Me, Mom, Chiggers, and Granolas

There was a little chigger,

that wasn’t any bigger,

Than the point of a teeny-tiny pin.

But the lump that it made,

just itches like the blaze,

And that’s where the rub comes in.
Comes in, comes in, and that’s where the rub comes in.

Yes, the lump that it made just itches like the blaze,

And that’s where the rub comes in.

I came across this little ditty while doing some Internet research to see if there are ANY chigger remedies out there I haven't tried. There aren't.

Last week was pretty awesome - Mom came to visit, and for once during a visit of hers we didn't have anything to do but enjoy ourselves. Of course, you also begin to realize how boring your life is when you are attempting to entertain someone...made especially difficult when you're going sans-TV. We ended up reading a lot. A LOT. I gulped down 1 1/2 books, and I think she got in a whole two.

We got in some more active activities, too. Since I've lived in the area, I've been meaning to take in some of the local trails - and I haven't. As much as I enjoy hiking, sometimes I tend to overlook trails right in our own area. Heck, Marden and I hiked the heck out of Colorado and Tennessee, but have virtually ignored great trails right here in our back yard. So, Mom and I took off for the Buffalo River, meaning to hike Indian Rockhouse Trail. Once we FINALLY found the trail (Buffalo Point Park, which is NPS, should really consider a labeled MAP), it was definitely worth our while. Indian Rockhouse was an awesome trail, mildly strenuous (I hate trails that feel as if you're walking through a cow pasture), scenic, and with lots of stuff to see along the way. Not to mention the actual rock house, which goes beyond description. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures to show because I seem to have lost the cord I need to download pictures. Maybe by next post. And this is where we were viciously attacked by chiggers.

I HATE chiggers. Not that I know anyone who likes them, but I sure seem to be a target more than most. I must taste like chigger candy. I love summer, but I DREAD the inevitable - having my feet/ankles/lower legs look like they've been chewed and on FIRE with itch. And chigger bites aren't only uncomfortable (to put it mildly), but extremely unattractive to the point of looking like the poor afflicted is carrying some kind of disease, only compounded by dried calamine lotion. Ick. This summer I'd been lucky, but of course my luck had to run out. I'm afflicted.

Another highlight during Mom's visit was a trip up to Mansfield, MO to Bakersville, home of Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds. Here's a link if you want to check them out. You can also sign up for a catalog: http://rareseeds.com/

I've been meaning to get up there to take a look for a while, but I've recently read a book which really made me jump onto the heirloom bandwagon full-throttle.

I've been reading Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle", and it's really woken me up to a lot of issues concerning our food...issues which have been banging around in my head for some time, and this book really brought them into focus. More on that later, lest this post turn into something resembling the Internet version of "War and Peace." But in a nutshell, I've gone from being pretty unconcerned as to whether the stuff I planted in my garden was hybrid or heirloom to now being pretty darn convinced that I should be not only planting ONLY heirlooms, but saving the seeds as well. But like I said, likely MUCH more thoughts on that later, as this was kind of one of those life-altering reads. (Hey, I SAW you roll your eyes...)

Mom and I trekked up to Bakersville bright and not-so-early for their monthly garden festival and summer seed sale. Overall, the place was pretty cool. Not worth the 1hr+ drive if you're not after seeds, but still pretty cool. They had a pioneer village, poultry on display, a farmer's market, and folk music. I could've done without the folk music. Not that I just hate folk music - I did grow up hearing a couple of Peter, Paul, and Mary albums mixed in with copious amounts of John Denver. I guess that music just seemed to have a time and place, and this modern folk music makes me want to toss my cookies. It's like the people are pretending way to hard to be all "folky" and one with Mother Earth and all that jazz. It just doesn't seem to fly in 2009. I would much rather have heard some good bluegrass, but the closest anyone got was some dude yodeling. Gack. Bakersville really draws the modern-day hippies, or as my brother calls them (and therefore I cobbed onto the term too), "Granolas." Granolas were out in force this day. Guys wearing tye-dye shirts with rolled-up or crazily cut-off overalls, girls also sporting overalls, but some opting for the "I-weave-my-own-fabric-from-organic-cat-hair-while-singing If I Had a Hammer" skirts. Rope sandals, earrings on guys, and my favorite - very large American Indian necklaces on obviously white people - were also pretty common. Mom bought a plant from an oldish guy wearing overalls and six earrings in his ear. I even spotted a flyer advertising Cindy Sheehan's anti-war cause stuck in a display case among antique gardening flyers. Silly Granolas...

Still, there were "normal folk" at this thing, too...I guess as normal as you can get spending your Sunday at a garden festival celebrating organic and heirloom fruits and veggies...so Mom and I weren't too conspicuous in our jeans and sneakers. We made out like bandits in the seed store, and I've got my work cut out for me next year with starting my own seeds. I did try it last year without success. I got the seeds to sprout nicely, but I tried setting out half the baby plants well after the frost and they promptly died a spectacular death. Same for the indoor seeds I DIDN'T set out. Yes...definitely have a busy winter ahead figuring this seed-starting business out. If I'm successful, I'll have all kinds of heirloom tomatoes coming out my ears, as well as some crazy stuff I just wanted to try. Blue pole beans, anyone?

A Successful Mid-Summer Break

The shin splints are gone, and my spirits are refreshed after several days of no-stress fishing in very beautiful, un-Julyish weather. Many trout were caught, numerous fish released, and a few un-lucky ones had a meeting with the BBQ grill. YUM.

Shaping Up - Update

OUCH. Shin splints.

I have heard the only cure is a good long soaking in waters inhabited by trout...and if I'm soaking, I'm pretty much obligated to fish.

If I must, I must.

Health Care Worries

If you want an idea of why this current government-sponsored health care bill is a NIGHTMARE, listen to this Betsy McCaughey interview with Fred Thompson.

http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=147494195032&h=f80sk&u=buHl_&ref=nf

So many people seem to think that "free" government sponsored health care is a good idea. Believe it or not, I used to think this at one time too, having been frustrated with my own experiences with health insurance. It's been a few years of doing research, reading, and trying to see things from all sides. Having done research and also talked to quite a few people who live or have lived in countries where health care is government provided, I DON'T think this is a good idea. Doctors no longer have incentive. Patients are just a number. Bureaucrats make the decisions on what care you can/can't get based on numbers on a paper. Old people and the infirm are viewed as "expensive liabilities" and worth less than healthy people, frequently DYING before care is approved or because care was not approved at all. Then, there's the HUGE TAXES to pay for it.

I'll be the first to admit that there are major problems with our current system, but I really believe we do have the best system and that these problems can be fixed through reform that doesn't take the control from us and doesn't put all control into the government's hands. I think it goes beyond politics. Whether you're Democrat or Republican, seriously ask yourself whether this is truly the direction we should go.

There are some serious questions I'd like to ask President Obama right now, including:

Why the hard push to get this passed when you admit you haven't read the bill, and admittedly aren't familiar with some of the basic tenants of the bill?

Why not slow down a bit, lay it ALL out, let the American people see it, read it, and then let the PEOPLE decide to fundamentally change the whole system?

Why did you vote AGAINST every health care reform bill that ever came up, but yet are trying to push this huge monstrosity through now as "health care reform"?

Why do you keep saying we can keep our current providers when it plainly states in the bill that we can't?

I have so many questions I can't list them all. I think of my Grandma, and I think of my parents when I hear this interview and others speaking out against this bill, and hear the big push to get this bill passed. I hear people who haven't done any research and who think they'll be getting "free health care" speaking in favor of this...some of the same people I've heard gripe about HMOs. This would be like a massive HMO. It would be like this CRAPPY Military TriCare my husband and I are on, where it's impossible to see a specialist or just to get someone to LISTEN. It's so bad people routinely refer to it as "Tri-UnCare." I'm surprised and dismayed that people are so willing to give up free will without really considering it.

And I'm scared.

A Quest to Shape Up

Recently I've lit a fire under my own butt to get in shape. I'm totally and completely appalled at the way my fitness has rapidly declined over the last few years. Once upon a time not too terribly long ago, I was a strong, lean, multi-sport college athlete. Now I'm not. Like so many many others, I've let life get in the way, and too many times used the excuse of "I worked hard today...I don't need excercise", so that eventually I got out of the habit.

Several recent events have, however, brought the issue to my attention. First, I'm currently on the church's co-ed softball team, and we play once a week. It's been at least 3 years since I've even been on a softball field, but I figured that since this is a sport I know inside and out, it would be business as usual. Heh. During the first game, after hitting a single to first, I thought my lungs were disintegrating. On the next hit I got thrown out at second because I was simply out of gas. Later in the game on my way from second to third, I tripped over my own feet to get a face full of dirt and had to frantically crawl back to second. How embarassing. I held my own in the outfield for a while, but eventually got burned on a fly ball I would've easily caught just three years ago. I knew the answer to my troubles but just didn't want to admit it. The sad truth is that I am *sigh* in my 30's now, and after a few years without any regular fitness it's really taken it's toll.

Then, I went to a routine doctor visit and found my resting heart rate to be 74. Not that great. Not HORRIBLE, but not great, either. I know that the doc's office isn't exactly the place to feel relaxed, so I tested myself later: 78. Eek. Granted, that's still in the realm of "normal", but it doesn't exactly scream healthy....especially when it used to regularly be in the low 60's.

The last is a real motivator...probably THE motivator. As mentioned in previous posts, we recently redid our bathrooms. In our master bath there is now a large mirror opposite the shower. *sigh* Soon my butt will have to have it's own zip code.

I've had countless people say things like, "Oh, that's just getting older" and "Yeah, once you hit 30 it's all downhill...nothing much you can do." What a load of utter horse pucky. Sure, I understand things slow down, body parts start giving in to gravity, it IS harder to lose weight, and you can't fight time...but you CAN be healthy, and I'm totally ashamed of myself for having to get BACK in shape when I never should've gotten out of it in the first place. I've let excuses rule my life, and I've had enough. Like on Stephanie's Pointed Meanderings blog recently - I need to get INTENTIONAL.

Hubby is also feeling the need for fitness. Now that he works with other full-time in-shape army types, he told me he's tired of walking around the office trying to appear normal and relaxed, all the while struggling to keep his gut sucked in. He even exercises more regularly than me, mostly because he has regular PT tests.

Our answer is a program really gaining popularity called Crossfit, which a lot of military people seem to use and we can do together. Every day a workout is posted to http://www.crossfit.com/, which is the kind of direction I need. I need to follow a specific program and be told what to do, and the program also encompasses many aspects of fitness - cardio, strength, endurance, balance, flexibility, and diet. It's also very hard-core, but the workouts can be modified to fit your fitness level (or lack of, in my case). I found this out on the FAQ page, after I panicked while checking the "Workout of the Day" (or "WOD"...this site really likes acronyms) and the assignment was "Run a 10K for time." I nearly fell out of the chair. I can't even run to first base. For no time. Imagine my relief when I found out their philosophy is to take it slow and work up to the WOD, which some people may never do, and to keep in mind age and gender may also affect the workout. I could be called feminist, but I'm also a realist. I'm pretty sure I'll never work up to doing 3 reps of 50 pull-ups. They also give lots of excercise substitutions - for instance, if you are like me and can't do a pull-up at all, do a negative pull-up, which is to get yourself up to the bar and let yourself down slowly. The whole idea is to get as close as possible without overdoing it. I kind of like that - always having a specific goal on the horizon, even if it *may* never be attained.

Right now my goal is to 1) stick with the running, and 2) survive the running. The rest I can handle.

They say runners fit into two categories: they either love running or they hate it. I don't fit into either...I LOATHE running. I always have. In high school track I did field events and was on a sprint team (4x100), but I stayed far from long distance events. In college I was always among the last to drag in after a distance run. The announcement of a "5-mile run today" always sent dread through my body, though I never minded sprint workouts. In the police academy I endured the morning runs, but never found that groove runners talk about getting into. I did significantly improve my running time over the 3 months, but to me that just meant a shorter time to suffer. I enjoyed no part of it.

I'm still searching for that groove. On my runs to the highway and back, I suffer all the old pains running always gives - my lungs feel like exploding, my knees feel funny, my throat feels swelled, my ears and even my teeth hurt. It's horrible. The reward only comes later in the form of tired muscles and the satisfaction that I'm making an effort, the hope that my runs will get easier, and the fact that even though I may miss a few days due to this or that, this time the routine seems to be well on it's way to habit.

My Sticky, Sticky Shoe...

Not only is that a Phoebe song from Friends, it now applies to the right flop of my favorite pair of flip-flops.

Side note: Remember when we could call them "thongs" without getting laughed at? Is that a sign of advancing age?

While down in Little Rock this week, looking at what may become our new abode (more on that later), I spent a few hours shopping while waiting for Marden to be off for lunch. One of my stops, of course, was Gander Mountain. Evidently the staff had been doing some re-arranging, and someone had peeled off the wide tape that had been down to mark aisles, but had not removed the sticky. While browsing the ladies's shorts I unknowingly landed my right foot squarely in this area. As I went to take another step, the shoe was stuck so forcefully that my foot came out, along with part of the strap, and I careened into a rack of "Life is Good" t-shirts. At that point life was not good...I was stuck in Gander Mountain with only one working shoe. I was, however, able to get the strap temporarily fixed, but now the bottom of the shoe was incredibly sticky.

Walking around on the concrete floor sounded something like, "flop...schllleeeeeeeep...flop...schlleeeeeeep...flop...schlllleeeeeeep..." Nice. Why always me? I guess a less-nice person would've sued, but instead I sheepishly made my way back to the car.

On to my destination - Academy Sports in the quest to find some running clothes. More on my workout intentions later, but for now I'll just mention that I am starting a new workout routine, and it occured to me on my first day of this routine that my workout clothes were in sorry shape. Several years with no regular workout-type exercise has not only taken a fitness toll, but a wardrobe toll as well. I was down to threadbare t-shirts from college, which really should be in the rag bin, and shorts (also mostly from my college days) with disintigrated elastic bands or holes. And I also thought it would be nice, solely for motivation's sake of course, to have nice new shorts and matching t's. If they happen to also be snazzy looking, well, that's just the price I have to pay to get in shape.

My problem in getting to Academy was mostly due to my fear of city driving. I get so irritated around Mountain Home getting behind a blue-hair from Chicago who can't drive hilly curves (a popular yankee technique is to floor it in the straight parts, run up on a curve, and slam on the brakes taking the curve at 20 mph). But, I've never really learned to comfortably city-drive, especially in areas I don't really know. I can do fine, but it sometimes comes with sweaty palms, gritted teeth, and white knuckles. In this particular area of town, it seems the road system was laid out by a drunk monkey. I had been to this Gander Mountain before, so arriving safely on the first try wasn't a problem. However, my drive to Academy Sports was a bit more interesting. I detest one-way outer roads, and this area is full of them. I drove by Academy no less than three times, like the Griswolds driving by Big Ben over and over again on the roundabout in Family Vacation.

"Look kids, there's Academy Sports!...Look kids, there's Academy Sports!"

I finally made it, in a mood not really fit for trying on shorts, but I eventually emerged victorious and with several new, cute (and on sale), running outfits.

Still hearing "Schlllleeeep...flop....shlllleeeeep...flop...", the whole way back to the car.

Berries, Gender-Confused Deer, and Bikes

Last week I FINALLY totally and completely finished work in the house with the installation of those final folding closet doors, installing base and door trim in and around said closet, and cutting/painting/installing new exterior trim for the back door. Neither job was even half as simple as it sounds, but oh so rewarding to proclaim, "It is DONE!" to nobody in particular.

Since hubby was at his weekend National Guard drill, I pointed my evil SUV toward my folk's for a little break. Naturally, since I like to think of myself as an accomplished multi-tasker, I also chose this visit to coincide with blackberry-picking time. Mom and Dad have some nice, productive bushes which were starts from Grandpa's bushes, and so far I've just got sprigs. I did manage to pick four blackberries this year. Not four cups...four berries. And, since moving is in our hopefully near future, the bushes will once again be uprooted and relocated (no way in heck I'm leaving them! This includes 5 blackberry and 10 gooesberry bushes.), and even next year four berries is likely all I can hope for.

Not that berries were my only motivation. Of course I wanted to visit, and I also wanted to see "Daisy", the fawn they've been raising for a few weeks now. Daisy showed up one day stuck in the fence, after being chased by a dog, with no mother doe in sight. Since it had been chased, needed doctoring from it's collision with the fence, and the folks with the neighboring farm had heard it hollering the day before, it was assumed that this was definately an occasion for intervention. It was a pet-peeve of mine as a Park Ranger that many well-meaning people would mistakenly kidnap fawns from mama deer every year, but in this case I'm certain the fawn needed the help.

Mom and Dad nursed it back to health, gave it antibiotic shots for an infected lip, and now it's growing like a weed. It's nose and mouth are still a little boogered up, but on the mend. He does seem to have a very prominent overbite, which could either be from injury or birth defect. However, it doesn't seemt to affect his eating. The only problem I spotted was the name "Daisy." They took for granted that the fawn was female, not having really investigated the very furry nether regions. And of course, I really have to know these things, so I made the discovery that "she" was really "he", and the name was promptly changed to "Davy."

Davy spends most of his time laying in the tall weeds down close to the creek or out in the blackberry bushes, only coming when he's called for to take a bottle. And he does come running, nearly barrelling over the bottle-holder. He's pretty spooky of people, which is a good thing, but he did get used to me enough to keep me company while berry picking (along with Dixie and Toby the cat), and he came over for a head-scratch from time to time before wandering off.

Aside from picking berries and determining fawn gender, I also went with Dad on a motorcycle ride. Dad's a "Prospect" for a local motorcycle club, and they were participating in a huge area fund raiser for Muscular Dystrophy. This is us heading to Joplin with a group of club riders. The rally was pretty cool - lots of cool bikes, and lots of bikers. I like looking at bikes, and the bikers were no less interesting. Not that I'm bashing bikers at all. Bikers are some of the nicest people out there, who do immeasurable good for various charities - it's just that if I were to become a biker, I'm not sure I'd fit in with appearance. I DID find out, though, that a great place to keep cigarettes is in your bra strap. I assume this provides for easy access and hands-free storage.

Unfortunately the mullet-hunting wasn't very productive at this event. Bikers and bike fans don't seem to sport mullets, instead favoring more normal and likely helmet-friendly hairdos, ranging from shaved heads, to normal hair (Dad fits into this category), to overall long hair pulled into a ponytail. We still haven't quite talked Dad into the clip-on ponytail, but I think it would look dashing, and it might make him feel more like a biker.

The most eye-catching item I spotted was a very prominently displayed belly. This guy was incredibly proud of his rotund appendage, showcasing the roundness for all to enjoy with a inadequate t-shirt and shortie-shorts. It's not certain how this belly was attained. My assumption is years of hard work with beer cans and hot dogs, but one can never be sure with a specemin of this magnitude.

Man that's a lotta goats

Interesting Read

Article by Conservative David Kahne titled, "I Still Hate You, Sarah Palin".

http://article.nationalreview.com/?q=NDE3MmE5MDVmMGM1YjQ2NmVhMjJkN2I2ZTcxMzhlNjU=&w=MA==

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?