Crazy Mary's Q & A

Crazy Mary has had novocaine of the brain, lately....could you tell? Did you all see the movie, "Joe vs The Volcano"? Tom Hanks is diagnosed with a condition called brain fog and it's deemed terminal. I've had a bad case of brain fog this week.

Here's the question of the week:

Here is my question for your colomn...how did you and Wayland meet? J--- asked me that because he joked that thee was no one around, how far did you have to go to find eachother, like, did you just marry becaue there was no one else?????

Very funny question! And it has a funny answer, so brace yourself...

Here in the sticks, in Eastern Montana, you can't really answer that question with a good story, because for the most part everyone in Garfield and the surrounding counties know each other from childhood.  It's more a question of "When did you notice each other?"

We went to high school together, for one year, and both stayed in the high school dorm, but I honestly don't remember him that well, if at all. I was a Senior and busy with after school activities and a job, and a boyfriend; he was a Freshman and ran with another crowd...the underclassmen. His sister Pam and I did a few things together, like Office Education Association and one housecleaning stint, but I didn't really know him. 

Life happened and about 10 years later, I was teaching in a country school across the county, with his mom's best friend (didn't know that detail at the time) and decided to try out for the Cohagen Community Play, the annual melodrama/fundraiser. (Tryouts consist of showing up and reading a part, ANY part!) Wayland showed up, too, and we were cast opposite each other as hero and heroine. The CCC (Cohagen Community Club) takes great delight in saying they were the catalyst in our romance and marriage.

Wayland led me to believe he was a rich rancher, and I fell for it.  We had such elegant dates as, moving cows on 4-wheelers, where all the Pluhars laughed at me because I got the machine in the corner and couldn't get it out. With horses, you pull back the reins and turn them the direction you want the horse to go...voila! you're out of the corner! With a 4-wheeler, you have to get the blamed thing all the way back to neutral, push down a red "R" button while holding the hand brake, push the foot gearshift down and THEN manuver the wheeler around. Slightly more complicated. The men laughed, the cow laughed, I was bewildered...  I was also taken on a fence-building date, with all the guys. I had a little more of a clue, there.

And there you go, the story of how we noticed each other!

Monday Sundries...

Readers of the Jordan Tribune follow the riveting weekly reports of each community and their goings-on. There are such items of interest as, "Joe and Bev were weekend callers of Bill and Phyllis. After a sumptuous meal, complete with Phyllis' famous pound cake, Grandma Jean Smith entertained the couples with stories of her days in the Army during World War II."  I'm not making fun of this, because I think it's charming and funny, and when I get ahold of a Jordan paper, I always look to see what the Brusett Home Demonstration Club has been up to, and who recently made a trip to Miles City.  When I was a kid, I remember reading about the Sand Springs community (of which our family was a part) and being just fascinated with seeing my neighbors' names in print. Clarence and Stella Rogge, it seemed to me, were infinitely more interesting in print than they were at church or the post office.

The Cohagen Chronicles is proud to bring you the exclusive report on the events of the week, and news-worthy tidbits you'll relish...

Many community members were attendees of the Milam wedding in Miles City on Saturday. Most notably, Karen G. made a surprise appearance after her weeklong sojourn to Disneyland with her daughter Vonnie. We all wish Russ and Susie many happy years of wedded bliss.

Saturday also found the Junior High basketball team in Melstone for a round-robin tournament. Thelma G. reported that all had a good time, although there wasn't a lot of entertainment between games. The Jr. High basketball season is in full swing, and many community families are spending more time in Jordan because of practices. 

Mary, Maggie and Angus Pluhar were seen attending Grace Bible Church this Sunday. Mary confirmed that the Pluhar family had shipped their steer calves on Saturday, with the help of quite a few neighbors. Wayland did not join the family at Sunday worship because he had to haul two loads of old cows to town for the sale this upcoming Tuesday. 

The Underground Bookclub moved their monthly discussion and meal to an as-of-yet undisclosed time and place. Murmurings were heard about scheduling conflicts, but it is the general consesus of this press that they are trying to regain the mystery by which they were founded some 10 years ago. Of course, the time and place may remain a mystery, even to members....perhaps we will catch up to the elusive readers next week.

Word about the Miller family (our dear County Extension Agent and his wife, the infamous Montana Pig Lady) is that they are still awaiting the arrival of their second child. Mrs. Miller's mother is also due to arrive any day now. There is much suspense as to whether the grandmother will arrive before the new Miller makes her appearance.

Birthdays this week: Miss Allison G. turns three years old, on Tuesday. We congratulate the young lady on attaining the most obstinate age of childhood, and best wishes and prayers to her family to endure it.

The weather in Cohagen has been balmy for November; in the mid-50's, no precipitation, and the wind is intermittantly strong and incessant.

That's all the news that is news!

Crazy Mary's Q& A

Here we are again, dear readers.  Last week, I got a question on Sunday, which meant that I had all week to think about it. It was a simple question, but since I had 6 days, I was able to complicate it sufficiently for the column. Here it is:

I have a question for the Crazy Mary column.




If you could create and publish your own monthly magazine, what kinds of subjects would it cover and what would you name it?
 
What an exciting and creative question! You can imagine in the space of a week how many different magazines I created and published. Some were rejected immediately, some were chewed on until I tired of them, some were completely nonsensical and had potential. 
 
First, I had to assume the magazine, being completely imaginary, wouldn't have to turn a profit. That little detail changes everything, because if one is marketing to make money, there has to be a target audience, a list of fancy shmancy advertisers and maximum circulation.  So keep in mind the idea that if I were to be able to do this, I would have to be a gazillionaire and just do this as a diversion.
 
Secondly, I don't like monthly magazines, so mine would come every two months. Monthly magazines can become so...predictable and staid, like an old auntie that shows up every Sunday afternoon for dinner with the same corn and bean casserole in a different dish. She tries to make it look different, but when you lift the lid, there's no doubt it's the same stuff again.
 
I start backwards, in the magazine question. First I name it, then I figure out what's in it.  My first name was "Melange" (my computer doesn't do the fancy French accent mark over the "e"...sorry!) which means something like "a bunch of wonderful, unrelated things thrown together".  It's still my favorite choice, but I did some research and there's already a college magazine by that name. 
 
The second name, and this is probably what we'd end up with, was "Front Porch Society".  I like the inclusive, comfy sound of the name and whoever subscribes can be a member of the Society. Do you like interactive things? I do, and a magazine that I can feel part of is one that I'll continue to buy and read.(Relationship, relationship...)
 
The content is the tricky part.  I've found that I like a magazine that keeps me a little surprised. And I hate to feel like I'm being advertised to, in every article. I like interaction...things that let me write in my magazine. I like projects, even though I don't do them, I feel as though I could. What I'm aiming for is like being on the front porch with my friends, with chocolate cake and lemonade, one thing leading to another in conversation. 
 
I'd like a serial story, that goes from issue to issue...a real nail-biter.  I like vintage graphics...perhaps you've noticed? Some travel, but mostly out of the way places that people didn't realize exsist and that don't have any sort of star rating on their accomodations. Recipes, here and there, that inspire.  Whatcha reading column...not necessarily book reviews, but more along the lines of "What's on your nightstand?".  I love quotes, so those would be scattered liberally.  I'd like to include a cd with each issue that has patterns for the projects, cool fonts, a couple songs, the recipes.  (Mostly because I like saving certain elements of magazines, but I get really tired of the torn out pages in file folders...)
 
My trusted advisors and input would be my bookclub girls, with guests as we find them.  If you show up at our farmhouse cum office with a great idea and culinary bribe, we'll find a place to tuck you in the magazine. Depending on the quality of the culinary bribe...
 
I could go on and on, but that's the general idea.  After spending hours on the wheelers, moving cows this week, the idea got rather out of hand.  I'm guessing if it continued in this fashion that every two months the publication would rival the Sears Christmas Wish Catalog in size, and it would take readers approximately 128 days to plough through the entire thing....
 
That was a fun question! Any ideas on what else should be part of the Front Porch Society? Would you read it? What do you like in a magazine? (And I know already that my husband likes guns...most men do. We can have a couple gun things, once a year.)

Let the games begin...

This morning we will start the Cow-Cow Boogie. (Go down to my playlist and choose the first song, to set the mood) According the information I've been given, it's going to be a full day of easing cows and calves to pastures closer to the house and the corral at the Jacobson place.  Unlike this photo, we'll be on 4-wheelers all day and roaring around checking coullees and hills.  It's supposed to be a glorious day, for November, in Montana! The little weather box says in the mid-60's....not quite swimsuit weather, although Maggie would challenge that idea.

The cinnamon and caramel rolls are baked and tucked in the freezer for tomorrow. (If I didn't freeze them, I'd eat them, little piece by little piece, until nothing would be left but a pile of cinnamon smelling crumbs in the tinfoil.) Maggie wants to come out to the shop, where we serve the coffee and pastries and preside over the party.  This would be her first Bovine Court, and I'm not sure PopPops is ready for that particular occasion.  It's really difficult to bring royalty and all the frou-frou that goes with it, to the common man, but she keeps trying. (Angus is more like me, and will be sampling the wares.)

I'm preparing myself for two days of being wrong.

I stand in the wrong place.  I open the wrong gates. I move the cows wrong.  I ask the wrong questions. I wear the wrong color. I show up at the wrong time, and I leave at the wrong time.

I'm the only XX chromosome combination in the corral, and apparently that Y chromosome helps the men communicate wordlessly. I am at a distinct disadvantage.  Women LIVE on verbal communication! Men are sight people, and there are subtle signals they give one another...apparently by the twitch of one eyebrow hair...that all the other guys understand and act upon.  I totally miss those signals.  Except, of course, the throwing down of the sorting paddle. I get that. It indicates that I'm wrong.

The prayers of this house have been that everyone is safe, the calves weigh more than anticipated, the old corrals hold together, all the crew shows up, the sort is easy, the weather holds and that the heifers we're weaning are placid and healthy.  Quite a lot of things have to mesh to make it a success!

The Chronicles will be publishing Crazy Mary's Q & A tomorrow, but I'm going to try the auto-publish.  It's anyone's guess when it will actually appear on the blog!

Intelligence Test...

I made an appointment with Lilly, my stylist, for a cut and color next week. (Did you know they no longer call themselves "beauticians"? I'm guessing that was a big promise that wasn't always possible to attain, much less keep, and they had to go with "stylist" because no one can argue with that...)

It's beyond time.

I had a blonde highlight-y do for summer, but apparently when Lilly bleached the color from my strands, the process must've sucked some intelligence from my head. (Precious little, my friends. There wasn't a lot to draw from. Remember, I'm well read, not smart.) 

Most of you know that I'm technologically challenged.  I've learned some computer skills and I can run the microwave, but that's about the extent of it.  We have a cell phone that I can turn on (provided I remembered to charge it) and I can take calls and make calls.  One inspired day, I spent two hours entering numbers in the little phonebook/memory feature, but I don't always remember how to access them. 

I can't text.

And I don't want to.

So what possessed me to try, I don't know....this is where the bleached-out intelligence comes in....

On our way back from an ag finance workshop in Billings, I decided it was time I tried this texting thing.  While Wayland was fueling the car, and then getting supper from the QuickStop (big spender), I looked through all the functions until I found the texting set-up.  And wonder of wonders, I managed to type a text! I was so proud!

This is what it said: "Hi traci  i figured out how to do it"

Wayland got in the car just as I was hitting SEND. 
"Whatcha doin?"
"Texting Traci" (rather smugly)
"Wow!" (You've NO idea...)

The phone rings with a different tone. Traci got my text and probably texted back something lame and quick like "LOL" ...

I flip the phone open to look at my text response and this is what it said:
"Hi traci  i figured out how to do it"

That's right.
I sent it to myself.

"What did she say?" (He knew. I KNOW he knew. He just wanted me to crack.)
"Not much..." (Not technically lying, since she didn't say a thing.)

I'm going to tell Lilly to hit me with a good brunette, and hope some intelligence seeps back in...

Casting purls...

Some of my long suffering readers know that last year, I started the World's Ugliest Hat for my son. Now that the weather is starting to get chilly and I have many other things that are more pressing, I feel compelled to pull it out and toil, once again, on this 10-13 year project. 

In rummaging around in my knitting bin for the WUH, I found a book of beginning knitting instruction and decided in a moment of madness that I needed to learn how to purl.(The knitting bin should actually be classified as the "yarn bin", because I've produced very few knit products. And here's a little tip for all the moms out there: kids and husbands don't look in the yarn bin for chocolate. Who would think?)

You've heard the saying, "Knit one, purl two"; that's for ribbing stitch, and it would be extremely handy to know the purl part, because I could then move beyond endless scarves and long-term hats. Not that I've even finished a hat.  And the hat that I'm currently working on may fit Paul Bunyan, so it can double as a sleeping bag when the boy goes to 4-H camp...

Anyway, I thought I'd just sit down and figure this purling business.  The book gave very clear pictures and instructions for the knitting impaired. (One of the side notes said that young children have been knitting in factories for years. Encouraging!)  I grabbed a set of shiny blue needles, a ball of red yarn and cast on about 90 stitches. (This was excessive, I later realized.)

You can see from the illustration I've provided here that purling actually requires about 3 hands. It is like knitting backwards, and there are about 5 different yarn tricks you must do BEFORE YOU EVEN SLIP THE STITCH OFF THE NEEDLE!!! I got the "put your needle through from back to front to make a little x" part, but beyond there, it was ugly.  At one point, I thought I was going to have to use my teeth. AND I was trying to hold the book open with my feet, on the floor, and I'd forgotten to put on my glasses before starting, so I had to bend over to really look at the illustrations! I'll give you a minute to form that mental picture.  It turns out, purling requires about 2 weeks of preparatory yoga.

So there I was, bent over at the waist in my chair, peering at the instructions that a child could learn in 10 minutes, with my little x'ed needles and 89 stitches waiting to spring off into the magic purls.  I could barely breathe. It was about this time that Maggie came wobbling in from her nap, blinked a couple times (I'm sure she thought she was still dreaming.) and asked, "Mommy! What are you DOING?" 

I'm knitting.

I still don't know how to purl. 
I think I pulled a muscle.


Anyone need a scarf?

Crazy Mary's Q & A

And so, the weekly column begins...

Crazy Mary will take random questions throughout the week, via email, and answer them to the best of her ability and humor every Saturday morning.  (We reserve the right to eliminate any questions that aren't appropriate for a family-style blog. We reserve the right to protect the reputation of certain people by using pseudonyms.  Other people, like Mike Green, will just have to live up to the reputation or steal someone else's identity.)

Someone actually took the initiative this week to email Crazy Mary some questions! Here's how it goes:

"I do have a couple of questions for you to address on your blog:"
· Who is your favorite dead rock star?  Tricky question! Particularly since most of the rock stars that are my favorites are still classified as living. So then, to find a dead one, I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. (If they are listed there, they count, right?)  Elvis is too obvious. I don't know if all the Shirelles are still alive. So I went with Jim Morrison...yes, "Brown Eyed Girl" still rocks today! (Not a particular fan of his lifestyle, but I liked his music...)


· What is the single most important lesson you’ve learned by making a mistake? First of all, A mistake? Just one? Try 297,863,941,000 mistakes to the 5th power.  And that would be a conservative guess.  Ask my family.
So to choose one lesson, from A mistake, was challenging. Here goes...

I learned that just because someone says they love you or that they are your friend, it may not necessarily be true. I guess I tend to be a pretty naive person who believes other people are basically honest, kind and authentic. Everyone makes relationship mistakes, of course, in friendship and romance. I make brilliant, earth-shattering, billboard busting, relationship mistakes. Why mess up half-way?  So now I know that pretty words don't always carry the weight I lend them, and that life just turns out that way. Lesson learned.

· What are your thoughts on predestination? This one is more like a final thesis question for a divinity student to pass the test to be a minister, and I heisitate to answer it here on the blog. 
First, the idea of predestination is a religious one, and is discussed, researched, chewed on and ultimately shrugged over in most churches.  Simply put, it is the question of whether God created us with ends that He planned...some go to heaven, some go to hell, and we are just part of His plan with little or no influence on our ultimate outcome.  The Bible uses the word "predestined" several times in the New Testament, and these verses are the ones that are debated. (I'll list them at the end of the post.)

I want you to know, without any confusion or misunderstanding, that I'm still reading about this, in my Bible and in other sources that are reputable.  I believe that God is omnipresent (always has been, always will be, not bound by time), that He is omniscient (knows all, basically) and that He created us to be in communion with Him by our free choice. I think free will is demonstrated first in the Garden of Eden, where Eve chose to eat the apple.  If we had been created as God's puppets, so to speak, that whole incident never would have happened, and there would have been no sin, no need for Jesus to be sacrificed for our sins, no Satan and no Hell, in my humble opinion. 

So, in the simplest of explanations, my belief is that although God knows what we are going to choose, He allows us that free choice. You know, as a parent, sometimes I know what my kids are going to choose, (broccoli vs. chocolate pudding) but if I granted them the decision, it's up to them to make the right choice. (Oddly enough, Maggie will choose the vegetable everytime. If I didn't know better, I'd think she didn't come from my gene pool...)

Were some people chosen when God was making plans for all eternity, specially, and if so, why were some NOT chosen?  Honestly, no matter how much I study this, it remains a theoretical question to me.  Each train of belief on predestination or not, has Biblical points and good logic to back up those points. Is one right and the other wrong? To me, it's about like trying to decide if Presbyterians or Lutherans are more right. 

I think, truthfully, it's not something most people think about as they go through their walk of faith. It's tough. It's kind of scary. And some of what one will believe will have been influenced by what their parents believed, so a lot of times it's not thrashed out for oneself.  I'm grateful for the question, because it has kicked me into gear about backing up what I believe, and that's going to take time, prayer and study. 

These are just what the question asked...my thoughts on predestination...and are not meant to persuade or influence anyone. The verses I'm working through are: Ephesians 1:4-5,  I Peter 1:2, Acts 13:48, Romans 8:29-30.  In most study Bibles, there are cross references with each verse, thankfully, and I'm digging away at those. 

(I will, of course, be contacting the question-er, to get their thoughts on this, but I won't publish those.)

Whew! That was a gigantic first column and I apologise for the length, but it was interesting to get the questions and I wanted to respond so perhaps Crazy Mary would get other questions for next week. 

Pumpkin Pie Playdough

This is the BEST playdough recipe I've ever encountered, and I've tried many.  I got it when I was teaching preschool in Jordan, and I keep it at the front of my recipe box.  It makes a HUGE batch of playdough that will not dry out. Ever. If you make a batch, you can easily entertain 6-8 kids with nice quantities, or 2 kids with monstrous quantities.  The other thing about this playdough is that it smells divine! I mean it.  You'll want to eat it.

If you have a lot of morals about not handing out candy on Halloween, you can portion this out into sandwich bags instead. (I don't personally know anyone like that, thankfully. I know they exist, but we haven't encountered them here in Cohagen.)  If you're a grandmother, teacher, mother, mother-to-be, auntie, god mother, desperate babysitter, etc., print it out and laminate it.  You'll be glad you did.

In a large, large stew pot, combine:
5 1/2 cups flour
2 cups salt
8 teaspoons cream of tartar
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 oz pumpkin pie spice (You know those small plastic containers in the spice aisle? One of those.)
Copious amounts of orange food coloring
4 cups water

On medium heat, stir mixture until it starts to pull away from the sides of your pan and look shiny.  It will go from being a thick, gloppy mess of orange yuck to a smooth, slick looking lump in the middle of the pan. It's hard stirring, but you can't let it burn. 
Once it gets to the smooth, slick stage, put it in a big Ziplock freezer bag, close the top and knead until you know there are no more lumps.  Open the Ziplock and let the playdough cool until the little monsters can handle it safely.  I store mine in either a Rubbermaid container or Ziplock freezer bags.

You can vary the smell and color; I just add whatever color or flavor I want in each batch.  We are at the end of the blue citrus batch, and I'll get back to the pumpkin pie this next batch.

I'm sorry I don't have pictures! I know recipes are more fun with them.  But I wanted to get this out so you could use it if you want, tomorrow. 

Aaaaarrrgh! Halloween school party!

Maggie the Mermaid and Angus/Blackbeard, scourge of the high seas...

On the way from the haunted house, to the games in the gym!

Hobgoblins, on the run....

Playing games; note the chubby little giraffe at the bottom right! Cutest giraffe I've ever had the pleasure to encounter!

Benjamin (I know, I'm sorry he's a Cowboys fan, too.  He's SUCH a nice boy...too bad about the team.) and Maggie.  They decided early last year that they would marry when they grow up, and they're sticking with the plan.  They informed everyone at school about it, this fall.

I can't seem to get them all lined up.  It's like herding chickens.  Aren't they just cute?! The Statue of Liberty was a brilliant costume! Her crown, however, slipped lower and lower on her head as the party went on. At one point, she was peering under it as it sat on her brow...I laughed everytime I looked at her that way!

Fishing pond, where you toss a string over the little wall, a really nifty prize is attached, your line is tugged and there you have it! Maggie was just thrilled with this, and fished about 5 times. 

I should've taken a picture of the community members and the table, groaning with food. (Yes, I believe both the table AND the community members were groaning with food!)  I just had so much fun looking at the kids!  (See the Statue of Liberty? Isn't that just funny?)  

The kids didn't eat but a couple pieces of candy, so they aren't grounchy at all.  Angus' beard didn't wash off so well; it was Crayola marker.  So now, he's Bluebeard.

Let's go for a little drive...

We might see some calves, ready to wean.

We could play in the old loading chute...

...play with Twilla in the grass...

....and eat little bitty crabapples, sweet from the frosty night.

"Please can we play some more?"

I hope Shelly is having fun, exploring Eastern Montana.

Let's go in the old pink house...

and pretend we used to live there, once upon a time.

An old curled up cow tag, hung on a nail by hunters.

Ooooo! Let's look at the old rock building!

All the nails are pulling up from the roof, looking up toward the blue sky like rows of rusty little soldiers.

We wonder how long it took the settler to gather and meticulously set the sandstone in place for this little house....

....and look at the skylights created by time and weather.

Remnants of another life, another family, another ranch.

We drive home, telling Montana stories, with pink cheeks from the wind and sun, grateful for the afternoon of exploration and friendship.

True confession, #270

*Warning: This post is just dripping with femininity. Just wanted the guys to know....read at your own discretion.

**AND if you were a homecoming queen, prom queen, rodeo queen or a West Texas Tumbleweed queen and the like, you may not understand all the emotion in this post.  I'm not making fun of you.

I have always wanted a tiara.

It wouldn't have to be a big, old Rose Bowl Queen sort of thing. That's just silly.

I would just love to have one, sitting on a cushion in my closet for those days when I finally get the refrigerator cleaned out and sanitized, or all the kids winter-and-too-small-by-three-sizes put away days.  Those days when there should be an applause track running in the soundtrack of my life.

I know this will come as a great shock to you all, but I was never even close to "earning" a tiara the old-fashioned way.  Early on in my life, I had the label "smart girl" taped to my back.  Now don't get me wrong; there's nothing bad about being smart...it's just that I wasn't really all that smart, I was just well-read.  (There's a difference, and that's a whole 'nother blog  post in and of itself!)  Anyway, smart girls are seldom, if ever, royalty.  And smart girls are notorious late bloomers. And if one desires to be crowned, that is a detriment, because after high school, there aren't a lot of tiara opportunities.  The sad truth is, if you didn't get one before age 19, odds are about 219,673,000:1 that you'll get one AFTER that.

Tiaras aren't something you can really put on your Christmas list. Even if you've spent years cultivating the Dork Mystique, (yes, another post) your loved ones will pass over that one, thinking you meant to write "Tevas" or something like that. You don't just pick up a tiara at Kohls or J.C.Penneys, either! I've scoured the second-hand stores for them, but no one gets rid of them, like old jackets.  Good grief! If I had a Prom Queen 1989 title, you wouldn't see my tiara in the local Goodwill....

I recently watched "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes", a movie in which Marilyn Monroe wants to marry wealthy.  That is her only criterion in a man...available assets, lots of lire, mucho deniero.  And in one scene, she tries on a dowager's tiara! I thought my rhinestone envy had evaporated with time, but when I saw that scene I was filled, once again, with that terrible longing for paste gems on my head!

Now that the Farmer's Wife has confessed...

What about you? Do you want a tiara, too? Or do you have one? (Bless your popular little cheerleading heart!) 

Interview by Life With Four Boys...Coffee, Please

Remember the boys who wanted to know if we were going to eat or stuff the trophy stunk? They're back! And they've prepared interview questions, which they sent in an email, but that I'm going to answer on the blog because I know everyone is just dying for this information about us. 


We have questions for you.......


How far is your nearest town?  Our nearest town of maybe 350 people would be about 25 miles from our house. The nearest McDonalds is 80ish miles from our house, along with the movie theatre that shows two shows a week and the nearest Walmart. It's a town of about 8000 people, depending on whether the football game is a hometown one or not. 

 What is the nearest city? I guess the nearest city, or place with a mall, would be about 160 miles away. We have to drive 2 1/2 hours to get there.  It has about 89,000 people and we are scared of the way they drive there.

How far away is the school? From our house, Maggie's school is about 10 miles, mostly gravel and dirt road. The bus runs a little longer route, because of road conditions, and it's about 15 miles that way.  Our school has 6 students, 1-8th grades and 3 kindergarteners. 9 total students.

How long is the bus ride? About 20 minutes for Maggie, longer when the weather is bad.

How far is church? We go to church in Miles City, so about 80 miles away. And we are ALWAYS skidding in, running to Sunday school classes and looking for seats in the back, because we are poor planners and forget it takes a little over an hour to get there...

Do you farm with family? Yes! (Although I got in trouble because I called it a farm...we are a ranch, with cows AND grain, technically.) Wayland's parents are the bosses, and his grandma lives about 8 miles down the road. Maggie and Angus will be the 5th generation of Pluhars here, I think. 

 Does wayland farm full time or work elsewhere? This is a tricky one! He mostly works for the ranch, full-time, but occasionally does some welding or building work on the side.  He also took reserve deputy training a couple years ago, but hasn't done that so far. But he has a great gun, and a little card that says he can carry it. Sort of like hunter's safety, only for big boys.

Do you have high speed or satallite internet out there? We are using satellite right now, but this summer our local phone company wired us for fiber optics, and it's supposed to be coming sometime this year! We can hardly wait.

Favorite tractor? We are a John Deere family! Nothing runs like a Deere....and Wayland just informed me he likes the 7810 over the 8300. Whatever that means. He just said they are both loader tractors. Angus is just crazy about tractors, and they are ALL PopPop's tractors, according to him.

Favorite truck? This pains me to type...I married into a Ford family from a Chevrolet family.  BUT our personal outfit is a GM. And I don't know if you need this information, but Wayland likes the 1 ton pickups. (Here in Montana, we call them pickups.  They will know you are from out of state if you call them trucks...trucks are for hauling grain.)

Favorite coffee? My ultimate very favorite in all the world is roasted in Miles City, in a little tiny Basque coffee shop called Kafe Utza. It's the blackest, richest stuff I've ever had, and once I bought the beans, I was spoiled for anything else.  I drink dark, dark coffee...Sumatra and French Roast, usually. (I understand this question wasn't from the boys, but it won't hurt them to know that!)


If you have any questions for The Farmer's Wife, email me at the address on my profile page.  It won't be like Dear Abby or anything, but you'll get some sort of answer. (My sister's girls call me Crazy Mary, and perhaps I could do a weekly column, here, entitled "Crazy Mary's Q & A" or something.)

FB...and I don't mean the kind with an endzone and cheerleaders.

I rejoined FaceBook, yesterday.

And I'm trying to be cool about it, but I just don't know. 

It IS amusing, however, to people-watch there.  My neice and godson are both in college, and their little walls are full of drama, angst and dating. (Or NOT dating, which leads to more drama and angst...) There are mothers and housewives, and on those walls there seems to be child-related-stress, house-cleaning guilt, and "what's going on in the world beyond mine and please, please tell me that life gets better after potty-training"!  The men are all about guns, cars and work. Some sports.  But right now, during hunting season, there's a lot of guns. 

I sit in front of the little box asking me what I've got going on, completely paralyzed.  Facebook feels too big for the little stuff (guess what I found in the back of my fridge?), and too little for the big stuff (marriage, birth, death, cancer, etc.).  I start a thought, then find myself trying to explain so I won't be misinterpreted, then voila! it's a blog-post on FaceBook, and I end up deleting it.  This obviously takes some skill, and I seem to be overthinking it...(Writing about killing flies, hole-y underwear and things like that just doesn't seem to work!)

There are two people that changed my mind about belonging to FaceBook; my friend Homer, who I'm trying to keep up with because he's so darned interesting and I can't be emailing him everyday, and Patricia from Pollywog Creek, who I admire greatly and if she can do FaceBook, then I can make the effort to try, too. 

I talked to my friend and cousin Beth last night, and she may be the only remaining 20-something person in the world who is not on FaceBook. We are very, very similar creatures, and it's my goal, now, to get her signed up and see what she thinks....

A Twilla the Hon

Introducing the newest member of the Pluhar family:

Twilla B.

She's quite the glamour girl. Here's her runway pose...

...and here she is with the wind blowing her silky ears back. She was purported to be camera-shy, but so far I think she'd give that old Heidi Klum a run for her money.

Irish Setters are not really known for their intelligence, (Molly hastens to add that most Brittanies ARE.) and Shelly told us that the reason they greet the UPS trucks so enthusiastically is because they are hoping UPS will be bringing their brain that day...

They ARE known, however, for their happy-go-lucky personalities and their absolute adoration of people. Twilla is no exception.  She seems happy to be with the kids, tickled to go with Wayland, thrilled when we sit next to her and rub her fuzzy tum.

She's staked out the loveseat as hers, and grudgingly allows Wayland to sit with her. And Maggie brings her food, which is REALLY funny, to watch one Princess serve another...

I have more pictures, but my camera battery died as I was downloading. More later~

Family picture

Goodbye, Hoovie; Hello Rosie!

My vacuum broke.  Actually, I think it may have quit working a couple years ago, but was putting on a decent show to make me THINK it was vacuuming.  And then, poor thing, it couldn't even muster the gumption to move dirt from one side of the room to the other...

"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.

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.

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.

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

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.

"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!