Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Goodbye, Hoovie; Hello Rosie!
"I can fix it," my husband declared. I believed him, because he truly can fix just about anything.
He looked at the old girl, standing in the corner.
"All it needs is a new belt"
Is it just me, or is that every man's solution to broken appliances?
So, we took Hoovie on a road trip to Miles City to get a new belt. She rode in the back of the Trailblazer with the dog. Neither was happy about the arrangement. (I'm still not ENTIRELY sure why Hoovie had to go all the way to town for a belt, when she never actually left the back of the car. Maybe he was hoping the jostling would shake something loose, and miraculously fix the problem.)
After we got home, the Farmer tore into Hoovie, and after about 20 minutes of fixing (I was in the other room. I can't stand the sight of appliances being fixed; it makes me woozy.) I heard the sound of the vacuum starting up. Then it shut down.
"Still doesn't work," he informed me, dejectedly. "I might have to take it to the shop." (That would be the equivilant of the emergency room.)
Next day....
"Still doesn't work," the Farmer said. "I guess you need a new vacuum."
Now, we have company coming from Missouri this weekend, and we haven't had a vacuum for a while. I'd hate to guess how long. It's getting desparate! But Wednesday wasn't an auspicious day to buy a vacuum, for some reason. Perhaps the Farmer's Almanac warned against appliance purchases that day; I don't know.
Finally, on Thursday, the urchins and I loaded up Hoovie and went to Miles City to purchase a vacuum cleaner.
It's a dandy! It will suck up bolts, without injury. It has 3, maybe 4 filters...one of them HEPA, whatever that is. When we brought it in the house, the Farmer tried it on our bedroom carpet, in a particularly flat area, and it FLUFFED the FIBERS, AND SUCKED UP DIRT!!! That's right, she's not just a pretty face, the girl can clean.
The Farmer said not to tell you this, but I changed three bags, yesterday.
THREE BAGS of stuff vacuumed up in our house.
I'm SO sorry to all of you who visited us in the last year....apparently, Hoovie wasn't even sorta working, and you were exposed to a lot of dirt. I'm sure you are shocked. (Ha!)
Anyway, it's safe now. Come over for coffee and a demonstration! I named her Rosie, for the maid on the Jetsons. She's pretty close.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Beth Ann and the Secret Fan
The Underground Bookclub met at Beth's house, last night, a few days later than usual. Our book for September was "Snow Flower and The Secret Fan" by Lisa See. For those who haven't read it, it's a novel about a Chinese girl-then-woman's life, with emphasis on the hideous footbinding practices of the time and a secret language of the women; set in the mid-1800's. Because a main theme of the book was the oppression of women at that time in that culture, the theme of the meal was "It's a Man's World". Funny, hmm?!
So, the menu was:
(Unbutton the top button of your pants, before reading and imagining the meal...)
Steaks, marinated and grilled, topped with fresh mushrooms sauteed in real butter,
Shrimp cream-cheese wontons, with a homemade sweet and sour dipping sauce,
Tortellini salad, with lemon marinade, fresh vegetables and grated parmesan
Pretzel-cream cheese-raspberry JELL-O salad...THAT SET UP AND HELD TOGETHER!!!! (And we didn't have to cut it with the steak knives, either!!!!) Praise be to God!
Homemade New York Cheesecake with choice of raspberries or strawberries to top,
Wine (Cabernet Sauvignon or Moscato), Beer (Bud Light or Amber Boch), dark Starbucks coffee (made from beans hidden away from Beth's husband...in a cottage cheese container! She's so smart.)
Oh, and we talked about the book, too. But let me say a word about the menu, here. You have GOT to love a meal that includes three dishes with cream cheese as a main ingredient, and more steak than you could get around in one try. I haven't talked to all the bookclubbers, today, but the ones I DID visit with were still in their elastic waist pajamas at 10:00 a.m., yours truly included. I can't decide if it's because we were still that full, or if there really was nothing in the closet that could encompass our girth, yet.
We were missing Thelma, especially in the discussion. The book brought up all sorts of things...manipulation, dishonesty for gain, friendships, mutilation of bodies for beauty, war, miscarriage, anaphylactic shock and subsequent death, embroidery, weddings, and secrets. It was a cheery little read! I'm not going to get into the points of conversation any further than that, but I will say that when I called Beth this morning, we spent another 45 minutes in discussion about it. Of course, we can spend 45 minutes in discussion over what brand of toothbrush to buy, so that's hardly remarkable.
The next book is:
"A Town Like Alice" by Nevil Shute, and we will be meeting at Thelma's. I hope she can make it.
So, the menu was:
(Unbutton the top button of your pants, before reading and imagining the meal...)
Steaks, marinated and grilled, topped with fresh mushrooms sauteed in real butter,
Shrimp cream-cheese wontons, with a homemade sweet and sour dipping sauce,
Tortellini salad, with lemon marinade, fresh vegetables and grated parmesan
Pretzel-cream cheese-raspberry JELL-O salad...THAT SET UP AND HELD TOGETHER!!!! (And we didn't have to cut it with the steak knives, either!!!!) Praise be to God!
Homemade New York Cheesecake with choice of raspberries or strawberries to top,
Wine (Cabernet Sauvignon or Moscato), Beer (Bud Light or Amber Boch), dark Starbucks coffee (made from beans hidden away from Beth's husband...in a cottage cheese container! She's so smart.)
Oh, and we talked about the book, too. But let me say a word about the menu, here. You have GOT to love a meal that includes three dishes with cream cheese as a main ingredient, and more steak than you could get around in one try. I haven't talked to all the bookclubbers, today, but the ones I DID visit with were still in their elastic waist pajamas at 10:00 a.m., yours truly included. I can't decide if it's because we were still that full, or if there really was nothing in the closet that could encompass our girth, yet.
We were missing Thelma, especially in the discussion. The book brought up all sorts of things...manipulation, dishonesty for gain, friendships, mutilation of bodies for beauty, war, miscarriage, anaphylactic shock and subsequent death, embroidery, weddings, and secrets. It was a cheery little read! I'm not going to get into the points of conversation any further than that, but I will say that when I called Beth this morning, we spent another 45 minutes in discussion about it. Of course, we can spend 45 minutes in discussion over what brand of toothbrush to buy, so that's hardly remarkable.
The next book is:
"A Town Like Alice" by Nevil Shute, and we will be meeting at Thelma's. I hope she can make it.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The Stunk, Continued...
I don't know if you all read the comments, but
Denise said...
My boys would like to know are you going to
1. stuff it
2. eat it.
yup, they are those kind of boys.
Candles, burn many candles. Have fun with that one! :) And I am sure that skunk had a nice filled tummy when he sauntered on out. I'm sure it was body armour too! :)
Denise,
Thank your boys for their interest in the trophy skunk! The offending carcass was immediately re-located to a burial spot far, far, far from our residence, but the memory of him still lingers...
We did not immediately think of eating him. We aren't that hard up, yet, for fresh meat. I HAVE, however, read that if you soak skunk meat in milk,(and I don't remember how long, but probably a good, long time)that it is edible and there isn't much of a difference between that and raccoon. I've never eaten raccoon, either. (Such a boring life...)
To answer the taxidermy question, we did NOT have it mounted. I'm not entirely sure if we'd be welcome at any of the 57 local taxidermy shops with a skunk. We are not exactly welcome even at the grocery store now, having been urged to call in our order and their new curbside delivery system is now in place. (Good service, huh?)
Please let your boys know that they are welcome at our ranch for skunk season, which is remarkably free of the common, everyday variety of hunter. I will, however, request that post-hunt, they sleep in the RedNeck Guesthouse (our old 5th wheel camper) and that any skunk-roasting take place over a campfire 2 miles from my house.
Sincerely,
The Farmer's Wife
P.S: Hydrogen peroxide and baking soda will get the smell off a dog and/or a boy. Just be sure to rinse with lots of water after application. Our Brittany is smell-free, now, and has glistening white hair and shiny black spots. Just in case you ever need to get the smell out.
Denise said...
My boys would like to know are you going to
1. stuff it
2. eat it.
yup, they are those kind of boys.
Candles, burn many candles. Have fun with that one! :) And I am sure that skunk had a nice filled tummy when he sauntered on out. I'm sure it was body armour too! :)
Denise,
Thank your boys for their interest in the trophy skunk! The offending carcass was immediately re-located to a burial spot far, far, far from our residence, but the memory of him still lingers...
We did not immediately think of eating him. We aren't that hard up, yet, for fresh meat. I HAVE, however, read that if you soak skunk meat in milk,(and I don't remember how long, but probably a good, long time)that it is edible and there isn't much of a difference between that and raccoon. I've never eaten raccoon, either. (Such a boring life...)
To answer the taxidermy question, we did NOT have it mounted. I'm not entirely sure if we'd be welcome at any of the 57 local taxidermy shops with a skunk. We are not exactly welcome even at the grocery store now, having been urged to call in our order and their new curbside delivery system is now in place. (Good service, huh?)
Please let your boys know that they are welcome at our ranch for skunk season, which is remarkably free of the common, everyday variety of hunter. I will, however, request that post-hunt, they sleep in the RedNeck Guesthouse (our old 5th wheel camper) and that any skunk-roasting take place over a campfire 2 miles from my house.
Sincerely,
The Farmer's Wife
P.S: Hydrogen peroxide and baking soda will get the smell off a dog and/or a boy. Just be sure to rinse with lots of water after application. Our Brittany is smell-free, now, and has glistening white hair and shiny black spots. Just in case you ever need to get the smell out.
True confession, #269
I can't make JELL-O.
Isn't that the saddest thing to hear from a stay-at-home mom?
Well, not the SADDEST THING, but pretty pathetic.
And please, please, please don't feel compelled to leave your best JELL-O hints and pointers, or to write to me with your Sure-Jell tips from 1953 that are tried and true through three generations. I can almost guarantee I've tried them all, including using the freezer for 24 hours.
I can make a lot of things in the kitchen...lasagna, homemade cinnamon rolls, technical soups (ratatoille), souffles....but JELL-O fails everytime. I'm starting to think I have sort of a body chemical that prevents it from working, sort of like people who magnetize watches. I've tried using less water; it turns rubbery and you can't stab it for anything, to get it to your mouth...and that's really kind of funny to watch people try to eat it, especially people who are unaware of my disability with the substance. I've tried adding frozen fruit, which sinks to the bottom and gels the lower half of the bowl while the top remains runny. The freezer didn't work, because when JELL-O thaws, it's back to the water state, and then you can't get the platter back to the counter, and wonder if everyone had straws and sipped it, if it wouldn't get it to a managable puddle. (I've never had the nerve to try this.)
The only thing harder than making JELL-O is making layered JELL-O.
You'd think someone who can't manage the whole "Add 1 cup boiling water to powder, stir until dissolved, then add 1 cup cold water, chill until firm" process would shy away from any sort of layers, but heaven help me, I keep thinking a little cream cheese and Cool-Whip should somehow add loft and form.
It pretty much just makes the puddle creamy. And a little, well, curdled. And no-one wants a straw for THAT.
And I desperately want to conquer the JELL-O, so I make it for every special potluck occasion, hoping beyond hope that God will look upon my efforts with favor and grant me one perfect quivering red mold.
Thus far, to date.....He's kept me pretty humble. I would give Him all the glory, if that were to happen, and I'm pretty sure my potluck people would, too. There'd probably be a revival, right there at the Cohagen Gymnasium and Community Center.
Tonight is Bookclub, and I'm taking.......
Pretzel Salad! It's layered. It has cream cheese AND Cool-Whip. And yes, the crowning glory of the dish is
Isn't that the saddest thing to hear from a stay-at-home mom?
Well, not the SADDEST THING, but pretty pathetic.
And please, please, please don't feel compelled to leave your best JELL-O hints and pointers, or to write to me with your Sure-Jell tips from 1953 that are tried and true through three generations. I can almost guarantee I've tried them all, including using the freezer for 24 hours.
I can make a lot of things in the kitchen...lasagna, homemade cinnamon rolls, technical soups (ratatoille), souffles....but JELL-O fails everytime. I'm starting to think I have sort of a body chemical that prevents it from working, sort of like people who magnetize watches. I've tried using less water; it turns rubbery and you can't stab it for anything, to get it to your mouth...and that's really kind of funny to watch people try to eat it, especially people who are unaware of my disability with the substance. I've tried adding frozen fruit, which sinks to the bottom and gels the lower half of the bowl while the top remains runny. The freezer didn't work, because when JELL-O thaws, it's back to the water state, and then you can't get the platter back to the counter, and wonder if everyone had straws and sipped it, if it wouldn't get it to a managable puddle. (I've never had the nerve to try this.)
The only thing harder than making JELL-O is making layered JELL-O.
You'd think someone who can't manage the whole "Add 1 cup boiling water to powder, stir until dissolved, then add 1 cup cold water, chill until firm" process would shy away from any sort of layers, but heaven help me, I keep thinking a little cream cheese and Cool-Whip should somehow add loft and form.
It pretty much just makes the puddle creamy. And a little, well, curdled. And no-one wants a straw for THAT.
And I desperately want to conquer the JELL-O, so I make it for every special potluck occasion, hoping beyond hope that God will look upon my efforts with favor and grant me one perfect quivering red mold.
Thus far, to date.....He's kept me pretty humble. I would give Him all the glory, if that were to happen, and I'm pretty sure my potluck people would, too. There'd probably be a revival, right there at the Cohagen Gymnasium and Community Center.
Tonight is Bookclub, and I'm taking.......
Pretzel Salad! It's layered. It has cream cheese AND Cool-Whip. And yes, the crowning glory of the dish is
JELL-O!
As of right now, it's looking promising. The pretzel layer didn't burn. The cream cheese and Cool-Whip layer held together nicely. The jury's still out on the red layer with raspberries.
Along with your prayers for world peace, a cure for cancer, the end of hunger and thirst in Africa, and everything, would you please take a moment to pray for the Bookclub women and the JELL-O salad?
Thank you.
Monday, October 12, 2009
"Dear God,
..PopPops gives da coo-kies,
Grandmas gives da coo-kies,
And the house goes down a'the water.
Amen."
Every prayer from Angus sounds exactly like this, which is not surprising, really, since PopPops and Grandmas DO give da coo-kies, and he's very grateful for that particular blessing. But the house goes down a'the water makes me a little nervous.
And to go along with the funny prayer, Maggie just blessed me after a sneeze, by saying, "A-ZOOM-tight, Mommy." That's a little ways from the German version, but still nice!
Grandmas gives da coo-kies,
And the house goes down a'the water.
Amen."
Every prayer from Angus sounds exactly like this, which is not surprising, really, since PopPops and Grandmas DO give da coo-kies, and he's very grateful for that particular blessing. But the house goes down a'the water makes me a little nervous.
And to go along with the funny prayer, Maggie just blessed me after a sneeze, by saying, "A-ZOOM-tight, Mommy." That's a little ways from the German version, but still nice!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Our Hero, Campguy
*This post is thoroughly and completely saturated with Texas Tech Red Raider-ness. If you are remotely allergic to scarlett and black, or anything Texan, back away from the computer. Of course, if you ARE that sensitive, you probably quit reading this blog a few months ago.
When we picked up our mail on Friday, amongst the bills and farm papers was a package from our friend, Campguy. (That's his blog name.)
In the package was this really great Texas Tech birdhouse that he'd made for us!
Now, I believe he's a Longhorns fan, but we won't hold that against him. It probably pained him to have to manufacture a Red Raiders birdhouse, and we love him all the more for having gone through that for us.
Here's the family, after a big fight over who got to hold the birdhouse.
Angus won.
Can you see the unvarnished envy in HRH's eyes?
Guns Up!!!
I just love it!
We aren't going to be able to put it out until spring, so it will have an exalted place in the farmhouse until then. Maybe Campguy can come North and help us hang it, in April.
GO RED RAIDERS!
There was another object in the box, and we will be talking about that in a future post. You'll just have to wait, breathlessly, until I get my camera memory card cleared off.
The Stunk
*Brace yourself for another exciting installment of events from Cohagen, Eastern Montana's Happening Place. The account you are about to read is true. Names have not been changed to protect the reputation of those involved.
Yesterday morning began like any other morning at the Farmhouse. Kids were fighting, snarling and hitting each other with foam swords, the kittens were scrambling under the couch and dragging out dust bunnies the size of slippers, the Farmer's Wife clutching her cooling coffee with the desperation of a women condemned and the Farmer trying in vain to escape the house to go to "work". (I'm starting to wonder about his insane devotion to his job....)
I asked the Farmer to please burn the garbage in the barrels, because they were disgracefully full and I had more to take out. He grudgingly consented to do so, and stuck his head in the back door after living through that death-defying chore and asked me to meet him around front with the blue Marksalot pen he'd swiped from his mom. (Swiped, borrowed...whatever.)
I located the pen and dutifully went to the front door where I stood waiting for the Farmer and my goodbye kiss. I heard him coming up the steps, so I opened the door and nearly got shoved over.
"MOVE!", he hollered as he ran through the porch and frantically rummaged through the storage cupboard. I thought he'd caught something on fire, so I was going for the fire extinguisher.
"NO!", he yells, "BIG SKUNK!"
Well, that certainly changes things.
He grabbed the shotgun and dashed out the door, loading it as he went. I locked the door behind him and gathered all the kittens into the house again, then went to Maggie's room to watch the action.
The "stunk" (as Maggie and Angus call them) was trotting up the hill toward the cattleguard at a pretty good clip. He was, without exaggerating, the biggest stunk I've ever seen. I don't know if he was just fluffy with winter hair, poofy because he was angry, or just well-fed from all the catfood he'd been consuming in the last month, but he was a trophy stunk.
The Farmer took his stance and started shooting. Nothing happened. I mean, the stunk kept trotting, and paused after every blast. After three blasts, he got mad, turned his bulk around and started heading back down the hill at a pretty good clip, TOWARD the Farmer! At this point I was thinking a couple of things. 1. The Farmer is a really horrible shot with the shotgun. OR 2. That stunk is not only huge, he's wearing body armor. OR 3. He was coming back home to die. None of those thoughts were reassuring.
The Farmer ran back to the house with the shotgun, and rummaged once again through the cupboard until he found the perfect shell, and headed back out to eliminate Super Stunk. Once again, he took his stance and shot, and this time it was good, and the stunk died right there in the middle of the road about 10 yards from the house. What a shot! I wish I'd had a movie camera. (Blackmail purposes...)
When asked why the first shots didn't work and why the stunk started heading back, he claims that he was shooting light loads, and it was just stinging the stunk and making him mad. Well, I wasn't going to examine the carcass to see if he was telling the truth, so we'll just go with that story. He says the stunk had been living under the wading pool in the garage for some time.
Molly, my dog, to show her admiration of the Great Hunter, found the spot of the battle and rolled in it. And the Farmer must've gotten some eau de' ick on him, because this morning he remarked that every room in the house smelled like stunk. You think?
The REALLY awful thing is that we are going to have company from Missouri later this week, bringing our new dog Twilla, and they were going to set up in their little camper about three feet from where the battle and subsequent death took place. I've already written to warn them. I hope they are understanding, but I guess if it's too much, they'll make a swingthrough in the yard, tossing the dog out with best wishes for a happy life, and race for the mountains of Western Montana.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
When Daddy's at work, and Maggie's at school...
And before you take up a collection to buy the child clothing and toys, let me tell you he has an abundance of both. There's just no substitute for a cardboard box and a pile of kittens. AND apparently clothing hampers the ability to stuff cats in a box. There's nothing for them to get their little claws into.
Yep. All four are still in there.
Are they napping?
No!
A daring attempt at escape, while the jailer is in the potty...
Really?
Of the seven respondants on my poll, 4 readers think Cohagen is a happening place! You've obviously never visited our fair post office in person. And I really, really, really have to wonder about people who come back time and again to a blog that discusses primitive insect eradication rituals and has super-model cows. I appreciate your dedication, and one day will write something that has some cultural and/or spiritual significance. I DO have those thoughts, but when I sit down to write, the deep thoughts vaporize and I end up writing nonsense.
And, the remaining 3 voters actually admitted that they didn't mean to start reading the Chronicles, but now they can't stop. Sort of like journalistic M&M's.
I'm a little surprised no one reads for the cow pictures or beauty tips. AND none of my relatives are reading the Chronicles! At least none that will admit it. That stings.
Thanks for stopping by, and for those loyal seven who took precious seconds out of your day to vote, there's a special place in my heart for you, and if you ever mistakenly end up in Cohagen, do come by the house for really good coffee and the dessert of the day.
(Oh, and I have to tell you all this funny and embarrassing thing...I check the little map at the bottom of my blog to see where readers are checking in from. Don't worry, I have no idea what your identity is, just where you come from. Anyway, there was this reader that appeared to be stalking me from Joliet, Montana. Like, it was showing up on the MapLoco 4 or 5 times a day! It was starting to get a little scary. Until, one day, I had a little spark of intelligent thought and realized that, yes, they checked in nearly as often as I checked in, and yes, it was about the same time of day as I was checking in. I was stalking myself. Go ahead and laugh...I did!)
And, the remaining 3 voters actually admitted that they didn't mean to start reading the Chronicles, but now they can't stop. Sort of like journalistic M&M's.
I'm a little surprised no one reads for the cow pictures or beauty tips. AND none of my relatives are reading the Chronicles! At least none that will admit it. That stings.
Thanks for stopping by, and for those loyal seven who took precious seconds out of your day to vote, there's a special place in my heart for you, and if you ever mistakenly end up in Cohagen, do come by the house for really good coffee and the dessert of the day.
(Oh, and I have to tell you all this funny and embarrassing thing...I check the little map at the bottom of my blog to see where readers are checking in from. Don't worry, I have no idea what your identity is, just where you come from. Anyway, there was this reader that appeared to be stalking me from Joliet, Montana. Like, it was showing up on the MapLoco 4 or 5 times a day! It was starting to get a little scary. Until, one day, I had a little spark of intelligent thought and realized that, yes, they checked in nearly as often as I checked in, and yes, it was about the same time of day as I was checking in. I was stalking myself. Go ahead and laugh...I did!)
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Goodbye, dear friend...
This week, Conde' Nast announced that it was shutting down Gourmet Magazine. The last issue will be the November 2009....*SOB!* Some of you know this is my favorite magazine, the one I hide away when it comes in the mail, for a special cup of coffee and a quiet afternoon with no interruptions. I read the travel, note interesting food combinations to ambush my bookclub with, gasp at ingredients, drool over kitchens and appliances I see in it's pages. It's my virtual vacation, once a month.
I also recieve Bon Appetite, and it's a decent little magazine, but it lacks the elegance and style Gourmet exudes. Bon tries to present itself as more of a mainstream cooking magazine, but it almost always misses the mark. The ingredients listed are impossible to procure, outside a large city, and the steps to create the dishes are intricate and confusing. Gourmet uses more general ingredients, and employs imagination with the cookery without being outlandish. Gourmet is Audrey Hepburn, Bon Appetite is Julia Roberts. They both have their fans.
Now I'm going to have to either get to know Bon a little bit better, or throw myself at Paula Deen and hope for some inspiration. It's really not the same, though. Paula's cute and all, but you don't get the respect when it's her homey little face on your coffee table, instead of the venerable Gourmet....
(That is, if anyone ever came to my house, fought the kids off, dug through about 2 layers of toys and THEN found Gourmet on the coffee table....)
Monday, October 05, 2009
Laws of Attraction
How To Be A Total Man-Magnet...
I happened to see this on the sidebar of my Hotmail this morning. These little "girlfriend, let's talk" things amuse me and horrify me, equally, so I took a chance and looked. You know, when you are an old married woman with kids, and you read "6 Sly Ways to Get a Man to Look at You", it has a totally different context. (The question that immediately pops to mind is: why the heck would I want to attract another man? It's all I can do to keep up with the current man's laundry, food and corral work!)
I submit, for your amusement, something that brought me to tears laughing...
Tip #1: Go out in groups of no bigger than three.
This I already do... myself and the two kids....AND one of them is no bigger than three, chronologically, which is a fun play on words. So far, I haven't noticed any additional male attention. In fact, we can clear aisles in the grocery store of any Y chromosomes, faster than you can say "Captain Crunch". (Which, incidentally, is usually the topic of our conversation in my group of three.)
Tip #2: Hold a drink in your hand.
Does a Sippy Cup count?
Tip #3: Smile genuinely.
I will only smile genuinely, when travelling in my group of three, holding a Sippy Cup, if someone offers me coffee or a nanny. Do not mistake my grimace for a smile...genuine or otherwise.
Tip #4: Work the eye contact.
This is where I started to laugh, until I had tears! I make eye-contact with the kid in the drivethrough at McDonalds, only because I want him to know that if he didn't put the exact same toy in each Happy Meal, I will park the car and come in after his lacksidasical little self. I will make eye contact with the man in the Notbohm Motors service department when he says the repair will take 5-12 hours and there really isn't a loaner car available for me and my two travelling companions. Oh, I make eye contact, all right, but it's not alluring, that's for sure. It would be more along the lines of threatening. Which is in direct opposition to the "genuine smile", referred to in Tip #3.
Tip #5: Don't immediately ask him what he does.
For instance, questions like..." Do you do laundry?", "Do you do dishes?", "Do you do groundskeeping?" and "Do you do windows?" apparently are off-putting to men, at least at the beginning of the conversation, according to this little gem of a tip. It would appear I would need to put down the Sippy Cup, work the eye contact, smile genuinely, and tell him his hands look like they've been soaking in Palmolive, which would lead to the question. Tricky.
Tip #6: Make positive small talk.
Isn't ALL my small talk positive?
"Oh, honey! You really colored that picture nicely! Now can you pick up your crayons before your brother feeds them to the cat?"
"You went potty in the big boy potty! YAAAY! I'm so proud of you!"
What about that talk is not positive, I ask you? And still I'm not attracting men like the flies I so despise...
I hope this has helped those of you who wish to be total man-magnets. I know it clarified a lot for me.*
*Thank you, God, that I am married. Thank you, God, that I have a family. Countless blessings, everyday!
**I am NOT, I repeat, NOT SEEKING A MAN!!
I happened to see this on the sidebar of my Hotmail this morning. These little "girlfriend, let's talk" things amuse me and horrify me, equally, so I took a chance and looked. You know, when you are an old married woman with kids, and you read "6 Sly Ways to Get a Man to Look at You", it has a totally different context. (The question that immediately pops to mind is: why the heck would I want to attract another man? It's all I can do to keep up with the current man's laundry, food and corral work!)
I submit, for your amusement, something that brought me to tears laughing...
Tip #1: Go out in groups of no bigger than three.
This I already do... myself and the two kids....AND one of them is no bigger than three, chronologically, which is a fun play on words. So far, I haven't noticed any additional male attention. In fact, we can clear aisles in the grocery store of any Y chromosomes, faster than you can say "Captain Crunch". (Which, incidentally, is usually the topic of our conversation in my group of three.)
Tip #2: Hold a drink in your hand.
Does a Sippy Cup count?
Tip #3: Smile genuinely.
I will only smile genuinely, when travelling in my group of three, holding a Sippy Cup, if someone offers me coffee or a nanny. Do not mistake my grimace for a smile...genuine or otherwise.
Tip #4: Work the eye contact.
This is where I started to laugh, until I had tears! I make eye-contact with the kid in the drivethrough at McDonalds, only because I want him to know that if he didn't put the exact same toy in each Happy Meal, I will park the car and come in after his lacksidasical little self. I will make eye contact with the man in the Notbohm Motors service department when he says the repair will take 5-12 hours and there really isn't a loaner car available for me and my two travelling companions. Oh, I make eye contact, all right, but it's not alluring, that's for sure. It would be more along the lines of threatening. Which is in direct opposition to the "genuine smile", referred to in Tip #3.
Tip #5: Don't immediately ask him what he does.
For instance, questions like..." Do you do laundry?", "Do you do dishes?", "Do you do groundskeeping?" and "Do you do windows?" apparently are off-putting to men, at least at the beginning of the conversation, according to this little gem of a tip. It would appear I would need to put down the Sippy Cup, work the eye contact, smile genuinely, and tell him his hands look like they've been soaking in Palmolive, which would lead to the question. Tricky.
Tip #6: Make positive small talk.
Isn't ALL my small talk positive?
"Oh, honey! You really colored that picture nicely! Now can you pick up your crayons before your brother feeds them to the cat?"
"You went potty in the big boy potty! YAAAY! I'm so proud of you!"
What about that talk is not positive, I ask you? And still I'm not attracting men like the flies I so despise...
I hope this has helped those of you who wish to be total man-magnets. I know it clarified a lot for me.*
*Thank you, God, that I am married. Thank you, God, that I have a family. Countless blessings, everyday!
**I am NOT, I repeat, NOT SEEKING A MAN!!
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Field Trip
On Saturday, the Farmer was in a rare, good mood...
...so he took the family to put out saltnmin'ral, and drain some water tanks for the winter.
(Maggie dressed herself. Nothing says "Farm Fashion" like animal print leggings, yellow mud boots, and Mom's John Deere sweatshirt. It's a blessing she's wearing warm clothes. Actually, it's just a blessing she's wearing ANY clothes...)
Another beautiful cow picture!
(The cows are beautiful, not necessarily the picture.)
Racing back to the pickup.
Do you see that little point on the butte behind the kids?
You'll get a closer look later in the post.
A good representation of the Class of '09!
They really think we are crazy, and if they had digital cameras, they'd be taking pictures right back.
Ah, here we go; this is a sheepherder's monument.
Back when there weren't fences, sheepherders would go out with their bands of sheep and herd them to good grass and water. Their days got really long, so they'd build these little towers of sandstone. They range anywhere from 3 1/2-4 1/2 feet tall, usually, and they are stacked so meticulously and so well, that they are pretty much intact, even after 80-90 years. You will usually see them near sources of water.
As a child, I was always fascinated by these little monuments, and looked for them as landmarks in the pastures.
Alright. What is wrong with this picture?
Yes, he dressed himself, as well, and the back pockets are in front. What you can't see is that his t-shirt is inside out, under that jacket, and so are his big boy britches, under the backwards pants.
Here are some of the apples on the trees in the orchard at the Jacobson Place. There are TONS! And they are wonderful eating, sort of sweet-tart and gloriously crisp. They are little; only about the size of a hen's egg, at the largest, so it takes quite a few to make a meal. The deer love them, and are getting fat and sassy.
Here are a couple little bucks we saw on our way home. I couldn't tell if they were dumb or brave, but they let me take quite a few pictures of them, seeming to pose to show off their antlers. This picture was taken about 75 yards or so, away, and out of a running pickup with two kids trying to climb through the window beside me. It's miraculous I was able to get anything SORT of clear...
We had such a fun time! It's always such a treat to get to go with Daddy, and the day was bright and cool, just like an October day should be.
Wayland's Day to Cook
Today is Wayland's Day to Cook!
Early in our marriage, when I was teaching and he was driving to work at the ranch, we decided Sunday was Wayland's day to cook. And yes, it was a mutual agreement! Sometimes he wanted to try something crazy, like stuffed hamburgers, and he knew that on Sundays, he could get all artsy in the kitchen.
We usually have hamburgers, because the man adores hamburgers. And there are a bazillion ways to make hamburgers! And for goodness sake, if we have anything in the house, it's hamburger. If he doesn't want to cook, or we are in town for church, he takes us out to lunch. Either way, I get a nice break from the kitchen and the age-old question, "What should we have to eat?".
This morning, for breakfast, we had eggs, bacon and toast....mmmmm!
Wayland's Day to Cook doesn't always extend to Wayland's Day to Do the Dishes, but I really don't mind cleaning up, because I haven't been handling those same dishes for an hour prior to cleanup. And he's pretty good about swabbing up as he goes.
Isn't this a cool policy? And it's not such a horrible thing, because there are many days when it's Mary's Day to Work Cows.
Early in our marriage, when I was teaching and he was driving to work at the ranch, we decided Sunday was Wayland's day to cook. And yes, it was a mutual agreement! Sometimes he wanted to try something crazy, like stuffed hamburgers, and he knew that on Sundays, he could get all artsy in the kitchen.
We usually have hamburgers, because the man adores hamburgers. And there are a bazillion ways to make hamburgers! And for goodness sake, if we have anything in the house, it's hamburger. If he doesn't want to cook, or we are in town for church, he takes us out to lunch. Either way, I get a nice break from the kitchen and the age-old question, "What should we have to eat?".
This morning, for breakfast, we had eggs, bacon and toast....mmmmm!
Wayland's Day to Cook doesn't always extend to Wayland's Day to Do the Dishes, but I really don't mind cleaning up, because I haven't been handling those same dishes for an hour prior to cleanup. And he's pretty good about swabbing up as he goes.
Isn't this a cool policy? And it's not such a horrible thing, because there are many days when it's Mary's Day to Work Cows.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
L.M. of the U.
My friend Anne commented in the Lewistown post that Mike Waterman also goes by the title "Lord Master of the Universe", which is true, but only for a couple people, and I feel I should explain here, lest you think he has delusions of omniscience, or drinks heavily, or something like that....
I met Mike at a New Clerk's Workshop in Helena, where he gave a presentation on how to code everything in school bookkeeping to about 60 terrified new clerks. All I remember about the presentation was that he used famous T.V. bars and the only one we got was "Cheers". The codes were like Swahili, and I must confess, are only slightly better today. I flunked the workshop, but learned to knit. That's another story entirely...
The next time I saw him was in Miles City, where again, he was trying to impart his love for and knowledge of school finance to a room full of jaded, middle aged clerks who REALLY came to the workshop to get away from the office and go to Walmart. And (this is my theory alone) because I think Mike flirts a little with them, and they all secretly have a crush on him. (You must realize that 99.999998% of school clerks are female. He stands an easy 6 foot 2 inches, and when you walk into a room of school clerks, there's always a cluster of women around him. He can't help it...there's no one else to talk to. That, and he knows the Swahili of School Finance.)
Anyway, he walked up with his 3lb OPI badge that stated his name and title...it was impressive. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I read the badge and asked him who he thought he was, Master of Time, Space and Dimension? and he replied that, no, actually he was Lord Master of the Universe. And I remembered it, and have referred to him as such, ever since.
Incidentally, he has a nameplate in his office with the title emblazoned on it; a gift from grateful rural clerks that he's helped with all school accounting aspects. We still don't know the 13 digit codes, but we have his office phone number memorized and it's our lifeline when we can't figure out the Swahili on the computer screen in front of us.
![]()
I'm going to get in big trouble for posting the picture of L.M. of the U., but that's a chance I'm going to have to take....it's just too good not to! This is a Spirit Week photo from last year. At least that's what he tells me. This may be how he dresses on Casual Fridays....
I met Mike at a New Clerk's Workshop in Helena, where he gave a presentation on how to code everything in school bookkeeping to about 60 terrified new clerks. All I remember about the presentation was that he used famous T.V. bars and the only one we got was "Cheers". The codes were like Swahili, and I must confess, are only slightly better today. I flunked the workshop, but learned to knit. That's another story entirely...
The next time I saw him was in Miles City, where again, he was trying to impart his love for and knowledge of school finance to a room full of jaded, middle aged clerks who REALLY came to the workshop to get away from the office and go to Walmart. And (this is my theory alone) because I think Mike flirts a little with them, and they all secretly have a crush on him. (You must realize that 99.999998% of school clerks are female. He stands an easy 6 foot 2 inches, and when you walk into a room of school clerks, there's always a cluster of women around him. He can't help it...there's no one else to talk to. That, and he knows the Swahili of School Finance.)
Anyway, he walked up with his 3lb OPI badge that stated his name and title...it was impressive. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I read the badge and asked him who he thought he was, Master of Time, Space and Dimension? and he replied that, no, actually he was Lord Master of the Universe. And I remembered it, and have referred to him as such, ever since.
Incidentally, he has a nameplate in his office with the title emblazoned on it; a gift from grateful rural clerks that he's helped with all school accounting aspects. We still don't know the 13 digit codes, but we have his office phone number memorized and it's our lifeline when we can't figure out the Swahili on the computer screen in front of us.
Friday, October 02, 2009
But wait! There's more!
I ALSO finished Les Miserables night before last!!!
I've been working on that tome since last spring....February, I think.
It's a magnificent book, and I wish I could pick it for a bookclub selection, but alas, it has 1260 pages of fine print, and I would be kick-ed out of my own club.
Anyway, I just had to broadcast that, because it was quite a literary accomplishment, and worthy of a celebration.
Woohoo!
I've been working on that tome since last spring....February, I think.
It's a magnificent book, and I wish I could pick it for a bookclub selection, but alas, it has 1260 pages of fine print, and I would be kick-ed out of my own club.
Anyway, I just had to broadcast that, because it was quite a literary accomplishment, and worthy of a celebration.
Woohoo!
After that last post, I thought I should tell you about other things that happened this week, besides pest control. I really HAVE been doing more than trying to kill flies.
Yesterday, I drove to Lewistown for a mentoring session with my friend Mike Waterman, the Lewistown Public School's Business Manager and Financial Wizard. We were setting up my school accounting system on Quickbooks, and he assured me that he had worked the finer details and awfulness out. It would be a piece of cake. No problemo.
When I got to Lewistown, the man was headed out the door to do a radio broadcast with his superintendant on the local airwaves. I set up my computer and tuned in to hear the show. Local, small town radio talk shows are difficult to describe. You want to shut it off, but you can't, because sure as you do, the one big community shocker will occur and you will have missed it. Little old ladies will be clucking, store clerks talking as they "straighten" the racks, the coffee bunch at the local greasy spoon shaking their heads and you won't have the faintest idea what happened on the radio at 10:23 a.m. because you impatiently shut the dang thing off.
Nothing of the sort happened, sadly, and when Mike got back, we got busy with the Quickbooks. Mike loves school finance. He's weird that way. I like him, but it's still quite strange. Most people tolerate school finance, some are rather interested, others have nightmares about it; Mike loves it. I would say I fall somewhere between tolerance and nightmare, depending on the time of year. Mike has the same sort of humor I do, which is rare, and we laugh a lot through the torture, so that makes it a leetle more tolerable.
We had lunch, after a couple of hours of slavery, at Lola's, a little sandwich shop on Main Street. They make crepes instead of tortillas, and about 20 different types of gelato. Mike's wife, Lisa Waterman joined us for lunch. Let me tell you a little about Lisa Waterman. She's the healthiest person I know. She puts spinach in macaroni and cheese. And I'm pretty sure she uses whole wheat macaroni, but I can't prove it. Last year, when I visited them in Lewistown, she confided that she was doing two Beth Moore Bible studies simultaneously, but that neither group knew about the other group. I find that hilarious! Would that be an infidelity? Or just a secret?
Mike bet me that I couldn't eat my whole crepe wrap with my hands without spilling. (Like eating a soft-shell taco) He said if I could do that, he'd buy my gelato. Oh, YEAH, I got the gelato! There's no way I'd lose a food bet, with more food as pay-up.
I won't bore you with the details of the afternoon. (Unless you, like Mike, love school finance...if so, I can email you the finer points.) We got Quickbooks where I need it to be, with the exception of being able to reconcile with the county Treasurer. That's a little detail we need to work out. Reconciliation is rather essential, I think. Big Problemo.
I finally left Lewistown around 6 p.m. and drove home, my head aswirl with numbers and codes and accounting nonsense. Driving is good therapy, some days, and it was nice to have the time to unpack my brain before I got home. Two hours of unpacking the brain can get down to some things that should be better left packed, but by the time I hit that, I was too busy dodging deer on the road to really start scraping the corners.
Most of this week has been consumed with school finance, and I'll be glad to be done with it for the weekend. So now you know, I do other things besides destroy spider webs in household appliances and scare flies!
Yesterday, I drove to Lewistown for a mentoring session with my friend Mike Waterman, the Lewistown Public School's Business Manager and Financial Wizard. We were setting up my school accounting system on Quickbooks, and he assured me that he had worked the finer details and awfulness out. It would be a piece of cake. No problemo.
When I got to Lewistown, the man was headed out the door to do a radio broadcast with his superintendant on the local airwaves. I set up my computer and tuned in to hear the show. Local, small town radio talk shows are difficult to describe. You want to shut it off, but you can't, because sure as you do, the one big community shocker will occur and you will have missed it. Little old ladies will be clucking, store clerks talking as they "straighten" the racks, the coffee bunch at the local greasy spoon shaking their heads and you won't have the faintest idea what happened on the radio at 10:23 a.m. because you impatiently shut the dang thing off.
Nothing of the sort happened, sadly, and when Mike got back, we got busy with the Quickbooks. Mike loves school finance. He's weird that way. I like him, but it's still quite strange. Most people tolerate school finance, some are rather interested, others have nightmares about it; Mike loves it. I would say I fall somewhere between tolerance and nightmare, depending on the time of year. Mike has the same sort of humor I do, which is rare, and we laugh a lot through the torture, so that makes it a leetle more tolerable.
We had lunch, after a couple of hours of slavery, at Lola's, a little sandwich shop on Main Street. They make crepes instead of tortillas, and about 20 different types of gelato. Mike's wife, Lisa Waterman joined us for lunch. Let me tell you a little about Lisa Waterman. She's the healthiest person I know. She puts spinach in macaroni and cheese. And I'm pretty sure she uses whole wheat macaroni, but I can't prove it. Last year, when I visited them in Lewistown, she confided that she was doing two Beth Moore Bible studies simultaneously, but that neither group knew about the other group. I find that hilarious! Would that be an infidelity? Or just a secret?
Mike bet me that I couldn't eat my whole crepe wrap with my hands without spilling. (Like eating a soft-shell taco) He said if I could do that, he'd buy my gelato. Oh, YEAH, I got the gelato! There's no way I'd lose a food bet, with more food as pay-up.
I won't bore you with the details of the afternoon. (Unless you, like Mike, love school finance...if so, I can email you the finer points.) We got Quickbooks where I need it to be, with the exception of being able to reconcile with the county Treasurer. That's a little detail we need to work out. Reconciliation is rather essential, I think. Big Problemo.
I finally left Lewistown around 6 p.m. and drove home, my head aswirl with numbers and codes and accounting nonsense. Driving is good therapy, some days, and it was nice to have the time to unpack my brain before I got home. Two hours of unpacking the brain can get down to some things that should be better left packed, but by the time I hit that, I was too busy dodging deer on the road to really start scraping the corners.
Most of this week has been consumed with school finance, and I'll be glad to be done with it for the weekend. So now you know, I do other things besides destroy spider webs in household appliances and scare flies!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
A deep, meaningful post for your contemplation...
"She wouldn't hurt a fly..."
How many times have you heard that old phrase, and thought it meant the person was meek and gentle? Well, I'm here to suggest that perhaps it's not that she wouldn't hurt a fly, it's that she can't.
She's not coordinated enough.
I've been trying to put a hurting on the flies moving into our house for the winter. And it's pathetic, let me tell you. I don't know if it's my old lady no-line bifocals, my cheap (free gift from the insurance agent for spending $7900/yr) flyswatter, or my general clumsiness, but it's nearly impossible for me to actually get a fly killed.
They die laughing. That's about my only weapon...
The kids have been in and out of the house all week, with the warm weather and kittens, and each time the door opens, the force of it sucks about 5 flies in to our home. These flies have come to Insect-opia, because there are more crumbs and spills in our day than June Cleaver saw in her entire life. They are happy. They sit around on my counters having little fly-parties over the Teddy Graham remains. They stick their nasty little fly-tongues out at me, when I go for the swatter. Apparently word has hit the streets that this is a safe place, except for the wind my swatter makes as it swooshes through the air over their heads.
The Farmer is a crack shot, and just like the Little Tailor in that Mickey Mouse movie, he can "kill seven in one blow". There's no messing around, with him. It's over, when he gets the swatter. Or even a magazine! But I can't wait for him to come home every evening, greet him at the door with a beer and a flyswatter, and request carnage. He's had a long day; the last thing he wants to do is prove what a man he is by eliminating the bugs from our house....
So, I work at this every day, darn it, and eventually, I think, the flies will die of old age, or there will be a couple stupid ones that sit 25 seconds too long and I'll gain some advantage and confidence.
*Can you believe how pathetic my life is? I'm writing about killing flies, for pete's sake, on my blog. And that's as exciting as my week gets, folks. Stay tuned. Next week, we'll explore why the Old Lady swallowed the fly....a question that has mystified generations of preschoolers. *Groan*
How many times have you heard that old phrase, and thought it meant the person was meek and gentle? Well, I'm here to suggest that perhaps it's not that she wouldn't hurt a fly, it's that she can't.
She's not coordinated enough.
I've been trying to put a hurting on the flies moving into our house for the winter. And it's pathetic, let me tell you. I don't know if it's my old lady no-line bifocals, my cheap (free gift from the insurance agent for spending $7900/yr) flyswatter, or my general clumsiness, but it's nearly impossible for me to actually get a fly killed.
They die laughing. That's about my only weapon...
The kids have been in and out of the house all week, with the warm weather and kittens, and each time the door opens, the force of it sucks about 5 flies in to our home. These flies have come to Insect-opia, because there are more crumbs and spills in our day than June Cleaver saw in her entire life. They are happy. They sit around on my counters having little fly-parties over the Teddy Graham remains. They stick their nasty little fly-tongues out at me, when I go for the swatter. Apparently word has hit the streets that this is a safe place, except for the wind my swatter makes as it swooshes through the air over their heads.
The Farmer is a crack shot, and just like the Little Tailor in that Mickey Mouse movie, he can "kill seven in one blow". There's no messing around, with him. It's over, when he gets the swatter. Or even a magazine! But I can't wait for him to come home every evening, greet him at the door with a beer and a flyswatter, and request carnage. He's had a long day; the last thing he wants to do is prove what a man he is by eliminating the bugs from our house....
So, I work at this every day, darn it, and eventually, I think, the flies will die of old age, or there will be a couple stupid ones that sit 25 seconds too long and I'll gain some advantage and confidence.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Wanted!
The Cocoa Kid
May be armed with dimples.
Height: Approx. 2 1/2 feet
Weight: Depends on what is in his pockets
Eyes: Green and twinkly
Hair: Sandy blonde (and when we say 'sand', we mean actual sand.)
May be traveling with small cats, assorted trucks and unidentified objects in the aforementioned pockets.
Recently potty-trained!!!
This hombre gravitates toward grandparents in possession of sugary treats.
Lock up your cookies, candy and frosting.
Reward!
(If you keep him, that is...)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)