You Might Be From Wyoming If...

...before your flight you are researching airline FAQ for info on what qualifies as a firearm and if its okay to travel with mule deer steaks in your carry on.

More Good News/Bad News

123456...the sequel
Good News--I got to work at the not quite itty bitty healthcare facility on Friday afternoon.
Bad News--My car began making a funny noise on the way to work.
Good News--I managed to get pulled over to the side of the road.
Bad News--It was in the middle of nowhere
Good news--I had cell phone reception AND the STP came and rescued me
Bad News--I was late to work on the only day I worked this month
Good News--The STP got the car hauled home
Bad News--When the STP started the car, the engine blew up.
Good News--No one was hit with flying pieces of aluminum.

What does it say about your day if the good news is that no one was hit with flying pieces of your engine block?

Good Weekend to be a Cowboy

The University of Wyoming Cowboys win their bowl game in overtime and the Dallas Cowboys defeat the undefeated Saints. Yeehaw!
In other football related news--I talked to Amidala during the second half of the Steelers game. The STP muted the game so I could hear. So it was like watching the game as if I were deaf. And Amanda was not near a TV, so I was describing the action and providing color commentary. She said it was like watching the game as if she were blind. (Only she was driving at the time so it was a good thing she isn't really blind.) I told her things like Roethlisberger is a really long name and its a good thing Ben has broad shoulders. And I told her whenever Ben got sacked. And she said, "Oh, that's a horse and buggy!" And I thought that must be an Eastern PA phrase that meant, "Oh, drat!" But really the oncoming traffic was a horse and buggy. Like a real horse pulling a real buggy. But, all the same, we will henceforth use the phrase 'horse and buggy' anytime things are not going our way.
Roethlisberger to Wallace? That's no horse and buggy.

Counting Down, Wrapping Up and Cutting Out

Starting to get excited about Christmas. Only have to work one more lunch at Dodge City Federal and 12 hours at the not quite itty bitty health care facility. Have a place for the dog to stay. Wrapping and stacking and thinking about packing presents. Looking forward to wrapping my arms around my babies (and their babies). Watching the weather reports. It is good to have something to look forward to.
Found the best cookie cutters ever this week. Bought one for Abi and one for Sara and one for myself. Can't tell you what they are yet because I don't want to ruin the surprise. But trust me--they are the best. I also bought an extra one in case I need to have another give-away to increase readership/comments.
All good stuff.

Did You Hear About the Havener's?

My sister called to see if I was in the witness protection program. Seems she saw the trailer about the new movie "Did You Hear About the Morgan's" about a well to do couple from the East coast who witness a murder and are swept away to WYoming. She should have known it wasn't about us at 'well to do'. And I haven't witnessed any crime lately, and contrary to what my mother believes, I have not committed any crime which warrants excommunication to WY. But then I watched the trailer myself. And it does seem that maybe some Hollywood type has been reading my blog and stealing, er, gathering ideas. So I went back through the last year here and if there is a scene in the movie about buying a flyfishing outfit then I will sue for royalties.
And then I figured out who Lil Chickie is. The writer/producer.
So I am just glad that Sarah Jesssica plays me and that Hugh Grant is cast as my adoring husband.
We have been in WY now for over a year. Here is how I know:
1. I drove the car in Billings last week and was perturbed by 'all the traffic'.
2. I didn't feel the need to report to you that it was 25 degrees below zero last week. All week.
3. The Steelers lost-again-and I got out of bed the next day.
4. I went to a Christmas party at the Elks and didn't take sneaky pictures of the numerous mounted elk heads on the wall--even though they were all wearing santa hats.
5. I know several women (besides Sarah Palin) who can field dress a moose.

H G TREE V

HGTV has taught me about staging. It's not really what you have. It's more about how you present it. So instead of having a 14 yr old fake tree in my living rom, I have a vintage tree. And I don't have old cheap handmade ornaments. I have handcrafted family heirlooms. And they are not chaotic or mismatched. They are an eclectic mix. And just so you know, that is the 'in' thing this year.

Who Wears The Pants?

The pictures of the girls in front of the tree brought back some memories. We were so poor back then we couldn't afford shoes for the girls. And they had to share a pair of pants. But they had no idea they were poor. They used to think it was was fun to see who got to wear the pants.
(Since the silverware story is really set at Eastertime, you should check out John Henry Faulk's Christmas Story from NPR for a good 'poor family at Christmastime' story.)
We still hang candy canes and the same snowflakes on the tree, but it looks like the year Amanda was born we were too poor to afford any stripedy candy.
Hope we all get an orange in our stockings this year.

Speaking of Geeks and Convicts...

Just so you know...we've never been very good at this.

Not Because We Didn't Try

Time again for the annual Christmas card picture. In addition to our usual challenges of total disinterest, last minute timing, and not being the most photogenic family in the world, this year we were also working without the benefit of the gorillapod. No problem--we'll just hold the camera and take it ourselves. Let's stand here in front of the Christmas tree.
Goob: Here, I'll do it. My arms are the longest. Not quite. Let the STP try it.
STP: Smile!

Let's try and get everyone in the picture. One more time.

Goob: Rolls eyes

STP: Smile!

Even though the STP was concentrating so hard on getting everyone in the picture that he forgot to smile himself, the STP and the Goob consider this a great success. As they prepare to leave the room...

Me: I'd prefer that we not all look like geeks and convicts in the Christmas picture. (It's not really what you say--it's how you say it.)
Maybe if we were further away we would look better. Let's set the camera across the room and use the timer.

Oh, we are getting so close. Let's kneel down. Maybe all of our heads will be in the picture and the tree will look taller. Ingenious.

Now as soon as we write the annual Christmas letter, we will be getting this in the mail to you.

Dear Santa,

I'd like a growth spurt.

More Than One Way To Melt a Glue Stick

Ms Brenda's Medical Minute...

...OR Does Ben Rothelisberger Even Have One Brain?
Today I want to weigh in on Ben Rothelisberger and his wussy concussion. Since I am not in Pittsburgh I do not get the all-Steelers-all-the-time news. But I figure if the NFL Network is discussing this, that it is all any one in Pittsburgh is talking about. So here is what I think:
If Ben Rothelisburger was my son and he called me last Thursday evening and said he had a headache, I would have told him to quit right then. Forget Sunday's game. Forget the playoffs. Forget his 'career'. (I'm guessing he might already have forgotten quite a bit.) I'm pretty sure I would have said, "You only have one brain. And you have rattled it around in your head enough. Just quit." And then I would have called the school, er, coach. And I would have said that my Ben will not be playing football this week. Or next. Thank you very much. And then, as much as I like Hines Ward, I would have just shot him a text message. Mind your own business. Period.
In my file of 'Interesting Articles' I have a clipping from Sports Illustrated. About the underappreciation and misrepresentation of head injuries. About the conclusion that athletes who sustain multiple concussions risk permanent impairment. About the slowed ability to process information following a concussion. About how the sports community overall needs to reevaluate how they diagnose and treat concussions. The article was in SI in response to another NFL quarterback who suffered his 4th concussion in three years.* The article was from October 11th,..... 1999. 10 years ago. This article was of interest to me ten years ago because my one of my precious daughters took a soccer ball to the head at soccer camp one evening. (Her camp evaluation noted how 'tough 'she was.) I told my precious daughters who played soccer back then to avoid heading the ball at all costs. I told them they only had one brain. I told them I didn't care what the coach said. None of them are playing professional soccer today. I'll take the blame for that.
*This probably explains why Steve Young has trouble stringing together commentary that makes any sense.

Oh Where Is My Glue Gun

Tonight I wanted my glue gun. To glue a string of Christmas lights to a bucket. And I don't know where my glue gun is. I found the empty box where my glue gun should be. I tried to remember where my glue gun was when we packed up the truck. And I have no memory. I have a bucket. I have a string of Christmas lights. I have a great idea. I know I have a glue gun. I just don't know where it is. I am planning to spend the day tomorrow looking for it. So if you have it, please let me know. Or just live with the guilt. Your choice.
I have been watching Clean House episodes since the day before Thanksgiving. It serves two purposes. First-encouragement. I have convinced myself that, even at its worst, my house is not 'that bad'. Secondly-motivation. It causes me to strive not to let my house get 'that bad'.

(I also caught the beginning of a show about hoarders. This is a show to encourage and motivate you when your house already qualifies for a clean house episode.)

So today I emptied two more boxes from the pilot room. (My glue gun was not in either of them.)

Ten Extra

101. Monday Night Football
102. Frosty windowpanes
103. Candlelight
104. Holding hands
105. Clean sheets
106. Christmas lights
107. Snowflakes
108. Eyelashes
109. Scotch tape
110. A God who loves me

Oh Come, Oh Come

Tonight we ate something other than turkey for the first time since last Wednesday. (The STP made liver and onions. The Goob can't believe he misses the turkey.) I'm still very thankful, but it is time to look ahead. We went to see Disney's Christmas Carol this weekend. We put up the tree. And I hung the mittens on it. And in the mittens I put chocolate bells and kisses. And tomorrow we will take the kisses out of the first mitten and eat them after breakfast. Tonight we read chapter two of Tabitha (where she meets Jotham) and lit the first candle on the advent wreath. Three weeks from tomorrow we leave to head 'Back East' for Christmas. Can't wait!

Old Spice To The Rescue

Many, many years ago, when I was thirty six... (oh, I just had the desire to do this whole post in rhyme :) ) ..I discovered that I was pregnant with our 4th child. It was a little shocking. About two weeks later a new shock wave rolled over me as I realized it could be a boy child. I didn't know anything about raising a boy child. Fortunately at the time I worked with some mothers of boys who assured me that changing a boy diaper was easy because everything is all sealed up. Where are these sage mothers now that I really need them? I've read a good number of books and articles on parenting. I've been parenting long enough to have been through three of Dobson's series (From film to VHS to DVD) including 'Bringing Up Boys'. I must have missed this chapter/class every time.

We have reached a new stage in our Mother/Son relationship. In my book on parenting this chapter will be titled " When He has More Hair on His Lip Than You". When my girls were this age we went to the mother/daughter class at Lee Hospital. We learned about deodorant, mood swings, periods, and we got a little package of feminine products to examine at home. I still don't know anything about boy children. So clearly the education of a boy child at this age should fall to his father. Thus we find ourselves in the health and beauty section of StuffMart looking at shower gels. The STP is choosing appropriate hygiene products and attempting to explain their use to the Goob. I excuse myself to use the restroom. When I come out of the bathroom I run into the Goob, who also excused himself from the hygiene lecture. We meet up with the STP at the checkout. He has chosen a little Old Spice shower puff. Only it is not called a puff. It is called a shower tool. A deck scrubber. And it comes with instructions clearly written for male persons. It advised you that members of the gentler sex do not appreciate dirty smelly things. And reminded you to lather everywhere and don't forget to wash behind your everything. And then it included pictures. (Because Old Spice manly men never read instructions) The first picture shows gel going on the puff. The second picture shows lather on the puff. The third picture shows the puff on a upper arm. And the fourth picture shows a muscular bicep with a tattoo. (I know this because I felt compelled to read the instructions out loud to the Goob.) And the STP suggested that if the Goob did not follow the instructions that either his father or his mother would have to shower with him.
Me: Oh, will I have to wash behind his everythings?
Goob: How about I save us both from that and just follow the instructions.
And the next morning...
STP: Did you use your shower tool?
Goob: (Flexing muscle.) Yeah, but I'm not sure it's working.
STP: What? No tattoo?
I must say that he smelled good when I hugged him. I know this because he is now so tall that my nose pretty much lines up with his armpit when I hug him.
I don't even want to talk about shaving.

Take Your Antlers to Church Day

Remember the whole antler thing? Measuring and scoring? Well yesterday we took it to a new level. The wonderful guide who took Dave deer hunting (and brought him safely back) called Saturday and asked him to bring his antlers to church on Sunday. He wanted to get a group picture. (I think these are all hunters that hunted with him. Not all of the successful hunters in the church.) So imagine a group of guys standing around in the parking lot after church comparing their antlers. Okay--you don't even have to imagine. I took a few pictures for you.

They even held them up to each other to compare them.

Some were more disgusting than others.

But, as in most guy things, the smellier the better. In fact, I'm going to look a little closer at that score sheet. Smelly and disgusting may be worth additional points.

Mirror, Mirror

We traveled to Billings today to make a hospital visit. And I darted into Kohl's. And I went into the dressing room. And I just want to change the sizes on my want list from L to XL.
The disadvantage of not ever going into a dressing room is that you go long periods of time without facing the reality of yourself in a dressing room mirror. OUCH! Definately not my favorite Kohl's dressing room experience. Sad day.

I Don't Need Anything...

...Except this ashtray...
I've started thinking about Christmas Lists. And my Christmas list in particular. And not just the list where I write down the things I am giving. I've really been thinking about what I need. And I really don't need anything. And since I live outside the realm of actual stores, I don't know what is out there that I might need. So I have compiled a list of things that I want. So in case you need to gift me with something you'll have an idea where to start. (I have spent all my money on plane tickets to PA so my gift to you will be my presence. Shop accordingly.)

1. A gorillapod. (My original one broke on the fly fishing trip.) For my new little digital camera that Santa will bring me. Unless you want to gift me with a camera. Then I want one of those little Nikon things with the touch screen that Ashton Kucher takes to parties . Don't worry--Santa can return his.
2. A book about flyfishing. Essential Fly Fishing by Tom Meade
3. A book about Wyoming wildflowers. A Field Guide to Rocky Mountain Wildflowers by Frank and John Craighead OR the National Audubon Society's Wildflowers: Western Region OR Weber's Rocky Mountain Flora. Any of the books on my want list can be used. I plan to use them.
4. A book about tying my own flies. The Benchside Introduction to Fly Tying by Ted Leeson and Jim Schollmeyer. And some fly tying tools and supplies. Because I don't have enough unfinished projects in my life.
5. A pedi-egg and foot lotion. Since the clutter gene is apparently linked to the dry scaley feet gene.
6. A kayak. I was planning on using my Christmas club money to buy two kayaks, a couple of PFDs, and paddles. But instead I spent it on plane tickets. Maybe next year.
7. A Motion Plus Accessory for my Wii remote and a pink silicone case for my Wii remote with motion plus accessory. Since I will most likely be only virtual kayaking again this year. At least I want to do it with style.
7A. My own Wii remote. So I can play in party mode.
8. Pretty tops and/or lightweight sweaters. Like the kind they sell in stores with dressing rooms. Like Kohl's. Or figure flattering styles like they sell at Coldwater Creek. I would accept gift cards from either of these places, but I would rather you pick them out. You know what I like. Size L
9. A new picnic blanket. Pieced together out of genuine polyester double knit squares. Backed with a polyester sheet. Preferably lime green. Knotted together with yarn, although this detail is of minimal importance. This would be the best gift I ever got. (Except that leather wallet I got when I was about twelve. With the mushrooms on it.)
10. Ear muffs. Like the kind on the back of the LLBean catalog that wrap aound the back of my head. Just because I saw them and I want them.
11. A new flannel nightgown. (Unlike the books on my list, I want this to be new.) Because my old one is worn out. Size L
I hope that's enough to get you started.

First Nine Weeks

The Goob had a great first nine weeks of eighth grade. As his sister would say,"All 'A's and a couple of 'B's." (To which her sister would reply, "Abi, a couple of 'B's is not all 'A's.)

But it was enough to make the Gold Honor Roll.

And any time the words Excellence and Perfect are used are good times. (Even if they refer to attendance.) Good Job, Goob!

Also, FYI, there are more students in the Middle School than there are weeks in the School year. I did the math myself. Just in case you were wondering.

The Home Stretch

91. Maps
92. Living with the student of the week
93. Imagination
94. Sunshine
95. Clear starry nights
96. Almonds
97. Paint--all sorts
98. Blooming cacti
99. Colors
100. Lists

Date Night

About the middle of last week the STP suggested we go on a date. How was Friday? Friday was good. But what to do? Where to go? We ruled out a movie, and a restaurant, and bowling. And then we were completely out of ideas. So we stayed home and played Wii together. Raving Rabbids. I choose it because it is not really competitive. (The last time we Wii'd together it ended badly. Let's just say it was a good thing our kayak was of the virtual reality or things would have been very bad and possibly very wet.) As soon as we unlock a few more levels on the Rabbids game we can play in the 'Party Mode'. Which I think means that up to four of us can play at the same time. So I'm putting a Wii remote with the special motion hickey-do and nunchuck and maybe even a balance board on my Christmas list. Because when it comes to party mode--I'll be ready.

Weekend Roundup

72. Diet Pepsi
73. Pamida
74. Toasters
75. Bagels to toast
76. Navel oranges on sale
77. The Big Room
78. Church family to share The Big Room with
79. Prepositions
80. Girls who get along and get together
81. Boys who let them get together and get together with them
82. Girls who have birthdays in November
83. Giving birth in November (even if it was 27 years ago!)
84. House guests who do their own laundry
85. Tortilla chips and nacho cheese
86. Football on TV
87. Not being in Pgh when the Steelers lose
88. Better Homes and Gardens magazine
89. sweaters
90. Big ideas

Thanks Again

55. Skype
56. Unlimited minutes and time to use them
57. Abi--who knows what is really important
58. Baby Nick--safe and warm in the police car
59. Vacumm cleaners
60. Husbands who are not freaked out by tiny dead rodents
61. A clean house
62. A warm house
63. Flannel sheets
64. Sisters who call me just when I'm thinking about calling them
65. Bank holidays
66. Bird feeders filled with bird feed
67. Hope
68. Daffodil bulbs and 60 degree weather in November
69. Gluten free enchilada sauce
70. Clothes dryers--and Stasi to remind me to be thankful for mine
71. Prairie Mama for teaching me I don't have to stop at ten

Twelve More

43. Fresh fruit
44. Balancing at the end of my day at the bank
45. Text messages
46. Doilies
47. Friendly post office clerks
48. Almonds
49. Sharp pencils
50. Tumbleweeds
51. Magnets
52. Respectful 13 year olds
53. Eating out
54. Chicken noodle soup

End of the Hunt

I would love to be able to give you a tutorial on Wyoming hunting, but I did not immerse myself in the sport with the same fervor as I did with fishing. So I can only tell you what I've picked up in bits and pieces as a rather disinterested bystander. Don't rely on this information.
Like fishing, you have to be here a year to get a resident license. So this was the STP's first chance to hunt as a resident.
Licenses are awarded in some complex lottery system involving at least 18 forms, except for general licenses which you can buy at the grocery store. Even then, they are only good for various animals at various times and in various locations. The locations are assigned numbers. There is a corresponding map for each license. If you are good at this you do not need the map because you have the numbers memorized. You say things like, "Did you draw 41?"
FYI The STP got his deer in 124.
There are blue lines on the map, but not on the ground. So I think non-residents must hunt with a resident guide who knows where the lines are. If you ask them how they know, I'm pretty sure they say, "There's a map for that."
Also like fishing, but to a much greater degree, you need an outfit. Said outfit includes layers: wicking underlayers, warm wooly midlayers, and waterproof outerlayers. You need these layers for your feet, your legs, your body, your hands, and your head. All of this should be camouflaged-even the underwear for some reason I don't understand at all. The camo is brown--so you blend in with the dirt. You will need a gun, shells, and a knife, binoculars and handwarmers. You should make these purchases on several trips to various outfitters so it is harder for your spouse to keep track of how much you have spent all together. Think of it as camouflage for the checkbook. You will need to pour over the Cabela's catalog all season for other things you need. Rangefinders, GPS, walking sticks, etc.
Please note: the November morning the STP shot his deer it was 55 degrees and he was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt he already owned, and his Pirates ballcap. But trust me--it's not usually like this.
Two things are very important about your hunting stories. First is the size of the rack. There is a complex way to measure and count and calculate and rate the antlers. In PA I think you just count the points. Here you give a series of numbers. Don't worry too much about this. Cabela's has a little rotary calculator to help with this. Put it on your wishlist (or just order it online).
For instance, the STP had what looked to me to be a beautiful 10 point. In WY reality it is a 5 by 5, category B (?) 24 inch something or other.
The second thing that is very important is how far the shot was. You measure this in yards. In is unsportmanlike to shoot a deer that is too close. I think this has something to do with the lack of trees. The idea is evidently to disguise yourself as dirt and sneak up on a deer and get close enough to get a shot. 200 to 300 yards seems like a good number to throw out there if, like me, you have a depth perception problem and don't yet own a rangefinder.
After a successful hunt and an exhausting haul out, you can load your trophy on the back of the truck and drive it through town. Stop by at least one friend's house to show it off. (If your wife is working at the bank, it is acceptable in Dodge City to drive it through the drive-up window.) Also, stop to get gas in the truck so complete strangers at the gas station can admire your trophy.
My favorite part of the successful hunt is that now the STP can get his hair cut. (And I have real antlers for my antler art projects.)

A Little Retreat

I took call at the hospital this weekend and because it is just a little too far from home, I had to sleep over. At the hospital. I had room 101. Fortunately, the hospital was not at capacity so it was a private room. I had just a few hours of work and a lot of time to think. And read. And pray. And watch the Giants lose. And knit. And nap. And talk on the phone. And be thankful. Here are a few things I was thankful for:
32. That I wasn't in the hospital because I was sick.
33. That I was testing other people's kids for influenza and not my own.
34. That I could see the mountains out my window.
35. Orange yarn and circular knitting needles
36. Peace
37. Quiet
38. A family that can care for themselves and each other for a weekend
39. A family that was glad to see me when I got home
40. Hugs
41. Kisses
42. Toothpaste

I Hate To Be The One To Break The News...

...But I can't lie to you. In fact, Abi, you never had a childhood. Your 'real mother' dropped you off at our house and I just created memories by talking about things we could have done and staging a few photographs. Also, you loved coleslaw as a child and I'm sure I never let you have any. And those memories you have of 'playing' in the snow? I just put you outside because I couldn't stand your whining any more. And your real mother let you buy candy in the checkout aisle. And there's no such thing as the tooth fairy. I wrote those letters about the importance of brushing your teeth, and all those rotten little teeth I have saved in my jewelry box probably aren't yours. Or your 'sisters''.
But don't tell them any of this. It'll be our little secret. (They'll figure it out when they have their own kids.)

Keeping Up With Amanda

21. Hot chocolate
22. Milk chocolate
22. Afghans
23. Flannel nightgowns
24. Someone to snuggle with
25. Nieces who blog
26. Pecans
27. Apples
28. Caramel
29. Husbands who cook supper
30. Chicken in a bag
And taking the lead...
31. Apples and pecans covered in caramel and chocolate

Off To A Good Start

11. Sunrise
12. Full moon
12a. Sunrise and a full moon at the same time
13. Pink and purple clouds
14. Bird feeders
15. Sunflower seeds
16. Plastic pink flamingos
17. Yard sales
18. Online shopping
19. The Package Man
20. The post office and home mail delivery

Thankfully

Things I am thankful for--2009 edition:
1. My youngest daughter ,who reminded me of my thankful list.
2. My middle daughter, who did not remind me that I never got to 100 last year.
3. My oldest daughter, who may or may not know that it is November.
4. My son. Thankfully, there is only one.
5. My husband, who loves me. Period.
6. My granddaughter, who knows how to 'leave a message'.
7. My grandson, who couldn't be any cuter.
8. My sons-in-law, who love my daughters.
9. My jobs, which will pay for #10.
10. My plane tickets home for Christmas.

Speaking of Minimal Effort

The Goob wore his bedsheet ghost costume again this year. The big difference from last year is that he is so much taller that the ghost appeared to be floating rather that dragging along the ground. (And he tripped over his costume less.) On his way to a party, he made a few stops where people had their porch lights on. His theory is that people with their porch lights on WANT kids in costume to come to the door so they can give them candy. (I'm not sure they want to give candy to six foot tall bedsheet ghosts carrying pillowcases.) Here he is with the best part of his 'haul'. What a Goober.

Power Pumpkin Carving

I bought my pumpkin along time ago. It sat on the back porch because I bought it too early to even let any one see I had a pumpkin. I mean the kids were hardly back to school. But suddenly it was Halloween night and the pumpkin wasn't carved. It was already dark. And there was no way to get a candle inside the pumpkin. And no plan. So we just had to wing it. With a prayer and a power tool.






First we cut off the top (like Stasi suggested).

Then we searched for the pumpkin carving tools. Which were probably never on the truck.

So we decided to use the drill. And no pattern at all.

And then, just because pumkin carving is a good excuse to stab things with a knife, we used a knife too.

And then we put the candle inside and put it out on the porch. The front porch. Where it was less than impressive. But really, it is more about the process, isn't it? Isn't it?

I wish I had a really cool picture of it in the dark, but that would have required me to go outside and work with the camera, and, obviously, this was a minimal effort Halloween year.

You should just go to Ami's blog and see her pumpkin.

(I taught her everything she knows about pumpkin carving.)

Good News/Bad News

Good news: My odometer in the Subaru turned over this week to a really fun number: 123456 original miles. (As a bonus I remembered to set the trip odometer at 123333 miles so that it would also read 1234 at the same time!!)
Bad news: The muffler on the Subaru detached itself from the rest of the car at 123476 miles.
Good news: When the STP opened the glove compartment to get out the owner's manual he found the Goob's phone which has been missing since Labor Day weekend.

Which just leaves me with one question. Why did the STP even need the owner's manual? To see if the muffler was supposed to be attached to the car?
Anyway, more good news than bad.
All in all...

This Old House

Our house was flipped before we bought it. Not exactly restored, but certainly repurposed. People will just stop by when we are outside and tell us how much they like what we have done to the place and what a difference it is from what it used to be. We have no idea what it used to be, but yesterday two middle school boys came to the door to buy a candy bar from the Goob. (He is such a good salesman that instead of going door-to-door he has people coming to him.) I invited them to step inside. And they mentioned that the house was really different. And I asked them if they had been in it before it was redone. And they said yes. In fact they used to play in the house when it was empty. They just crawled in through the back window. Now I am really curious to see some before pictures.

Bumper Cars

This is the bumper that exchanged paint samples with the side of the garage. It sported blue stripes for a few weeks--a reminder of my sad backing up abilities. My loving husband noticed the scrape within 12 minutes of it happening. He asked what happened but was kind enough not to make a big deal out of it. (It wasn't like I had scraped the bumper on his car or anything.) Several weeks later, the youth group was having a car wash and one youth leader polished the blue paint off of the bumper, leaving just a few nondescript black scratches. When I saw this extraordinarily kind gentleman on Sunday, I told him how much I appreciated that act of paint removing kindness. And his response was, "That's Jesus." Say what? And then I was thinking how much like Jesus that was. When I am a big screw up, Jesus doesn't get mad at me and He doesn't yell at me and He doesn't keep asking me questions about it. He is kind and forgiving like the STP. But then He goes one step further and He patiently scrubs off the paint. The paint that no one else is willing to get close to. (Because maybe it will rub off on them or something.) The paint that I think I have to drive around with the rest of my life like some kind of penance for being a screw-up in the first place. Annnouncing to the world, "Steer clear. I can't back up!" You gotta love that kind of forgiveness.
Oh yeah, that's Jesus--the paint remover.

Weather, As Usual

This is what it looked like when I was leaving for work yesterday morning. Even though the weather man says this is 30 degrees below the average for this time of year, I am beginning to think this is usual weather for here, and I might as well just get used to it.

Rhoda Horse

And stayed on.

Life in a Vacuum

While the BGITW was here I was running my very sucky vacuum cleaner in the living room. She asked her mom, "What is that?" This is just one generation away from the girl who asked, "Whose vacuum is that?"
My mom vacuumed every day. She covered up all the hardwood floors in the house with wall to wall carpet. She wore out vacuums.
I have a very sucky vacuum that I run whenever I feel like it or when the dog hair becomes visible.
Two thirds of my daughters do not own a vacuum cleaner but I think they would recognize one if they saw it. The third daughter owns her vacuum because her parents bought it for her when she went away to college. She used it at the end of each school year.
My granddaughter does not know what a vacuum is. I'm guessing she wouldn't recognize an iron either.

The Harvest-A Garden Tale

There was snow on the mountains this morning and there is a frost and freeze warning for the basin tonight. So I had to rush home from Dodge City Federal this afternoon and harvest my tomato crop. You may recall that once upon a time I planted a tomato plant. And earlier in the summer I nearly lost the entire crop in a hailstorm. This was by far my best year for tomatoes. Neither the STP nor the Goob were here to help me, so I had to bring in the harvest by myself. And while I was at it, I just went ahead processed the whole thing myself as well. And who was here to help me stir the pot? Just myself. But I am no Henny Penny, er, Chicken Little?, er, lil chickie... (I had to google "chicken work who will help me"!) ...LITTLE RED HEN! Oh no, I shared the fruits of my labor with the STP and the Goob. I made quinoa pasta elbows with a tangy meat sauce. Such a noble end for my one tomato.

And then I did the dishes all by myself. I guess that's kind of like a fairy tale ending to my garden season.

Near Death in Yellowstone

My friend the game warden lent us his copy of the book, "Death in Yellowstone" the day after we returned from our latest two day excursion there. Here is a picture of the hotsprings we did not allow our two year old granddaughter to fall into. Here is the geyser that our son in law did not peer into. Here is one of the waterfalls none of us jumped off of. Here is a picture of a buffalo that we managed not to be gored by. Here is another picture of a buffalo taken by the Yellowstone Lake that we managed not to capsize a boat in and subsequently die from hypothermia. Here is the river flowing under the Fishing Bridge that we did not drown in while fishing in hip waders. The forest fire caused by lightning was still under control while we were there, so we were not burned, overcome by noxious fumes, or hit on the head by falling snags.

Good thing we did not have the book before we left or I may not have gotten out of the car. (Although I must say that the closest I felt to death all week was while I was a buckled in the backseat when Jimmy was driving down the mountain.)

Here then is my favorite quote from the book so far (in relation to the canyon):

I couldn't help thinking what a thoroughly elegant place this was to commit suicide. Jump and your family would have ample time to forget you while you were reaching the bottom.

Pot Pie and Olive Oyl

The Iovinos are in the air. On the way to Wyoming. While they are here we will cook something Italian. And maybe a big pan of pot pie with beef. In anticipation I went grocery shopping with the Goob the other day. (The Goob agreed to go because I was grocery shopping in the small city with the BIG store with an electronics department.) The Goob wandered about the grocery aisles and reported back to the cart whenever he spotted something of interest. Like olive oil.
He discovered virgin olive oil, extra virgin olive oil, 100% pure olive oil, and olive oil with a questionable past.
Any idea which we should use for pesto?

Beginning of the Season

Announcing the arrival of a new list, fall, football season... and the new satellite dish. (Because 'upgrade' is still one of the STP's favorite concepts.) The Goob has inherited this trait directly from his dad. In addition to the new dish network and the DVR upgrade, we now also own two Wii remote adapters that make it possible to kayak and target shoot in front of our HDTV. I'm still going to make a list of things to do and places to go for fall, but the STP says he has hauled all the rocks he's going to haul for this year. (Unless I let him 'upgrade' to a pickup truck...)

End of the Season...

...garage sale find!

A serendipitous end to a great garage saling season.

What did you do this summer?

Oh, I did a little kayaking and a good bit of saling.

Climb Every Mountain

Her Royal Highness, Princess Amidala, is preparing to pack her car and move back across the country. I am excited for her to be there, to start her new job, to have her own place. I am devastated at the thought of her leaving here. On Sunday we did a little more mother/daughter bonding. We climbed a mountain. (Actually, we forded every stream as well.) We did it with another mother/daughter team. Here we are at the trail head. In truth, the daughters hiked together. And the mothers hiked together. The trail guide hiked in between. He was kind enough to stay close enough in case we needed anything. He said that he just listened for my labored breathing. If he couldn't hear me breathing he came back to check if I had fallen that far behind (or off the mountain completely), or if I had really passed out. The mothers kept plugging along. The daughters sat and rested quite often. (Okay, the daughters sat and waited for the mothers to catch up.) Here we are at the top--9500 feet above sea level and about 500 feet above my comfort zone. Dixie felt the same way about being out on the ledge. She sprinted up the mountain. (The only reason she was breathing heavy is because she was straining against her leash.) But once we were at the top, she cowered against the lookout building and refused to look over the edge. So that's where I am with the princess--at the edge of my comfort zone. Pretty sure she is ready to launch. Not quite willing to let her go. I am having a sound of music moment right now. Wanting to hold on tight. Trying to remember that you can't hold a moonbeam in your hand. Willing myself to say 'follow every rainbow'. 'Til you find your dream'.

Maybe I should get my marionettes down from the attic.

My Son, The Capitalist

Before we went up the mountain the Goob was not exactly enthralled with the idea of camping for a long weekend. He explained that his misery was caused by the mere thought of spending three days with PEOPLE in the OUTDOORS. Two of his least favorite things. He went on to explain to me that he doesn't just naturally like to be around people. Says he is just not much of a 'socialist'. That explains a lot. And yet he almost thrived for three full days in the mountains. He managed to live on hot dogs and poptarts. He slept in the tent, climbed on the rocks, went to the river, chatted by the campfire. And I didn't even have to bribe him. Maybe there is more 'socialism' in him than he cares to admit.

Fear and Trepidation

Time for our second time on the annual all church camp out on the mountain. Now that I know what to expect I am looking forward to it even less than last year. Plan to cook everything on a stick, but the STP wants steak, corn on the cob, pancakes, and green tea. He also wants all of this to be gluten free and appear magically at the campsite. I am going to take a book, and a chair. The STP and the Goob will share the tent. The STP's daughter and I have reservations in a camper with extra bed space. Hoping to see some big horn sheep--in the wild. Camping is really only fun when you are a kid and your Mom does all the preparation and all the unpacking and all the laundry. I have a new appreciation of all those trips to Clear Creek and Cook's Forest. With 8 kids, and a tent. I'm going to put a chapter on camping in the book.

A New Month

I lit the candles in the lanterns on the front porch this evening. I ordered some fabric online for curtains in the downstairs room. I started a new list, but decided I would continue to work on the summer list until after Labor Day. Life is good.

I Believe I Can Fly

Our other Women In The Outdoors class was flyfishing.

We learned how to put our rod together. How to tie our line together. How to tie our fly onto our line. We learned the life cycle of the mayfly. We learned to say nymph with a straight face. We practiced casting without a fly. We tied this fly on and cast it out. A big fish took it and ate it. We reviewed how to tie our fly to our line.

Flyfishing requires a good deal of concentration. Like you have to actually keep your eye on your line. So we could not take a lot of pictures while we were flyfishing. But we added a few things to our Christmas lists.

Ready, Aim, Fire OR In A Bulls Eye

Here are the results of our marksmanship class.
This is Amidala's first target.
It turns out she is cross dominant like her Dad. This means that even though she is right handed, she is left eyed. So she had to wear glasses with the left eye taped over. This was supposed to trick her brain into using her right eye. (Amidala's brain is evidently too developed for such trickery.) With her left eye taped shut she could not see anything. She definately could not see to use the sight on her rifle. She could just point the gun in the general direction of the target and pull the trigger. Which is somewhat satisfying in and of itself. But not exactly in the realm of marksmanship.

When the left eye trickery failed to help, they got her a left handed rifle and had her shoot lefthanded. Seems her left hand was more willing to be tricked, er, retrained than her right eye.
This (and the bullseye in the first target) is the result of Amidala shooting left handed.





This is my first target. I did not have a cross dominant problem. I did not have a left handed gun. I did not have scotch tape over my glasses. (I didn't really have any excuses.) I just had to squeeze my left eye shut. And try to line up the sights. And hold the gun steady. And pull the trigger smoothly. (And remember to flip the safety off.)



This is my second target. Turns out that I am consistent. A consistently bad marksman.
After we practiced shooting paper plates we moved on to shooting paper silhouettes. Little black outlines of animals. Five ducks in one row. Five turkeys in the next. Out of twenty animals on my target sheet I managed to nip the toe of one big horn sheep. But I'm thinking that if those turkeys were life size instead of an inch high, that I would have a pretty good shot at hitting one--even with one eye closed. Unless, of course, they were moving.