Unplugged

After 6+ weeks of no signal from the dish, we called Dish Network and shut 'er down. They promised all sorts of wonderful deals if we'd remain valuable customers....upgrade our package (of 4 channels? ANYTHING would be an upgrade!) for half price, send out a service representative, free movie channels....and we politely declined. So, we are free. Even with the four channels, we really only watched PBS occasionally, and the evening news twice a week. The only thing about shutting the tube off that makes us even sort of sad, is the loss of Sunday afternoon football. But, really, in the big picture, I think we can deal with that. We'll just take the kids to a sports bar. (NO, NOT REALLY! I know there are grannies out there, swooning and fixing to write a big old comment for the fridge door!)

Now, I'm going to go through the movies, and cull. (I know, I know...that's a cow term. That's what we do, here, so that's the vocabulary we use.) I think I'll send most of the movies to grandparent's houses, and then we can rotate them in and out, when the dark days of winter set in.

I really hate it when people get all pious about not having television, and act as though they are morally superior. Of course, I think that the United States society would be better off without the 2390 channels of trash we plop down in front of, watching 30 seconds of each channel and finding nothing on. But I also know that it can be a wonderful thing; I've been in hospitals and dentist's offices and been very grateful for the diversion. Many people can be reached in a short amount of time when disasters strike, and you can find out what's going on in the world, rather than being insulated in your safe little burrow. (I like my burrow, but I understand the need to know what's going on in the rest of the jungle...)

I grew up without television, save that at the grandparent's houses, and I don't really remember resenting the absence of it. I DO remember being the only child in the United States who thought the Dukes of Hazzard was a medieval show, until I saw an episode at a friend's house, and being at a distinct disadvantage when we played TV tag at recess. But I was a child who lived worlds and lives through books, and television was a sad second to my imagination.

Well, the Farmer took the Princess and the Heir Apparent to visit their grandparents for awhile this morning, so I'd better get busy around here and swab something or sort something. It has been a treat to complete a blog post in under 2 hours! Happy Saturday, and I hope you all are out doing something fun for Labor Day, so you won't read this until Tuesday morning. Labor Day is also a national holiday, here at Lang's Fork, Inc. but it is appropriately celebrated by laboring!

Putting out saltnminrall...

Molly Jo, supervising the entire operation...

Every job has a boss, and she's ours!

Have you ever read Hank, The Cowdog? That's a pretty good narrative, from a dog's point of view, about life on the ranch...

The coming two's, snoopy teenage cows , wondering what's shakin' at the salt trough...
...Are those KIDS?.....

We're outta here!!!

Saltnmin'rall

Mix 'er up....

Making sure Daddy pours the saltnmin'rall just right.

Prairie princess

Stompie McStomps-a-lot

Top o'the hill!

I love tests!

Yes, I was one of those kids, in school. I lived for test days. I was terrible, however, at the daily sort of assignments. I got them done, and they were done pretty well, but they really grated on my nerves. As did writing papers. (I liked the research on papers, and if I could only have presented the information verbally, I'd have really shone...) But, tests...now, TESTS were FUN! I loved that they were sort of mysterious, tough, one sitting, and there was rather a science to taking them. Once, in college, my cousin Carl Lee needed a victim to take I.Q. tests for his Master's classes, and I had the opportunity to really work the old test-ing brain out. (I think he passed the class, and probably got extra credit for finding a most remarkably inept testee, and sticking with it....)

When I find quizzes or tests on blogs, I take ' em. Today, on a blog I follow, called This Ain't New York, there was a post called the Random Dozen....a dozen unrelated questions for the blogger to answer. It's as close to a test as I can get, today. (Domestic disasters not withstanding....) So here, for your reading pleasure, is my answers to the Random Dozen. Pour a beverage before you start; that way you have something to spurt through your nose as you read....

1. When you go to Wowmart, what one thing do you get every single time, besides a funky-wheeled squeaking cart full of frustration? A headache. Seriously. That is one store that I can barely make myself enter. I missed the female shopping gene, somehow, and these stores are particularly painful for me. With regards to products, however, I'd probably walk outta there with greeting cards.

2. What is something that people are currently "into" that you just don't get or appreciate? Facebook. And I really wish I could do it, because there's a whole sort of culture there, and much information is shared that I miss. I end up relying on my husband, the Farmer, for all the news that is news, in e-land.

3. What is something that really hoists your sail that other people might feel "ho-hum" about?
Well, it's not school finance, that's for sure! Oddly enough, this is sort of a stumper. New high heels and old jazz. How's that?

4. Favorite song to sing in the shower or car? I'll give you two, since one is nonsensical..."Icka-backa, Soda Cracka" for my kids, and "Amazing Grace".

5. A really great salad must have this ingredient: Imagination! There's nothing worse than a boring salad. Well, there ARE worse things, but I'm trying to keep it in context, here.

6. Advice in a nutshell to new bloggers (one or two sentences): Don't worry about who's reading your blog, or what they think. If they don't like your stuff, they can stay away....

7. What was the alternate name that your parents almost named you? Do you wish they had chosen it instead of the one they gave you? My parents never revealed my alternate name, if there was one, but I always wanted a "cooler" name. I was a "Mary" in a generation of Kimberlys, Brittanys, and Tiffanys.

8. What in your life are you waiting for? The housekeeping fairy. And self cleaning bathrooms. They show that sort of thing on the Jetsons....

9. You get a package in the mail. What is it, and who is it from? It will be a package of treasures, some new, some old, mostly Red Raider-wear and retro fun, from my Aunt Bert! Oh! and there might be a Texas cookbook enclosed. And a letter that brings tears to my eyes. Have I ever told you about my Aunt Bert? I'll have to do another post....

10. Today--what song represents you? Gollies, I can find something in every song! Perhaps, Pat Green's Crazy. There's a line in there that says, " If I am truly crazy, don't you know I like myself that way. If I'm really goin' on out of my mind, won't you hop on board, and make your getaway?" Yeah. That's probably the one....

11. What is one thing that blogging has taught you about yourself? I was surprised to find my enjoyment in writing! And to find that if I write (type) everyday, I'm a much happier person. How weird is THAT?!

12. How are you going to (or how did you) choose the clothes you're wearing today? What do they say about you in general or specifically how you're feeling today? Well, drats. I chose them because they were on top of the "working-clothes-that-fit" pile, and they scream, "This dame shops at thrift stores; a long-time Texas Tech Red Raiders fan, with a strong agricultural background and funky taste in jewelry." I'll leave it to your imagination as to what I came up with.

Blessedly, the Random Dozen list is done. Anyone else?

"Did you just say, 'The bathroom is flooded?'...."

Those were the words mumbled by my husband, from under his pillow, at 6:43 this morning.


And yes, the bathroom WAS flooded, and the boy-child was miraculously alive, in his room wailing, his mother tearing through the house, looking for anything terry-cloth that may be used to swab up the floor. Thank the good Lord that I'd had half a cup of coffee, or this paragraph would probably have had a different flavor, and my blog would be tagged as inappropriate for family viewing....

Have you ever listened to Bill Cosby's first album, Bill Cosby, Himself ? There's a sketch he does, called "Kill the Boy", where he comes home from work and his wife is sitting on the couch, barely hanging on to sanity, and she orders him to go upstairs and kill the boy. That sketch leapt to my mind this morning.

The morning had started like every other morning....I wobbled out to the kitchen, attempted to make coffee undercover, and leaned on the counter while it perked, coaxing it to go faster. After pouring the nectar from Heaven into Mugsie, and motivating into the living room, I breathed a sigh of anticipation, sucking in the aroma from the French roast and half & half....aaaah, life is good. Just as I took my first, life-restoring sip, I hear pitty-patty-pitty-patty-pit, and "Gah Mornin, Mom!". So close. So very close.

We had coffee together, Angus and I, and after about 10 minutes of sweet snuggling, I told him I had to go to the bathroom, and left him there on the couch, like a little angel, awaiting my return. (This was a tactical error on my part....I should've packed him in to his father, where if not supervised, he'd at least be busy torturing the other adult in the house. Note this, mothers-to-be.)

When I came out, I heard Maggie quickly departing from the house to the deck, and Angus crying. Great. They are fighting, already. It's never good to try to discipline in your pajamas, so I chose to get dressed, quickly, before wading into the fray. (I know, wading...ha, ha!)

I came out of my bedroom, into the kitchen, to see Wayland's son standing in the middle of the floor, bawling because he had fallen in water, or at least that's what I thought he'd said. That's odd. So I followed the trail of wet footprints, on my newly mopped floors from yesterday, down the hall to the scene of the crime.

It was grim. The bathroom floor was completely covered in water and little pieces of partially decomposed toilet paper. Water was still coming from under the lid of the toilet, although it was starting to slow a little, seeings as how the boy had stopped flushing, because he'd slipped and fallen. In the potty water. And walked through the house. In poopy pants.

Which brings you to the opening paragraph of the story....


I will mercifully spare you the details of the rest of the morning.

We also mercifully spared Wayland's son his life, at the pleading of the Princess, who, although she wanted to sell him just LAST WEEK, mind you, decided she really, really loved him this morning. Good thing someone loved him....

I'm going to go finish my coffee, now, and begin the Complete Household Sanitation Project.

*And I don't want to be getting sticky notes on the fridge from grandmothers who tell me these days go quickly and to enjoy them. You may find the child, gift wrapped and squalling, on your doorstep, for you to spend some short days with him. I can get him to Texas, Iowa, Florida, Idaho, Colorado, Kentucky, the United Kingdom....no one is safe.

Personal revelation to the masses, #276

I know. You've been waiting for some post, ANY post, for nearly a week. And thrill of thrills, it's a personal truth-or-dare sort of post....yes! You will have dirt on me. Sort of.



I am organizationally impaired.


There. You have it.


My mother-in-law has been waiting for me to publicly admit this, I'm sure, so she can let out the breath she's been holding for 10 years, give or take 11 months....


I've been going through cupboards, book cases, drawers and glove boxes this week, in a vain attempt to create more storage space and purge nonsensical flotsam and jetsam. I've tossed (and this is an accurate count) no less than 43 margarine/cottage cheese/sour cream container lids whose partnering containers have long since been abolished to the Great Burn Barrels. I've pulled 2 black garbage bags of too small kids clothes for St. Vincent De Paul...some of them were size 18 months, and my son is 3 years old. You think it was time? I rearranged two bookcases, so that we could fit another 10-12 books in them. We don't dispose of books, here, because we read and re-read nearly all of them, every three years. (Okay, "we" being me, and Maggie. She can't read, yet, but she examines all books, even the ones without pictures. ) And I found about 30 magazines with recipes that I haven't taken the time to transfer to files. I got sort of busy having children, and moving cows. But it's time to transfer or toss.

I do like organization. I do like clean and neat. And my mother did teach me how to do all that.

It seems I get all bogged down, in my sorting and organizing. I fold outgrown children's clothes, and I see them wearing the clothes; sort of like home movies, for a mother's eyes, only. I start going through the tupperware cupboard, and my son wants to build forts with the margarine containers...well, sure! I start to tear out recipes from the magazines and get lost in the travel articles. I attempt to straighten books and end up surrounded by stories that are like old friends; "Oh THERE you are, Big Red! I haven't seen you since I got married. And here's Ivan Doig...wonder what's going on at English Creek. Ah, Rory Stewart and The Places In Between...in between what, I wonder? Perhaps I should take a peek..."

And I'm an absolute miser when it comes to buying organizational and storage containers. I don't like plastic, and as I stand there in the Rubbermaid aisle, I can think of about 297 things I'd rather spend $12.95 on. But when I get home, and stand in front of the closets, I think to myself, "Drats. Another bad choice made, with the right brain...." Plastic seems so icky, but try to find metal or wood organizers that hold up to preschool abuse, or that rednecks in trailer houses on the prairie can afford! So I shut the closet door....nay, back up against it with all my weight and will it to shut, with my substantial rear end....and promise to really, truly buy the Rubbermaid containers next time, cross my heart.

Please don't think I'm complaining, or trying to flake out, about where I live or how. We have been blessed with the perfect home for our family, and we have more than we need, in food, shelter and clothing. My management of these resources is the problem. Or, perhaps, mis-management.

At any rate, this week, in the Farmer's home, all the tupperware has lids. The laundered clothing in the childrens' drawers is the appropriate size and season. The books aren't double stacked in the 5 bookcases in the general public's view. The boy's trucks are stored neatly in the closet and the princess has her dresses hung color wise.

And tonight I will have dreams of rejected piles of junk, piling on top of me, in retaliation for the purge. (It will probably just be the cat, sitting on my chest.....)