake. And then the baking became a habit. And now I can’t go three days in a row
without baking something. Mostly because
I can’t go three days in a row without wanting to eat something I’ve baked. Which is not good because now there are no
worker bees to eat most of what I bake. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Good thing I
have Leslie and Ryan and the grandkids to save me from myself. Today I am baking for them. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9glx_vLLU2c/VRmcGp7mB6I/AAAAAAAAKlc/LwhmtgAqMvU/s1600/IMG_0112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9glx_vLLU2c/VRmcGp7mB6I/AAAAAAAAKlc/LwhmtgAqMvU/s1600/IMG_0112.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But mostly I am baking for Myra because over
the last couple of weeks Myra has worked harder and will continue to work
harder than any of my bees.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today Myra
went back to school – using a walker. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
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And I suspect at the end of a day filled with looks and questions and
learning to maneuver her walker in her classroom and cafeteria and everywhere
else she needs to go during a normal school day she is going to need a cupcake –
or two – or three. She deserves a dozen
after what she’s been through because after five days in the hospital, needles poking, people prodding, an MRI
that sounded like jack hammers pounding and felt like it went on for days
(nothing at all like the medical TV shows depict Leslie tells me) and a spinal
tap where she merely wrinkled her brow while they “were pushing a bottle into
my back,” Myra has been diagnosed with <span style="background: white; color: #141823;"><a href="http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/gbs/gbs.htm">Guillain-Barré Syndrome,</a> a rare autoimmune
syndrome that occurs when the body attacks the peripheral nerves</span>. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">She<span style="color: black;">’</span>s making the best of it by decorating her new walker ... </span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3KCzo6WR_A/VRmTqjWaTTI/AAAAAAAAKlE/k9sp7YPmNd4/s1600/IMG_1063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3KCzo6WR_A/VRmTqjWaTTI/AAAAAAAAKlE/k9sp7YPmNd4/s1600/IMG_1063.JPG" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">... which isn’t surprising coming from a girl who
made this for her valentine’s box. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span><span style="background: white; color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg2uN5NkUH8/VRmTt6_qssI/AAAAAAAAKlM/IdhgoSP31M8/s1600/IMG_1022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg2uN5NkUH8/VRmTt6_qssI/AAAAAAAAKlM/IdhgoSP31M8/s1600/IMG_1022.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Even though she’s stuck using a
walker just when the weather has made it perfect for climbing trees and riding
her scooter, she hasn’t let it dampen her spirit. As Leslie says, her determination and obstinacy
and constant questioning, which are the very traits that sometimes made her
infuriating, are the very qualities that have so far, and will in the future,
get her through this ordeal until she is once again running with her brother trying to beat our car to the corner as we leave after a visit. It’s still not going to be a piece of cake and her recovery may take
months but she will get there because she’s one tough cookie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-81500250320596309862015-03-27T14:03:00.000-06:002015-03-27T16:02:23.179-06:00Construction With Cookies – Day After Day After Day After Day ….<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Has it
really only been a week or so since I updated you on my cookie addic uh, our
basement remodel? The intervention … and
the therapy … seem so long ago …</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So after we
finished the floor I ran upstairs and ……………. have you noticed how often people begin
their sentences with <i>so</i>? I have. I hear it more
and more. For example, “So tell us about your
new cookie therapy practice, Dr. Sweet.”
“So, I’d heard of this crazy lady who was in the midst of a basement
remodel and …” I don’t know why Dr. Sweet doesn’t just begin his sentence with <i>I’d
heard of ... ?</i> Why the <i>so</i>? Pay attention people. So the thing is, when you’re watching the news anchors on TV
and listening to the reporters on the radio you’ll start hearing it too. So I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to NOT hear it
anymore and next thing you know you’ll begin saying it yourself and before you know it you’ll be out of control and you’ll be writing it. So I'm just sayin’ –be careful people. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, anyway………………….right after we finished laying the very last plank on
the newly remodeled basement floor, I called my head bee to tell him we were
ready for the baseboards to be installed.
“The bees will be out next week,”
he said. The next morning a bee showed up, table saw in
hand. Okay, not in his hand, but in the
back of his truck. It was Saturday morning and there was a bee at my
door! And I had no cookie plan! Well, I had a cookie plan but that was for
Monday and I hadn’t been to the store yet to buy the ingredients. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I offered
him my plate of cream cheese crepes covered in cherry sauce but he declined even though I told him I hadn't taken a bite yet. I understood. It would have been hard to keep the cherry
sauce from dripping onto the saw blade and gumming everything up. I couldn’t let him work without a
treat but I wasn’t sure how much time I had to get
something mixed up and in the oven before he would finish. So I had to fall back on my tried and true brownie
recipe. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I just crossed my fingers and
hoped I wasn’t giving him a repeat. Anyway, even if I’d made them before, I
couldn’t think what else would be quick and easy and good. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I just checked my blog and I’m ashamed to say, they <b>were</b> a repeat. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xF1XAqQ0KC4/VRWoJNfZ-MI/AAAAAAAAKiw/R8RxjiGtTik/s1600/IMG_0058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xF1XAqQ0KC4/VRWoJNfZ-MI/AAAAAAAAKiw/R8RxjiGtTik/s1600/IMG_0058.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baseboards and door handles!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
As we got
closer and closer to the end of the project, the bees didn’t always come every
day or stay very long when they did come.
I never knew if or when they’d show up at my door or if I’d need to bake, so I finally just made sure there was always a stick of butter softening on the counter and a
selection of recipes lying nearby. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Monday morning we knew we’d be gone most of the day but I couldn’t risk
having a bee show up again with no cookies so I got up early, baked pumpkin-chocolate chip cookies and
left them. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R2ECqLwN03Y/VRWp-RTGqnI/AAAAAAAAKjU/0hAlXfDaMh0/s1600/IMG_0077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R2ECqLwN03Y/VRWp-RTGqnI/AAAAAAAAKjU/0hAlXfDaMh0/s1600/IMG_0077.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But nobody came. Until Tuesday. I’d made the rash decision not to get up early and bake that morning which meant when my bees pulled up just as we were putting on our coats to leave again for the day, all I had to offer were the day-old pumpkin cookies – which is what I shamefully gave
them. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
If only they
would have come the day after when my electrical bee came to put in all the
lights and plugs and switches. I was
ready for him. I made him Irish Lace
Cookies in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And when he came back the day after that I baked him lemon
cookies. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Once the
electrical work was done there was nothing left but the handrail. Once again my bees showed up unannounced even
though when I’d handed them those day-old cookies I had specifically asked them
to tell me ahead of time when they’d be coming so I could be ready for
them. Honestly, this erratic work schedule
made construction cookie-baking tough but you know what they say, <i>when the
going gets tough, the tough get baking</i>. So I did. I baked the lemon
cookies – again – because I still had lots of lemons and I knew they hadn’t
eaten that cookie. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And that was
the end. Of them. But not the end. Nope.
A couple of days ago we finished laying the flooring in my sewing
room. And that’s the end. Of the flooring. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v7FHaE3EiYw/VRWs8uOWVfI/AAAAAAAAKkI/pSOla8nGrUc/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v7FHaE3EiYw/VRWs8uOWVfI/AAAAAAAAKkI/pSOla8nGrUc/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Enrmy4whwMc/VRWs8IvGssI/AAAAAAAAKkA/8Q1oB7kOEFM/s1600/IMG_0106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Enrmy4whwMc/VRWs8IvGssI/AAAAAAAAKkA/8Q1oB7kOEFM/s1600/IMG_0106.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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But not the end. Of everything. I’ll be posting some more. Some day. We've been moving furniture. And organizing. And I’m still baking. Pumpkin muffins for Leslie and Ryan and the
kids. </div>
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Banana bread for our
neighbors. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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You didn’t think I could stop
cold turkey did you? Wait, when did
Leslie and Ryan and the grandkids show up?
And why is everybody sitting on the couch together … holding hands … looking
at me ….?</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-16450861427418285652015-03-20T13:09:00.000-06:002015-03-20T13:13:33.848-06:00Construction With Cookies – Day Cookies, What Cookies?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
One morning Dean
noticed Angus had egg shells dangling from his tail. He’s sometimes seen brownish bits dangling <b>near</b>
his tail (Angus’s tail, not Dean’s) which he removes after encasing his hand in a plastic bag, but these bits
were white and they were stuck <b>on</b> Angus’s tail so, sharp guy that he is, (Dean, not Angus, although Angus is pretty sharp for a dog) he
realized right away they were egg shells and since he didn’t need any hand
protection he immediately reached out to grab for them. But Angus kept walking away from him and as Dean
followed the drool dripping from his tongue (Angus’s tongue, not Dean’s) it led
him to the kitchen where he found flour coating the walls and mounds of cookies
falling off the counters and onto the floor.
When he stepped on the cookies, which had mixed with Angus’s slobber, he
slipped and started falling so he reached out to grab my arm to save himself. But my arm was covered in cookie dough, which
wasn’t an optimal gripping surface, and as his fingers slid down my arm he
slowly crumpled to the floor. But at
least it was a slow crumple so he didn’t really hurt himself. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The good
thing was the slick slobber-cookie-crumb covered floor made it easy for me to slide
him out of the way with my foot so I could get to the oven to take out my 732<sup>nd</sup>
pan of cookies. Or maybe it was only 573<sup>rd</sup>.
I was losing track by then. Once Dean pulled his greasy, crumb-covered
body up from the floor he looked me square in the eyes – which I’m sure was
hard for him to do since they were hidden behind the globs of butter hanging
off my eyelashes – and said, <i>enough!</i>
<i>Stop baking! </i> And he took away my
spatula and my bowl and hid the cookie sheets.
And then he made me clean up all the smears of butter and hunks of
dried-on egg, and wipe up the sugar, oatmeal, nuts and anything else that
crunched when you stepped on it. And
that’s why I haven’t been blogging. It’s
Dean’s fault. Because he wouldn’t let me
blog until the kitchen was clean. And it
took me days and days and days. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Or … maybe
someday I’ll tell you the real reason I haven’t been blogging. But not today. Today I’m just going to tell you (if I can
remember, that is) about the floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Floor day (days actually, there were three of them) we
were both stressed and tense because we’d never done this before and we didn’t
want to screw it up because it’s really annoying when everything else looks
professionally done, mostly because it WAS professionally done, and then that one
last little bit looks amateurish, mostly
because it WAS done by amateurs. We’d
read the directions, watched the videos and read all the reviews that said “this
is so easy my 12-year old did it”, and “it is as easy to layout and install as it
sounds in the directions”, and my favorite, “…we also found it forgiving of
mistakes.” Ha! I say to those
people. HA! YOU must have had perfectly square rooms with
no door openings or TV alcoves or curvy rock walls. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Dean got all his tools out, prepared his work area .... </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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... and after a mere
thirty minutes we had the first three pieces laid in the corner.</div>
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</div>
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</div>
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“I think there’s too much space between the
seams here,” I told Dean. “Thank you for being such a good quality checker,” he responded. “Please gently pull the two planks apart and re-attach them carefully. The
directions said we have ‘10-15 minutes of open time in which you can re-work
the seams before any damage occurs to the adhesive on the GripStrip.’” Actually, he really just huffed and said, “If
you don’t like it, fix it.” So I started
pulling the two sticky planks apart. I
tried really hard. And then Dean
tried. We tried so hard we broke part of
the sticky edge. Thus began the ruined planks pile. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So much for having 10
to 15 minutes to rework the seam. It was really more like 10-15 seconds. They
need to re-write those instructions to say <i>get it right the first time, Bubba, or you’re screwed</i>. After regrouping,
some deep breathing and convincing each other that <i>we can do this!</i> a mere
hour and a half later we had that corner laid again. After that I kept my mouth closed — mostly.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dean was
true to his methodical, meticulous, deliberate and unhurried manner. He read about his fancy door-casing-cutting tool before he used it. Then he thought about what he'd read. Then he read some more. And finally he got down to business.</div>
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</div>
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<br />
He measured carefully.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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He thought about what he'd measured. He measured again. And then he cut.</div>
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</div>
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<br />
And made all the edges perfect.<br />
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<br /></div>
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Sometimes he swore. (This is the air being blue).</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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And then he measured again and cut again until he got it right.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was not true to form. I
patiently waited. I offered only a few
suggestions. I rarely spoke. I did whatever he told me to do and hardly
even questioned it. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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And then it
was finished. </div>
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And we did it all with no
cookies. Which is really sad.<o:p></o:p></div>
Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-60917651437555894782015-03-07T12:12:00.002-07:002015-03-07T12:12:47.054-07:00Construction With Cookies Day – Heck, I Don't Know – A bunch. <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The frenetic
energy of the first week or two of basement construction has mellowed as we’ve
entered the final stages of this project.
And with the pace of construction
slowing, I’ve had bit of a respite from my frenzied baking. A day
or two break from the oven gave me all the more energy to bake for my painter
bee Thursday. While she was covering
the basement with paper and plastic </div>
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and tape, I was upstairs mixing and baking
that day’s construction cookie – <a href="http://food52.com/recipes/14625-cream-cheese-cookies"><span style="color: blue;">cream cheese cookies</span></a>. Since
I had cream cheese in the fridge I thought I should use it. But I didn’t have a tried and true cookie
recipe using cream cheese. Actually I
had no cookie recipe in my stash requiring cream cheese. So I googled for recipes. What a mistake <b>that</b> was. Do NOT bake these cookies. I repeat.
Do <u>not</u> bake them. I wish I never
had. They are cookie meth. Especially warm. The soft chewy center and seductive tang of cream cheese ... I need to burn that recipe. Burn it now! But I can’t. It's on the web. It's going to be there foreeeeeeeever. Taunting. Teasing. Daring me to bake them just one more time..... </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The next day my bees arrived with paint in hand and I pulled myself together long enough to bake Friday’s construction cookie – Chocolate Oatmeal
Crunchies. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
Even though my bees taped
plastic over the stairs to try and contain the fumes, as they sprayed paint, my head filled with headache-producing vapors, although it seemed to have no effect on Sophie who intently contemplated the springiness of her very own trampoline.<br />
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<br />
I don’t know how they stood it down there in what must have been a white haze of paint
particles.
No wonder they wanted to leave the cookies up on the ledge rather than
taking them downstairs with them.<br />
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It took them all day, but my bees got everything painted and THEY took their garbage with them<br />
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and left the basement nice and tidy. <i>All </i>that’s left is for Dean and I to lay the flooring, have the bees come back to install the baseboards and the electrical odds and ends, have carpet put on the stairs ... and then ... we’ll be finished!! </div>
<br />
At the end of the day, as I handed my paint bees a baggie of the last of the cookies, they told me that we <span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“</span>were the nicest people they’d worked for<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">”</span> and we were <span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“</span>not the norm.<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">”</span> Gosh.........I knew all that cookie baking was going to pay off.....unless it was just the paint fumes talking ...Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-710845424628858512015-03-03T16:56:00.000-07:002015-03-03T16:59:44.797-07:00Construction With Cookies – Day 20<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">There were no
worker bees yesterday. That was probably
just as well because after reading </span><a href="http://artsmeanderings.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: blue;">my friend Art’s</span></a><span style="color: #222222;"> comment on my last
post I began to realize that because of all the taste-testing I’ve been forced
to do, it's getting harder to get MY </span></span><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">cookie/brownie/cake/lemon
squares/apple bars butt through the doorway. If this basement isn't
finished soon I may need to hire my bees to widen all of the doorways in my own house which would
mean more days of worker bees which would mean more days of cookies which would
mean I might not fit through the wider doorways so I’d have to hire them again to
widen the doorways even more which would mean more days of worker bees and more
cookies and … oh, no ... come back my worker bees!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I got up <strike>bright and</strike>
early this morning to mix up today’s Black Walnut, Cranberry and White Chocolate
Chip construction cookie. Head bee had
told me they would be over today but I didn't know how early they would arrive. After I looked outside, realized how cold it was and saw the blowing and drifting snow, I wasn’t sure they would come at all. I
decided to put the dough in the fridge and wait to bake the cookies if/when I
heard my bees buzzing at the door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In the meantime, since we used
the blowing snow as an excuse to skip the gym this morning, Dean decided to
clean the splattered texture from inside the light fixtures while I got comfy
on the couch and read. It wasn’t long
before he came up and asked if I could do something for him downstairs. <i>It’ll only take ten minutes.</i> </span></div>
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Really? I’d just spent
hours down there vacuuming on Sunday. After
I vacuumed <u>that</u> mess he decided to go find his trusty MacGyver tool and scrape
up all those little floor splats, so I got to vacuum those up too.<br />
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">He pulled out his trusty Boy Scout knife when the scraper just couldn't do the job. Right after I took this photo he looked up and said, “you’re going to make me look bad, aren’t you?” </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Since splats of texture on a cement
wall are unsightly, Dean decided those had to be scrubbed off, by me because high
school football makes raising his arms very high for any stretch of time painful
– or so he says. </span></div>
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Later, after everything
had been scraped and washed to Dean’s satisfaction, he remarked on all the dust
we’d been tracking from the splats on the stairs. I sighed, grabbed the bucket of water and rag
and scrubbed the treads of the stairs.
In all fairness Dean did offer to help, but I knew his shoulders would hurt
if he scrubbed, and I didn’t want to <strike>hear him complain</strike> see him in
pain. And then, like an idiot, I
scrubbed the whole basement floor, on my hands and knees. A couple of hours later when I finally
finished and crawled up the stairs, starving, expecting to be praised, Dean
pointed out to me <i>they’re going to make more of a mess when they come you know. </i>Not only was there no “atta
girl,” there were no construction cookies to reward my hard work because since my bees still hadn’t arrived, I
still hadn’t baked.<br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">Finally, about 2:30 they
knocked at the door and as they got right to work putting the casing on</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;">the </span><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">doors, I got right to work baking the cookies.
20 minutes later I carefully
carried a plate of</span><br />
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warm cookies down my scrubbed steps to the basement and stopped
short. The floor was covered in
sawdust. I recovered quickly and I don’t
think my bee even saw the tear in my eye when I handed him the plate of cookies. Or maybe he did, because later I heard my vacuum cleaner running. Of course, before I took my bees the cookies
I had to taste one first. And just in
case the cookie I ate wasn’t indicative of the quality of the entire panful, I
felt obligated to try another. Then
I remembered I’d had a salad for lunch which meant I deserved <strike>just one</strike>
more. <br />
<br />
I wonder when it will be a good time to discuss
door widths with my bees.<o:p></o:p>Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-26115071884702010912015-03-02T14:35:00.000-07:002015-03-02T14:35:44.109-07:00Construction With Cookies – Day 19? Already??<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I forfeited
sleeping in Saturday so I could get up early to get the construction cookie –
Glazed Apple Bars – in the oven before Dean wanted to make us breakfast in our
tiny kitchen. I know, </div>
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<br />
we’re retired and
every day is Saturday for us, but for some reason, Saturday and Sunday still
feel different than a week day. Maybe
because we get two days off from the gym.
Or maybe because during the week, breakfast is yogurt and granola but on
the weekend Dean makes us an awesome breakfast – pancakes or waffles or crepes
or German pancake … except for this Saturday. This Saturday my worker bee was here at 8:30 to TEXTURE the walls! It seemed a bit weird to be eating breakfast
at the dining room table while he was running up and down the stairs and
working his little bee butt off, so it was coffee and oatmeal in the family
room with a Glazed Apple Bar chaser.<br />
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<br /></div>
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I had been
bracing for a dust storm, especially when I saw my bee taping up plastic. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The dust from the trimming and cutting and
hanging of the wall board had been bad enough so I was not looking forward to a fog
of dried mud dust. But as it turned out, there was none. He used a damp sponge to sand. Who knew?
By noon my drywall bee had
completed the sanding, had textured all the walls, had rolled up his hose and
loaded that plus his compressor in the back of his pickup, gently placed a plate
of Apple Bars on the seat next to him, and driven off. Leaving his neatly folded and packed garbage
behind. </div>
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I really think he was
concentrating so hard on trying to unobtrusively wipe the saliva from his chin
as he watched me pack up his plate of Apple Bars that he forgot to go back down
and throw it in the back of his pickup. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We’re
getting so excited see the light at the end of the tunnel that we bought our <a href="http://www.homedepot.com/p/TrafficMASTER-Allure-6-in-x-36-in-New-Country-Pine-Resilient-Vinyl-Plank-Flooring-24-sq-ft-case-70516-0/202885482"><span style="color: blue;">fake-wood-looking vinyl plank floating floor</span> </a>yesterday. Carpet just isn’t practical for our household. Angus has been known to barf up grass or purple plastic chunks from an <i>indestructible</i> toy or the stuffing from a plush animal or wood chips from a stick or long strings of a braided rope. He does it so quietly we don’t realize he’s even puked until we slip in the
slime. Sophie and Maisie like to barf up
hairballs, although they do make very loud retching noises so we are forewarned and rarely step in a
pile of cat puke. And Dean likes to <strike>spill</strike>
eat in front of the TV now and then. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dean and I plan to install the floor ourselves (gulp) and I'm already getting nervous and stressing about it. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(If any of you have installed this flooring before and have any tips, please, please, please, share.) </span>The reviews
say it will be easy and relatively fast to install. But everything is more complicated for us and absolutely nothing is fast for us. Dean already told me I need to <i>scrape up
any texture left on the floor so it will be perfectly smooth when we start.</i> It doesn’t matter that I’d already spent
hours on Sunday dusting ...</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
... as well as vacuuming and mopping the basement floor. It doesn’t matter that the directions state
specifically you only need to worry about any difference in the floor of 1/8
inch or more. It doesn’t matter that I
am planning to fill any small holes or cracks with some special cement leveler<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m4m2YlsU-7k/VPTMlbY9L3I/AAAAAAAAKUs/IBo_4jv5mQk/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m4m2YlsU-7k/VPTMlbY9L3I/AAAAAAAAKUs/IBo_4jv5mQk/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really? I have still have to scrape those tiny splats? Seriously?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
just like the directions say I should. It doesn’t matter that most of those splats
are just that, a splat that can barely be felt with my finger. No. Our
floor will be smooth as silk before we begin.
I’m just taking deep breaths and telling myself that when we finish the floor
it will be perfect because, while I just want to get it done, Dean does
everything really, really meticulously and methodically and deliberately and it always looks really, really perfect when he's done. I just wish he didn’t also do it really, really,
really slowly. And now....I must go search for a texture-splat-removing scraper.<br />
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-35220034263858800372015-02-27T14:09:00.000-07:002015-02-27T14:09:07.245-07:00Construction With Cookies – Day Who Cares?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don’t know
about you but I’m beginning to get confused about what day I should be
describing and which “cookie” goes with that day. I think I should be telling you about
yesterday but I’m pretty sure I already posted a picture of yesterday’s “cookie.” Maybe I was telling you about the day BEFORE
yesterday and the “cookie” from the day after. It’s all a muddle in my head. Next thing you know I might get really
confused and start baking TWO cookies in one day or NO cookies. No cookies!? Can you imagine the butterfly effect that
might have? I don’t even want to think about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yesterday my head bee, John, stopped by with a mason. Not the jar, the guy who works with bricks
and stones and mortar. We have a rock
wall in the basement which used to be behind a woodstove. And we think there was a hearth in front
because there is about a five-inch gap between the cement floor and the last
rock of the wall. </div>
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Dean had told me he<i> would</i> <i>just fill in that gap</i> with cement or concrete or mortar (or whatever the correct
substance really is) but I said, “no! The
final touch to this room will be the floor which I (as in I hope Ryan will help
me) am going to put in and I can’t do that until the rocks are mortared into the rock wall and I’d
really like that to be finished before the end of the next millennium.” Really?
You think I’d say that to Dean?
Of course not. I thoughtfully
considered what he proposed. It would
save me some money …. it seemed like a simple job … it shouldn’t take him
longer than a couple of months …. Finally I said, “umm, thanks but I’m going to
ask John if he knows a mason.” Dang good
thing I listened to my gut because mason bee said just filling the space with concrete
would not have held the wall and the cement would have begun crumbling. As I
handed him a big fat slice of banana bread he said he would be back at 9:00
a.m. the next day. </div>
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As well as
mason bee, my head bee also brought along a painter yesterday. “Dry-wall bee’s bid for the painting is too high,” he said. “I wouldn’t pay that much and I
don’t want you to pay that much. I
brought you another painter to have a look. She’s a
professional and she’ll do a good job but she’s much more reasonable.” I said <i>thanks!</i> and handed them both a big
slab of banana bread.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Right after
I hit “publish” on yesterday’s blog post I headed over to Leslie and Ryan’s
because Emerson was still home sick. She
thought she would go to school. She got
up to get ready to go to school, but her throbbing head sent her back to
bed. You know a kid is really sick when
she chooses to stay in bed rather than go to <i>Doughnuts In The Cafeteria With Dad</i>. Later, when I got home and checked out
the progress of the basement, it looked the same. Well, not exactly the same, there was another
coat of mud on everywhere there had already been mud, but really nothing to take
a picture of. So since there’s really
not much to share with you about yesterday, I’m going to tie up everything that’s
happened today and be done with it…………til next week. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dry-wall bee
got right to work this morning slapping on more mud. Really?
MORE mud? Dust! I want dust! Lots and lots of fine dust! I don’t care if it filters into my food and
my hair. I won’t even care if there are
little tiny white cat prints on every surface in the house. Start
sanding my bee! Sand! Sand!
Sand! Because then you can
texture, texture, texture and then paint bee can paint, paint, paint. I want … oh, gosh … I want to see the light
at the end of the tunnel! No! I want to be out of the tunnel and done! Done! Done! Done! Sorry….got a little carried away….
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anyway…… today’s
construction “cookie” – Jewish Coffee Cake – was baking in the oven before dry-wall
bee arrived around 8:30. No, I don’t know why it’s
called Jewish and yes, I know, I can’t really pass this off as a cookie (even
if you <u>can</u> hold it in your hand) but it was easy and it’s good and I’m running
out of cookie ideas. I might have to
break into my Christmas cookie recipes pretty soon. </div>
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<o:p> </o:p>After I’d
taken the cake out of the oven to cool I looked up at the clock to see if it
was nearing the time for mason bee to arrive and noticed a huge streak of
brownish-yellowish liquid oozing across the family room ceiling. </div>
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<br />
I had a momentary panic thinking the
skylight had sprung a leak but after Dean came running, he told me it was just
condensation dripping down. There is a
lot of moisture in the house from the drywall mud and it was minus 14 when I
got up this morning so the skylight had frosted over because, according to
Dean, <i>we</i> (meaning me) <i>keep the house too cold at night.</i> When the heat came on and the sun started
shining onto the skylight, the frost melted and dripped down the side and onto the ceiling. <i>All</i> I had to do, he told me, was climb up on
a ladder and wipe off the streak from the ceiling. And
then wipe off any remaining wetness from the skylight itself. <br />
<br />
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<br />
So catastrophe was averted, but I'm pretty sure that means Dean’s
not going to let me drop the heat to 58 degrees at night until all this dry-walling moisture is gone or it’s warmer at night. He’s probably going to make me keep it at
something crazy like 62 or 63.<br />
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Mason bee and
his helper got here just as I was reaching for a knife to cut the coffee cake/cookie<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
and in less than two hours they had mortared in the rocks that Dean had unburied
from the snow, lovingly cleaned and dried and gently laid down by the
wall. <br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uC-cAMQMRNo/VPDP8EGPKVI/AAAAAAAAKSQ/JcdQAtmgjkk/s1600/IMG_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uC-cAMQMRNo/VPDP8EGPKVI/AAAAAAAAKSQ/JcdQAtmgjkk/s1600/IMG_0062.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mortar should dry light like the rest.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My dry-wall bee was getting ready to leave around one so I told him to take some cake with him if he wanted. I was a little worried he hadn’t liked today’s “cookie” because about an hour earlier, when I’d let him know there was more if he wanted it he told me there was still a lot down there. I grabbed a baggie for him and then thought maybe it would be easier to wrap the slices in saran wrap so I laid a sheet out on the table. <i>Take as much as you want.</i> I’d worried for nothing. He took the plate, with six pieces still on it, and flipped it over onto the plastic wrap. And now he is gone for the day. He’d sanded and textured the laundry room and I hadn’t even noticed any dust floating up the stairs or felt any dust clinging to my nose hairs. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kM47wCkncA8/VPDP-n1Q2MI/AAAAAAAAKSc/Jc0yFQaYhMY/s1600/IMG_0064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kM47wCkncA8/VPDP-n1Q2MI/AAAAAAAAKSc/Jc0yFQaYhMY/s1600/IMG_0064.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know you can't see it but it's textured!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not only that, he’s coming tomorrow morning to sand and texture rest! I don't care if it’s Saturday, he’s coming tomorrow morning to sand and texture rest! What’s that I see? Is it? The light? At the end of the tunnel?Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179508710493309984.post-61414729291896424002015-02-26T10:33:00.000-07:002015-02-26T10:33:18.268-07:00Construction With Cookies – Day Whatever Comes After Yesterday<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Right after
I posted yesterday’s update on this basement remodel I gathered my things
together to head over to get lunch ready for Myra. But before I left, I asked my worker bee how
I could fix a crack in the drywall upstairs.
I know exactly what happened. The
<a href="http://stilwellian.blogspot.com/2014/03/i-was-for-it-before-i-was-against-it.html"><span style="color: blue;">original tape job</span></a> wasn’t very good so the new texture cracked. I was hoping he would tell me I just needed
to fill it with a little caulk and paint over it but of course he didn’t. Of course the right way to do it is to cut
out that portion, re-tape it, re-mud it and then re-texture and paint it. So I dangled a bag of the remaining chocolate
cookies in front of his nose and asked if he would … pretty please … do that
for me. As he wiped away the drool and
shakily reached his hand out, eyes fixed and staring, he mumbled that he would
do anything for those cookies … anything ….
Okay. It didn’t go quite that
way. I offered to pay him extra if he
would fix it for me and he said he’d be happy to. But I DID tell him to help himself to the
rest of the cookies. And his eyes did
open wide in surprise as he said, “really?”
And when we got home later and he’d finished and gone for the day, that
bag of cookies was gone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I spent the
afternoon with Myra and when Dean arrived late afternoon with Papa Murphy’s
pizza in hand he said (somewhat glumly) “he’s not going to be finished this
week is he?” “Nope. He can only do so much and then it has to
dry.” “But now you’ve moved him up into
the living room.” “What??” “The crack.
There’s nowhere without construction now.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
Poor guy. I’ve been able to leave each day to hang out
with sick kids and Dean’s been home with the bee. Although he does seem to be entertained by
this bee. He told me that drywall bee likes
to talk to himself every now and then.
Random talking. To nobody in
particular. Almost like he's a little craaaazy. Maybe walls really do have
ears.<br />
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Yesterday’s
work looked like it just involved more taping and mudding.
The bee got my future storage room under the stairs taped and he covered up
that metal edging with stuff. But there’s
not a lot to show you ...<br />
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... other than a mess. <br />
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<br />
The animals seem to be entertained though. Maybe dry-wall bee has been chatting to them, not just the walls.<br />
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This morning I
got up at 5:48 a.m. so I could get today’s construction with cookies low-fat banana
bread (finally!) going in case I needed to take care of a sick kid again. Only once I pulled up the recipe and started
gathering ingredients I discovered I was missing a key ingredient. I asked Dean how he felt about a 6 a.m. trip
to the grocery store and then I felt bad and went back and I told him I could
go. It was my fault. I should have read the recipe days ago. Then I held my breath and mentally said “say you
want to go, say you want to go.” He usually really likes to go to town but I
wasn’t sure that jumping out of a warm bed into a freezing car held the same
allure. I got lucky and when he got back
I had everything ready to add that final ingredient.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know. Adding coconut defeated the low-fat point of this bread but mmmmmm.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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My bee knocked
on the door at exactly 8 a.m., just as I had closed the oven door, so I wasn’t
able to hand him a plate as he headed downstairs but hopefully the scent of
baking banana bread kept him going until I could take it down to him. He was mixing up more mud with a loud machine
so when I just pointed at the plate of bread and then toward where I was going to place it he
nodded. As he turned his head I
noticed an earbud in one ear and a cord snaking its way down his neck and under his shirt. I almost
laughed out loud. Don’t tell Dean. <br />
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Cathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15549192452786595541noreply@blogger.com1