Booking It, Part II

On Stephanie's blog, Pointed Meanderings, she posted a questionairre about books. Since I love books, though I just realized I rarely talk about them on my blog, which I should probably remedy, I wanted to get in on the action.

What was the last book you bought? Brsinger, by Christopher Paolini

Name a book you have read MORE than once.
Oh my...I have several. Watership Down by Richard Adams, The Stand by Stephen King.

Has a book ever fundamentally changed the way you see life?
If yes, what was it? Yes, The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards, and most of Barbara Kingsolver's books.

How do you choose a book? eg. by cover design and summary, recommendations or reviews. Mostly personal recommendations, though every once in a while a review will catch my eye. And I'm also a sucker for a good cover, though I try not to let that sway me.

Do you prefer Fiction or Non-Fiction?
Definately fiction...it's my escape from real life for a while, though I did recently enjoy reading Last Child in the Woods; Saving our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder by Richard Louv and Doc Susie; The Tue Story of a Country Physician in the Colorado Rockies by Virginia Cornell.

What’s more important in a novel - beautiful writing or a gripping plot?
Both are important...cruddy writing can ruin the best plot, and beautiful writing can't make up for a cruddy plot. But, I'd rather have mediocre writing with a good plot than nothing.

Most loved/memorable character (character/book):
Hazel in Watership Down, Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Harry Potter series, Stu Redman in The Stand, Rosie the elephant in Water for Elephants.

Which book or books can be found on your nightstand at the moment?
Child 44 by Tom Rob Smith

What was the last book you’ve read, and when was it?
Just finished Brsinger, by Christopher Paolini...third in a series which I mistakenly THOUGHT was wrapping up with this book...*sigh*...and Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns, which ALSO has a sequel.

Have you ever given up on a book half way in?
I'm ashamed to say I have a couple of times...a book has to be REALLY bad for me to quit, but it still kills me. I've read a few that were as tedious as trying to swim through mud.

Here is a video of a B-52 flyover over Arlington National Cemetery. It was in honor of my brother Tye's good friend Major Chris "Fireball" Cooper who was killed in a B-52 crash off the coast of Guam earlier this year. You might not have heard about because our illustrious news practically ignored the incident. Tye is on the crew of this B-52 as it flies over in memorial.

Never Ignore Intuition

We've all heard it - that little voice in our heads that guides us through some of life's quandaries, often pushing us sometimes inexplicably one direction or the other. It's the gut instinct that rarely steers us wrong, IF we listen.

Very recently, I did not listen when I should have. I was walking through the yard toward the barn to get more feed sacks to put walnuts in. I passed one of the redbud trees I'd planted, and as I glanced at it, I noticed it was missing quite a few leaves, and what few it had left looked pretty sickly. Upon further inspection, I discovered a dozen neat-looking caterpillars happily munching away on my redbud.

Now, I'm pretty partial to caterpillars, but I am also partial to my carefully planted trees in our practically tree-less yard. I rashly decided to ignore the knowledge that usually nature knows best, and take it upon myself to transplant the caterpillars and disperse them between bigger, more leafy redbud trees, where they could munch away on leaves and not decimate their current tree. Kind of an "everybody wins" situation. My strategy was simple. As I'm not squeamish when it comes to bugs and worms, I would simply pick off the caterpillars and carry them to the bigger tree.

Here's where intuition made it's first little voice known. As I grabbed the first caterpillar, I wondered whether the things sticking off of it that looked like little sprigs of broccoli were a defense mechanism, but I shrugged it off. It was just a caterpillar. As I transported one caterpillar in each hand gently with my fingertips, I noticed a little tingly itchy sensation in my fingers, and again that voice in my head said, "hey...aren't there some caterpillars that sting?" I of course ignored that voice, and grabbed two more caterpillars. After all, they were just caterpillars, and how bad can a caterpillar sting? Likely the tingly sensation was as bad as it would get, but by the second bunch of caterpillars, I decided the tingly sensation was a bit uncomfortable, so instead of quitting this madness, or getting gloves, or anything smart - I carried the next bunch in my palms...which also started to tingle.

While transporting the third batch, the slight "tingly sensation" on my fingers and palms quickly escalated into a "stinging sensation", which became an intense "burning sensation" in just a few seconds, and I immediately abandoned the moving of the caterpillars (dropping them in mid-transport) for a running to the house (accompanied by a little girlish yelp) to immerse my now red and slightly swollen hands as quickly as possible under the faucet of cold water. Within a few minutes, especially after applying turpentine (takes the sting out of bees stings) and washing with soap, the burning subsided. A half hour later, all signs of distress were completely gone.

I then did some internet research, which I should have STARTED with, on stinging caterpillars, and quickly identified my culprits. The larvae of the very pretty Io moth. Here's what the book said:

"Caution should be observed concerning the larvae of the Io moth. The poisonous hairs or spines are hollow and connected to underlying poison glands. Contact with them causes a burning sensation and inflammation that can be as painful as a bee sting. The irritation can last for a day or two and may be accompanied by nausea during the first few hours. Usually the site of contact reddens and swells much like a bee sting. A person "stung" by a poisonous caterpillar should immediately wash the affected area to remove any insect hairs and poison that remain. An ice pack will help reduce swelling, and creams and lotions containing steroids will lessen the discomfort and promote healing. Persons known to be sensitive to insect stings should consult a physician. Stinging caterpillars rarely occur in sufficient numbers to be considered plant pests, but people who work with ornamental plants should learn to recognize them and avoid touching them."

You'd think a former park ranger would know better...and it seems I was very lucky...my reaction seemed to be very minor, especially considering the number of caterpillers I'd been stung by.

Now I not only felt like an idiot, I felt really bad...on my flight to the house, I'd dropped a handful of caterpillars in between trees, and through no fault of their own they were now out in the yard, away from their food, and vulnerable to birds (though woe to that bird), when they should have been in a tree.

I decided since I'd messed things up, it was my responsibility to get the caterpillars back on a tree. I moved the rest one by one, very carefully using twigs and grass as if I were handling nitroglycerin...made all the more difficult with Lucy alternately giving me licks and evidently trying to shove her frisbee up my left nostril.

It then occurred to me while I was squatting down trying to manuver a caterpillar onto a stick with a blade of grass - perhaps this is why I don't get as much done as I want? Wasting an hour carrying caterpillars from one tree to another...

Despite my care, during the move of one caterpillar (with Lucy's help), I bumped my elbow with my knee, causing the now balled-up 'pillar to vault into the air , performing a perfect triple back flip with a half twist, and land, where else, but onto the back of my hand causing an instant intense stabbing burning. This of course caused me to once again squeal like a little girl and drop the operation and sprint into the house for another scrubbing, further delaying the whole procedure.

I finally did get all the caterpillars dispersed onto different redbud trees, hopefully providing them with enough to eat so they can turn to moths, while minimizing the damage to the trees. I sure hope so, because I went to check the caterpillars the next day, and they were all gone. How's that for gratitude?

The moral of the story - sometimes it's best to just let nature be. And if you're going to handle caterpillars, wear gloves.

Crafty

I took a break from The Homestead for a few days to spend some time with the folks, and to attend the craft fairs in Northwest Arkansas with Mom and a crafty friend of hers. These craft fairs, or as the brothers not-so-fondly call them "the crap fairs", used to be a yearly tradition for me. My first memories of the craft fairs sometimes included snow and sleet, and little red boots to slosh through the mud with while our parents gazed at crafts. This tradition continued through until my adult years. That is, until I started working for state parks. Turns out, October is THE month that everyone and their dog goes to a state park...and how can you blame them in this weather? But being a park employee made it hard for me to enjoy fall. By late in the year, I found myself with very low tolerance after a full season of park visitors, plus I didn't have time to enjoy the lovely weather for myself. Any free time was spent getting as far away from a park environment and tourists as possible.

But, since I am now footloose and fancy-free, I was able to immerse myself in arts and crafts on a grand scale for the first time in a full six years. Unfortunately, this wasn't a banner year for arts and crafts. I only made a couple of purchases, which I can't talk about because the recepients of those items may be reading this blog. Despite the fact that it wasn't our usual huge haul of stuff, it was a very beautiful day, and well worth the trip.

And now I'm back at The Homestead, after a gorgeous day for the drive back. During the drive, I did see a scene worth commenting on, and I really wished I'd had my camera. I was significantly east of Springfield when I could no longer ignore "nature's call", so I pulled into a McDonald's. At this particular McDonald's, something kind of looked out of whack. Again, I wish I had a picture, because there in between a car and an SUV was a horse-pulled Amish wagon, complete with an Amish woman holding what I can only assume was an Amish baby. I went inside, and sure enough, there was the Amish man in his full Amish get-up placing his order. As I came out of the bathroom he was still waiting, so I went to the car. He came out pretty close behind me, and I watched him carry his bag of food to the wagon and hand it to the woman as he went to untie the horses from the hitching post.

And that's when it dawned on me - that it was the only McDonald's I've ever noticed with a hitching post. The spectacle was a bit surreal, even though I do know that people of the Amish faith actually accept more aspects of modern life than many of us "English" realize. However, it was still a bit like watching Pa Ingalls using a chainsaw. Or Grandpa Walton checking his email. Or Jeremiah Johnson carrying the "baar" he just killed with a four-wheeler.

I suppose like all of us, even the Amish get a hankerin' for some good greasy fast food, and they sure can't be blamed for that. And with a baby, maybe after a day of being out and about the woman just didn't feel like going home and taking the time to literally fire up the stove. I do wonder what he ordered. He looked like a Big Mac kind of guy...or possibly the Big 'N Tasty. If they were the least bit like me, neither one of them would touch Chicken McNuggets with a ten foot pole tipped with a dead skunk.

Lardin' and Nuttin'

How's that for a title? Lately, that's about what my life has consisted of - nuts and lard. Walnuts and pig fat, to be exact. Interesting times at the Hooter Ranch.

As many of you have probably noticed, this is the time of year for big fat walnuts to litter the ground, and this is a boomer of a year! Not only are the trees really producing, but the nut company is paying very well for black walnuts at hulling stations. After my first load - $92+ dollars worth, every time I see walnuts on the ground I now see little dollars. Unfortunately, I can't get every nut, but I'm sure going to try. Between our place and the neighbor's, I have plenty to keep me busy. I'm pretty sure my neighbor thinks I'm as nuts as the ones I pick up.

In between picking up nuts, I've been making lard. Yes, making lard. Whitey and Petunia, after a happy life lazing in the shade and mud, not getting injected with antibiotics and who knows what else, getting to eat yummy corn and table scraps (unlike factory pigs, I might add), made their journey to the processor, and we picked up the meat last week. You can sure fit a surprising amount of pork in a Toyota Prius.

I had been drilling every old person I could think of on the topic of rendering lard, as well as doing a fair amount of consulting the internet, and after deciding that it maybe wouldn't be too hard, I requested the butcher save me the fat. He was more than happy, and even ground it up for me. A question I've been asked by numerous friends has been "WHY would you WANT lard?" Well, aside from a wide consensus that it makes the absolute best pie crust, from reading about lard it seems that it's one of those foods that has been demonized, but now research shows it's actually not that bad. Matter of fact, it seems it's better than most fats, containing essential "stuff" a person needs, but without the trans-fat and no preservatives. Not that a person should just sit and eat a bucket of lard, but compared to the Crisco you get in a tub, it's downright healthy. And you do have to wonder about a product so full of preservatives you can leave it on the shelf nearly indefinately.

Not to mention that lard-making is getting to be one of those lost skills, and a the knowledge is just good to have.

On what I dubbed "lard day", I stood staring at three large frozen-turkey sized lumps of ground fat wrapped in plastic, wondering if I should proceed, or just feed it to the dogs. I decided to be adventurous and at least give it a try. I dug out my biggest dutch oven, put it on the grill over hot coals, added a bit of water and a big lump of fat, and waited. And waited. Stirred a bit. Waited. I quickly came to the conclusion that this project was going to cost a fortune in charcoal, plus the wind was blowing stuff into the pot, and I was incessently pestered by over-interested dogs and cats. So, against my better judgement, I moved the whole operation indoors to the stove. Eventually the fat melted and started to cook down, and after a few hours I started to see brown "cracklins" and the liquid turned clear, so according to all my information, it was done cooking. I felt like Ma Ingalls straining out the cracklings, but I'm pretty sure she did not strain her lard into GladWare. After a few hours of cooling in the fridge, I had honest-to-goodness lard!

Part of me is still surprised it even worked - talk about a feeling of accomplishment! And doesn't this pic speak for itself???

I Think...Therefore, I Blog

Well, I see I rankled some fur by my posting of the Farrikhan video. I'm not going to waste a lot of time on this, because I don't want to risk changing the tone of my blog, but let me clarify why I keep this blog. I keep this blog in order for my family and friends to keep up with happenings at the Hooter Homestead, thoughts that end up making a soup ranging from the main ingredients of everyday silliness and amusing observations, a mullet hunt for good measure, with a little peppering of a few more serious issues. I simply blog, and with the current political winds blowing strong as they are, it's inevitable that some of my own opinion on that front makes it in. I'm no high-powered political analyist...I'm that everyday "Joe Sixpack" that Sarah Palin has been brutalized by the liberal press for being. And whenever I run across a tidbit I think people might find interesting, I blog it.

But, contrarary to "Anonymous", as they so corageously identified themselves so I can't address them by name, I do think before I blog. And let me respond. The video is scary not because Louis Farrikhan endorses Obama - that's a given. Never did I imply that Obama is responsible for who endorses him - that's not the scary part. The scary part to me is what is said...that Obama is referred to as "The Messiah", and basically that he's going to be bringing about the kind of change that a radical Islamist can get behind. THAT is scary. Period.

That being said, I happen to think our choices for president this term are both a couple of boobs. The choice to me is who will bring the least amount of government boobery and jackassery to the country, who can keep us as a country safe, who is best for our troops (and I have several vested personal interests in this issue), and who tromps the least on our personal liberties. I do not want to one day find ourselves prancing around wearing berets and calling ourselves Socialist New France, or worse. There is LOT more I am tempted to say, but I will refrain.

If you anyone is offended by my blog, then don't read it. It's that simple. For everyone else, I look forward to very soon getting back on the track of blogging about fiddle playing and making, pets, husbands, hobbies, and just general amusing life observations.

Be Afraid...

This is a video everyone should watch before voting. It is Louis Farrikhan endorsing Barack Obama:

http://www.worldnetdaily.com/?pageId=77539

I'm very scared for our country lately. America is at a crossroads - we can either submit to governmental control over every part of our lives and become a socialist state, or we can remember the great country our ancestors fought for, and take our country back. Throw off the apathy, and let freedom ring.

Ozark Sasquatch?

Today while perusing the local classifiedes, I came upon this ad in the "Help Wanted" section, under "Notices"...I had to read it several times. It said (and this is copied word for word, with the actual phone number omitted):

Blue Man: If you have had a sighting of an unusual large animal walking on two legs, you are not by yourself, over 70 sightings reported in Missouri. If you contact us, your identification can be kept confidential. Any age of story accepted. 417-***-**** .

Hey, if he can cut the coyote population back down to a semi-resonable level, he's welcome in my back yard.

Aaaand...I'm back. Again.

I apologize for my blogging absence as of late. Things have been busy around the Homestead, and the weather has been so glorious that it's hard to sit down and blog, and I'm hitting it so hard during the day that when evening rolls around, I'm pooped.

First, I'd like to thank everyone for your thoughts and sympathy and cards concerning Sam. I really appreciate it, even though some made me get teary. The sympathy card from the vet's office made me bawl...it had that story "Rainbow Bridge" printed on the front. Ugh. It's been a weird nearly two weeks without the old guy around the house...almost startling not to see him on his usual perches. I even find myself automatically going to clean hair off the furniture or floor, but there's no hair...which kind of saddened me at first, but I have to admit, it's nice to be able to sit down in dark pants. And a bright spot, I walk into the laundry room and automatically screw up my face in anticipation of fragrance eau de litterbox, and instead I just smell dryer sheet. That's actually pretty pleasant. If there's one thing Sam could do, it's leave a stinky litterbox - and his favorite thing to do was to wait until it was freshly cleaned with new litter. Once about eight years ago, I was sound asleep one night and awoke to the most AWFUL stench, and when I got up to investigate I found a nice fresh "bomb" in the clean litterbox. That cat had crapped and woken me up from ACROSS the house. As I was very grumpily scooping out the box at 2:00 a.m., Sam watched with what I swear was a proudly bemused expression. "Heh...yep, I pooped." All in all, the hair and poop were worth the companionship, and I do miss him.

Fall has definately started to fall down around our ears...it's downright chilly at night, and while the days are still pretty warm, the sunlight has changed to it's fall sharpness and the leaves are thinning and starting to turn. And yesterday on my way to town, instead of admiring the scenery, I was absorbed in the annual autumn tradition of dodging tarantulas crossing the road in search of a mate. (Why did the tarantula cross the road? To get some booty!) I don't know why I bother trying to avoid them, as other drivers seem to swerve out of their way to smash the poor things. People. Maybe a few I've spared have actually made it safely across.

Over the last week and a half, I've been engaged in several projects. Work on my fiddle continues, but very slowly. I will be VERY surprised if I have the fiddle made in the next year, but maybe things will go faster than I think. It's very tedious work, made even more tedious by the fact that my teacher is legally blind, and on top of that hardship one of the other students is a very know-it-all yankee who seems unable to shut his mouth. I figure this first one will be rough to get through, and IF I successfully make this one and decide to make another, the process will get easier.

This is my fiddle front. Violet was saving this beautiful piece of sassafras for her use, but insisted I take it instead. The only drawback is that it's obviously not wide enough for a fiddle front, so I had to saw it in half and glue it together. Fortunately, the wood is so nice that once the board was sanded, I couldn't even tell where the glued joint was. So, envision if you will, a fiddle with this sassafras front, cherry sides, and a cherry back. And I already decided on black walnut fingerboard and tailpiece, but those will likely be long in the future.


Gotta go for now...stay tuned! I promise to get back on the blogging track, and I have more pics to add!

A Sad Day

I wish all my posts could be happy and uplifting, but life isn't always that way, and today I must blog about a very sad thing. Over the weekend, we noticed that Sam wasn't his normal attitude-ish self. He was mopey, not eating hard food, missing the litterbox, and slobbering. I thought maybe he had a bad tooth, as he would still beg for soft treats, and he seemed famished. Monday morning it became apparent that Sam was in bad need of a vet visit - his hip joints were sticking out, and his back legs seemed a little sluggish, and his slobbering got worse. Within an hour of dropping him off at the vet while I went to fiddle-making lessons, he called to inform me that Sam was in complete renal failure, and he recommended that dreaded word all pet owners cringe to hear - euthanization.

I don't want to be overly dramatic, but I felt like someone hit me in the head with a hammer. Life without Sam? Hard to imagine, since I've had him since college - basically my whole independent (and sometimes non-independent) adult life, Sam was there. Mom and Dad presented me with Sam, a white fluffy kitten, when I came home from college one summer. He'd been abandoned, then rescued by Dad and Tye. He lived with me in a trailer, a house, another trailer, an apartment, a house, another house, another house, another house, and here. That is, if I'm not missing any - nine different locations. And there were always those times he lived with Mom and Dad temporarily. Sam was there when I was lonely, when I couldn't figure out what to do with my life, and when I had to make a big decision...one big fluffy constant through life's most confusing time.



I guess that's why the news just hit me so hard. Sam had transcended the "just a pet" status to being a long-term fixture in my life.

Not that I didn't know this would one day happen...every time I get a new pet, in the back of my mind is the little voice saying that it's inevitable that I will have to endure it's death. But I still take on the responsibility, even knowing that somewhere down the road will come emotional difficulty. But pet-lovers everywhere know that the joy pets bring is well worth the pain their deaths come with. However, even though Sam was "older" and eating "senior cat" food, I still very much expected him to be around another 5-7+ years.

I rushed back to the vet's office to meet with the vet. Doc said we could possibly re-start his kidneys if I wanted, but it would be very temporary, and essentially for my benefit only. I declined...I didn't want him to suffer any more, especially not on my account. After getting to hold and pet him and hear him purr, I gave the go-ahead and it was over really quick. I then made a hasty and slightly blubbering retreat from the office, and headed back to fiddle lessons. I didn't want to go home just yet. Marden picked up "the body" on his way home, and later we buried him under the Mulberry tree in the front yard.

I've never had such a hard time losing a pet. I keep expecting Sam to saunter through the room, flicking his tail, meowing for fresh water or a treat. Or, like the pic, looking VERY grumpy after a bath. I know time will heal, and there is a certain charm to living life without having to scoop the litterbox, picking hair off everything, cleaning up hairballs, cleaning up barf because Sam decided to yet again sample the house plants, constantly changing out water bowls because he had a strange habit of putting his food in his water, poking at it with a paw, staring at it, then walking away - and eventually meowing for fresh water, and a myriad of other chores that come with having a house cat. I don't think we'll get another house cat...at least not anytime soon.

But I'm very thankful for having Sam in my life, and having the pleasure of sharing a house with such a good cat. So long pal.

Another hobby...

The last thing I really have time for is another hobby...I have too many to keep up with. My drawings and paintings are sporadic at best, fly rods are built only as-needed, and baskets haven't been touched in literally years, though I do look at the box of supplies every now and again forlornly, unwilling to part with them just yet. I tie flies only when we're planning a fishing trip, and only the thought of spending major bucks in the fly shop for something I could've made at home gets me revved up on that front. But unfortunately, I am very guilty of gross hobby neglect.

The biggest question asked of me, including from myself, is "you don't have a job, so why don't you do all sorts of stuff?" My biggest excuse for letting my hobbies fall by the wayside when I was a park ranger was lack of time, and that was the truth. I rarely had time for anything, and when I did, necessity took precidence. Neccessitites like fixing food, doing laundry, and acknowledging that I did indeed have a flesh-and-blood husband, not some figment of my imagination that only manifested briefly before going to work. So now that I'm a "lady of leisure", I should have all sorts of time. Not so. There is always something that will take precidence over a hobby. Laundry needs to be done, dishes need to be washed, yard needs to be mowed, flowers weeded, chicken coop moved...and the list goes on and on. No matter how much I try, I get settled into my art room to tackle a project, and that's exactly what it feels like - yet another project to be tackled, instead of a pleasant pasttime to be enjoyed. I've come to the conclusion that the extra storage building we have MUST be converted into an art room before I can get anything done. I'm hoping that being out away from the house, in a space designated ONLY for hobbies, where I can't see the un-folded laundry, the dust bunnies, or the stacks of stuff that need to go on Ebay, I will reach a tentative "out of sight, out of mind" mentality. I will finally be able to enjoy some time.

And speaking of enjoying my time, there's another stumbling block. I've reached the conclusion that my sub-conscious doesn't think I should be enjoying my time, since I am not working at a paying job. Poor Marden is bringing home the bacon, so should I put my hobbies before work?

It's an endless battle. One that's not easily solved, and not really the real topic of this post. My REAL topic is the fact that I have added yet another iron to the fire - another hobby.

As I've talked about in the past, I've been taking fiddle lessons for a couple of months, and enjoying it immensly. I seem to be able to find the time to practice, and I think I've solved that riddle. I used to take piano lessons, and I hated practicing. With a passion. I guarantee as Mom reads this post, she is bobbing her head and rolling her eyes with fervor. I've grown up a tad since then, and even though I now enjoy practicing and love music, out of old habit my mind still sees practicing as the following equation: PRACTICING = Not Fun + Work. Therefore, I'm justified in spending time practicing the fiddle. Go figure. I probably need mental help.

That aside, fiddle lessons have opened up yet another avenue for a new hobby - making a fiddle. Yes, actually making a fiddle. My fiddle teacher has made 73 fiddles, and I have what I see as a once-in-a-lifetime chance to learn to make a fiddle from a master and living legend. While making a fiddle, a very mysterous and complicated-seeming instrument I've barely learned to play (and I've only recently successfully gotten my instrument to make pleasant tones, and not simply the burning-a-witch-at-the-stake screeches) seems like a monumental task, I actually think I can do it.

So now, every Monday, I join the fiddle-making club at Violet's house. This "club"...which I call it, consists of three people now including me. The other two students, a man and a woman both in their 50's, have been working for two years on their fiddles. I didn't find this fact very encouraging. In addition, another lady comes just to hang out. She's very nice, even though she is one of the worst things you can be - an incessent talker from Minnesota. Her voice and accent make me want to jab forks in my ears for relief. I hope I can work in this environment.

As I sat down at the kitchen table, Violet handed me a block of wood and a carving tool, and I was told to practice. So, for an hour or so, I whittled on the wood, and wondered how in the world this was going to get me a fiddle. But I remained optimistic. After another little while, I was told that I could start.

This is the beginning of my first fiddle:

I know it looks suspiciously like a dog. It's a weiner dog. This was actually a test I had to pass before beginning to make my fiddle, sort of like Mr. Myagi did on Karate Kid before he taught what's-his-name karate. Violet gave me another block of wood which had been very roughly cut out in the shape of a dog, put a pocketknife in my other hand, and said, "carve out the dog...if you can do that, you can make a fiddle." I was eager to carve the dog - not only did it have an ending point, unlike mindlessly whittling on a stick, but it took my mind off Screechy Minnesota Talker.

After finishing the dog Violet closely examined my work, proclaimed me a natural at woodcarving with a knack for being careful and paying close attention to detail (which brought thinly disguised reluctant praise from the other students), and said I was ready to start my fiddle. She rummaged around in a closet, and came out with a paint-coated piece of cherry wood that was once part of an old door, which she'd been saving for herself, but she'd like me to use it to make the back of my fiddle. I was pretty touched that she gave me the wood. I hope I don't get labeled "Teacher's Pet" by the other students - they had to buy their fiddle back wood from a supply magazine. Oops. If it sounds like I'm bragging, that's pretty much because I am.

So this is my fiddle. Or will possibly be...both are cherry wood, the one on the left wild cherry, on the right is domestic cherry. At least that's what I was told. I MUCH prefer the color and grain of the darker one on the right, but in getting it planed (thanks Brian!), and taking off the paint that coated both sides, a huge knothole was revealed. I'm going to have to consult Violet on how much of a problem this will cause. I assume it will be significant, and I'll be better off going with the lighter piece.

Wish me luck...I have a feeling I've bitten off quite a chunk with this project.

In other news, I've had quite a hankering lately for apple pie, yet I had no apples. I guess I could've bought some, but I figured sooner or later I'd encounter someone who had a full tree with fruit wasting away that I could have for free. I found that person on the local Freecycle website, and yesterday took Maggie into town to pick apples. Two hours later, two boxes and 13 Walmart sacks of apples, I was on my way home to make a pie. First I took a nap. Then, after consulting Cousin Jodie on her recipe, this is what I came up with. It was proclaimed a success by Mr. Hooter.

So what am I going to do with all those apples? In addition to a pie, I made a little dab of applesauce to see if the apples were good for that purpose. It's pretty darn good applesauce, though not as smooth as the sauce Mom and Grandma used to make from Grandpa's Yellow Transparent apple trees. I'm going to have to plant some of those. So, after I can some pie filling, applesauce, apple butter, and make some dehydrated apple rings, the rest of the haul will go to the deer.

Oh, and the Chiefs still stink. As of today, 0-3 after the Falcons handed them their butts on a platter...*sigh*...I'm going to go eat pie...

AAARRG!!!

AHOY Mateys! Today be International Talk Like A Pirate Day, and here be the offical website:

http://www.talklikeapirate.com/

Ye'll find all sorts 'o tips on talkin' like a buccanneer which can take yer day up out 'o the dulldrums, even if it do make yer dog peer at ye funny, yer neighbors be wonderin' about yer sanity, an yer hubby take it personal like when ye call him a scurvy dog an tell him to get in the galley an bring some rum (a.k.a. coffee). So all ye landlubbers out there hooray the day by swiggin' a pint 'o grog, wearin' an eye patch to work, keel-haulin' yer boss, an finally makin' haste to yer closest Long John Silvers to demand in pirate-speak the Fish and Shrimp Basket Combo!

(I hear the clam strips are quite tasty too)

"If You're Gonna Be Bad...

...be awful. And these two teams are AWFUL"

That was a very astute observation I heard from a halftime commentator during the Chiefs/Raiders game yesterday, which we were watching from Mom and Dad's. Unfortunately I don't know who to credit for the quote, as I had retreated to the kitchen to hide my disgust at what appears to be a dismal season by diving into Mom's cookie jar.

Much to my dismay, all anticipation for this year's football season seems to be all for naught. To put it bluntly, my Chiefs stink. All pre-season reports indicated that the team would be "better than last year", which isn't saying much, but still got me excited. And now I'm not sure that they are better than last year...I sure can't see any improvement. My personalized jersey is still hanging in the closet, and there it may stay for the duration of the season. I can see reaching Thanksgiving the same as last year - with no hope for anyone to root for in the playoffs. For most of the first half, I wasn't even sure if we were watching football, or a really horrible version of the Nutcracker ballet with shoulder pads.

I believe I have the answer to help the team...a simple 2-part strategy which may help the Chiefs to possibly make the playoffs. #1) Have everyone on the team agree they are to be playing football and not having a square dance. #2) Just pick a quarterback! Leave him in the game and see what happens! It would also be helpful to make sure the chosen quarterback knows who is on his team, and therefore refrains from passing the ball to opposing players. A color-blindness test, as well as a memory recall test may help with this process.

I do believe I missed my true calling as a professional football coach.

Hollywood...just shut it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anxkrm9uEJk

How insulting can you be? Even if you're not for McCain/Palin, this is absolutely ridiculous. I can't believe he's serious. Sexism in America is alive and well, if you don't fit the mold of what certain groups think a modern woman should be.

Fiddle Me Happy

Here's a video I found on YouTube of my fiddle teacher, Violet, from about a year and a half or so ago. I was on YouTube trying to find a particular song I'm working on, and found the video from CBS news. She's a firecracker, that's for sure! I hope I'm half as spry when I'm nearly 92.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOiRqVK9Sk0

So far my fiddle repertoire includes:

Faded Love

Angeline the Baker

Come Thou Fount

Fill My Way With Love

Sugar in my Coffee

*For Marden's benefit, we changed the words to "Coffee in my Sugar", after which Violet gave Marden a nice lecture about using so much sugar.

Arkansas Traveler (in progress)

My plan of learning one song a week may be a little over-ambitious. Arkansas Traveler is a doozie, but I'm getting it. Still, it may take me another week to really get it down. I'm pretty sure while practicing today my fingers tangled into a knot, but luckily I got them undone.

Has anyone seen that Snickers commercial where the Hawaiian sings Greensleeves, and then they all join in? Heh. 'Tis a silly commercial. I like it.

This 'n That

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday weekend as we get ready to say adios to summer. Or as I say, good riddance. I must admit I am fickle when it comes to my favorite season. Every year, never fail, it's always the same. Just a few months ago, I couldn't wait for spring. Every September, fall is definately my favorite season...WAY better than spring. Spring is now a mere pleasant memory when compared to all the glories fall will bring. At least until next spring.

Despite my flightiness of deciding on a favorite season, fall does bring some great things to look forward to, such as Chiefs football, pumpkin pie, pretty and crunchy leaves, cooler weather, pumpkin pie, sweatpants, hunting season, pumpkin pie, woodsmoke, impending holidays, and pumpkin pie. Those are just a few I can think of at the moment.

You might notice the new area I added, which will keep my faithful readers current on my team, the Chiefs. I should say "our team", as Marden is now a convert. Let us hold faith that preseason play was a good indicator that they will rise from the stinky ashes of last year's season victorious, or at least not complete losers which last year had me tempted to take drastic measures. I almost...*gasp*...scraped the Chiefs sticker off of the back of my car window. But I'm nothing if not loyal, and my sticker is still proudly displayed.

I'm really looking forward to football season, if for nothing else to have something decent to watch on TV. Lately, I've been absolutely disgusted with television, in particular the news. I wonder if all the people who scoffed at the idea that the media, especially the networks, lean to the left politically are now no longer doubters. Lately, the leanings have been no longer slight leanings but absolutely blatant, and it makes my blood pressure rise. I usually refrain from talking politics on my blog, as I know other's opinions differ from my own, but I can't keep quiet anymore. If you're watching the networks, it's "All Hail Emperor Obama, our savior and messiah", but anything Republican is reported in a negative light. On NBC I just watched Matt Lauer interview a McCain spokeswoman. He worked and hinted and suggested to try to make her say that McCain made a bad choice in a running mate, and maybe he used bad judgement. He was completely negative and wearing his opinion on his sleeve. Unbiased reporter my foot.

What ever your political leanings, any American should be upset at media bias.

It's not only annoying, but downright wrong, and it negatively influences anyone who may be undecided and who only (and unwisely) gets their information from network news. As for me - my TV watching has become limited to two episodes of "The Waltons" in the morning after catching the local news. A responsible voter shouldn't rely on the media for information - find the facts for yourself, and make a decision based on real facts - not someone's opinion being shoved down your throat.

Well, enough of that. It looks from radar that Gustav is still very much together and headed our way with some blessed rain. Looks like we'll get buckets of it, though!

Gone Fishin'

I've had a pretty boring week, back again at The Homestead from a MOST EXCELLENT weekend of fishing at Montauk State Park, in MO. Have I mentioned lately that I love fly fishing? I believe I shall mention it again. I love fly fishing. But the more enjoyable your vacations are, seems the more mundane your "regular" life is.

We met my folks for four full days of fishing fun (say that five times fast) and rented a room at the lodge. I do think someone who is included in these trips should invest in a camper. I like having a room, but I don't like having to share walls/floors or ceilings with other people. I learned an excellent lesson while a Park Ranger that frequently shows itself to still be true (and I think it's a quote from some movie, too): "A person is smart; people are dumb."

The people below us, after making an incredibly loud entrance, did finally quiet down and go to bed, after which we were treated to earth-shattering snores resonating up from their room below us. It took the a/c fan constantly running and a Benadryl to help me through that. The next night we were treated to some pure 100% grade-A LOUDMOUTH yankees from northern Illinois, in the next COMPLEX, who we could hear plain as day chattering and honking like a flock of geese in scratchy nasaly voices, and foulmouthed to boot. Marden did some hollering at them in what he called his "yankee accent", but we thought it sounded more like Chinese...didn't phase them, though. They just kept right on hollering between drags on their cigarettes.

What has happened to common courtesy? Decorum? Just plain decency?

Despite the people, our trip was a blast. We caught many a fish, and I have to brag on Mom. She has been fly fishing only a handful of times, and her very first outing at Roaring River she caught a trout. Our last outing to Montauk, she got bites but didn't manage to successfully land a trout. This time, she kicked some trout butt! She's got it figured out, and in a very short amount of time she's not only on top of casting, fly selection, and presentation, but she can fight and net a trout just like a pro.

Unfortunately the weather didn't cooperate completely...we spent a few hours a little chilly and damp due to standing out in the river and being caught in numerous short but torrential downpours. If there's one thing I detest, it's being wet and cold. Ironically, my two very favorite sports - fly fishing and snow skiing, often lend themselves to landing me in this condition. Go figure. However, despite a couple of damp days, we had more than enough beautiful weather to make up for it.

The last day always seems to be my best fishing day, and this time was no exception. After the folks pointed their car west, Marden and I got back to fishing a while longer. I started pulling fish out left and right, while poor Marden stood staring at an empty hook. All's fair in love and war, and fishing, as far as I'm concerned. While making our way downriver back toward the car, I stopped at one of our favorite holes - a large boulder bordering a deep turquoise pool chock-full of trout, with rumors of "the big ones" that sit on the bottom out of sight. An old man was fishing the hole, but I noticed his empty stringer. He looked sideways at me as I caught a fish on his right, and again on his left. He finally introduced himself as Bill, 75 years old and just retired, and said he was attempting to catch supper but wasn't having any luck. Just then a fish grabbed his lure, but before the fight even really started his line broke. We visited a few more minutes before I headed for the upstream side of the boulder to let my size #16 beetle fly (tied myself, thank you) float past. On the third cast, the bowels of the pool opened and the largest fish I've had even NEAR my line at Montauk rose from the depths, sucked my fly into it's maw, and the fight was on! At least I had the presence of mind to set the hook nice and good, because this sucker was HARD to get in! Every time I'd get my net close, he'd take a run for deep water and strong current, nearly wearing my arm to a frazzle and bending my fly rod double. When I finally got it netted, much to the relief of both Marden and Bill, I was in a quandary as to what to do with this nice rainbow. Keep it for a mount? Let it go? Usually I would've opted for letting a fish this size go. This time I ended up giving the fish to poor Mr. Bill, standing there in freezing cold water, still with no fish for supper. When I offered him the fish, his eyes got big and he said, "You're SURE you don't want to keep him? He's a beaut..." I said I was sure, and maybe it would make up for that fish that took his lure earlier. Bill said he'd sure appreciate getting a fish like that if I didn't mind giving it up, and we promptly put it on his empty stringer. He sure was proud of that fish, and to me it was worth giving it up just to see the smile on his face as he went back to his fishing.

Here's Dad casting for lunkers...or anything that'll bite...

Me at my favorite hole.

Going Postal

Yes I've been a lazy blogger - guilty as charged. I've been out enjoying the PHENOMENAL weather we've been having for August! I can't believe these comfortable temperatures, but I don't want to talk too much about it for the risk of jinxing the whole deal, and rocketing us back up to more seasonable temps. So I'm zipping it.

Not much has been happening lately in Hooterville. We are continuing to have a snafu with our mailbox. As in, we don't have one, but we want one. Those of you who know our address will know that we currently have a P.O. Box, all due to a measly 1/8th of a mile. It's the ultimate in "retardity." (That's a word I invented while at the Police Academy)

Turns out, in order to get mail delivered to the convenient little box at the end of your driveway, you have to have your box no more than a half mile from the previous box. Our closest neighbor from the road is less than a half mile from us, however, they are both postal employees and do not want a mailbox, since they get their mail where they work in a P.O. box. The next house up the road with a mailbox is just an eighth of a mile too far for us to get mail, therefore, we have to rent a P.O. box, which is NOT FAIR. Why should most people get free mail, and we have to pay? Then I was informed by a good friend and post employee that according to the mail system founder, Ben Franklin, everyone IS entitled to free mail, and if they won't deliver to your house, you get a free P.O. box. But, the PO doesn't want to do this anymore, so they gave us the option to put our mail box at the end of our road. How does that help us? I guess we'd get our mail free, but we'd also have our mailbox out in the middle of nowhere. In this day and age of identity theft? No thanks.

Now I'm not downing our local post office...they're just following regulations, and have been very friendly and helpful. Matter of fact, our postmaster filed a petition for us, but we haven't heard anything. And the rural carrier has been down here a couple times measuring mileage. So if he can come measure mileage, why not just bring our mail???

And people want the government to take over health care?

Well, I'm keeping my fingers crossed that our petition is approved, and I can dig out the mailbox we already have, install it, and get our mail. And our neighbors beyond us will be able to get mail, too. And all of Hooterville will rejoice.

Mama Mia!

So yesterday I was stuck in town all day. My car has been making a really disturbing noise, so I followed Mr. Hooter into town and left my car at the mechanic, and while he was at work I was free to frolic around town. I decided to go see a movie, and since I've seen "Mama Mia" the play twice and LOVED it, I've really been wanting to see the movie.


Overall, it was a pretty good movie, but I'm going to have to just slightly disagree with those who say the movie is better than the play. I REALLY loved the play. I merely just really liked the movie. Of course, I really just enjoy plays in general -the atmosphere, props, and seeing what someone can do with just a stage and singing without a sound studio to clean up the raw singing voice while dancing or moving around - takes incredible athleticism I would think. But, I was happy that the movie stuck to the story, and I enjoyed the music. For the most part. I have to confess, I'm not a huge fan of Pierce Brosnan...and the dude can't sing. To put it nicely, his attempts at ABBA songs sounded to me like a cross between constipated and drunk. And his facial expressions made me think of someone trying to pass a kidney stone. Aside from drunkconstipated Pierce, the other singers were pretty good. I actually think I would've cast Colin Firth in the "Sam" character, however, nobody asked me...but I do like Colin. I was impressed with the rest of the cast, especially Meryl Streep as Donna. She OWNED the screen. And Sophie (Amanda Seyfried) was just phenomenal. All in all, it's worth the ticket price (despite Pierce). Anyway, that's my un-qualified review.


But the movie got me to thinking, wouldn't it be really cool if we could live in a musical? How awesome would it be if we could just break into spontaneous song with the full backup of a band or orchestra? I've thought that would be cool ever since I saw the movie Pete's Dragon - one of My Very Favorite Movies, by the way. I believe if we lived in a Musical World my soundtrack of songs for the today (if I could actually sing, that is) would go something like this:


"Crap it's Hot Out Here"

"Dog poo on my shoe"

"The Litterbox Blues"

"Crap it's Hot Out Here" (Dance Techno Remix)

"Chicken Eggs, Stinky Piggy"

"Hubby Put that Lid Down Please"

"My House is a Pigsty"

"Laundry Boogie"

"Crap it's Hot Out Here" (Instrumental)

Yep...I feel a Grammy...


Another movie I've seen lately is "Lars and the Real Girl", about a socially backward guy with a few mental issues, who lives in a little northern town and is under the impression that his life-size doll ordered off the internet is actually a real person...and the resulting reactions of his family and small town residents. Poor Lars. Mr. Hooter and I really enjoyed it, and I even got teary at the end...and if you see it, you'll know how ridiculous that is. :)

Eggs!!!

Yes, EGGS!!!

Finally, at long last, after what has seemed like FOREVER, my little chickies are laying eggs. At least some of them are. And, of course, the two days I wasn't here to find them myself is when the blessed event happened. Luckily we have some great neighbors who look over things while we're gone, and she called as soon as she found the egg. I came home to find two more in the nest boxes...good job girls!

Here's the first egg:

And here is what happened to the first egg, served "egg-in-a-hole" style. Otherwise known from childhood as what Cousin Chad referred to as the "Ashlie Egg.":

Here is the haul so far, minus two we ate, one that was cracked, and another that I dropped on the kitchen floor when I tripped. Maybe collecting eggs will someday become a chore, but so far I can't wait to check for eggs every morning. And mid-morning. And noon. And afternoon. And evening. Maybe I'm bugging them too much? I think I'm creeping out the hens. That's the idea I got from Rosie here..."hey, do you mind?"

Well in other news, the garden is still doing well. Beans are petering out, but the tomatos have come on strong. See for yourself:

We've also got LOTS of corn, and most of it turned out really pretty. Here's some Barbara, Mr. Hooter's mom and my mother-in-law, was helping me cream and put in the freezer.

I have to give a great big THANK YOU to Barbara for helping around the house while I was "recovering" from my very very very minor surgery. I had some alien skin bumps removed from my leg last week (nothing to worry about), and since they put me to sleep, it took me a day or so to get back into the swing of things. Thanks again Barbara, even though she did say I was a bad patient after I snuck out of the house to pick beans. :)