It seemed like the write thing at the time...

Do you remember the Indiana Jones movie about the Holy Grail, in which Henry Jones Sr. keeps a scrapbook-like diary with all the clues, symbols and research he's done on the artifact and its location?

It intrigued me more than the plot of the movie, really, and that's saying something because the Indiana Jones movies are my favorite stories in cinematography.

I have been given countless blank journals as gifts and they intimidate the heck out of me!  Pristine, empty pages....books and books of them....waiting for something brilliant to be inscribed on them.  And I've got nothin'.

Well, that's not true.

I've got plenty of things to write and say; it's just that the minute I open one of these dear little books, I get brain freeze.

MORE SO than normal....

The pressure of making it worthy, beautiful and enduring, is huge.  I imagine my family and friends finding the journals after I'm dead and gone, reading them and thinking, "That's it?!  That's all that was in her head?! She wasted ink on THAT?!"

You've read my blog, obviously.

I can write pages about flies and hole-y underwear and skunks.

With passion!

Can you imagine stumbling across 15 books of THAT?!

Don't let's.

That's not a legacy.

It's a comic book.

BUT...

I did grab one in a moment of weakness and jot a couple quotes in it.

Then, I pasted a great wine label that I couldn't bear to throw away with the bottle onto one of the pages.

And tucked a funny card from a friend in the back.

Taped in a Dilbert comic that made me laugh.

And wrote another couple quotes.

It suits me; it suits my personality.

Informal, not bound by duty, whimsical, bright, occasionally deep....

It's a little volume of delights and memories for me to return to, a place to tuck my smiles.

It certainly won't save any one's life, as the clues in Dr. Jones' diary did, nor reveal any sort of treasure, but it's a start.  It's almost full, so I'm looking at the next empty journal to begin volume two in. 

Do you keep a journal?

Besides Facebook or a blog?

Spring Break, Part II

When the kids and I go to Bigfork, we don't really DO anything except eat, sleep and play outside. That's it.

That's all we WANT to do!

Sometimes we all load up and go into Kalispell or Bigfork for groceries or tarps or Scotch tape.

(Or donuts.  Rosaurs has the BEST donuts!)

But for the most part, we just hang out in the mountains and soak it up.

Grandpa was burning leaves every day we were there, so we smelled deliciously of smoke and mountain air!  I don't know what else the kids tossed in the fire, but they were always over there, poking and stirring, keeping the smudge going. 

Slugs are fascinating! Maggie didn't really want to touch it, exactly, but she wanted to examine it more closely....turns out, clothes pins are the PERFECT slug-struments.

Grandma and the kids worked on the tree house.

By the time we left, she was even talking about painting it!

We were laughing at how it was sort of....red-neck-ed....in an otherwise neat neighborhood.

See?  Just right for all sorts of adventures and sieges!  A great lair for eating toasted marshmallows and chocolate Easter candy, when the adults are eating boring things....ham and sweet potatoes and the like.

There was much swashbuckling!

Every so often, we'd hear tromping through the house and a voice calling out, "Has anyone seen my helmet?"

Armor is frequently misplaced.

Or swiped.

I think he wore that shirt for three days.  I kept washing it and he kept digging it out of his bag...

Johnny-jump-up

All my bums have flower names. 
Daisy, Lily, Sweet William, Cosmo, Linnie (linum is the Latin name for flax), Rosie...
The bull calves are the hardest to name because...well...flower names really aren't all that masculine for the most part.  This year, I didn't think I was going to have a bum calf; two that looked promising were given away and the later the season gets, the less likely I am to have a baby to care for.  But, one of the rare afternoons this spring that I was asked to help put out pairs, there was a twin.  And his mama didn't want him.  She wanted the heifer, but left the little bull calf in the dust....literally! 

The Farmer picked him up, in the pasture, wandering around by himself.  He'd seen the twins the day before, but was hoping the mother would claim them both.  She did not.  And cows usually only want one of the two, really.  Two calves are confusing!  There's only supposed to be one!  The interloper, the rejected one, is cleaned off but generally kicked off or left because the mother prefers the other for some unfathomable reason. 

He put the calf over the seat of my four wheeler and told me to idle back toward the road, that we were going to get to the Honda Big Red and take him in to the barn and feed the little thing.  He knew that by the time we got back to the barn I would be completely attached to the baby.  And he just let me. 

Twins are so tiny. 
Calves are little and knobby kneed, big eared and adorable, but there's something exquisite about twins. 
I tucked the baby's back legs under my right knee and his front legs under my left knee, his sweet head rested on my thigh, bumping along as I drove through the sagebrush back to the Honda.  When we got to the ATV, the Farmer lifted the baby into the Honda and told me to take him back and feed him.  He may as well have told me to just take him on home and put him in the porch, because he was mine.  And I was worried, because I'd planned to take the kids to Bigfork already....would they give him away while I was gone?

May I introduce Johnny-jump-up?
This is the 2012 bum calf, for you all to fall in love with and follow through the summer!
And you WILL fall in love....

Spring Break, Part I

The kids and I migrated to western Montana for Easter and spring break; we love the mountains and miss our family in Bigfork. We didn't get there until Saturday evening, Easter Sunday was a flurry and we decided we hadn't scarred Uncle Frank sufficiently on family drama over the weekend, so we all drove south, past Polson to a little stage stop called Allentown to meet him for lunch on Monday.  Here are some photos from that little jaunt:

These were the first swans I'd seen in western Montana, despite all the references to Swan Lake and the Swan Valley!  Maggie was enchanted by them and they were very unconcerned with us tromping around in the rushes, noisily chattering about turtles and cormorants.

Angus found some bone and feathers, the grisly remains of some animal's dinner the night before, and wanted to show Uncle Frank.   There's treasure EVERYWHERE.

The cattails were a big novelty and I'm pretty sure we all had the fuzz in our hair and clothes by the time we loaded up to leave.

This weed is Dr. Seuss-ish to me in its form!

I don't know what it is, but I took several pictures because it fascinated me so.

Grandma Celestia and Grandpa Jasper, soaking up the sun and listening to the chatter....

On the way back to the cars to load up!  There was a little museum there, but it was closed so we decided to roar down to St. Ignatius to the mission.  I wish I had taken pictures there, too! 

More photos to follow, in Part II!

Mummy Dearest

Every two years, Garfield County schools have what is termed an Academic Fair.  It's the broader version of a science fair; by not limiting it to science, the kids are able to do projects and research on ANY topic they choose.  Grades Kindergarten through Junior High participate and the variety of projects is amazing! 

Maggie's project was about mummies, of all things! Other little girls chose cats or dogs or horses....not my daughter; mummies are deliciously hideous and absolutely fascinating to her. 

Wednesday night, she finished up the sarcophagus and worked with her dad on a pyramid.

You can't really see the gold braid and tassel, or get the full effect of the glitter, in this picture.

There really IS a mummy in that thing, but it's sealed and no one was allowed to view the body.

I don't know what she used for her mummy....I don't WANT to know.

Angus had a little mummy envy....

Here's his stab at heiroglyphics.

Even MORE envy when he saw the board....

Finally found the child and had her sit in front of her display for a photo.

She's hiding her enthusiasm well, isn't she?

Here's my friend, Ben, with his amazing LEGO project!

Honestly, I had no idea there was THAT much to know about LEGOs.

Talk about a passion!

Kailah, with her Siberian Husky project.  She has a part Siberian Husky dog at home and learned a lot more about the breed through this project.  I love her diorama!

Rebekka and her wild horse display.  She had GREAT maps and diagrams!

Maggie won second highest points for the whole group of second graders!

You can't see it very well, but she's holding up her medal!  Mrs. Carroll and Nancy Horn did every step with her, so really, they should've had medals, too. 

And that's the latest from Cohagen!

The game's afoot!

I didn't think she'd notice....

I'd only snuck a few measly spoonfuls from her chocolate fudge brownie Ben and Jerry's ice cream container.  Nothing alarming.  Not like I'd eaten half the container or anything. Besides, she hadn't eaten ice cream for 2 1/2 weeks.  I had convinced myself that she probably didn't even LIKE it anymore.  (Chocolate fudge brownie ice cream can get so...boring....after a couple servings; right?)

Oh, she noticed.

When I handed her the slightly sampled container and a spoon yesterday, there was an exclamation.

"HEY! Someone's been eating my ice cream!!!"

(You'll note that she didn't ask WHO had been eating her ice cream...I'd have had to have confessed all, if that had been the case.)

As Maggie thoughtfully ate her ice cream and pondered the loss, I went to put clothes in the dryer, feeling like the worst sort of heel.

However, when I returned, she seemed cool and I didn't see any need to upset her by bringing the topic up again.

I'm sensitive to her feelings that way.

A little later, SHE mentioned the theft again, but this time, she had a plan.

She was in possession of fingerprint powder from her detective kit and had dusted the container.

Dang.

It was just a little ice cream!

Seriously?

Fingerprinting?

This was JUST the sort of case she'd been looking for, for months!

A who-dunnit!

A serious crime!

Rather than being distraught over the loss, she was jubilant!

At last, the chance to sleuth, the opportunity to nab a villain, justice, vindication...

It was almost too good to be true.

I mentioned that there could be prints from the people who stocked ice cream in the store, the checkers, the bag boys, Daddy who dished some up for her.

She remained firm in her resolve that THIS was going to be an open and shut case.

The minute the thief opened and shut the ice cream container, that is.

I have not even breathed on it, since.

But I'm about to crack and confess.

I can't handle the pressure of the guilt.

I'm weary of wearing rubber gloves to get ice cubes for my gin and tonics.

I want to be able to sleep at night, without tossing and turning in nightmares of a seven year-old standing over me with a magnifying glass and disappointed look on her face.

Never snitch ice cream from Maggie Drew.

I've learned my lesson!

I scream, you scream

...we all scream for ICE CREAM!

Yes, I realize that their faces are covered with blue sidewalk chalk....
That's what happens when
*deep breath*
you are Indians who are living in the woods, when all of a sudden, pirates who want to burn your village arrive and burn your village, except you escape on a boat and go to an island far, far away and hide with all your worldly possesions, belatedly discovering that you forgot to take provisions (food, especially) and have to travel to the main fort to beg for

ice cream!

(That was more or less the story I got when the grubby natives arrived on my deck.)

Twilla, trying her very best to be a good dog....

Indians drop parts of their ice cream cones, sometimes, in places too small for hungry dogs to reach, even with 6 inch noses. (Think of that little squirrel in Ice Age, who was always j-u-s-t a little short of the acorn...same kind of desperation, here.)

Eh...we don't need no stinkin' napkins...

Dang.
The cat formerly known as Cap'n Barbosa (re-named Elizabeth, but called Fat Kitten) IS small enough to scavenge, to Twilla's huge dismay!

We've had unseasonably warm days, lately.  The kids have discarded shoes and couth, and are running wild outside as many daylight hours as they can!

*Note for all the grandmothers and germ-i-phobes: I DID make them wash their hands with soap and water.  They weren't happy about it.  Apparently, according to them, Indians don't waste time on soap and water when there's ice cream to be had....

Lookin' sharp!

Dull knives are so maddening.

They LOOK as though they might cut or peel something but really all they do is mash or scrape.

Have you ever smooshed a tomato, instead of slicing it?

Sawed on a raw chicken breast until it finally separated, but not in even strips?

I'd petition every likely male who dared venture near the kitchen to sharpen my knives, because I didn't think it was something I could do without completely wrecking my whole set.  You can imagine how few likely males wandered through my kitchen...I'd worn out the one who lives here on this task and he could no longer be classified as "likely". 

So, a few weeks ago, I took my cheapest, most awful paring knife and practiced.  If I wrecked it, no great loss! At first, I could only really get one side sharp.  It was a start, though.  I didn't test it on the hair of my forearm, like guys do. (That's a cool trick, if you're a guy, and certainly shows everyone how brilliant you are with a steel! But on chicks, it's just....weird.)  I used tomatoes.  If you can cleanly slice through a tomato with no real pressure, your knife is nicely sharp.  My knife needed pressure still, so it wasn't quite right.

Every way I tried to work the other side of the knife felt awkward and dangerous.  You all know I'm a klutz; the fact that I still have the ends of all my fingers and no scarring on my wrists and arms is a near miracle, really.  But I kept working on it, every time I needed to use that crummy little knife.  And one day, something clicked.  I GOT it!  The knife was SHARP, now, and I grabbed another one...one of the good ones.  Zoop, zoop, zoop, zoop....repeat on the other side...and IT was sharp, too! 

Yes, I just stopped and sharpened all the knives I could. 

I would imagine it was the same feeling an ice skater gets when they land a triple lutz!  YES!

Now, every time I grab a knife to use, I check the edge and if I'm slicing delicate things like tomatoes or bread, I'll give it a quick zoop-ing.  You can't believe how this tiny little skill has made such a huge difference in the tools I use daily!  I feel so....competent and independant!

I think it's one of those things that every girl should learn how to do before leaving home. 

The Cowboy Cookbook

My son's last name is Pluhar, but he's a Dutton, too. 
We read and collect cookbooks; at least my Dad, my Aunt and I do.  And we buy each other cookbooks, if we find one that we think is really good or particularly interesting.  I would have to say that at least half of my good cookbooks have been gifts from Aunt Bert, and many of them are regional, church-fundraiser Texas Velveeta-fudge-and-bacon-grease-in-everything-for-good-measure cookbooks....full of good recipes that aren't politically correct or health conscious at all!

A couple of weeks ago, I picked up a Cowboys and Indians magazine outside the library on the "Free! Take one!" pile, thinking it would be a good one to leaf through while I was waiting on the bus in the afternoons.  And it WAS interesting, in a more-money-than-good-sense-Western-style sort of way.  Angus saw me looking at it and wanted to look at the "cowboy" magazine, so I innocently handed it over.  It immediately became HIS cowboy magazine. (You know, because possession is 9/10ths of ownership...) He poured over it, page by page, chattering about all the fascinating things he was looking at.  One article in particular, though, captured his attention: a review of a Texas cookbook, with a full page picture of oysters on the half shell. 

"Can you make this for dessert, Mom?"


"Well...probably not for dessert.  But if we could find oysters, I could make it."
(What are the odds of THAT happening here in Eastern Montana, right?)


"And you could make this one, and this one, and this one....please?!"
(Pointing to all the pictures...)


"Well, baby, I'd need the recipes to know how."
(There are no recipes with this article. Ha HA!)


"Here's my cowboy cookbook.  IT has recipes!"
(Pointing at the photo of the cover of the featured cookbook...)


"Mmmmhmmm..."

I really thought he'd drop it and lose interest after awhile, but he didn't. At least once a day, he'd dig that magazine out and show me the pictures, requesting that I make those "cowboy desserts".  (It's like being pecked to death by a chicken, when he gets an idea in his head and is trying to persuade me...)

Finally, this week I gave in and ordered the dang cookbook Texas Eats: THE NEW LONE STAR HERITAGE COOKBOOK WITH MORE THAN 200 RECIPES by Robb Walsh.  I was praying that it had at least a couple of recipes that I could make to appease the child...

Two days later, the cookbook arrived!
Here's Angus after I handed it to him...

My cowboy cookbook!!!!!!!

Happily, it's a GREAT cookbook!  Recipes like Stacked Enchiladas with Pork and Red Chile, Espresso BBQ Rub, and Pecan Torte with Caramel Topping....

(Did you drool on the keyboard, just reading that? No? Well, I did!)

I haven't had the opportunity to make any of the recipes, yet, because he packs the book around with him everywhere he goes.  I think this weekend, though, we'll try a couple!

Take me out to the ball game...

Last Saturday I took the kids to their first baseball game! Our friend Aaron Carroll (aka Sparky...you may remember him from the Christmas post) coaches baseball at Dawson Community College in Glendive and his team was in Miles City for the weekend, playing in a little round-robin tournament.

We needed to go to Miles anyway, to get Maggie new footwear, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Disappointingly, it was COLD...bonechilling cold...and Sparky's team was playing in the morning at 9 a.m. and 11 a.m.

We did as many errands as possible before heading to the field (we may have been waiting for it to warm up a little) and caught the last couple innings of his first game, which they won!

Maggie and Angus, all decked out in Boston Red Sox gear.

Maggie sat down, watched a little of the game and started saying very loudly, "Youk! Youk! Youk!"

We really were wishing Youkilis would appear out of nowhere, wearing a DCC Buccaneers jersey, but no such luck.

It was a lousy place to try to take pictures without an uber-telephoto lens.  I was quite a ways away, standing on a little concrete stump and balanced precariously over the chain link fence to get these pics. 

Here's the team...Bucs in a box, sort of! I think Sparky said he had 22 or 23 kids on the team.

Love the swing!

Safe!

Trying to steal, but headed back to 1st and safety....

 This picture cracks me up! I have no idea what the boy was doing, but you'll see that both feet are off the ground.  Taking off? I don't know, but it's an interesting shot.  (When I went through the photos, I got all distracted by the people in the background.  THAT'S an interesting story unto itself, really.)

We didn't sit in the stands, but beyond the fence in the outfield. Maggie and her two friends from school gave up the game pretty quickly and played hard.  They found this huge patch of ground that had been plowed up and happily dug, rolled around, and ran through it.

Angus had had enough baseball by the end of the first game, so he went to stay with Grandma Banana (my mom) while Maggie and I went to the second one.  It sort of warmed up...but only when the sun was out, five minutes at a time. We had a great time and plan on attending more games this spring and summer!