For Grandma Celestia and Grampa Jasper

I was gently prodded this morning to write more Chronicles because certain *ahem* readers were wanting to know more about what's going on around here.  (Which is nothing, really, but still, they want to see it.)

Today, we....

Captured a very nice, very tolerant toad.  They capture him DAILY, although Maggie insists it's not the same one.  I know it is.  He's the world's dumbest or loneliest toad, and I've grown rather fond of his little mug.  They always make sure to clean him up before presenting him to me, by bathing him in the bathroom sink.  Today Maggie was drying him a little too vigorously and I had to step in...but I think it must have been a sort of exfoliant because he does have a sort of amphibious glow, don't you think?

"We call him Mr. Perfect, because he's the MOST PERFECT toad we've ever seen!"

We have a wading pool, but it seems to serve the kids better as a shelter or secret hideout.  They miss the point of the "secret" hideout because they HAVE to show us how wonderful it is! Note the welcome mat out front.

He's mixing potions....

...that consist of water and dirt, creating the mud of his dreams.

We have artistic efforts, too!  This may be the happiest horse I've seen.  (I wasn't sure it was a horse, but it is, so now you don't have to guess.)

And this face, drawn next to the front door, which makes him look like he's peering around the corner.

This is typical summer attire:  purple satin harem pants and a cheerleading t-shirt.  No shoes.

We just had root beer floats and chocolate milkshakes for the afternoon pick-me-up and Mr. Perfect is languishing by the "pool".  

A prairie sunset for those in the mountains who miss them...

Photography Blog Challenge!

I'm not sure if it's a blog challenge or a photo challenge, so I combined them.
And here's the really, really....REALLY awful thing:
I see the word "challenge" and my head instantly converts it to "competition".
"IT'S NOT A COMPETITION!!!", I have to actually say out loud to myself.
Seriously.

My friend Kim is always inspiring and challenging me, sometimes when she doesn't even know it.  This time, she threw down a challenge for our blogs that uses photography, since we both use our cameras as much as some people use microwaves.  This is DAILY.  Which means I'll have to blog DAILY.  (I apologize in advance for the frequency of Chronicles in your email box....)

I'm going to post the challenge here, so if anyone else is interested in joining us, you'll have the list.
I'd LOVE it if you would!
We're starting tomorrow, July 1st and it will run for 30 days.
IT'S NOT A COMPETITION!
:)

I've gotta tell you, I'm going to have to look up what "Bokeh" is.
And "A bad habit" is worrying me.
And I'm going to have to really stretch on the "Faceless self-portrait".
But it should be fun!
Join us!

In which Mr.and Mrs. Smith come to Montana

with their son, Ison, and bring sunshine into our lives for a couple days!

This is going to be more of a photo post than anything, just because I cannot get over what a beautiful, dear child Master Ison is.

The last time Don and Shelly were here, she was pregnant and we talked about parenting.
This time, we got to meet the baby we had been waiting for, only now he's TWO years old!

Meet baby-turned-big-boy Ison Smith!

The men made supper on Friday; fish, fried potatoes, baked beans, and fruit.  It was SO good!

The fish...
Turns out, they ate AS they fried, so when the rest of us came in to eat, they looked as thought they were showing remarkable restraint with portion size.  They were just full.

These two had a great time for two days.  Here's pretty much what they got done:  Pretend to go check salt'n'minral with 3 guns, just in case they see a coyote, shoot stuff, come back to the house and eat, go out to the shooting range and shoot until dark, then drink beer and shop through gun catalogs until 11 p.m.
Repeat.

Shelly and Maggie, tossing the ball up to Ison in the play house so he could roll it down the twisty slide, over and over and over again.

There was a rather tense moment when Don and Shelly's dog Tig took a run through the yard, challenging the cats.  Elizabeth went straight to the top of the play structure and wouldn't come down.  Trixy stood her ground and got her bluff in.  Jack Sparrow took a beating, much to the distress of Maggie and Shelly, but he limped away with at least 3 lives left!

Ison got these little moccasins in South Dakota...at Wall Drug, I believe.  I couldn't believe how perfect they were for running around outside!

Big boy on a big boy swing with another big boy pushing...big times!

Isn't he an amazing looking child?

Taking a break from the sliding to watch an ABC video on Shelly's computer...

This picture is my favorite...

"No, really...you can have it back!"

Beer and leftover fish...supper of champions!

Herding calves...

They knew he didn't have a bottle, but one shouldn't make assumptions, so they checked him out just in case.

Beautiful child....

Maggie took it upon herself to be Ison's shadow and protector.  They really hit it off!

Tig, intimidator of cats, hunter of birds!

I love Shelly; we haven't seen each other for almost three years, but picked right back up as though it had just been a couple weeks!  It was such a luxury to have her here for two days, to be able to visit to our hearts' content....

More swinging!

Wayland, showing Tig the love...

Don, showing Tig the floor...

Maggie wanted nothing more than to haul Ison around in the little red wagon, but it wasn't until the last night that he conceded for a short ride.  It made her day!

I really wish our friends lived just up the road.  Missouri is like the moon, sometimes!

It's certainly OUR turn to visit them, and I hope we can very soon.

Hooked, Day 2

I want to know who taught THIS gal to cast...

Day two started out with a good run on the gravel path of Brewery Flats and a startling encounter of a little band of smarty pants horses that had gotten out of their pasture and were touring the town, right down Main Street!  I laughed, thinking, "Why, yes, you ARE in Montana, Dorothy!" then took a couple pictures of the renegades with my camera phone.  I cautioned them that they were in big trouble, but they completely ignored me; they were so pleased to be as naughty as they could be and as I was easing up the street, I noticed they were separating out into several little recon groups and headed down side streets.  

Don and Shelly weren't going to be back in town until later that day, so I gathered up my things, said goodbye and thank-you to the nice owner of the B&B Motel (who remembered me from a couple weeks ago!), found a coffee stand and headed out to the next access that had been recommended.  

Gorgeous, overcast morning that looked like it should be cold, but it was downright balmy!

I parked the car, swilled the coffee, grabbed my gear and met Tina, a big old black Lab who was taking her person for a walk.  The lady and I visited for a few minutes then headed down the same trail; I wasn't following her, but that was the way I had to go!  When we got to the little bridge over Spring Creek, we visited a little more, then she showed me a trail that her avid fly fishing husband used and went on her way.

I fished all morning.

ALL morning. 

Until I got hungry, and even then I really didn't want to stop....one more cast, just one more cast...I sacrificed six flies to the fishing gods who gobble them up in trees and weeds.  Six!  I really didn't have that many to burn, but what the heck...I was fishing!

Lunched with the Lord Master of the Universe, who printed a couple Google maps off and highlighted the sweet holes, including one that he said he once caught 15 fish in an hour.  True story.  All I wanted was ONE.  And he rigged me up with hair-fine line, a double fly rig and a pair of old polarized sunglasses because apparently (and THREE guys had told me this in the matter of two days) it's required so that one can see the fish.  (I STILL couldn't really see the fish, but I believe there was some sort of fishing magic in those shades, so I kept 'em.)

I met Don and Shelly at the park, excitedly showed them the maps and we immediately took off for the 15-in-one-hour Hole.  Because I am HOPELESS at maps and directions, we went too far.  Yes, it was marked but  it didn't SEEM right...I have no intuition whatsoever.  Female or otherwise. 

Did I mention it was hot?

Again?

Still?

As in 93 degrees hot at 2:00 p.m.?

But THIS was the honey hole!

15 fish in an HOUR, he says.  

We had to fish it.  

And it sure enough had fish.

And I sure wanted to catch one.

But it turns out my back cast needs work. 

Extensive work.

Especially in tight spots.  

Also, maybe my forward cast.

And timing...I could use some practice with timing.

The good news is that I had figured out how to put the fly where I wanted it, quite inelegantly.  I'm sure the fish were laying there in the hole, laughing, saying things like, "Incoming!"  and "Watch this, Bob; she's building to the cast...this should be good."  They were feeding on little brown flies.  Imagine that!  Except they really weren't all that interested in MY little brown fly.

We'd been fishing about an hour when I caught my fish.

On the little brown fly!

Can I just tell you...?

I was tickled all the way to my toes, and knowing the cardinal rule of fishing (be very, very quiet) I didn't squeal or anything, but I couldn't stop grinning.  

It was a dumb little six inch brown trout that was so beautiful and perfect that it made me cry.  (I know.  It's a girl thing.  But I couldn't holler, so I had to do SOMETHING.)  I'm surprised he didn't slip the hook because he made quite the commotion as I reeled him in!  

It has been so long since I've caught a fish that I had forgotten how thrilling it is and how lovely they are, despite their general sliminess.  He was a brownish green, with a lighter belly and multi-colored dots all over his sides.  Delicate little fins, because he was so little, and perfect fish lips.  Yes, they WERE.  Laugh all you want; God does a good job on these creatures.  

I let him go, wanting to laugh with delight but keeping quiet.

From then on, it was cast, tangle, untangle, cast, tangle, untangle, repeat.  

Fly fishing is incredibly complicated for those of us who are not naturally graceful or coordinated.  

There's a lot to keep track of!  Line to feed, 10 o'clock/2 o'clock casting (except I think in that tight spot it was more 11 o'clock/1 o'clock for me), rocks to navigate on the bottom of the creek, line to untangle, sunglasses to keep track of...my goodness, there's never a dull moment, even though it looks like all I'm doing is standing in the river, waving a stick. (Title of a book by a guy named John Giurach, too.)

I snagged one more, but didn't bring him in; I think he was one of the wise cracking fish in the hole and I'm SURE he was just messing with me.  I saw a few rise close to my flies, but they decided it really wasn't worth it.  

I've renamed the hole 1-in-15-hours Hole.

Don came back and reported that he'd caught a few, but we were HOT and sweaty and the game warden came to say hello by then, so we packed it up and slogged out.  It was time for them to get on the road and for me to return to get my babies, so we all hugged and sadly parted.  

I'm so grateful for the instruction, the gift of time and friendships, the little brown trout that finally took a chance and made my week, for Google maps that will be jealously guarded until next week, because I don't mind telling you...

the biggest thing that was hooked this weekend was a 40 year old ranch wife and mother, who remembered why fishing was a passion for her and who is tremblingly excited to use her not-a-virgin-anymore fly rod, again soon.

Hooked

That's exactly what it looked like this weekend on my first fly fishing experience, except I wasn't as well coiffed or clad.  I hooked everything but a fish on the first day!  

My friends Don, Shelly and Ison Smith came all the way from Missouri for a visit this weekend and Don wanted to teach me to fly fish.  I've had my fly rod for SEVEN years and had never used it, having never had anyone to really show me the basics.  All the how-to books are incredibly intimidating and besides, I really think this is something that is better learned by doing, not reading.  

So they packed up their little camper and I packed up my car, and we went to Lewistown to fish Spring Creek.  I was so excited that I drove ahead, rather quickly, and got there an hour and a half before they did; which, in retrospect was silly because what was I going to do when I got there?  The instructor was still on his way!

It was HOT in Lewistown.  

Really hot. 

The access points to public fishing that I had explored while waiting for Smiths that had been quiet that morning were launching points for inner tube floaters that afternoon.  Not exactly ideal for fishing. In fact, downright annoying when trying to fish!  But really, it was just a spot for Don to teach me a few things and to practice.  

We left Shelly, Ison and their Irish Setter Tig, panting in the shade by the camper....I still feel terrible about how much they waited in the heat....and set off to fish.  

Don is a very patient, clear instructor who showed me a couple casts, let me practice, gave me more instruction on how to correct the issues I was having, then wandered off to fish and give me space to learn on my own.  I don't know why that's so important, but I get very tense and frustrated, trying to do everything perfectly when someone is standing there; when left alone, I slow down and process, try different things, laugh at myself, cuss at myself, and eventually figure enough out to ask more questions.  I kicked off my shoes and waded in as deep as I dared, casting and chuckling and cussing my errors.  

That first afternoon, my biggest thrill was keeping the same little brown fly on for 2 1/2 hours without losing it to tangles in the trees and grass, both of which happened frequently.  It's the little stuff...

One of the first things I learned was that time stops when fly fishing.  It's like magic.  I really thought we'd only been fishing for about 30 minutes!

Don and Shelly took off for their campsite which was on guest ranch sort of place about 25 miles out of town and I slipped back into town for some cold beer to put in the cooler so I could keep fishing.  I know.  But here's ANOTHER thing I learned:  I'm not really a beer drinker, but there's something about fishing that made me crave it.  How odd is that?  Is it some fishing voodoo that settles on people that pick up the sacred rod, without their knowledge?  I don't know.  But it sure tasted good.  

While we had been out flailing our rods, my friend Mike responded in a message to an earlier plea for information about good spots to fish.  The first thing he said was not to fish where we had just fished.  Of course.  But he told me about a couple good spots and suggested what type of fly to use, which was just what I had been using...elk hair caddis....a little brown fly.  

The plan was to meet back up with Smiths at 7:30 to fish the creek during the golden hours of the day, when the hatch was on and the fish weren't hot and placid.  I got the call from them about 7:30 that they'd JUST gotten to their campsite and were staying put....in the middle of nowhere.  When asked, Don said it was a scary middle of nowhere, not a cool middle of nowhere.  Yikes!

I wasn't going to waste the evening!  With Jimmy Buffett loudly singing "Hey Good Lookin'" and the windows rolled down, I drove to the first recommended access, parked the car and set off to fish on my own.  It truly is the golden part of the day, where the sun is low enough to backlight everything and it's starting to cool off for the night...these are the bonus hours, the ones we dream about in January.  

I found a path that ended up going in a tunnel through the willow thicket, tangles and snarls of grass and weeds and little trees.  But when I came out, I was right next to the creek where the water bubbled around a curve and a nice hole where I was hoping big, blonde, hungry trout lived. 

They may have been there, but they weren't hungry or dumb enough to take the little brown fly I was offering.  My casting got a little better...still quite interesting, but a smidgen better....and I ended up barefoot in the creek again, pants rolled up to my thighs, loving every buggy minute of it.  I realized in those couple hours that it was the quietest, most content that I'd been in months.  

I also realized I was hungry.

Ravenous.

But here's a little tip for you, just in case you find yourself in Lewistown Montana at 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday evening:  the town shuts down around 7:30.  E-VER-Y place to eat was closed.  The grocery store was closed.  The gas stations WERE open but Milk Duds and beer didn't really appeal to me.  Pizza Hut saved my life.  

Also, I was terribly sunburned which I didn't realize until my shower. And bug bit.  And my feet were in rough shape from the creek rocks.  A very satisfying day altogether...because all those things meant that I had been fishing!

End of Day 1....

Stay tuned for Day 2!

Meet my daughter....

(Except replace "DAD" with "MOM".)
True story...

These are the days...

I'm cleaning in the middle of the night, now; not wanting to fight with my little people over mopping and towels and such.  It's much more peaceful to put everyone to bed, even the dogs, then swab everything down. We have friends coming tomorrow, from Missouri AND Colorado, and that's part of the reason for the midnight mopping....I know it will still look shabby in the morning, but also clean, and that's good enough!  You see, we have friends with good hearts, who are happy with our hugs and steak, not concerned with our polish.  ( At least I hope they are...)

So, a little bit ago I went into the "guest/kids" bathroom to evaluate, then clean....
It's grim.
There are pirates and mermaids, cowboys and Barbies.
Rust stains threaten to overtake the tub, no matter what I souse on it or how hard I scrub.
The towels are clean, but well worn....we haven't invested in new ones since our wedding, in 1998.
And I felt very, very tired.

But, as I have been mopping on the kitchen, I've been thinking....
(This happens occasionally; don't expect big things, okay?)

These are the days of pirates and mermaids.
Of toads, lost in the toy room, then found again, with crows of delight!
These are the times of LEGOS underfoot, of lollipops half-shlurped stuck to the carpet in the closet. 
This is when the kittens wear dresses.
When the prize in the cereal box is all-consuming. 
When Superman jammies are left in the hall because the outdoors is calling so loudly.
These times are crayons in pockets and little footprints through the kitchen, looking for snacks.
Popsicle faces and Chicka-chicka-boom-boom.
Tears over broken trucks and mean sisters, giggles about farts.
And the most awful "knock-knock" jokes known to man-kind.

In the blink of an eye, we'll be in the world of Nike and IPods, so I don't want to miss this!

Today was sort of hard, for all of us....at least those of us who spend the day in this little home and yard.  We tried hard, but things didn't turn out the way we'd hoped. 
And that's okay.
Because tomorrow, our friends will be here!
Hugs! BIG hugs!  and catching up, and showing of life....CLEAN pirates and mermaids!
Hot dogs and marshmallows and "tell me about how you are, dear"s!
And more hugs!

I'm writing this so I don't forget that the little things are the big things.

The little things are the big things.

Now, where did I leave the darned mop bucket....!?!?
:)

Scary stuff!

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "Do one thing every day that scares you."

I love that.

Now,
you might be thinking, "She's a house/ranch wife...how many scary things could there BE in her world?"

Obviously, you've not looked into the terrifying depths of the back of my refrigerator.

I don't believe Eleanor was speaking of scary things, really; more along the order of things that cause us to stretch beyond our comfy day-to-day routines.

Sometimes it might mean making a hard phone call...one that you've been dreading, making an appointment that you really don't want to go to. Like the dentist, say...(I almost need a sedative.  Truly.)

Perhaps it's delving into a filing project that is intimidating because of its magnitude.

It could be helping your husband move bulls.  (Honestly, that really and truly IS scary.)

Have you ever written a letter that you're scared to death to mail, because you don't know how it will be received?
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Last week, I presented a workshop to a bunch of business professionals at a conference and it scared me to pieces.  The topic of the workshop was that of being a right brain dominant person in a left brain dominant job.  In case you don't know what in the world that means and mightily question my claim of being in my right brain, let me just put up a Mercedes Benz graphic that I think illustrates the difference brilliantly.  (Oh, yes...I swiped it for the workshop!  I HAD to.)

I know you can't read the writing, but basically it says that right brain dominant people are creative, easily distracted, unorganized, big picture people who also tend to be quite passionate and visual. We ask "why?" questions.  The left brain dominant people are organized, like lists, are big into details, focused, more verbal, and they hang their pictures straight.  They ask "How?" questions.

Right brain-talks with their hands.
Left brain-ducks.  :)

Right brain-doodles on workshop notes and make little foil sculptures from the candy wrappers on the table.
Left brain- annoyed with the sculptures because they make the table look messy and THEIR notes are in wonderful, hierarchical order. (We right brain people usually end up copying their notes because we missed the point, making the sculpture.)

Right brain-all fascinated with how the peas look, mixed with the carrots.
Left brain-no food touches unrelated foods.  Gravy almost freaks them out, because it's food ON food.  AND it runs all over the place.  This will give left brain people a moment of panic, when the gravy gets a little out of control.

Right brain-it's about color and form...
Left brain- it's about straight lines and neatness.

Right brain people need to travel with left brain people because we never wear watches and are no good with directions.  Left brain people sleep in their watches and snap! snap!  get to the destination efficiently, with the original, verbal directions. (I know. It baffles me, too!)

You get the idea.

You also can perhaps see how those poor people in the workshop felt when I started talking.
(It WAS discussed, prior to me actually presenting, that instead of candy, we should be allowed to hand out little individual serving bottles of wine.  Do you think they had a foreboding of how my workshop was going to run?)

Anyway...

The workshop scared me all over the place.
I had never used PowerPoint.  Ever.
I really wanted to just use a flannel-graph board, but that's frowned on at professional conferences.

I was worried that I didn't have enough usable information.
I was worried that I had too much.

What if more than 3 people showed up?
What if I had a wardrobe malfunction...say, by falling off my 4 inch take-charge-of-this-situation-girlfriend shoes?

Is this even APPLICABLE?
Am I the only right brain dominant person in the room?

Did I bring enough chocolate, for heaven's sake?

And WHY did I say I would do this in the first place?

Terrifying stuff.

But guess what?
I lived!  And no business officials were harmed in the production of the workshop!
There WERE more than 3 people, but everyone in the room was very kind and generous with tolerance for my babbling.
I had plenty of chocolate.  Too much chocolate.
And I have no idea if the workshop was a waste of time for them or not, but it was a GOOD thing for ME.
I learned so much....not the least of which was the importance of doing something that scares me, every day, because it really IS important to keep stretching oneself.

This week, I learned....

• there's no such thing as having too many friends.  
• there IS such a thing as having too many glasses of chardonnay.
• the anticipation and dread of public speaking is much worse than actually doing it.
• I'm definitely a better speaker in 4 inch heels. (I don't know why altitude should affect attitude, but it sure does.)
• Power Point stinks.  End of THAT discussion.
• there's no Kinko's in Helena, MT.
• if one of my "friends" asks me to go running at a track and casually explains the sprint training we'll be doing, it's gonna hurt for three days. Seriously. 
• golf is really just a giant geometry problem and I've always been much better at algebra.
• a Moon Pie can be a very satisfying breakfast! 
• being a part of the Mosby family is really more fun than I can describe here.
• winning a crazy 4 wheeler race through the Missouri River breaks, down on the river, is ALSO more fun than I can describe here. 
• the onion rings at the Lewistown Dash Inn are truly brilliant.
• the hamburgers, sadly, are NOT. 
• the navigation feature on my Droid may save my right-brain-dominant-distance/number/time- impaired life someday. 
• it's not possible to hug a Droid without screwing up a setting. 
• my settings are seriously screwed up if I don't get hugs from real live loved ones, frequently and sincerely.
• my Aunt Betty and Uncle Marvin are the only other people in the world who make coffee as strong as I do. 
• being part of the Pluhar family is ALSO pretty fun, except that they eat weird Czech food and there are about 300 more of them than there are Mosbys.  True story.  
• sprint training consists of a 1 mile warm-up run, two 400 yard sprints, separated by 100 yard walks, two 300 yard sprints, separated by 100 yard walks, two 200 yard sprints, separated by 100 yard walks, two 100 yard sprints, followed by 100 yard walks, ended with a half mile cool down run; does that sound like a "friend" to you?  See?  
• THE best place  for an omelette and sheer visual interest in Helena is the No Sweat Cafe. I may have swooned....

And this is the short list of life lessons I experienced this week!

Thoughts on gardening...

(The photos don't correspond with the thoughts....work with me, okay?)

I wonder if the ants hear the explosion of bean seedlings pushing through the soil?

Because that's how it happens...one morning, nothing; 15 minutes later, a bean plant. 

Surely that resounds in the minute world of insects...

The roses Grandma gave me smell sweeter than any other.

I've sampled dozens and still, the yellow ones are the most glorious...how dear is that?

Thistles are wicked plants from hell, 

but when my daughter named our latest bum calf "Thistle-bum", they all of a sudden took on some redeeming characteristics....like "tough despite hardships" and "bright frazzled-y blossoms".

For some reason, weeding with a glass of wine or a cup of coffee is MUCH less painful than weeding without.  And weeding without a beverage is really not all that painful, anyway...it's more contemplative than anything. 

One should always over-plant...because the mortality rate on tomatoes and petunias is really awfully high until June 15th.  (Also, the local greenhouse starts cutting prices around June 1st and who in the world can pass up $.75 tomatoes?!) 

The more one adores a plant or flower, the greater likelihood of a dog flopping down on it or the hail pounding it into the dirt.  Nothing decimates marigolds, but the ONE contraband pinched specimen of Akebia quinata that you surreptitiously snuck from the French botanical gardens of Vancouver Public Lands will be flattened just as soon as it's rooted and planted, despite the heavy guarding of woven wire and cactus placed around it. I promise, it will.

There's no such thing as too many zinnias. 

There IS such a thing as too many zucchini plants

Greenhouse Amnesia is a malady that many experience, but few admit to.  

When gardeners go to a greenhouse, they forget many things.

1. The number of pots they actually have to fill.

2. The zone they really garden in.

3. The money they budgeted for the shopping trip.

4.  The time it's going to take in August to maintain all these purchases/plantings, when it's 103 degrees at 10 a.m. and they are buried in zucchini.

How does your garden grow?