Wet Dog

This is one of my absolute favorite children's books, of all time. It MUST be read with a southern accent, even a bad one, and in order to appreciate it, you need to have had an ooo-hot, too-hot dog around. It's the perfect summer story for kids, and those of us who have a hard time growing up. (I read this last night, again, to Maggie and immediately Pam from Florida popped to mind! Hope you can get a copy, Pam. Let me know if you can't, and I'll send you one.)

And here are pictures of my own wet dog, Molly, swimming in a truly awful pond of water. Scummy, stinky, muddy water. Water a long ways from home, so she had to load up in the car, shortly thereafter, and share her splendid odiferous presence with the rest of the family. We're so proud....

For Aunt Bert...Guns Up!

Hey, Angus! Whatcha doing? Graciously turned around, so I could get the Red Raiders shot...
"Hey, what does your shirt say?"
"Guns up..."

The Beach Boys had it all wrong;

wish they all could be Montana girls!

Love you!

Quick! A post!

I have about 15 blog posts saved up in my head, and only 45 minutes of naptime left, in which to post something. Oh, the pressure!

I just made a pot of thick, black coffee, and I hear the laundry tumbling around in the washer and dryer. The house smells like my Grandma Mosby's house used to, in the summer, and that kind of makes me smile. Grandma Mosby smelled like Tide detergent, coffee, Irish Spring soap, fresh air and pink face powder from Woolworth's dime store. Especially in the summer, but even a little in the winter. And her house always smelled like coffee and Tide. Mmmm.

Grandpa Mosby, however, smelled of VO5 hair cream, Tide detergent, wintergreen lozenges, fresh air and leather, oddly enough. They both got outside a lot, Grandma to garden and Grandpa to take a walk while Grandma was watching her "show". (We weren't supposed to call it a soap opera; it was a "show", and we had to go for walks with Grandpa, too, when it came on, around 2 in the afternoon.)

Grandma Dutton smells like Ivory soap, cotton that has been ironed, paper and gingersnaps. The gingersnap smell comes and goes, but in my opinion, all grandma's should have a little of the gingersnap smell now and then. It's so cozy, that you just want to have a cup of tea, about 5 gingersnaps, and nestle down for stories from the good old days.

Gramps smelled like sunshine, sometimes wool, wood smoke or dust, and a little bit of aftershave. I don't know how someone can smell like sunshine, but he did. He had short, short hair that made pokies when you rubbed it the wrong way, and I loved to put my cheek against it.

Isn't it odd, how smells can take a person places they didn't buy a ticket for? Sights and sounds don't affect me nearly as much, but the sweaty smell of kids coming in from recess or the scent of good grass hay....those can take me on a time machine, to scenes I thought I'd forgotten. And not all are good, but most are.

And now I need to fold some of those clothes, because the coffee in my Red Raiders cup is almost gone, and I'm revived for the afternoon. I hear thumps and bumps coming from the "napping" children, and I know my window of quiet is about to shut for another afternoon.

No flying cows, thankfully...

Scattered showers. That's what the KULR8 weatherman said would happen. He did NOT say, "If you live in a single-wide trailer on the Montana prairie, you should find a basement somewhere this evening." Now, that would've been a helpful weather forecast.

I had just poured a very nice glass of white wine and put my feet up to read an old issue of what used to be Montana Agri-news (can never remember the new name), Maggie was watching a Tweetie Bird cartoon, Angus was snoozing in the chair. What a nice evening! Wayland, strolling through the kitchen on his way to find some sort of scuba thingee, glanced out the window and calmly remarked, "Huh. There's a funnel cloud..."

You guessed it. The one you want around in a panic situation would be him, not me.

I ran (yes, ran...he continued to stroll) to the deck, and sure enough, there was a funnel cloud. Closer to my domain than I was comfortable with. I prefer them to stay in Kansas and Nebraska, their natural habitat, and look at pictures of them in the National Geographic.

Speaking of the National Geographic, it occured to me to get my camera, which is really never far from my hand. I snapped a couple shots of the cloud up high, then we saw that it touched down, and I tried to take a picture of that, too, although I was thinking it might be a bit blurry, from the nerves.

We continued to watch the sky, Wayland rather matter-of-factly, me quite nervously. A few minutes later, the phone rang and it was Thelma G., telling us that perhaps we should think about finding a basement in short order, because the cloud had touched down on their shed and removed a portion of the roof, along with other damage that she hadn't assessed yet. She WATCHED it! And not from the basement, either.

After talking to Thelma, Wayland decided maybe it would be a good idea to go to his folks' place. If nothing else, to bring my blood pressure down. So we loaded up, quickly, and drove to Vern's, where Vern and I paced around the kitchen and the deck.

Nothing happened, gratefully, but after we got home, around 9:30, the heavens opened up and it POURED rain, here, answering our prayers. This morning is calm, wet and foggy, and we are happy to not be able to hay, happy our friends and family are alright, and happy to still be in an undamaged single-wide trailer on the prairie.

Touch down, in Green's yard.

Hard to see here, but the funnel is just under the powerline on the left, and touching down on the bottom right.

This is the first sight, through telephoto. It's remarkably clear, considering how scared I was.

"I don't have time to put on makeup every day;
I need that time to clean my gun."
-Henriette Mantel

Saints preserve us!

This blog has potential to be both more entertaining and inspirational...

*For my Catholic friends and readers: this post is not making fun of Catholicism, and I don't want you to be offended in any way, but if you ARE, straighten me out and I apologize up front, here.



This morning, just out of curiosity, I tried looking up the patron saint of accounting. I've been gnashing my teeth over the school books and expenditures, and wondered if there even was such a thing. I'm familiar with St. Francis of Assisi and St. Christopher, but that's about it.



Sure enough, there's a patron saint of accounting; Matthew, the apostle. The website I looked at didn't specify why he was chosen, so I'm going to have to do a little more digging on his qualifications. I've come to the conclusion that everyone is more qualified than I am in the area of accounting....



Scrolling down the page, I was astonished at the various saints and what they were patrons of! I'm not making this up, and I'm not making fun, mind you. It's truly interesting.



There's a patron saint for abdominal pains (as well as appendicitis, which would qualify, I guess), St. Erasmus; a patron saint of art dealers, St. John the Apostle; 18 saints for bachelors (I won't list them all); a patron saint of bartenders, St. Amand; a patron saint of cats, St. Gertrude of Nivelles, and the list goes on and on. I only made it through the patron saints of fishermen.



The website I went to, catholicpatronsaint.com, didn't give any background whatsoever for the reasons these were the saints for the particular situation or occupation. I'll have to do a little more research on that. And I'm not certain it's the most comprehensive list of saints, but it certainly seemed to have quite a few.



I go to a community Bible church, but have quite a few good Catholic friends. (They are both good Catholics and good friends.) We've never broached the subject of saints, but I think I'm going to have to call Thelma G. and get the low-down on them. The saints, that is...not the low-down on Thelma. Although, if any of you HAVE the lowdown on Thelma, please contact me!



See? More inspirational, more entertaining.

It's the end of my school fiscal year, and the financial review that was supposed to have been done in, oh, January, was finally started by the CPA last week. I've been living in front of the computer, but not doing fun things like blogging! So, by the time I get done with bookkeeping and office emails, I just want to run away from the gadgets. AND my dishwasher is broken, AGAIN! I've been doing dishes, in my free time. (I know....it's far from gadgets.)

A lot of you read Wayland's blog, so you know all about the Week O'Relatives, here at Lang's Fork Inc. They were his relatives, so I'm not going to comment one way or the other, here. I'd like to stay on good terms with the in-laws!

It has all of a sudden gotten HOT here in Cohagen, and there are thousands upon thousands of grasshoppers. When you walk across the yard, the ground looks like it's moving, but it's just the hoppers getting out of your way. They are eating my bean plants, my zinnia sproutlings, my spinach, hollyhocks, tomatoes, and t-shirts, if you stand still. Between the heat and the hoppers, the crops are looking pretty dismal. Maggie is fretting, and she squishes as many grasshoppers as she sees. On the other hand, the birds are fat, and so are the toads. But we can't market those.

I have to wrap this up, and put the school books to bed for the year, now. Hopefully, my next post will be a little more inspired and entertaining!

Another serving of CUPS

Yes! CUPS finally got their act together and landed in the same place at the same time. We had to pay off Anne's dentist, cancel a pork tour, coordinate a men's Bible study and buy a French silk pie, but we got together last night.

The official minutes will be on the CUPS blog tonight, complete with really, really silly photos and the complete menu. You can read all about it at Chicks in the Sticks , after 7PM. We're going to try to cooperate and all three write the post, from different views. It will either be a glorious post or a remarkable failure....either way, it will be entertaining....

We've also been talking about putting together a cookbook, with desserts and appetizers ONLY. (That's pretty much what we eat, when we get together. And it would be more glamorous than hamburger casseroles...)

I have two dirt-encrusted children in the bathtub, right now, marinating so we can go visit their cousins from Kentucky at Grandma and PopPop's house. I guess I'd better go dunk them a couple times and clothe them. It's the least I can do.

Stay tuned for more exciting installations from the Cohagen Chronicles....

Shoe-venirs

For 35 years, I had no idea that I liked shoes.

I was raised to choose shoes that went with everything (black or brown), were sensible in case I had to walk in the mud to get home, and cost under $20. Unless it was a pair of cowboy boots. I could justify paying a LOT more on cowboy boots.

And those are pretty good standards to follow, I guess. Especially if you are buying shoes for three growing kids, during the '70's and '80's. I followed those standards quite faithfully for a lot of years.

The first MASBO summer conference I went to was in Butte, and despite my abhorrance for shopping, I stopped at Target for a couple of things and wandered by the shoe aisle. There, glowing on the shelf like a siren to a sailor, was the prettiest pair of red shoes I'd ever seen. They were impractical, no matter how you looked at them, and so feminine! They were $16.95. And I bought them gleefully! But where to wear them, and with what? What does red go with? What if my parents saw them? (Remember, I was 35 years old at the time of purchase...) I had no idea what to do with these babies, but I justified the purchase by calling them "shoe-venirs".

Aren't they pretty?

These are the "shoe-venirs" from last year...tallest heels I've ever owned. Maggie made me wear them with my pajamas to make breakfast one morning.

These are the "shoe-venirs" from this summer. At first glance, they almost look practical, until I put them on.
Again, there are those heels!

None of these shoes cost more than $20...that's my budget. I've found that red shoes go with EVERYTHING!! Seriously. And when I wear them, I feel more myself.

What do you bring home from big trips? (Besides laundry...)

It's Magic...

Have I ever mentioned how I like old glamour movies? You know, the ones where the money spent on wardrobe for the leading ladies totaled more than what all the actors got paid for the film. Preferrably made in the 1930's and '40's. I don't watch them for the story, really, although sometimes I'm surprised and delighted at the plots. Mostly, I watch them for the fashion, the ambiance and the way people treated each other at that time. Can you spell S-T-Y-L-E and R-E-S-P-E-C-T? What was so wrong with that?

When I got home from MASBO, I found the Doris Day movie Romance on the High Seas in a Netflix envelope buried in the mail. Ah, Doris. AND travel! Perfect. The kids watch these movies with me; Angus, a little annoyed and Maggie, thoroughly enchanted. So, we popped it in after nap time and watched.

Here's the blurb from the back of the envelope, since they are so much better at being concise:

"When suspicious socialite Elvira Kent (Janis Paige) asks nightclub singer Georgia Garrett (Doris Day) to take her place on an expensive cruise to South America so she can stay home and catch her husband cheating, Georgia happily agrees. But neither woman is aware that Elvira's husband is ALSO keeping an eye on his wife. This farce-filled Hollywood musical marked Day's debut on film, a role she landed because Betty Hutton became pregnant and had to back out."

Makes you want to run right out and rent it, now, doesn't it? (Okay, so the Mikes and Texas Ghostrider may pass on this one....) But, girls, this movie has glamour just dripping throughout! And when you are done watching it and take stock of your own closet and surroundings, you may feel a little....frumpy. But it's good clean fun and it's guaranteed to clear any testosterone out of the room, should you need a little space.

I have to send it back, now, and return to my real world single-wide trailer and Texas Tech sweatshirts. But it was a treat to spend the afternoon with Doris in Rio!

Oh, and the reason for the title of this post is that "It's Magic" is the big song from the movie...

SHMASBO

As a school clerk, I belong to the organization MASBO (Montana Association of School Business Officials) and this week was our yearly convention. I always come home overwhelmed with what I don't know, how I'm going to fix that situation, tired beyond belief from lack of sleep and driving 3-10 hours, depending on where the conference was located. This year was no exception. I keep thinking that someday I'll be one of the ones in the workshops that actually has a clue....after attending for my 5th year, I'm no longer holding out hope for that particular miracle!

Alright, the unwritten rule of the organization is: "What happens at MASBO, stays at MASBO", which makes it sound a lot more risque and exciting than it really is. Clerks think they are being really naughty by having two glasses of wine with supper rather than just one, by taking three free pens at the vendor's table, by adding croutons to their salad, and by flaunting office protocol by daringly putting ALL their handouts in their folders willy-nilly. (Those that know me well probably wonder how I got involved with such a bunch, and yes, I do make them very, very uncomfortable with my lack of respect for boundaries....)

Here's what I learned this year:

1. Karaoke changes people, and I'm not sure it's for the best. I will never again hear "Country Roads", "Ring of Fire", or "I Feel Like a Woman" without thinking of MASBO. You should join the organization, simply for the Thursday night entertainment. It's well worth your $75.
2. In order to correctly maintain employee records, one needs a minimum of 4 file cabinets, 3 locks, folders divided into 6 color-coded sections and a degree in fingerprinting. Let's just say I have a ways to go in this division of my job.
3. The state of Montana is pretty much just one big small town, spread over a mind-bending geographic area. Once I stated where I was from, someone had a friend or relative just up the road. It's true, and I'm still a little astonished by that.
4. I've never seen an organization more fond of acronyms. And I, of course, didn't get the translator guide for them, so my notes look like some very strange language created by Dilbert and I'm going to have to spend more time looking those up. This year it was further complicated by the legislative session, so there were a lot of HB364's and HB542.677's.
5. You can hold an entire room hostage with the promise of a door prize that one must be present to win. If the terrorists ever get ahold of this information, we'll all be done for. People will stay, voluntarily, to see if they win a thermos that will hold 4.5 oz of coffee or a box of monogrammed paperclips.
6. I learned how to watch Mike Waterman make a pivot table, which he already knew how to make, but wanted to catch our group up with the instructor, requiring him to commandeer my computer....very complicated, and I'm not sure I really know what happened, even after we caught up.
7. P-cards: not what you think they are.

I learned more things, but they are pretty job-specific or relate to the secret MASBO code and handshake, so I will mercifully end this report here, and you'll just have to wait until next year for more scintillating installments....

Will you color with me?

Here's a picture of our friend, Homer Hickam, coloring a royal picture with Princess Maggie. (She laid aside her crown for the evening.) They started the coloring process on the deck, but couldn't seem to find a suitable surface on which to work, so they moved inside. Once they were all settled in, on the right page, there was much discussion as to what color crowns needed to be, whether the picture on the opposing page was a bell or a pointy princess hat, and whether there were sparkly crayons when Homer was little. They then commenced to coloring. (You can't rush into these things...)

After taking this picture, I went out on the deck to visit a little, and from where I was seated, I could tell that Homer was getting filled in on topics I shudder to think about. (At one point, Wayland came out and told me that Maggie informed him that her feet were really stinky, and would he like to smell them?)

Bless his heart, he didn't smell her feet, but tonight when I was putting her to bed, I asked her what the happiest part of her day was.

"Coloring pictures with my friend!"

"What was the saddest part of your day, Mags?"

"When I had to tell them goodbye, and didn't get to wave at them leaving. I want them to come back and color again...."

We've been looking forward to having Homer and his hunting buddy, Frank, to our house for supper for a long time. (I say hunting buddy; they are hunting fossils, so in a way, it's true.) Homer is a retired rocket scientist, scuba instructor, paleontologist and author. He's one of the most interesting people I've had the privilege of meeting, and we've been corresponding by email for several years. It was wonderful to be able to finally see him face to face and enjoy a meal together. And of course, color pictures.

We now proudly display his picture of a prince in a gold crown, with sparkly blue eyes, on our refrigerator! And we're preparing to read all the Josh Thurlow books this summer. I can hardly wait!

Thanks, Homer. And come back for another visit when you can; you are always welcome, here.

The Cohagen Kid Rides Again...

He's one tough hombre... ...in his Lightening McQueen pullup britches and fishing t-shirt.

I'm not sure what caliber his gun is. It's a pretty good sidearm for when sisters get on your nerves.
(He mostly just hits her on the head with it.)

If you act like you are terribly wounded, and go through a lot of dying contortions, he likes you better.

You may have to die three or four times before you get it right, but when you do, this is the look you get.

Stick 'em up!

The Cohagen Kid never misses.

Rascal...

This morning, after bottle-feeding the bums, I decided to run back in to the house to get an empty margarine container with which to scoop sweet mix/creep feed. There, perched on the counter, with his arm in the fish tank up to HIS SHOULDER, was my son; looking for all the world like a raccoon who got caught fishing. Guilty look and everything. When he saw me, ready to spank him, he started hollering, "I wanna get down, Mom! I wanna get down!" Like that would somehow save his life, or something. He had put one of his cows in the tank and was apparently trying to get it out when he was caught. I left it in there, and now there are 3 goldfish, 4 silver fish and a plastic Angus cow in our fish tank. And the fish are nervous wrecks, now....

I started thinking, though, that he's remarkably like a little raccoon. He likes shiny things, and will stash them in odd places so that we won't take them away from him. He likes water, and dunks almost everything, to see if it will float, sink, dissolve or soften. He climbs EVERYTHING, and when he gets up high enough, he chatters down at us. He makes the dog crazy. He has little scrabbly, dirty paws, and they get into mischief without trying.

You see?

All that's missing is the mask.

Alright, I'll give it a whirl...

Miss Lori, at the Altered Glass blog I follow, gave me a blogging award yesterday, and the instructions to pass it on. I'm thrilled with the funny little logo! Iit's located right above the French word of the day. (Does anyone try those? I retain absolutely nothing, but I'm learning pronunciation...)

Back to the award; I'm supposed to list 5 things I really love, in no particular order. I can DO that!

1. I love the Lord. 2. I love my family...especially when they are sleeping, like right now. 3. Coffee 4. Books, all of them. 5. I love my friends; I love them most when we are sharing books and coffee. 6. I love Mollie, who falls under family, even though she's a dog. 7. Food; and when I say I love food, I don't mean the stuff you're supposed to eat when you're trying to lose weight...that's not food. I mean with real butter, real sugar, real vanilla, white flour, fresh fruit, corn-fed beef, bacon....you get the idea. 8. I love football. 9. And fishing. 10. I love gardening. I'm not good at it, but I love it. (Yes, I know that's more than 5 things! Did you really think I'd stop at 5? Lists are fun! Remember, I did the 89 Things To Do In 2009....)

NOW for the tricky part. I'm supposed to pass this along to 5 other bloggers, with links to their blogs. Hmmm. Well, here goes... I bestow, with great pomp and fanfare, the Fabulous Blog award to: Farmchicks Frantics, Country Wife, Latte Buddies , The Corry Story, and lastly but not leastly, Moments with Marisa.

The instructions for accepting the award are posted on Altered Glass, so I won't retype them here...I will scramble something up, and ooopsies! there we'd be.

(Oh, and I read a couple of very manly blogs that I think are fabulous, and I DID consider awarding them this, just to see if they'd put a picture of a shopping lady on their sidebars, but that's pushing it....so someday when I find a skull and crossbones or some such thing to award your blog, I'll do it.)

Postcards from the pasture...

For my friends whose hearts are on the prairie, no matter where they are... Checkin' the tires.




This is where he left the hat, and I liked the writing next to it.

All the pictures you see of Montana in magazines have mountains looming.

And mountains are beautiful, but there's a whole "nother" side to the state!

(This picture is for Princess Jen, who loves Brittanies. This is as close to a good point as we get.)
I'm always intrigued at how things grow in the most inhospitable places, and flourish.

A hawk, that was highly miffed at me wrecking his rabbit hunt.

Nope, no cows. It's the winter pasture.

The short windmill...

Looking south, past my yard fence.

...speaking of Dads....

It occured to me, today, that Father's Day is fast approaching and here I sit with no ideas. Okay, let's amend that statement...no GOOD ideas. As you can see, I can make my Dad something to eat, like dark chocolate truffles, and he'll be overjoyed. And the same goes for my father-in-law, although his tastes run more to kolaches or homemade donuts.

My husband, now, is the tough one. I can't buy him scuba stuff because A. I can't afford it, and B. I don't know what to buy. He doesn't worship food, of any sort. (I can't believe we've been together 10 years, now, with that sort of difference!) He has more clothes, coats, gidgets and gadgets than he can use or wear in a year.

Out of the blue, I thought of one of those singing fish plaques, to hang on the wall. You know, something unique and tasteful. (I can just see some of my friends smacking their hands to their foreheads....and not because THEY wished THEY had thought of it first....) Really, I wasn't serious, but it was an amusing thought.

So I go to Overstock.com, to take a gander at their singing fish. Sure enough, there was a bass on a chunk of nicely routered plywood, labeled a trout, indicating some identity crisis on his part. A trout wannabe. And it was reasonably priced at $14.95. But wait, this is the good part:

IT WAS SOLD OUT!

I swear it was!

It gets better.

People who viewed this, also viewed: a Scarface cigar box, a plastic Dallas Cowboys clock, AND a 2003 World Series reproduction baseball, unsigned.

Those were our second choices, since some 2000 lucky Dads were going to get the singing bass/trout.

So....

What are YOU going to get Dad for Father's Day? (And if you were one of the one's who bought the last singing fish plaque, contact me. We can maybe work out a deal...)

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today is my dad's 61st birthday, and I'll bet he thinks I forgot about it. He's been in Washington, watching a granddaughter graduate from high school, and when I tried calling, I got the ranch-sitter! I tried to scan several pictures of him, but this is the only one that worked, so here you go. Isn't he cute? I can really see a lot of Dad in my son, some days.

Here are some things about Bill Dutton that you really need to know:

• He's a great storyteller, in true Dutton tradition. My Dad can characterize and mimic like you can't believe, and often times, when telling a story, he ends up laughing so hard he has tears. Just like those of us listening!



• He loves food. All kinds of food....and he's not scared to try new things. I love that about my Dad! When all the other kids were eating burgers at 4B's family restaurant, we'd be eating sweet and sour pork at Wong Village. He encouraged us to be adventurous in our tastes, and even now, when I order a Thai pizza, instead of pepperoni, I think of him.



• The man can cook, too. I remember watching him "doctor the beans" when I was little, and I think that's where I learned to cook with a dab of this and a smidgen of that. If you ever have the opportunity to taste his barbeque sauce, don't pass it by.



• My Dad has the most tender heart, especially for animals. Although he won't want this to get out (too late!), he's the one who got the pets and named the cows and horses. I thought all dads were like this, and boy, was it a shock when I found out differently.



• A little known fact: he can sing, but he won't, very often. I love to hear his voice, singing the hymns at church.



• My dad is cowboy, through and through, and he always has been, to my knowledge. And when I say "cowboy", I don't mean buckaroo, rodeo or anything like that. Dad rides like he breathes, and always seems more at home on his horse than anywhere else.



• He loves silver things; jewelry and spurs and bits. Dad has great taste in jewelry, and I got a bit spoiled, having baubles for holidays! (I also thought all men were like my Dad, in this respect. They are not. )



• Dad didn't do all that well in school, from what I gather, and I'm not sure why, because he's a lifelong learner; inquisitive, thoughtful and bright. He read us Charlie Russell and Will James, when we were kids.



• My Dad teases, a LOT; but he doesn't always take the teasing back very graciously. I can always tell when I'm being teased, though, because of the twinkle in his eye. And I see that twinkle in his granddaughter and grandson's eyes quite a bit, too!

I hope he doesn't mind that I did this. I guess; what's he going to do, ground me? I love him a lot, and hope he has a great birthday. And gets a really dark chocolate, with a small glass of Merlot, for his birthday treat.

Mysteries of life

Some people think very deep, very profound things, and write them well. If you are one of these people, you'll probably want to go find another blog to cogitate on....

It's not that I DON'T think deeply and introspectively; I'm capable of it. It's just that I spend most of my time pondering the other mysteries of life. The day to day sorts of wonders that no one ever dares speak out loud.

There's a verse in the Bible that comes to mind, and greatly amuses me. It's found in Proverbs, chapter 30, verse 18. In the NIV translation, this is what it says: "There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand:" Really? Only three? No, four. I have that many things that amaze me in the space of a cookie recipe!

Here are a couple of mine. These are not deep, but they bug the heck out of me...

1. Why IS it, that the little pluggy thingee in the sink WON'T hold water until you are trying to actually drain the water? Then it holds liquid like it's sealed with silicone! (Do I hear an "amen"?)

2. A dirty house attracts parties of friends and relatives, but a clean house seems to repel them.

3. Wearing high heels OR a skirt will cause a tire to flatten on the way to church or a job interview.

4. Kids can't hear you hollering in their ear with a megaphone on "High", but they can hear the crackle of a candy bar wrapper through 3 closed doors, a running vaccum cleaner, under your sweatshirt. (Hypothetically speaking, of course....)

5. Where does that sweater go, that you shove from side to side in a drawer for three weeks, on the one day you need it?

6. Bad hair days happen for weddings, class reunions, family photos and dates. Good hair days happen for working cows, gardening, cleaning house and days when the kids have the flu.

7. Do ice cubes evaporate, or what? I don't ever remember having that many iced beverages, yet the tray is stubbornly empty EVERY TIME.

8. You can wait until July 15 to set out your tomato plants and your tender annuals, then for the first time since dinosaurs roamed the earth, it will frost. It's HISTORICALLY impossible, but it will happen.

9. We've covered this one before, but I'd really like to know if one half of every 10 pair of socks dissolves in the wash. (I think the Chinese are getting back at us, this way, and perhaps American made socks don't dissolve. Note to self: look into this one.)

You see? I could go on, but I will, in great mercy, stop here. One of the questions that drove me wild for years was, "What makes toothpaste sweet? And if it's sugar, should we really be brushing our teeth with it 2-4 times a day?" I posed this question to my cousin Robert, who happens to be very smart and dentically trained. (I know, it's not a real word, but it should be...) He had actually never thought of that, and after some research, reported back that it was sorbitol...a sort of sugar alcohol that evaporates. Well, now I can brush my teeth without worrying, and so can you.

What sorts of things baffle you?

Go Fish...

I have a fly-rod, and I'm not afraid to use it.

I have NO idea HOW to use it, but I'm not afraid to learn.

I live in Eastern Montana, home of the Walleye Weekend Warriors, and I'm a closet Trout Taker.

(At least I would be if I knew how to use the dang fly rod!)

My grandpas on both sides were fishermen, and I don't remember NOT knowing how to fish. My Grandpa Mosby lived in Lewistown, in the land of fresh spring creeks and trout hatcheries and no bugs. (Seriously. There are really no biting bugs to speak of, there!) He had an impressive supply of FAT worms and was generous with them, although, in reflection, we never really caught a lot of fish with the worms and pink marshmallows. I used to tease him, by tying his worms in knots before handing them to him. He'd laugh, and put them on the hook that way. Fishing in the Lewistown area was cool, dewy and always smelled better, somehow. The trout were firm, pink and DELICIOUS, wrapped in tinfoil with butter. Mercy!

My Gramps, here in Garfield County, took us fishing at Fred Fitch's reservoir. It was a prairie pothole, warm and weedy, with thousands of biting bugs and gumbo mud that would suck in the hapless fisherman. He, too, brought along worms and pink marshmallows, but his worms were much leaner, having tried to make a life in Garfield County dirt. Gramps also taught me how to use lures....little chartreuse spinners seemed to show up better in the murky water....and taught me how to tie quintessential fishing knots. The fish we caught in Fred Fitch's reservoir were flabby, weedy and slow, but we had a lot of success in landing them.

The thing I remember most, from both experiences, was the incredible patience of both my grandpas. They took so much time with us, baiting hooks, untangling lines, cleaning fish. (As we got older, we were "allowed" to clean our own fish. But Gramps made sure we did it properly, neatly and no waste.) I also remember the quiet times spent casting, the thrill of the tug on my line, the sandwiches Grandma packed and the taste of dirty, pastel marshmallows snuck from the bait bag. And as we rattled home in Gramps' old white pickup, with the windows rolled down and the Montana evening air blowing my hair around my face, I remember thinking just before falling asleep, "I wish I could fish every day."

When I came home from college, after my junior year, Gramps had a tackle box made up for me, filled with funny little lures (yes, there was a chartreuse spinner...still the best), enough fishing line to outfit 5 poles, weights, bait hooks, a package of questionable smoked sardine-looking bait, bobbers and a jackknife. We sat down together on cottonwood logs, in the sun at the front of his house and went through it, discussing the proper usage and merits of each component. He liked tackle boxes, because of all the little compartments and places for everything. He'd use every square inch for something. He put my lead weights in a hinged jewelry box, and I wonder if Grandma knew where it had gone.

I made my friends Karen and Heather go fishing, for my birthday one year, in Lewistown. It was a failure as a fishing trip....we lost a pole and about 3 lures, but we laughed all the way there, and rejoiced over our greasy burgers. They were such a treat for starving school teachers!

My boyfriend at the time was a serious walleye fisherman, and tried to interest me in the obsessive world of walleyes, but I could never distinguish the bottom from the fish, and didn't like the confinement of the boat. I prefer to roam and fish, and he was a sit and fish guy. (This isn't why we broke up, but I wonder if it didn't contribute to the deline of the relationship....)

For my first Mother's Day, Wayland and Maggie proudly presented me with my very own fly-rod and accessories....I was SO excited!!! It had been a dream of mine, this landlocked prairie girl, to learn to fly fish! I had great aspiriations, and dragged my husband and daughter to the fly-shop in Billings for expert advice and to have my reel wound. But it turns out that it's pretty hard to get away and get any sort of instruction when you have a toddler. And then you have another. And then your budget gets quite tight, so the choice between fly-fishing instruction and shoes for the kids seems like a non-issue. (Upon reflection, this rainy morning, I may have made the wrong choice here, because the kids seldom wear the shoes, anyway. Hmmm.)

Every summer, still, I miss my Gramps and my Grandpa Mosby so much. And I pat my fishing poles and that funny little tackle box, containing ancient spinners and bobbers, and wonder where I could take them to revive. My fly-rod is still a virgin, and probably will remain so for a couple more years.

Maggie is old enough, now, to start fishing, and she'll be a doozy. I'm anxious to get her to a muddy old reservoir, introduce her to the worms and marshmallows and chartreuse spinners. She'll love reeling in flippy little trout and examining their otherworldly scales. My grandpas would have loved mentoring this one. She'll have a gingersnap in one filthy hand, and a worm in the other. We may get to Lewistown, this summer, to fish the waters God blessed.