Fiddle Update

It's been some time since I've updated my fiddle-making progress, and in answer to some inquiries I thought I'd better post some pics. Believe it or not I'm still hard at it, and have actually made some good headway in recent months. I'm starting to really believe that someday I will be actually playing this thing.

I finally finished the fiddle back, which literally took MONTHS. Granted, I didn't exactly work on it every day, but I really think had I carved it out of marble it would've been quicker than the cement-like cherry! It's been worth it, though...even though I put in twice as much work as the two other fiddle-students, my cherry back is much prettier than their plain maple backs. I'm really glad I didn't cave and give up on the cherry in favor of a softer wood. Believe me, it was harrowing getting it to the finished point. Many weeks I thought I'd be done, only to hand it to Violet for inspection and get a "nope, not yet" or "what's this hump here?" or "I can feel sandpaper marks"...but, I appreciate her honesty, otherwise I'd see mistakes later. Patience is tough.

After the back was finally proclaimed "finished", and after I did a exuberant victory dance, I had to go back to the sides and get them cleaned up a bit with some very fine sandpaper, then carefully measure and fit the back to the sides with clamps. Since it'd been so long since finishing the sides, they'd changed shape just a tad, so I trimmed the back just a bit for a better fit. Then, with some special fiddle glue which smelled something like dirty feet wrapped in an old dog blanket, I very carefully applied the glue and clamped (and I mean CLAMPED) the sides and back together. It was an extremely nerve-wracking day.

Once the glue was good and dry and all the friggin' clamps were removed, I could cut out the top. For this I had two pieces of sassafras wood which I'd glued together last fall since it wasn't wide enough for a one-piece. Once the top was cut, it was once again time for the fear and trepidation of using the hand-ax in order to quickly get the wood to shape:

Luckily I didn't whack off anything important, including fingers, toes, or any other appendages. Unlike the experience with ax-ing the back, this time I didn't chop off any large chunks which had to be glued back on, and soon it was ready for finer knife work.

Along with working on the back, I also started work on my fiddle neck, again out of cherry to match the back and sides. I wish I had more "in progress" pictures of it, but I wasn't actually sure it would turn out the way I wanted so I didn't bother with pics...oh well. I knew from the beginning that I wanted a unique fiddle, and that I wanted to do something different for the neck than just the traditional scroll. Violet did some of hers with a horse's head, and I thought I'd do the same. Until, that is, turkey season. You might wonder what turkey season has to do with fiddles, but turkey hunting requires a lot of time just sitting and doing nothing, which really lets your brain do some wandering. While sitting in the woods waiting on that elusive gobbler, I happened to notice an oak leaf curled up, which reminded me of a fiddle head. Viola! There's my unique idea, and here is my fiddle head. It's not quite finished...and it's of course not perfect. During it's carving I had a plethora of discouraging guesses as to what it was going to be by other people, including a manatee, a hippo, a cat, a softball, and flower. I have to say it wasn't doing much for my confidence. I wish I'd been able to curl the leaf under a bit more, because now there's a flat area that just doesn't look right. But, I'm experimenting with carving a few little acorns to glue in that flat spot, which I think is going to turn out pretty cool.

Carving a slot into which the neck fits was also an unforeseen challenge - and again it's not perfect. I keep having to remind myself that this is a learning process, and my first one WON'T be perfect, no matter how careful I am or how hard I try.

So, this is my fiddle so far...minus the top, fingerboard, tailpiece, pegs, sound peg, fine-tuners, and strings.

In case you're wondering I'm also still playing - I'm now up to 26 tunes, if you can believe it! I didn't say I played them WELL - that's still the major challenge.

Michael Jackson and Climate Change - Is There a Link?

I suppose I would be remiss in not commenting on some of the goings-on lately, though sometimes I want to live in my little bubble of blissful ignorance a little while longer and not really pay attention to things - or just altogether pretend they aren't happening.

First, holy cow, but a lot of people died this week. In addition to my sister-in-law's grandmother, on a national scale we had the deaths of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and Michael Jackson. Is is just an Ozark saying that people die in threes? Call me superstitious, but it does seem to happen a lot. (Insert Twilight Zone theme music here)

Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon didn't really phase me. I was too young during the part of the 70's I was alive to be impacted by Charlie's Angles or the Farrah 'do. Of course it's tragic that she couldn't beat cancer even as a celebrity, but unfortunately it's a tragedy millions of non-famous Americans deal with daily. As far as Ed McMahon, I'm still trying to figure out what he did to make himself famous.

I was, on the other hand, a bit shocked when I'd heard of Michael Jackson's death, but not really surprised. With all the plastic surgery and who knows what else, it's not really unexpected that his heart would suffer the consequences. I was shocked simply because I thought the guy would never go away. That's not really meant to sound as callous as it does...I think MJ was a really talented guy, and it's been sad over the years seeing him sink lower and lower into what can only be described as a cesspool of madness and delusion. You have to wonder what happens to people as kids to make them such screwed-up adults. It's also obvious and sad that money and fame are the two things, as usual with our society, which kept him out of prison and were actually going to allow him to attempt a comeback. I'm currently temporarily without television, and I'm glad - I have a feeling all tv-watchers are getting hammered incessantly with the who, what, when, where, and whys of this situation, rehashed every which way.

Still, anyone who grew up during the 80's will think of MJ with a bit of fondness, for without him we wouldn't have been shocked and amused to find out his hair caught on fire while shooting that Pepsi commercial, and we wouldn't have ruined countless pairs of socks trying to moonwalk through the living room. (Chad, I'm talking to you.)

Meanwhile, the House VERY narrowly passed the so-called "climate-change bill." *sigh* You know, I want a clean environment as much as anyone. I'm very much an outdoors person, and it kills me seeing litter on the sides of the roads. I hate seeing clear-cuts for new housing developments. I've lectured, lectured, and lectured friends, family, and strangers alike on how irresponsible it is to throw cigarette butts out the car window or on the ground (you KNOW who you are). But, this idiotic excuse for a massive tax increase scares the living daylights out of me. In this administration's short time in office, we've seen government interference into the private sector where government doesn't belong on a scale never before imagined. Government is sticking it's nose into not only our private lives but our pocketbooks with no shame or apologies. All of a sudden, we've got a government-owned car company. We're discussing government-owned banks and government-owned health care. WHY do we think the government can do a better job than the private sector? I challenge anyone to name ONE thing they haven't screwed up. Take the government-run Post Office - it looses millions every year, yet prices for postage keeps going up. Now look at private-sector shipping companies such as UPS or FedEx - efficient, profitable companies - otherwise they wouldn't exist. Bottom line - you get results when you HAVE to make a profit to stay alive, and when you have competition.

But I've gotten off the subject - I was talking climate change bill. Let's forget for a second that, believe it or not, scientists still don't even agree that greenhouse gasses cause climate change...and a rising number of them are now saying that they don't. Personally, I'm not really sure what I believe, but what I DO know that in the earth's history it's been through many heating/cooling cycles without our help. This bill is a perfect, very un-Constitutional example of what this administration believes is appropriate - controlling citizens and changing behavior through taxation. In a nutshell, this bill will tax and put major restrictions on all energy deemed not "green" enough. Don't get me wrong - I DO think we need cleaner energy - I just don't think this is the way to do it. It's my understanding that renewable energy sources just haven't evolved to the point of being as viable or as cheap as gas, coal, and oil. This is going to hit EVERY American right in the wallet, at a time where our economy is struggling. Likely we will use less energy, but it will be forced upon us. I guess we'll just have to see how things play out for now.

On that note, I'm going to get on my gas-guzzling, carbon-spewing lawnmower and mow the yard while I still can. I assume soon we'll all be using scissors. Or goats. Oh wait - no - goats emit methane. Scissors it will be.

You may all now commence trying to moonwalk.

Beating the Heat

Lucy never fails to put the sprinkler to good use. If it gets much hotter, I may join her.

Berry Blues

If you haven't perused the comments from my last blog post, there's some pretty funny and creative, and definately true, suggestions for subdivison names. I have a feeling this topic may be explored further in the future.

As if you didn't know (and maybe you don't if you live in a cooler climate), summer has fallen on us like a big, extremely hot, extremely wet blanket. Made of wool. Now are the days of walking out of the house intending to do something outdoors, but turning around less than five steps from the front door. The days when it seems the only bearable way to mow the yard is at 4 a.m. Yay summer.

Last week I thumbed my nose at heat and humidity and drove to a local berry farm for some good 'ol berry pickin'. I'm a pretty big fan of blueberries, especially since they are key ingredients in my very favorite pie (besides pumpkin), the Blue Goose Pie, which is made with blueberries and gooseberries. Nummy. Since my six blueberry bushes I planted last year are now down to two sick-looking, non-berry producing, sparsely-leafed twigs, I have to find my blueberries either in the supermarket or at someone else's berry orchard. One of my far-off goals for the future is to figure out how to successfully grow blueberry bushes.

Which reminds me - did you hear about that British guy who won the lottery? It was the equivalent of 50 million dollars. His biggest aspiration for the cash is to hire an expert to show him how to grow "proper carrots." I hope I don't have to resort to such drastic measures in my blueberry goals.


I arrived at the berry farm early, bathed in bug spray and ready to pick. I must've looked like a serious picker because the Berry Guy immediately handed me two buckets and spared me the picking lesson he'd finished giving the people before me when I arrived. He showed me to a row of bushes heavily laden with berries, and I commenced to picking. It wasn't long before I became aware of the people picking around me. Is it the heat that brings out the inner obnoxiousness in people? And how is it that I'm always around them? Or, is the heat making me less tolerant?

Over a few rows was a woman speaking in a very shrill, very loud northern voice, on topics ranging from ticks to the heat to everthing Southern she's had to grow used to since moving from Minnesota.

"Oooh but my gooooodness isn't it hoot oout already toodaeeey? Eyee shoore am glad I wore dees shooorts, doncha know!" I swear, she was a living, breathing, Minnesota stereotype.

Then I met the guy picking behind me. The Berry Guy called him "Frank", and apparently he's a regular picker. Frank was definately from a foreign country - I'm guessing by his accent to be from maybe Poland. I'm not that great at placing accents, but I was relatively sure it wasn't Australian. Frank was reminded by the Berry Guy to please stay on his row and don't skip around so they'll know what's been picked. As soon as Berry Guy left, Frank turned around and started picking on my row.

I looked at Frank.

Frank looked at me and said, "I pick on dis row."

I said, "Umm...are you sure that's ok?"

Frank says, "Jes...we pay for dees bellies an I pick dis row."

I sometimes wish I didn't have this combination of personality traits that causes me to have an inability to be rude, even when the case calls for it, and a deep-running tendancy to avoid confrontations with strangers. I really wanted to tell 'ol Frank to get himself back on his own row and quit picking just the big juicy berries on MY ROW that were in easy reach, but instead I just kept picking. Pretty soon Berry Guy came back to check on us, and he rolled his eyes and admonished Frank for getting off his appointed row. Frank turned around and picked back on his row until Berry Guy left, then promptly turned around back to my row. This of course meant war. I started picking at lightening speed, zipping around Frank and snatching choice berries. At this point Frank stopped picking and said, "Dis big field...you go pick anywhere."

I think Frank just told me to get lost. I didn't, but I did smile at him and move in even closer. I kept picking right out from under Frank until he finally moved back to his own row mumbling under his breath - possibly something about the rudeness or impertinence of American women, but I don't think he was mumbling in English - and soon left with his mostly full buckets. In the meantime, we were serenaded with more from Minnesota Lady:

'Oooh geez...when I get to heaven, I'm gooona ask God why he made ticks. Wee didn't have dis many in Minneesooooota."

"Isn't it sooo funny how people here talk? (Uhh...us???)

"Ooooh! Dese are suuuch nice joooocy berries! I just hooope I'm not gettin' da chiggers toooo!"

Yeah. Me either. I finally finished my two buckets and headed off to pick a few raspberries, leaving Minnesota Lady to keep chatting with other pickers who were pretending they were deaf.

And people wonder why I want to go through the trouble to grow my own produce.

Pine Quail Oak Valley Deer Trail Lake Estates

Ok, so I'm not doing as good of a job as promised as getting back into the swing of blogging, but I do believe I'm justified considering our pending relocation to central Arkansas. Relocating stinks. Flat out stinks to high heaven. While I'd rather be spending my mornings relaxing out on the back porch at home, hot mug of coffee in hand, thinking of things to blog about, this past week I spent a majority of my time down in Little Rock hitting the real estate hard. One word will very aptly describe my feelings during this hunt: FRUSTRATION.

Looking for a new house to buy can be fun - it's just shopping on a much larger scale, but with much more at stake. Once you sign, you can't just simply return it. But the excitement is that much higher, also. Finding a great-fitting pair of pants, as wonderful as that is, doesn't come close to finding your perfect home. So much of our lives and identities are wrapped up in our homes. A home shows our personalities, and also dictates how we'll live our lives, whether in the country, city, or a subdivision.

Several things, however, have put kind of a damper on the excitement of finding a new house. First of all, I still don't want to leave Mountain Home. I know it's best for our future, and there ARE going to be advantages - but I still don't WANT to. It's much more exciting to house-hunt when you're totally 100% into the move. Second, I'm extremely intimidated by the city. I've never really minded VISITING cities - probably because of the knowledge that I would soon escape back to familiar territory. But lately when we've been in Little Rock, I've had to fight nearly full-blown panic attacks. Though it sounds a bit dramatic for even me, the fact that this will soon be "home" nearly sends me into involuntary hysterics. Thirdly, I've been hugely disappointed with the houses we've been looking at in our price range.

Unfortunately we're moving to a really booming area where land is more expensive. I knew from the beginning that we wouldn't be able to afford a house on 20 acres like we have now, but we still figured it wouldn't be too hard to find a reasonable house on a few acres out of town. My dreams include much of what we have now, though on a smaller scale and preferrably outside city limits. I wouldn't even mind neighbors - real neighbors that you actually get to know, visit with over the fence, and take some fresh eggs or even a pie to every so often. Yes, I DO want to live in Mayberry.

This has turned out to be harder than I ever thought. Instead of "acres per house", we're moving to an area where it's more of a case of "houses per acre." I thought Mountain Home was booming - which it is, much too fast for my comfort. But, compared to the central Arkansas area, Mountain Home is in a rut. Radiating out from Little Rock seems to be a never-ending procession of bulldozers making the way for new subdivisions, with sign after sign proclaiming "Future home of Arbor Ridge" (that one was ridiculous because it was clear-cut) or "Lots Available now in Quail Glen Estates". It seems to escape this parade of "progress" will mean getting too far from hubby's work.

A majority of houses out there for sale in the area are located in subdivisions. In the past week, the word "subdivision" has reached the status of a dirty word. I'm APPALLED at the number of these housing developments in central Arkansas - acres and acres, miles and miles which were so recently forests and fields are now covered with brick cookie-cutter houses all jammed up to within a few feet of each other, all with ridiculous titles such as "Whispering Meadows" (uhh...excuse me, but where's the meadow?) and "Majestic Pines Estate" (again...where are the pines??? And does a 1/8 acre lot really qualify as an "estate"?). These titles are of course all perched on pretentious brick or stone entrance gates. And we've all seen the houses in these places - about three variations on the same brick structure, featuring a very small front porch (not meant for spending any time on) and a very large garage. Front yards are for looking nice only - nobody hangs out in the front yard. Certainly not in view of other residents of the neighborhood.

One of my best friends lives in the area in one of these places. Acutally, one bright shining beacon of hope in this mess of a relocation is that we'll again live in the same vicinity. We were taking a break from house-hunting one day this week and visiting on the back patio of her cookie-cutter brick sub-divided home, gazing into the windows of the house behind hers (the privacy fence isn't high enough), listening to the yapping lap dogs in the privacy-fenced yard to the left, and the soothing sounds of a weedeater in the yard to the right. In a nearby yard, someone was talking on a cell phone. I felt like a rat in a trap. How does one get used to this kind of living? Of course, Laura is a bona-fide city girl, married to a bona-fide city boy, who both think their perfectly landscaped postage-stamp yard is just heaven.

"I just noticed we don't have squirrels", Laura observed during our visit. Really? If I were a squirrel, I'd live somewhere else, too. The largest tree in the whole neighborhood is in Laura's yard, a scrawny pin oak with a whopping 6" diamater trunk. Besides, I'm not sure that neighborhood would tolerate squirrels, what with actual nature and wildlife messing with the picture of utter perfection. This got us on the subject of restrictions on their house dictated by the subdivision - what color they can't paint their garage door (it's the only thing not brick), how many shrubs one must have, how short the lawn must be, etc. In addition, there are many restrictions on what you can/can't have in front of your house - such as a boat. Where else are you going to keep a boat? Paid storage, I suppose. Hmm...sounds an awful lot like Socialism to me.

(side note: Maybe we should all live in subdivisions to acclimate ourselves to what this current admisistration is leaning toward.)

I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said before. Goodness knows I've heard and read plenty of anti-subdivision rants, so I'm just adding my two cents into the fray. Subdivisions are definately too lucrative for developers to go away. But, I'm going to do my best to stay out of them - if at all possible. I do think I could come up with some more truthful names, though. Here are some I compiled during my house search:

Brick Houses Only Estates

Privacy Fence Drive

Previously A Farm Acres

No Tree Valley

If anyone has any to add, feel free.

The ray of hope finally appeared late in my search, after meeting with a real estate agent. She seems to genuinely understand our plight, being a country girl herself. She assured us that while what we're looking for is relatively rare in the area, they do exist - it's just a matter of being willing to dig while being patient. We actually looked at a couple of possibilities, one of which is actually going to be a consideration. We're really in no huge rush, since we of course can't buy until we sell. Despite my cynicism I do have faith that all will work out eventually, and we'll find a home that meets our expectations. I just hope my sanity lasts until then.

Hooray for Garage Sales

My fondest wish is to go at least three years without packing a box. I hate packing...and yet I seem to be doing it ALL THE TIME. I detest putting treasured items in a dark box, wondering when I'll see them again, and wondering where I'll be when the box is finally unpacked. Not to mention wondering what will survive, and what will inevitably bite it. I used to find the packing activity a little exciting - the idea of a fresh new start in a fresh new place was something to look forward to. I'll admit I do feel a drop or two of the excitement, but it's overshadowed by the fact that we're moving to an area I don't really want to go, and that I'm sick of this moving business. I'm ready to nest. I'm ready for a real mailbox and a real address that won't change every two years. Who knows how much of my mail has been scattered all over Missouri and Arkansas?

In preparation for THE BIG MOVE, I decided to rid myself of some junk by having a garage sale. This was my first ever "solo" sale, and I did learn a lot about hosting one. First of all, I had to borrow a town friend's garage and driveway to stage the sale, since I was pretty sure The Homestead wouldn't draw a crowd - especially since half the time the UPS guy can't even find us. So, at the crack of dawn I planted signs, set up my wares, and opened for business. I had a lot of lookers, and eventually some buyers. A garage sale is a great place to people-watch. Some folks were extremely nice and courteous, and some were of course as rude as the day is long.

All in all, I did pretty well. I got rid of most of my unwanted stuff, plus made a little cash. I probably could've made more cash, but the thought of packing all that stuff up again made me into the worst haggler in the world. Here's the dialogue from one of my sales:

Lady (with a beaufont hairdo wearing a mu-mu and crocs, I kid you not): "Will you take less for this clock?'

Me: "What will you give?"

Lady: "$5"

Me: "How about $8.00."

Lady: "How about $5.00?"

Me: "7.00"

Lady: "$5.00"

Me: "6.00"

Lady: "Mmm....$5.00"

Me: "$5.50"

Lady: "5.00"

Me: "5.25"

Lady: "Nope. $5.00."

Me: "$5.00 and a stick of gum."

Lady: "Ok. Sold"

Eh, at least I didn't have to pack it up. Besides, was Marden's. Shhh...don't tell. *wink*

Blogging Again!

Contrary to popular rumors, I have neither fallen off the face of the earth or keeled over dead. I am indeed "alive', the "and well" is debatable. I can honestly say that I've never been so stressed in my life as I have been the past few weeks, which has directly led to a hiatus in blogging. As I've mentioned in the past, we're relocating (under duress) to Little Rock - which means we're selling The Homestead and looking for a new one. If it were only that simple. In my mind, when I think of THE BIG MOVE it appears just like that - all capitals: THE BIG MOVE.

First of all, as with most remodel jobs, there have been several areas of the house not finished, which we had to finish before even listing the property. It's finally now mostly completed, and I'm considering hiring myself out now for tiling jobs. I have to say, it does look mighty good. And of course, since we were some of those lucky schmucks who bought a house during the big real estate bubble and are now trying to sell in a deflated market, we're probably going to lose our butts. Moving is stressful enough when everything is going your way, but when it's not a person has a tendancy to want to do nothing more than hide under the bed or in a dark closet. All there is to do is to just muddle through with as much dignity and fortitude as possible. I've already lost dignity - on a recent home-scouting trip to Little Rock it hit me like a ton of bricks that we were going to be living in THE CITY...or at the very least, near THE CITY, and much to hubby's horror I pulled a "woman thing" and burst into tears in IHOP. It's hard to look cool eating a strawberry crepe while trying to keep tears from running into the strawberry syrup, and battling snot bubbles with your napkin.

I know it will all work out, and things happen for a reason. It still doesn't stop me from wanting to poke people in the eyeball who say those things to me.

Well, over the past couple of months I've had numerous blogworthy experiences. While I can't remember them all, one event can't NOT make the blog.

*drumroll*

I got a turkey.


YES...the World's Worst Turkey Hunter bears that mantle no more. After nearly two weeks of beliving this season was going to end as abysmally as previous seasons, I encountered what my brother decided was a "special needs" turkey. Special Needs or not, he was a decent turkey, with a 10 1/4" beard and inch-long spurs. The experience was absolutely awesome, and if I wasn't hooked on turkey hunting before, there's no going back now. I'm a certified turkey freak. I'm sure there are many who would argue that I'm just a freak in general.

They'd probably be right.

Computer Blahs and Home Improvement Fun

Once again I find myself apologizing for lack of blog contact lately, and I've got a bag of excuses. Among the ones I can pull out are laziness, PC malfunction, and just being darn busy. The PC malfunction has been the biggest reason, and the computer is still not really fixed. But, it's cooperating for the moment. I know all I have to do is get it in the mail to All-Time-Fix-It-Guru-and-Knower-of-All-Things-Electronic-and-Mechanical-Man Tony, but that darn electronic leash is so hard to break. Can I go a week or more without checking email? It's debatable. On top of PC problems, our wireless quit working for some reason, and I haven't bothered to really make an effort to fix it since I know the computer is eventually going for repair anyway, so I'm content with plugging directly into the internet cord. Which exiles me to the bedroom - not nearly as comfortable for blogging as my comfy chair in the living room.

But, here I am, finally making the effort. Over the past few weeks I've had numerous blogworthy thoughts and experiences, but of course they never made it to the blogosphere.

The main reason for my lack of communicado lately is that dastardly activity every home owner dreads - home improvement. Everyone probably remembers our harrowing experiences upon moving into our current home of replacing the nasty carpet with wood floor, painting, replacing doors and trim, etc. Lack of funds and some indecision required that we stop at renovating the kitchen and bathrooms, but now with our impending selling/moving we're making the effort to "finish" the house in order to get it on the market. This "finishing" includes fixing holes and gouges in the drywall, replacing mirrors, painting, re-cauking tubs and sinks, and laying nice-looking tile in place of the cheap, damaged linoleum. Really the experience hasn't been too bad. With dear 'ol Dad's help, I've learned to tile - from installing backer board, to running the tile saw, all the way to grouting and sealing. Hubby concentrated on replacing damaged dry-wall areas and painting, in between working his actual job. Dad probably figures one of these days we'll eventually know everything about home repair/renovation, and he can finally call in some favors.

Here's what we're doing in the kitchen. Most of this is MY work, by the way. My biggest challenge was keeping Puck here out of the thinset (the stuff you stick the tile to). I don't think I've officially introduced Puck - he came to the Homestead by way of my sister-in-law and brother, who couldn't keep him in their new home in Alabama.

Puck was banished to the outdoors during much of the tile-laying process, since I was pretty tired of cleaning paw prints painted with thinset off the wood floors after he'd made a saunter through the kitchen when my back was turned. The time he all-out wallered on freshly placed tiles, spreading them all out and covering himself with thinset was pretty much the last straw. He was very intent on inspecting my work, and messing it up if he didn't approve.

For the most part, the kitchen and one bathroom are finished. I'll post some pics when we can call them totally done. Of course we still have the tasks of re-installing doors and putting the trim back, but we're very happy with the tile results and the HUGE difference it makes in the "finished" look of the house. What we referred to as the "prison bathroom" is now a bright and happy place any guest would feel good about taking a shower in. Hopefully the future buyers will think so, too.

More updates soon - please don't lynch me. :)

Watch Out, Boys

If' you're into fishing and/or hunting, and especially if you're female, this is a very cool website. I don't just say that because I'm a new writer on the site, though I admit that is my main motive for posting it. *wink*

www.womenanglers.us

It's amazing that for so long I felt like the Lone Ranger - the strange girl that liked to fish almost as much as I liked to eat pizza, who would choose a day in the woods over a day at the mall - and yet all along I haven't been alone. Now women are flocking to the lakes, rivers, and woods in record numbers, and more and more guys seem to think it's really cool. Over the past few years, I've really noticed outdoor stores like Bass Pro and Cabellas carrying a lot more products aimed at women, which is great because fitting my ghetto-booty into a pair of pants made for a man isn't always easy.

Is That Dancing?

Last night I did something I've never done before, and it's something that I'm not proud of. I feel the need to confess.

I watched "Dancing With The Stars."

*sigh*

This show is one I've avoided like a plague-ridden rat, mostly because I'm incredibly annoyed to know that there is important news going on in the world, but THIS is what takes priority if you watch ABC news. Also, dancing is something fun to do, not fun to watch. Another reason - there's always something better on. Lastly, Tom Bergeron.

But, this time I'm a bit interested because one of the contestants just happens to be one of the biggest bull riding stars in rodeo history and who is now a commentator at televised PBR events - Ty Murray. I just couldn't picture the guy ballroom dancing, but as a fan I wanted to be supportive.

During most of his dance (if you want to call it that), Ty wore an expression that unmistakably said, "How...HOW did I end up here?" Let's just say, a suave ballroom dancer he is not. He danced pretty much like you'd expect a bull rider to dance anything but a two-step - like he was being humiliated, and as if his joints were filled with super glue. I can't actually say I was dissappointed with his performance. Not that I WANTED him to do badly, but after the performance I had to admit to hubby that I didn't really want or expect to see a tough cowboy I'd seen shame massive bulls and rank broncs into submission float across the dance floor like a delicate butterfly. But, I respect him for trying and facing up to the brutal ribbing he's undoubtably getting from buddies.

I did think the judges were a bit harsh, and one was just kind of a jerk. Maybe that's normal for the show, but I thought it was a bit unnecessary. I tried watching past Murray, but I soon lost interest and we eventually ended up changing the channel. I figure once he's voted off, or whatever they do, we'll go back to our usual TV watching schedule.

Ty, I'd still rather watch you dance badly than some of those other "stars" dance well. That is, if I'm going to actually watch dancing.

There And Back Again

And here I am, back again. I apologize to my faithful readers, and sincerely hope you haven't given up me. In the past couple of weeks things have been topsy-turvey here, and though I've started numerous blogs, none have made it to the "publish post" button. I guess I've had blogger's block, which does strike periodically. Hopefully, though, I'm out of the funk.

Part of the reason for the "funk" is some news we've received lately. The Army has formally requested the honor of our presence in Little Rock, and not just for a visit, but on the semi-permanent basis I *thought* this location would be. Yes, we're going to have to leave The Homestead in a matter of months. Gah.

I've been running the gamut of emotions with this news. Devestated, sad, a little excited, dissappointed, hopeful, pessimistic, optimistic - you name it. But, when it comes down to it, you take it as it comes and try to look at the bright sides. We've already started looking for new homesteads, and the good news is - there are some GREAT deals on homes out there. In the areas we're looking, the cookie-cutter suburban abodes are a dime-a-dozen. If only that weren't my own personal version of hell. I can't stand the thought of living within arm's reach of neighbors, in a land where nobody speaks to each other, front porches are not used, and residents seem to isolate themselves in postage-stamp (yet perfectly landscaped) back yards, all while being oppressed by the outlandish demands of homeowner's associations and neighborhood covenants. I'm not sure how I would react to a nasty letter regarding my un-weedeated yard or not perfectly trimmed shrubs. (We have some friends who deal with this on a regular basis, and their house is very cute and well-kept...wait til the neighbors get a load of the corn patch he's planning in retaliation).


I think we're going to aim for something in or slightly outside various smaller towns who don't mind residents having a few chickens, dogs, and cats, or dictate what color we paint our house, how many shrubs are planted in the front yard, or what kind of fence we might want to put in.

Then, of course, there's the big worry of selling our current place. Hopefully, the fact that this is officially a resort/retirement area will help.

Luckily there are plenty of things to do to keep my mind from constantly stewing about what might or might not happen. Recently I've been subbing quite a bit. The more I substitute teach in the public school system, the more I'm convinced that if hubby and I ever make the leap into parenthood, homeschooling is going to be the way to go. The other day, while subbing high school Math, I heard this exact exchange between students working in groups after I'd given them their assignment:

"Dude...do you know how to do these problems?"

"Uh...not really. But ya ain't gotta worry 'bout it none. He just grades on participation. I got a B in here an I ain't done crap."

"Cool. Guess I'm done for the day then."

Only one conversation of many I've heard while standing in for a teacher. I'm no expert on the ins and outs of our school system, but I see teacher after teacher who really care about educating kids, but the system has their hands tied, they are grossly underpaid, kids don't seem to care, and as a general rule parents seem to care even less. This understandably seems to breed apathy with some fed-up teachers. Teachers who still care just get the life sucked out of them. So much emphasis is put on standardized testing - so much that vital subjects are kind of skimmed over in order to spend more time on areas that will be on the tests. While I normally bash on liberals in the political spectrum (and boy there's PLENTY of fodder now), Bush's "No Child Left Behind"...not really a good idea, to say the least.

Well, that's my two-cent rambling for the day...hopefully the funk has lifted.

Oh PLEASE...

Welcome to my rant. I've tried to keep at least a little quiet about the current economic situations we're facing today, but darn it all...we're just so LAMBASTED with it all the time, and this morning a story on the Today Show had me absolutely livid. I really need to quit watching that morning show.

The Today Show did a story on "boomerang kids", which are adults who move back with their parents, and how now with all the foreclosures, the trend is for even older alults (past the 20's) to move in with their folks in the wake of the housing crash. This morning's sob story was about a man and his fiance (and two large dogs) who moved in with his mother after they lost their home. This is where it got ridiculous. The guy was whining that he was used to living in a 5000 square foot home, and now he's living in a mere 1400 square foot home. Hey buddy...that's more square footage than me, my husband, a cat, a dog, and a snake are used to...and we're just fine. Then the show boo-hooed right along with him, lamenting that though they used to have good jobs in mortgage lending (um...the cause of this whole problem?), now the fiance works at a home improvement store, and he's unemployed. They cut back to him, where he says, "I'm used to making half a million dollars a year...what am I supposed to do now, work for $10/hour?"

Um...yeah? Snobby much? I dunno...but when you're unemployed and can't find a job that pays the same as your old salary, shouldn't you drop the pride a little and stop whining? The 5000 square foot mansion is already gone...do you have to make as much now? How was Mom able to stay in her house? Did she maybe live within her means? Here's a novel idea - get a shovel and dig yourself out of your own hole. Take that $10/hr job and get yourself an apartment. Or, if Mom really doesn't mind having you around, take the $10/hr job and help out with the bills maybe? Take all the crap that was CRAMMED into his Mom's garage, plus the numerous full storage buildings he mentioned, and sell some of it?

I dunno, maybe I'm old fashioned and believe in a little self-help here. So you have a job in an inflated market, live beyond your means (think with just one person making over half a million, they might have put some in savings), and expect taxpayer help when it all comes crashing down? How does that even make sense??? How about the Today Show do a story on people I know - how about the sergent who my husband was told to fire because of absolute slashings to the National Guard budget by the current administration, who has a wife and kids, and who is now doing everything he can - including cleaning up ice storm-damaged yards - to make ends meet.

I'm just sick to death of seeing these people with such an entitlement attitude doing all the whining. Yes, I have a college degree, and I'm used to having a good job. But now when we're a little short, I'm not too proud now to so some substitute teaching (talk about a pride-swallowing job), or to save money by clipping coupons, or saving even more money by growing my own food. Luckily for me, the depression-era attitude my grandparents passed to my parents of working hard, reducing, reusing, and recycling (not a "new" idea by the way), and just using common sense sunk in a bit. I wonder where it got lost when I see some of the people who can't seem to make the connection.

Spiegel Article

Whether you're a Repub or Dem, this is an interesting article that makes a lot of good points:

http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,605695,00.html

Fiddles and Hearts

Though I haven't mentioned it for a while, I AM still attempting playing and building a fiddle. Problem is, I have noticed a distinct lack of progress as of late. As far as playing, I am still adding songs to my personal song roster. However, I don't feel like my playing ability is much improved. When Violet plays, it's a easily recognizable style...when you hear it, your brain automatically exclaimes, "Good golly! This is a fiddler!" But I feel when I play, anyone's brain within ear range is exclaiming, "Good golly! Who is torturing a baby seal?"

*sigh*

I know...perserverence and all that crap. I'd give it up (goodness knows I've got plenty of other things to do), but playing is just so darn fun. I just make sure to play when nobody is within hearing, lest they suffer bleeding from the ears.

As far as building my fiddle, I am STILL working on the back. The only bright spot is that I've moved from the outside of the back to the inside of the back (the dark spot is where I had to add water to make the cherry wood only slightly less hard than hardened lava). Looks like I may have to keep at it for a good long while. This past "Fiddle Day" Violet played one of her fiddles while we students worked. Show off.

By the way, I hope everyone had a Happy Valentine's Day. Once I arrived in "Adult Land" , way past the days of elementary school and conversation hearts, I used to abhor this contrived "holiday" as just a regular mundane day that some idiot got the bright idea to make into a "special" day to make anyone single to feel like absolute worthless dirt, and to pressure "coupled" people to waste money on flowers and cards.

Side note: money on chocolate is NEVER wasted.

Now I just sigh, smile, and follow the herd. It IS nice to get flowers and gifts, even if hubby's traditional Valentine's Day gift is usually firearms. Maybe not romantic to the hilt, but we're not exactly that typical romantic couple. However, in a rare show of romanticism on my part, I baked The Mr. this Valentine's cherry pie. Sometimes, I even amaze myself.

Things That Make You Go Hmmm?

A friend of mine recently asked how I was able to blog recently without mentioning all the political goings-on, such as the illustrious stimulous (a.k.a. "spendulous" and "porkulous") package.

Truth be told, I just don't have the energy. However, yesterday morning I did see something blogworthy that just epitomizes this whole thing. On the NBC's Today Show, Meridith was interviewing an "expert" (I didn't catch his name) from MSNBC who was breaking things down for us. He said we could see the stimulous working by keeping tabs on three things: 1) Unemployment, 2) Inflation, and 3) Housing.

This is the jist of his explanation...I can't quote, because I was too confused.

MSNBC Guy - We'll see the stimulous package work when unemployment goes down. It might keep going up, but that's bound to happen. We know it will go down by seeing it come up. But it might stay up for a while. However, it will eventually come down. We're just not sure how it's going to work out.

Inflation - it's going to keep going up. But it will come down. However, the stimulous package might cause deflation, which is bad. But it might not be bad. It might be good...we just don't know.

Foreclosures will keep happening, probably even more than we've seen. But we'll know it's going to get better by seeing it get worse. Things will get worse before they get better. Or housing might rebound - we don't really know.

Meridith then asked (she looked as puzzled as I felt), "So...how long until we know it's working?"

Guy - "Well, we may see it work farily quickly, or we may not see it start to work for years...we don't really know."

Hmm. Well. Glad that's clear.

Is it spring yet?

We are THANKFULLY still basking in the glow of electricity, and it looks like this time it's going to stick.

Monday night was lost power again. There we were, happily watching TV, Marden browsing a reloading catalog while I was (still) carving on my fiddle back, and BAM - lights went out. I confess, I nearly went into a fit of crying hysterics. I think I'd have been justified, but I resisted the urge. We sat in the dark in total disbelief for a full minute. We both uttered a few "no...no...NO...come on lights....you can do it..." phrases, until we finally gave up the hope and stumbled around to find the flashlights and candles. After calling the power company, we discovered we were indeed "at least out for the night...maybe longer" because "something blew." Indeed. We just didn't have the oomph to go drag the generator back out, hook it up, and listen that that drone all night, so we decided to rough it.

With no television and several hours before bedtime, we were once again forced into old-fashioned entertainment. Like talking. Once we exhausted that avenue, we decided to practice our turkey calls. Hey, I never claimed to be normal.

I'm currently trying to master the difficult art of working a diaphram turkey call, a skill which has eluded me for years. Since turkey season is only a couple months away, Marden figures I'll need to get a good start on practicing my calling...and I could possibly be good enough to actually put it into practice about the time turkey season rolls around. In 2016. Anyone who has followed my blog for a while knows that I'm pretty much near the top of the list of the World's Worst Turkey Hunters. Marden happens to be an unofficial turkey calling wizard, and I - slightly less so. I've just recently been able to keep the thing in my mouth without gagging myself, and have now even been able to make a little noise with it without spitting it across the room or showering whatever is in front of me with spit. Unfortunately my noise sounds less like a turkey and more like a squirrel with asthma and pneumonia.

Thankfully the power came on again Tuesday morning, and it's stayed on. I hope the power company knows what a gamble it takes by playing with people's already frayed nerves...

Is is spring yet?

Whew!

This past weekend I went up to MO to visit the folks, and to help care for a sick relative. And to experience electricity. I have to admit, part of my motivation was a break from the juice-less Homestead. A week and a half without modern conveniences will wear on anyone born in this most sissified time in world history.

As I got closer and closer to home, I instantly noticed yard lights on and bright windows spread out over the hills as if the stars themselves fell out of the sky. Seeing so many lights after so many days of darkness, it actually LOOKED like the population could be Nancy Pelosi's 500 million.

Could it BE? I got closer and closer to our house, and the neighbor's houses down our road were ALL lit. Should I dare hope? I sped down our road, hoping against hope, to be greeted by the BRIGHT SHINE of lights. I was not dissappointed. With a whoop loud enough to be heard in the next county, I happily unloaded the car under the bright shine of the yard light. I couldn't even muster any irritation at the fact that hubby must be trying to make up for the electric we didn't use the past 12 days by having nearly every light in the house on.

We are LIT.

A big fat THANK YOU to North Arkansas Electric for getting our power back on last night! I've never stared at a light bulb with such fascination before. It's wonderful to watch PBR bull riding with other lights on, and without the drone of the generator. I actually ran the coffee maker AND the microwave AT THE SAME TIME. I used the dryer and got fluffy warm towels in return. I fried eggs on the stove. I just *might* bake a pie in celebration.

This whole experience has really illustrated the fact that if at all possible, you really shouldn't put all your energy eggs in one basket. Dependence feels awful...sitting here waiting for the power to come on, and yet being able to do nothing to help ourselves. Nothing like a feeling of utter helplessness to prod a person into action. It's definately past time to look into a wood stove or fireplace, solar panels, generators, and other alternative ways to make life easier when the electric goes out. I plan to do some research and scour my old issues of Mother Earth News for ideas and options for stepping a little off the grid.

The smell and feel of spring is definately in the air, even though this is a "false" spring...it's bound to get cold again soon. I actually walked outside this morning to feed the chickens and other critters in a SHORT sleeved shirt! For my plant's sake, I do...*long sigh*...hope we go back to seasonal temperatures. Until then, I'm really going to enjoy it.

Icy Pics

Here are some pictures I took of the ice. Even in a bad situation, there's beauty. It's almost worth the power outage. Almost.

Though, if we don't get power soon, I AM going to lose it...

An Inconvenient Disaster

Yes, it's really me. No, we DON'T have power yet, but luckily for us good 'ol Dad rode in once again on his white horse (or chevy truck), this time bearing a generator. The following are exerpts from my Ice Storm Diary:

Monday, Day 1:
Hmm...doesn't LOOK like it's going to be the Mega Ice Storm Of The Century to me that they're having a cow about on TV. I think they're way off base on this one. My plans to go to fiddle lessons today were thwarted by Violet's daughter, who called to say she was spiriting her off to her wood-stove warmed house, safe from all things ice. Well, while I'm not scared of any ice by any means, I still went into town to get supplies and filled a few jugs of water for "just in case."

Later that night: Rain....rain that's not exactly freezing, but getting slushy. I think we're going to dodge a bullet...our power hasn't even so much as flickered. Even though, I can't sleep. I just know we're going to get lucky.

Tuesday, Day 2:
Well, now we have sleet. And freezing rain. I decided to blow up the air mattress and stack blankets by the front door for just in case...IF we lose power, our only heat will be the wood stove out in the barn/garage/shop,

10:00: DANG.

Tuesday Evening:
Here we are in the barn, chairs cozied up to the wood stove. The fire is snapping cheerily, and we have camp lanterns casting a pleasant glow throughout the room. Marden and I have just enjoyed a fun and competitive game of Scrabble, and now we're reading before we bed down on the nice comfy inflatable mattress while we listen to ice pelt the metal roof of the barn. We could stay here indefinately. This is fun! Like camping!

Wedensday, Day 3:
Woke up a little stiff and cold this morning...not to mention sleepy. At least the ice has stopped, for the most part. I had to get up every hour or so to feed wood into the stove, since it was a bit inhumane to expect hubby, still recovering from hernia surgery, to do it. Nighttime temps in the barn ranged widely between BLAZING SUN HOT and MINER'S BUTT COLD. Hubby is moaning about the uncomfortable night on the mattress. I'm still determined to be chipper, even though every time he moved on the mattress, I was yanked out of sleep and launched several inches into the air. Note to self: blow more air in mattress. I was also jerked awake numerous times in the night be the sounds of LARGE trees breaking under the weight of the ice. This isn't sounding good. I luckily had batteries for the radio so we could get some news, and I was instantly horrified at what I found. The ONLY radio station we could find was KTLO, otherwise known as the "old fogies station." We were just after news, but before any news we had to endure a good thirty minutes of Frank Sinatra, various big band tunes, and Celine Dion. *shudder* You'd think in a time of local crisis, maybe a constant news feed would be called for? Unless there are indeed those out there who really can't live without a daily dose of Lite Adult Favorites.

For personal hygene, wet wipes had to do the job. It's just too dang cold for anything more adventurous. They're saying it might be a few days without power for some people (surely not us). I had to carry jugs of water to the animals, including the chickens, since their heated waterer requires electricity. Dang it's cold. I've also been heating rocks on the wood stove for Orville (the snake), since his tank heater requires juice. I just know our ancestors are watching us, shaking their heads, and tsk tsk-ing at our dependence on gol-danged newfangled electricity. They're also probably wondering why I have a snake in a glass box.

I wonder if we'll get power and phones today?

Thursday, Day 4:
Ugh. My back and neck are screaming from that dang air mattress. I'm still sleepy, because of having to feed the fire. And because Marden snored. And flopped. And snored. Fixed veggie omlets for breakfast on the wood stove, because all of our food in the fridge is quickly going south. All to the tune of some annoying song..."There's got to be a morning aaaafterrrr" I want a shower. I DON'T want to play Scrabble anymore...I'm pretty sure Marden is cheating. This garage is a cave. I should be an albino soon.

At least it's sunny today. I made a foray out of the cave to survey the damage. One thing's for sure, it's not going to be hard to find firewood. Dang it's cold.

I wonder if we'll get power and phones today?

Friday, Day 5:
Another miserable night on the mattress. I hate that thing. The mattress, not Marden, though I'd be within my rights with all the flopping and snoring. Today I noticed that my hair has taken on the feel and texture of a wig made of pipe cleaners. I need a shower. I have that not so fresh feeling. Dad is coming today with a generator...I pray fervently that it's the miracle we so desperately need. Not a moment too soon, either. I just heard some song on KTLO..."I've got a brand new pair of roller skates..." Much more of that, and I'll seriously lose it. I already caught myself singing with "I am woman, hear me roar...in numbers too big too ignore..." What's WRONG with me???

By the way, Scrabble is a stupid game.

Friday evening:
I spent probably ten minutes turning the lights off and on. So amazing what a small miracle that little switch can produce. Still no official power, but the generator droning away right by the front door sings to me, "I BRING YOU WARMTH, WATER, FLUSHING TOILETS, AND EVEN TELEVISION!" While we can't run EVERYTHING on the generator, we're back to somewhat normal life.

I officially proclaim this day, January 30th, "GENERATOR DAY." All hail the generator.

And that pretty much brings us up to the present. It's now a week later, and still no power. Power poles are still snapped in half on our road, so it may be a while. To all of you out there feeling my pain - hang in there! Today on the way back from fiddle lessons (Violet has power now), I was flipping through radio channels and landed on KTLO. For old time's sake, I paused to sing along:

"I am STRONG.....I am INVINCIBLE....I am WOOOOMAAAAAANNNN.....!!!"

You go Helen Reddy.

(Stay tuned for icy pictures from the storm)

Hero Pilot

Is it a coincidence that the pilot of the U.S. Airways jet is nicknamed "Sully"?

I think not.

Winter Blues and Blahs

Alright, I admit, I have not made a good blogging start for 2009, but I'm full of excuses! For starters, it's January. Bleah. January is one of my least favorite months, at the risk of offending all the January-lovers out there. Here are some reasons I'm in a funk:

It's cold.

It's ugly brown, because this year we've had an upsetting lack of snow.

Hubby is recovering from hernia surgery, which only solidly confirms my belief that men cannot handle pain gracefully...and now he's getting a case of the grumps, which in turn causes me to aquire my own case of them. So, we grump together.

I'm still getting gardening catalogs, which makes the wait for spring even worse.

Did I say it was cold? That fact alone makes it hard to get out and do anything, even when I don't feel I can take the sight of the interior of the house anymore. What would I do out there, anyway?

I think at this point I'd even welcome a classroom full of beligerent 6th-graders, but alas, the school hasn't recently had a need for subs. I even called to make sure I was still on the list, and they assured me they'd be calling soon. *sigh* Oh well...I'm in this position every January, and I always survive. I guess I should just keep in mind that the joys of spring, and the long warm days are just around the corner. Before we know it, I'll be griping again that it's so hot.

Inauguration, or Coronation?

Seems to me, from the dab of news I've seen, it's more like the latter. I have to say, as I have in the past, that I'm VERY concerned at the Socialist-like direction our country is going. The Obama-mania that has gripped the country is scary, to say the least. Already, anyone who disagrees with Obama's very liberal policies are at risk of being branded as "racist", and the absolute and unquestioning adoration that has been heaped upon this man is frightening. Will he be as liberal with our Constitution as his previous records have shown? Will our rights be trampled on? Will he be held accountable?

Here's hoping (and praying) my fears are for nothing.

"Sure could use, a little good news...today"

(In the words of Anne Murray)

Well, as you can see, it's taking me a while to get back in the swing of regular blogging. I just haven't had any inspiration hit lately...January is always a pretty mundane month. The excitement of Christmas and New Years is over, and the closest holiday now is Easter - months away. I suppose there is Valentine's Day, but it doesn't exactly reach "Holiday" status. The Superbowl is coming up, but I can't seem to muster up much excitement over that, aside from being glad that the Giants lost a couple weeks ago.

However, this morning I got the blogging urge. Actually, I got downright irritated. As I turned on the TV for a little news, I was assaulted by a constant barrage of footage of the US Airways jet that crashed into the Hudson River. When I first saw the story yesterday (I happened to have the TV on, and they broke in with the story), it was interesting and a bit alarming, but not exactly what I'd call earth-shattering. Yes, it's bad that the jet crashed. But, nobody died, injuries were relatively minor, and the pilot is being hailed a hero for the placement of the plane lightly in the river instead of crashing it in a firey ball of carnage somewhere not quite so soft. A nice story, but does it REALLY warrant CONSTANT coverage from every angle possible? I figured this morning the excitement would be mostly over - good for a single story, then go on to what's happening in the rest of the world. Years of seeing our news degrade should have told me better. What I found instead - on EVERY channel from ABC to CNN to FOXNews to BBCA - was re-hash after re-hash after re-hash of the same dang story. Constant commentary, live footage, computer-generated crash re-creations, experts on airplanes, experts on birds, experts on birds-crashing-airplanes, expamples of plane engines being tested by being slammed with a "chicken cannon" (won't that have PETA up in arms), interviews with crash survivors, debates on "how this accident could have been prevented" and "will anyone sue?" And to top it all off and send the whole thing spinning into complete ridiculousness - ABC had a sad and soul-felt musical montage featuring photos from every angle of the crash site...followed by a story about the latest contestant to do something cute on Dancing with the Stars.

What the CRAP? I hate our news. I'm a very proud American, but we are not the center of the universe, and there are a myriad of issues and events going on not only here but around the world right now that will directly affect us. There are wars our soldiers are currently fighting, social unrest, starvation, dictators, and impending natural disasters (Yellowstone earthquakes, anyone?) - just for starters. We have citizens starting to ACTUALLY think that Socialism is a "not that bad of an idea", mostly because we are so out of touch with what is REALLY going on, no thanks to being spoon fed utter horse pucky by the media.

I ended up turning the channel over to the only decent television I could find - The Waltons.

*sigh*

Call back the search parties, I have returned. I apologize for my long absence, but Hubby and I officially went to Tarnation and back this Holiday season. As much as I LOVE them, this year I'm pretty relieved that the Holidays are now at our backsides.

I hope everyone had a nice Christmas and New Year's. Ours was awesome, as usual, and full of high adventure in our travels. We both made out like bandits in the gift department, getting much more than we deserved, even with our immaculate behavior over the past year. My sincerest thanks to everyone. I also learned quite a few things over the past few weeks:

First, you can drive a Pruis on a solid sheet of ice, as long as you get enough momentum to make it up hills. If proper momentum isn't reached, car will quickly meet ditch.

Second, no matter how invincible husbands may think they are, they can still give themselves hernias. Surgery is set for next week.

Third, the more times a person travels across Kansas, the wider Kansas becomes.

Fourth, in order to properly reside in Boulder, Colorado, one must drive a Subaru and also appear as though they are ready to embark on a mountain-climbing expedition at a moment's notice (the more Patagonia the better), even while shopping in a fancy downtown boutique. Bonus if you wear dredlocks and a "Barack My World" T-shirt.

Fifth, while many Christmas gifts may be thoughtful and expensive, nothing entertains quite like a book about farts. I believe "Farts, A Spotter's Guide" is destined to become my family's new Bible.

Happy 2009!

Fragile Flower

No, I'm definately not referring to myself. I've started taking morning walks lately...sometimes up the road, sometimes out in the pasture. During deer season when I was going out nearly every day, I rembered how much I enjoy nature...just enjoying the sights and sounds. Even though this isn't exactly the prettiest time of year to be out, there is still plenty to enjoy. For instance, I stumbled upon these the other day. Not exactly uncommon, but a sight few people stop to notice, these are "frost flowers" I found on the back side of our property in a little 'holler protected from the sun for just a tad longer than the rest of the area. They're formed in certain types of plants when the ground isn't yet frozen solid, but moisture in the stems freezes and is squeezed out. That's the un-scientific version.

Crap-Lists

I had an inquiry regarding the last post as to the rest of my Crap-list. I'm happy to oblige, but I have to say that the list is constant yet ever-changing, sometimes by the day, sometimes by the hour, sometimes by the minute. Let me give my simple definition for "Crap-list": A Crap-list is a running list of things that make me say or sometimes yell, "Crap!"

For example, the dismal season of the Chiefs illustrated by their pathetic last-minute loss on Sunday has already been surpassed by several other things. Early this morning, Sally barfed. I said, "Crap!"...therefore, Dog Puke went to the top of my list, but was then surpassed by Fitted Sheets. Is there a class on how to fold fitted sheets? And to those who can successfully fold a fitted sheet - are you born with that knowledge? Is there an underground network of professional fitted sheet folders? Please, will someone help me out here?

The fitted sheet folding (or should I say, wadding and stuffing into the general sheet-storing area) was then surpassed by Chickens Who Lay Their Eggs In The Middle Of The Coop. There are EIGHT nice comfy nest boxes right at the access door, but now twice this week one hen has seen fit to lay her egg in the middle of the floor, just out of my reach, so I have to get a garden hoe from the garage and roll it to me. It's that or else risk mashing my face into chicken poo while I reach for it.

But then, Chickens Who Lay Their Eggs In The Middle Of The Coop was replaced by Christmas Stress, which has been making it's rounds on the Crap-list. I have a feeling this may stay at or near the top for a while, and yet every year it seems unavoidable that I must experience this phenomenon for a good week before Christmas. "Do I have enough gifts? Wow we're spending too much money...how are we going to get everywhere we need to be?" And more of that mental voice constantly beating at the inside of my skull. So, to keep that Christmas Stress at bay, here's a classic Christmas song to remind us all of one of the important things Christmas is about - family! :)

SIGH....

And #1 on my Crap-list right now...

You guys STINK.

Christmas Quiz

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Depends on how much time I have, and the degree of difficulty in wrapping the present.

2. Real tree or Artificial?
Artificial…less mess, less trouble, less fire hazard.

3. When do you put up the tree?
Well into December...mine just went up. None of this before Thanksgiving nonsense at The Homestead.

4. When do you take the tree down?
ASAP...a pet peeve of mine is seeing trees up in people's houses in February.

5. Do you like eggnog?
Yep, in small dabs. I really like eggnog shakes from Sonic.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I'm not sure...but I remember getting LOTS of awesome gifts. Bike, fishing poles, stuffed animals, games...we had (and still have) great Christmases.

7. Hardest person to buy for?
Mom and Dad.

8. Easiest person to buy for?
Hubby.

9. Do you have a nativity scene?
Maybe if I had a place to put it, and if I found the right one. Like the one Mom has where all the participants are bears.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Mail.

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
Probably the infamous slip I recieved when I was little, which I didn't pay any attention to because there were toys to play with. My apparent lack of appreciation caused the givers to switch to just giving me money from then on.

12. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Throughout the year, if I find an item that screams someone's name. If not, after Thanskgiving.

13. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Pretty sure not...if it doesn't work for me, I try to exchange it.

14. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Pumpkin pie and Mom's peanut clusters.

15. Lights on the tree?
YES, lots of colored lights. White lights may be "elegant", but so very boring.

16. Favorite Christmas song?
"O Holy Night", and "Merry Christmas From the Family" by Montgomery Gentry. It's a classic.

17. Go out for Christmas or stay at home?
Depends greatly on family activites and who can be where at what time. It used to be a lot simplier.

18. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's?
Only if I sing the song.

19. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Angel. We have quite a tradition in my parent's house that goes back years - the siblings fighting about who got to put the angel on the tree, followed by days of one of us always dragging a stool to the tree, and taking the angel off and putting it back on just to lay claim on putting the angel on the tree last. Mom finally fixed the issue by writing the name of the sibling who's turn it was to put the angel with the year inside the angel. This made any further taking off and replacing of the angel moot after the original placing, because it was in writing.

I hope if I ever become a mother, I have half as much genius.

20. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
Christmas morning! What's up with the Eve thing? That's when Santa comes.

21. Most annoying thing about this time of the year?
Commercialism that sucks the spirit out of Christmas.

22. Favorite ornament theme or color?
Fishing, of course - our tree is covered with bobbers, old lures, flies, and fishing-related ornaments.

23. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
Skip the other stuff and just go for the pie.

24 What do you want for Christmas this year?
What I REALLY want is to just to be successful in choosing gifts for everyone on my list, and that everyone enjoys them.

Crikey!

Once again it's time for my totally unqualified and random movie review. This past Monday I went out of town with a friend who had to attend a conference. While said friend was actually attending the conference, I was left with most of the day to waste. I did the only reasonable thing to do - I went shopping. However, shopping is only fun if you have copious amounts of money to spend and/or a certain shopping mission to accomplish. I'm not much of a random shopper, especially if I don't have much in the way of extra coin. The Christmas Crunch is on, which doesn't leave many dollars for selfish items. After a two-hour foray in one of my favorite stores, Sportsman's Warehouse - which I've only seen in Colorado and had NO idea they were taking root in Arkansas - I found myself needing something else to do. I felt I was making the staff nervous. Then I found a bookstore - another wonderful place to waste time. But, I kept finding books I wanted to buy. After it became apparent that it was dangerous to my wallet to stay, I hastily beat a retreat back to the car. Luckily for my purse, there was a movie theater in the mall complex, and what better way to kill time than watching a movie? I was really looking for "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas", but alas, it was not playing in this particular theater. However, another movie I was very interested in, "Australia" was playing. I figured if the movie was HALF as good as the actual Australia, I was in for a treat. I purchased my ticket and a soda and settled in.

And a good thing for that soda. I surely would have suffered severe dehydration had I sat through the WHOLE movie without refreshment. What I thought looked like a nice little movie was actually a THREE HOUR sprawling epic. I should have paid more attention to the title...the movie lasted longer than it would take to jog the whole country of Australia itself. Or so it seemed. I'm not really sure what the movie was trying to accomplish - Action adventure? Comedy? Drama? Love story? Commentator on Australian race relations? It seemed to try to cram all this in, amid breathtaking scenery paired with my nemesis - computer animation. In any case, you'd be hard pressed to find another movie that crams in extreme cattle droving, WWII attacks, True Love, Aboriginal/White Australian angst, and Boy Coming of Age.

I left the theater thinking, "What was that? Was that a good movie? Was it terrible? Who am I?" Usually you know whether you liked a movie or not upon exiting the theater, if not before. I still don't know. I didn't hate it, but yet I do know that I don't really have a burning desire to see the movie again, even though I'll probably watch it if it eventually comes on TV. Luckily, it didn't dampen my passion for someday visiting the real Australia again someday. No confusion there!

In any case, you might enjoy the movie. Or you might not. Or you might. Who knows. Let me know.