Little Cup of Happiness-With Stems

The List

We are keeping the 'summer' list on the marker board. It is a fluid kind of thing. We cross off the things we have done. And we add new things as we think of them. Sometimes we add them after we do them and then cross them off immediately. That's the way all real list makers do it.

One of our newest additons is shoot rodents. Thanks to the real adult I floated with down the Platte River. I think it was a divine appointment. Until I met her I didn't even know I wanted to shoot rodents. Even now I just want to get to know her better, but what better way to bond than with a gun in your hand. Maybe I'll take along my patio dishes and after we have killed our quota we can eat cherries with stems. I think she was serious about shooting rodents. I hope it wasn't a jackelope kind of thing. If it was, I will reciprocate with an invitation to come over and hunt snipes.

I bought a fly rod at Cabela's yesterday.

And the list goes on....

Wyoming Wildflowers

For those of you who think Wyoming is big rocky piles of dirt...Sometimes it rains and the piles of dirt burst into bloom. Inexplicably.

Of course, this is unusual.

If I Only Had A Patio

Tomorrow we are going to the Big City to do a little shopping. Check out the new Cabelos. Stock up on toilet paper. Eat in a chain restaurant (as seen on TV). But my favorite purchase this week will have come from a yard sale right here in Dodge City. It is so mid-century. And so versatile. And so just what I needed for this summer.

It is patio snack dishes. Oh, yes it is.

Evidently, everyone who was married in the 1950's had a set of these little glass dishes with little glass cups. And for an unknown reason I am attracted to them. So for $1.00 I could have my own set. White glass with a little pattern. But what would I do with 4 little dishes and 4 little cups? But wait. There were three sets. Service for twelve. So now I had to have them. After all, they were in their original boxes. For perhaps the same unknown reason this made them more attractive to me.

Just imagine.. me and the church ladies. With little egg salad sandwiches. Sipping tea with our pinkies sticking out.

...Or the STP and I on the patio. With 10 of our closest friends. With our patio dishes heaped with tortilla chips and our little cups full of fresh salsa.

...Or maybe just me on the porch swing with chocolate syrup in the little cup and banana slices on the little plate.

I've already had $3.00 worth of fun. Come on over join in.

I Know This Botanist...

...who asked if we ate any red snow in the mountains. In fact we saw red snow. Ever the microbiologist myself, my first thought was microbes. Ever the videogamer, the Goob's first thought was the blood of sledriders who had gone before us. He made and threw a few red snow balls, but we applied what we already knew about eating colored snow and did not even try the red variety. Here is what I now know about red snow:

Watermelon snow, also called snow algae, is snow that is reddish or pink in color, with the slight scent of a fresh watermelon. This type of snow is common during the summer in alpine and coastal polar regions worldwide.
Watermelon snow is caused by the presence mainly of Chlamydomonas nivalis, a species of green algae containing a secondary red carotenoid pigment (astaxanthin) in addition to chlorophyll. Unlike most species of fresh-water algae, it is cryophilic (cold-loving) and thrives in freezing water.

And I guess it is okay to eat it, because the botanist says it tastes like watermelon. So the next time I am sled riding in summer, I will at least smell the red snow.

While we are on the subject of botany, this is my way cool flame plant watered with miracle-gro.

This is an identical plant watered with white vinegar (which looks a lot like water). I'm not much of a botanist, but I advise against watering with vinegar.

Tubing, Part 2

To celebrate our anniversary the STP and I went for a drive. To celebrate Father's Day we took the Goob with us to the mountains. In search of a little snow. Because... To celebrate our first first day of summer in Wyoming we went sled riding.

Until we ran out of snow.Then we did a little hiking.A little higher in the mountains.Because we had a lot to celebrate .

Tubing, Part 1

Also while at camp we went tubing on the Platte River. This involves much the same stress as the waterpark, only you are wearing your swim attire in front of people you do know and will see again. I'm pretty much over the 'how I look in a bathing suit' thing. The thing I can't get past is how to get into and out of an innertube. I struggle with this at waterslides and in the wave pool. So I decided to be smart and just follow the example of those I was with. The problem with this plan was that I was with middle school girls. They stepped into their innertubes and I stepped into my innertube. They pulled their tubes up to their waists and I did the same. (There was just a brief moment of panic when the tube encountered my hips, but all was well. Sigh of relief.) Then we waded in to the water. And here's where my plan went awry. Once we were floating in the water they just pulled their knees, followed by their feet, up through the center of the tube. Well my body does not work that way. Bend that way. Or fit that way. So I floated the first part of the river hanging through my tube, chatting with middle school girls about how fat they are and what boys they like. With my life vest strangling me. And my bottom half scraping on rocks. At the half way point we stopped and the STP helped me flop backwards on top of the tube without flipping completely over. And I floated the second half of the trip chatting with a real adult about spiritual things. And then I had to get out of my tube. Let's just say it was about as graceful as getting on a horse. I'm thinking there must be a trick to this that no one is telling me. I would google 'getting in and out of an innertube' but I'm afraid there will be a you-tube video of me on the Platte. And somethings I'd rather not know.

Rhoda Who?

One of the available activities at camp is horseback riding. Several semi-local cowboys bring in their horses and let the kids ride them. The large-and-in-charge cowboy said he grew up around horses and rode in the rodeo and as part of his job so he underestimated the thrill it is for 'city kids' to ride a horse. Certainly the kids were excited about it. And I wanted to try it, too. The wranglers chose which horse you would ride based on your ability. So I told him I had never been on a horse before, because I thought it was better to understate my ability. And maybe that one time I went on a trailride a gazillion years ago really counted for nothing. (Turns out it was impossible to understate my ability.) So they chose Brownie for me to ride. And they had to change the saddle from the little kids one to an adult sized one. And then they asked it I could put my left foot in this stirrup. The one that was higher than my waist. Good question. But I managed that without much difficulty. And then they said just grab onto the saddle and pull myself up. So I tried it. And I ended up hanging on the side of the horse with one foot in the stirrup, and the other somewhere over my head. (My butt did not get the message that it should follow.) A little help here. Neither cowboy was inclined to grab my bottom and heave it upward for me. So I struggled and finally managed to right myself in the saddle. NOT a pretty sight. Fortunately it turns out that Brownie was about 25 years old, which evidently in horse years is about 1 week shy of dead. So Brownie and I walked around the arena and chatted with cowboys, who talk more than I expected them to and were more polite than I expected as well. And so I am crossing 'ride a horse' off of my list of things to do this summer.
Let me just say that getting off a horse is much easier than getting on.

What Are Amigos For?

The STP was the speaker at Kidz Kamp this week. I was a counselor for 8 middle school girls. I knew that all those years I spent living with and raising my own middle school girls would pay off someday. I know better than to say go to bed and be quiet. Might as well save my breath. I needed it to chase the middle school boys away.
I also recycled the Mission Mutt puppet into Amigo--man's best friend. The STP spoke about being a friend of God. And the dog introduced each talk. I had to borrow a suitcase and the dog just barely fit in it, so it was comical to pull him out of the suitcase. The dog was originally a big stuffed animal. and it just barks, and I don't even hide--just hold him up and bark for him, and then the STP interprets. And the Kampers were 3rd through 6th graders. And there were still questions about whether the dog was real or a puppet. The kids wrote out questions and the dog answered them. His answer to the girl who asked if he was a puppet was that he was insulted by the question and if she really had this question she should talk to her counselor because IT SHOULD BE OBVIOUS!!!
So today as I was putting his suitcase in the car, this little girl comes up and says, "So he was a puppet, wasn't he?"
And I give her the straight answer, "Yes, he's a puppet."
And she says, "I knew it! I didn't even ask my counselor. Do you know when I knew it? I knew it when he answered my question, because if he was a real dog he would have just said so."
Can't pull anything over on that one.

A Sad Blanket Story (or two)

My mom used to have an Indian blanket. (Maybe I will put this story in the book. I almost remember how it really happened.) It was green with multicolored Indian patterns woven into it. I think she got it with green stamps. She had it as long as I can remember. She was especially fond of it. My brother used it to build a teepee in the woods. Because after all, an Indian blanket would make a good teepee. Seems like we may have played in the teepee, along with the neighbor kids, for several days. Until someone else (because I'm pretty sure no one ever took credit for this idea) decided that what every good teepee needed was a fire. In the middle of it. The Indian blanket was evidently not intended for such a use. After a small neighborly bucket brigade, all that remained were a few smoke signals, a charred troll doll, and the scattered damp ashes of what was once my mom's Indian blanket. Fortunately, the woods also remained. (I will write more about the troll doll in the book about my siblings--the working title is "I'm Telling Mom".) The loss of the Indian blanket may continue to be a sadness to my mom.
That said, here is the sad blanket story:
When I went away to college, my mom made me a blanket for my dorm bed. It was a patchwork blanket made out of polyester double knit. Little squares cut from remnants of that indestructible synthetic fabric that all of our clothes were made out of in the seventies. The blanket was like a family fashion history in 4 inch squares. I had a dress for sixth grade graduation out of this material. And we had matching sister short outfits out of this one. Nancy had a pantsuit (!) out of this. I used the blanket 3 years at PSU, one year in Pgh, and then in it's second life it was repurposed as the blanket that traveled in the car. In case we ever broke down. In the cold. It became known as 'The Picnic Blanket'. It served as a tablecloth at countless picnics. On the sidelines of multitudes of soccer fields. I used it as a diaper changing pad and to put under my plants when I brought them home from the greenhouse. It got soaking wet when the tide came in at the beach. It went to New England for my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and the STP and I wrapped up in it together to watch the sunset on Cape Cod. This spring it went to track meets. After more than 30 years it still looked pretty much the same as when my mom made it. Except that a few of the squares were cotton knit, and after countless washings, those squares had just disintegrated. When we were home on vacation, my mom mentioned that a box of double knit quilt squares had surfaced at her neighbors house. Such a serendipity. I brought a few back with me with the intention of replacing the worn ones in my picnic blanket. I figured it was good for another 30 years. Except that when I went to get it from the back of the Subaru, it wasn't there. And it wasn't in the STP's car. And it wasn't in the laundry. And it wasn't in the closet and it wasn't in the Booger's track stuff. Near as I can figure, it never made it home from the last track meet of the season. (The one where his dad picked him up and failed to ask, "Do you have your mother's blanket? Not that I'm blaming him.) It makes me too sad to say that it is gone, but, short of it miraculously turning up at a thrift shop, I'm afraid that is the case.
So now I understand Grace just a little better.
Even though there is a great sadness about the loss of the blanket, I remind myself that it could be worse. After all, as the princess says, we are not on fire.
The End.

The moral of the stories may well be this old Indian saying: Don't trust your blanket to your eldest son.

Gladys Cravitts

This evening I went to the tug of war in downtown Dodge City as part of my Experience Summer in Wyoming. Actually, today I was only an observer. When I got there it was two teams of women in the middle of the street about to compete and one team needed an extra. I thought briefly about just throwing caution to the wind and joining in (the STP offered to hold my jacket), but there was a fire hose involved so I wisely observed. Turns out they spray a fire hose at the middle of the rope and the losing team gets pulled through the spray. Good use of discretion on my part. A little two wet and public for me. Then I pretended it was the weekend and ate supper at A&W. Nothing says summer like eating chili cheesefries and a root beer float in your car. Then I spied out my front window at the neighbors. Evidently in Wyoming, instead of playing catch in the yard with your dad, you play rodeo. Learn a few rope tricks. Lasso each other.

I still have a lot to learn here.

Lifesavers

The Goob is taking a Junior Lifesaving class at the Dodge City pool this week. It is part of my summer initiative to get the Goober out of the house. He was not really interested in taking any classes of any kind this summer. But I told him that someday he could work as a lifeguard, and hang out with the pool honeys, and get a tan, and get paid money. I'm pretty sure I had him at money. His friend is also in the class. A pleasant surprise to the Goob.
Friend's Mother: Goober, I didn't know you were interesting in being a lifeguard.
Goober: Neither did I.

Uncle Michael Weighs In II

Uncle M said...
Square D - The Donald Lane Story
1. Speling
2. Cardboard
3. The Misplaced Punchline
4. Accidents Don't Happen...And Other Basic Truths
5. Oven-Broiled, Open-Faced Sandwich (or Baked Eggs, or There Is No Such Thing As A Rotten Banana)
6. Remedial Plumbing
7. Keep Your Bearings

This comment made me laugh so much I wanted it right out here where I could see it.
Also, Lil'chickie is freaking me out. How does she know this little tidbit from the Grace Tells A Joke chapter, when it has not yet been published???!!? Scary.

My First Book

I finished 'A Girl Named Zippy' in one rather long, slightly interrupted sitting last evening. A very enjoyable read which made me wonder as I fell asleep what a book about my childhood would be like. And I woke up thinking that it would be mostly about my mother. And by the time I crawled out of bed, I had outlined several chapters in my head. And I had the title. It would be called 'Almost Grace'. There would be a chapter about Grace and Sports. Grace Before Meals. Grace and the Sewing Machine. The Grace School of Compassion. Grace Speaks Her Mind. Grace's Favorites. Grace and Beauty. Grace and Education. Grace and Technology. There are 2 things that keep me from starting to actually write the book. First, my mother is very much alive and even though she is not an avid reader and she would never read anything I wrote on the computer, she does have an uncanny way of finding things out. Secondly, I have 4 children of my own and I don't want them getting any ideas.
But I think we may need a 'sister's weekend' to further my research. Maybe if was a collaborative effort Grace wouldn't be upset with just me. Is it possible to share the bottom spot on the list?

Books in the Mail

The mother of all of my current grandchildren is sending me books in the mail this week. So far I have gotten two. One on Saturday and one today. Book #1 is called 'The Day I Turned Uncool' by Dan Zevin and is about growing up. Book #2 is called 'A Girl Named Zippy" by Haven Kimmel and is about growing up in a different sort of way. I am reading them simultaneously. One in the living room and one in the big room. I am also thawing ground beef. Because I am supposed to be cooking supper. But I have no idea what to cook and no desire to cook anything. So I guess summer is officially here. I think if I form the ground beef into patties that the STP will grill them. That's my plan anyway. As soon as I finish one more chapter.
I hope I get another book tomorrow.

Confessions of a Tableholic

Yard Sale Season has begun in earnest (and in Dodge City). Saw this rocking chair that reminded me of the one that was in Grandma Weinzierl's kitchen. Said if it squeaked like hers I would buy it. Now it is in my living room. Bring the babies over and I will rock them.






It enabled me to move the one I had in the living room out to the porch. Where it is a lovely compliment to my flower boxes and my big blue pot. Which I filled with the bounty of my therapeutic trip the Garden Center in Cody last weekend.







And while we are outside, let's just peek around the corner to the side yard. Lovely hanging gardens.

And wait...is that a new table? Yes it is. Another yard sale treasure. I don't want any of this stuff on your table. Could I just have THE TABLE???










Do you think my therapy could include planting things? Or painting things?

The Lilac Festival and the Not So Cookie Queen

As part of our Experience Wyoming Summer, we have decided to partake of local culture. So last night we went to see Star Trek on the biggest theatre screen in the state. Yes, if you are counting, that is the third time we have seen the movie. We will not see it again before it comes out for home entertainment. (Unless it happens to show up at the almost local Drive-in Theater before then. The drive-in experience is, after all, a cultural experience par none.) Must say I enjoyed the movie again. Need to get me some of those salt shakers shaped like the Enterprise. (If you don't know what salt shakers I am talking about, you should see the movie again and pay particular attention to the IOWA scenes.)
Ah, yes. The Lilac Festival. Evidently, the town just south of Dodge City is the Lilac Capital OF THE WORLD! And today was the annual lilac festival. Where they crown the Lilac Queeen. And choose the Lilac Baby. So the STP, the Boog, and I went. And we participated. Because, after all, this is Experience Wyoming Summer, not Observe Wyoming Summer. For his part the STP ate a grape flavored (lilac-colored) snowcone and worked the crowd. The Boog ate cotton candy, and played games (all sorts). And I...(wait for it)...entered the Cookie Baking Contest. Yes I did. I talked the Head Teller from Dodge City Federal into entering the contest also. I baked Gobs and she baked Gingersnaps. I thought the novelty factor might work in my favor, since very few people west of the Missisippi have eaten a Gob. I wondered if I should call them Whoopie Pies. But I was afraid if I won, the headline might read, "Local Pastor's Wife Makes Whoopie...story continued on page two." So, the Head Teller won second place with her gingersnaps, and I won nothing. My bad. I forgot about playing to my audience. I'm thinking that next year I will make Cowboy Cookies.
Next week is the Days of '49 Festival right here in Dodge City. I don't know exactly how I will participate, but it will NOT be any rodeo events.
So much culture--so little summer.

Rainy Days and Wednesdays

Another rainy day in Dodge City. And cold. It is all my fault, as you may have guessed. It's because I have the week off. Ever since I worked summers at Porky's it always rains on my days off. Co-workers used to check the schedule to be sure not to plan any outside activities on my day off. Five things I learned at Porky's:
1. How to put a curl on top of an ice cream cone.
2. It always rains on my day off.
3. The correct usage of the phrase,"Yep, yep, yahum. That's my goat."
4. Never mix chlorox and ammonia in your mop bucket.
5. I didn't want to work at Porky's for the rest of my life.
FYI--Working at Porky's did not make me smell like pigs. It made me smell like french fries.

I Don't Smell Like Pigs

prod·i·gal (prŏd'ĭ-gəl) adj.
1. Rashly or wastefully extravagant
2. Giving or given in abundance; lavish or profuse

Guess I've always thought prodigal meant wayward or lost. When the Goober first heard the story of the prodigal son long ago in Sunday School, he thought the idea of 'wild living' was quite appealling. I myself am newly enamored with the story of the prodigal son. I have a fresh intrigue with the parables that Jesus told. Somehow, when we hear them over and over, we forget that they never happened. Fiction. There wasn't really a Good Samaritan. Or a Prodigal Son. Just Jesus telling stories to reveal the heart of God. And I think God has a prodigal heart. So that when I come crawling out of the pigpen, He responds with open arms and a kiss, and new clothes, and a big party with barbecued beef. For me. Talk about wastefully extravagant. Because when I come home, I don't smell like pigs to God. No matter what my 'older brother' thinks.

My real older brother once worked on a pig farm. When he came home he smelled like pigs.

Heads in the Clouds

It is a dark and dreary day. It has rained all day and it is cold. Say it with me now,"It is never like this here." I was planning to paint things outside. Like my rocking chair for the porch, and the never ending fence.

But I have not had the best run of weather lately. As an example, I will share my pics from Mount Rushmore. Here is the view from the Grand View Terrace. Oops--a little foggy.

Let's get a little closer and see if we can see those president heads. After all, we drove half way across the United States to share this wonder with our son.

Maybe if we zoom in even closer. And squint.

Nope--just fog.
Some days are just like that. Not quite what you expect. A little less than clear.

But just know that there are heads up there in the clouds. Really, there are.

Who would think that I could miss a picture of things carved in granite?

Lassie? Lassie?

Oh the Muffler Man, Oh the Muffler Man...

Oh he came in the Spring...

What was in his hand?

Oh the muffler man,

Oh the muffler man,

Say, Hey! to the muffler man.

Rapid City, SD The muffler man is holding a pick axe and he has a mustache and a Harley Davidson belt buckle. He is much bigger than he looks. (I like him because he makes me look smaller.)
I tried to get a picture of my original muffler man on the way through Kittanning, PA but the STP's nose got in the way. It was a classic 'Lassie' moment.

You Should Just Know...

We arrived home safely. I attempted to download my vacation pics to the computer. I do not have enough disc space to do that. So I got my hair cut, and my eyebrows waxed, and planted my porch planter boxes instead. I went to work at Dodge City Federal and they offered me most of the summer off because they are overstaffed. So tomorrow I don't have to go to work at all (or the day after that, or the day after that...),so I will put away the stuff I dropped inside the door, and empty the dishwasher, and update the blog and try to find some space on the computer, and swing on my porch swing and drink iced tea. Wish you were here.