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.

WITO--Synchronized Kayaking

When this becomes an Olympic event, we'll be ready.

Wild Turkey

As in the National Wild Turkey Federation. They are sponsoring the women in the outdoor conference that Amidala and I are attending today. A little mother-daughter bonding in the great outdoors. We signed up to go fly fishing. And kayaking. And rifle marksmanshipping. Our only regret (besides the fact that we have to get up at 5:00am to get there on time) is that the trailer backing class was only offered at the same time as the flyfishing class. We both thought that trailer backing would be a great skill to have. When we were backing up in my car last week, we (and by we I mean me) scraped the bumper on the garage. (What a couple of turkeys-as in the Meleagris gallopavo variety.) And we didn't even have a trailer. If we survive out day with sharp hooks and boats and guns we will let you know how it goes. Probably our instructors will need a little wild turkey (as in the Kentucky bourbon whiskey variety) by the end of the day.
FYI--My friend the game warden says that wild turkeys were introduced to Wyoming as an exchange with another state for some antelope. You have to win a drawing to get a license to hunt wild turkey in Wyoming. We didn't enter the drawing, so we won't be shooting any turkeys. You have to play to win.

Dear Amanda,

I know this is how you lived at Gram's house, but this is not Gram's house. Glad you are here and that your car is unpacked. Sorry it is unpacked all over your bedroom. Sorry you are probably going to pack it all back in you car and drive it back across the USA. Glad you are well on your way to being a responsible adult (who moves out of my house). Roots and wings. Does being a Mom ever get easier?

Love,

Your Mom

First Day Homework

Yesterday was the first day of school. If the Goob gets his way he will be dropping out after the eighth grade, so that will be the last first day of school for me as a mom. Too bad, cause I am getting good at it. I covered the Social Studies book and filled out all of my papers. Some ingenious soul at Dodge City School district copied all the forms that need filled out and returned on blue paper. Why hasn't anyone thought of this before. And they put all the papers a mom needs in a 5 cent folder. Now if I can just remember the gym clothes...

The Devil, You Say

Just outside of Dodge City there is a geological hole in the ground called Devil's Kitchen. We visited it this week. (And crossed it off the list!) I was the designated 911 caller, which means that I had to stay a safe distance from all edges and take photographs of the others as evidence in case they plummetted to their early deaths.

Here are Mark and the Goob as near to the edge as they wanted to be.

Here are the STP and and his daughter as close to the edge as they could be before I screamed like a banshee. Then they leaned over the edge and then they threw rocks over the edge.

Then they found a new, higher, more dangerous edge much farther away from me. Out of earshot and almost out of camera range.

The Goob and Mark ventured towards them. (as the STP and his daughter egged them on toward the edge)

Although I couldn't hear anything, it appears the STP's daughter may have resorted to taunting.

Mark, who is still trying to win the STP's daughter's heart (and the STP's approval) ventured over the edge. The Goob, who is secure in his place in the family (and has his Mom's sense of adventure) turned back.

Love conquers all. And they tell me the view from there was magnificent. I took their word for it.

Here is the photographic evidence that I was also there. This a family picture that the STP's daughter took for us. The Goob is in the picture. He's in the top left--in the car.

Look What We Built

School starts on Tuesday. Is that the end of summer? Or do we have until the first day of Fall to finish off the list? This week off the 'Things to Do' list: Build a Workbench for the garage. First the STP drew what he thought it would look like. Then I suggested he get some input from someone who might know what they were doing. Then we stopped speaking for a little while. Then he called Micah. And they talked measurements and tools. And then I went away for the day and he and Mark built the workbench. And it is wonderful. And we are still happily married. Thanks Micah and Mark.

What People Are Talking About in Dodge City

Dodge City--Spotted leaving the house this morning wearing short shorts was the Small Town Pastor's daughter. Some thought the outfit was scandalously inappropriate for someone in her position, while a few remarked that it was not altogether unusual apparel for somone who was going running on a hot summer morning. The STP's daughter was quoted as saying, "At least they weren't 'mom shorts' like Mrs. Obama was caught wearing on her Western vacation."

Evidently it is a slow news week everywhere.

A Quarter for Your Thoughts

The new quarters are out. They are the fourth in the territory quarters. American Samoa. And they have a saying on them that means,"Samoa, God is First." I like that for a motto. I like getting new quarters at Dodge City Federal. I get them a roll at a time and I open them and look how shiny they are and I line them up in my change holder. And I give them to people. People that I like a lot. Or people who don't smile. I just slip them a God is First quarter in with their change. I'm not sure it does anything for them, but it makes me feel better. Like I am somehow handing out sneaky little bits of joy. Seventy nine cents is your change. Here are 2 regular quarters, one God is First reminder, and 4 shiny new pennies with Lincoln's log cabin on them. Have a great day. Sometimes, when you work at the bank, you have to occupy your mind and make your own fun anyway you can. Fortunately, I'm pretty good at it.

Rodents in Danger of Being Shot

The sunflowers are blooming.

And they are disappearing.

Being stolen by rogue squirrels.

Entire flower heads, snipped off in their prime, carried along and over the fence and up the

closest tree.

Dixie sounds the alarm, but she is unable to climb trees.

Lucky thing for the squirrels.

Pest-O, Change-O!

Back in the early Spring I bought a handful of seed packets with the hope that Winter would indeed end. In June I finally planted them. Except for the ones that needed planted in the fall. (Those I put away in a safe place that I can't currently remember or locate.) Under the sunflowers along the front fence I threw in a few hollyhock seeds and under the sunflowers in the back I threw in some butterfly weed seeds. The holly hocks have not amounted to a hill of beans. But the butterfly weed flourished. It said to thin them, but of course I didn't have the heart to pull out little perennials. I wasn't sure if they would bloom this year, but I was hopeful. I thought of transplanting several in the front bed. I imagined them full of bright orange flowers. I had visions of flocks of monarch butterflies stopping off here on their way from Canada to Mexico. They were starting to look like they were going to bloom. Yesterday they first flower opened. And it wasn't flat and orange. It was tall and tiny and white. Like it was 'going to seed'. I made a close inspection and discovered that the plants had a strong smell. A vaguely familiar herbaceous smell. And the slow realization that I must have planted basil seeds there and not butterfly weed at all. So the only butterflies I will attract this fall will be Italian tourist butterflies.
On the positive side, I have a good crop of basil and a recipe for pesto sauce.

Aunt Vi

I am in the middle of a spray painting project. I am spray painting a filing cabinet sunrise yellow. So far I have emptied two cans and I still have a splotchy mess. And a headache. Maybe from breathing two cans worth of spraypaint fumes. Which made me start wondering about Aunt Vi again. And my memories of her. Seems I remember she had a boat. And she lived somewhere near Lewis burg. Or Lewis town. And she spraypainted her babies' shoes. (gold) And she spraypainted her shrubbery. (rainbow) And she had a goldfish pond in her backyard. And it was lined with spraypainted rocks. And in her basement there was at least one room lined with newspaper taped to the walls--with outlines of things she had spraypainted. And what I was wondering was if Aunt Vi really spraypainted things in a small enclosed room in her basement? And if she was related by blood or marriage? Anyone a little older than me or better memory than me (You know, whose brain isn't addled by paint fumes) who can help me out?
(L'il Chickie--you got anything on this one?)

Just Slap Me

This summer the STP said that if he ever starts a sentence with the words, "I know what the Bible says, BUT..." that we had permission to slap him.
So if I ever act like things are more important than people, just slap me.
If I ever tie money to relationships, just slap me.
If I ever forget that carrying my children around INSIDE me for 9 months was anything other than an enormous privilege and gift from God, just slap me.
If I ever act like my children owe me something for that, just slap me.
If I ever try to guilt you into anything, just slap me.
If I ever act holier-than-thou, just slap me.
Okay. Just slap me.

Mamma Mia, Abba Father

The Goober woke up Friday morning this week with the words to the ABBA song I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do in his head. "Darn your 'love song' CD," he said. In an effort to remove the ear worm from his head, the Goober's dad and I played the song and sang along (and danced around the kitchen in each other's arms before breakfast). The result was that it was now in all of our heads. For the rest of the day.

Love me or leave me. Make the choice, but believe me, I love you. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.

Saturday we went to a teleconference and heard Del Tackett speak about faith. And he said that God created man in His image. And He made man to be loved by Him and to freely love Him back. And that to freely love, man needed to have a free will. And a choice. And consequently, freedom to make a bad choice. And as I listened to the speaker, I heard the words to that song still floating around in my head. Only some of the pronouns were capitalized. Like this.

Love Me or leave Me.

Make your choice, but believe Me, I love you.

I do, I do, I do , I do, I do.

Just imagine it. Our Father God singing a love song to His child. Waking him up with the reassurance that he is loved (even if he chooses poorly today).
Zephaniah 3:17
And how cool is it that 'father' in Aramaic is 'abba'?

Good Morning...

...Glory!

A Dedicated Fungus, First Fruits, and Other Unusual Things in the Yard

It has been unusually wet this summer. So much so that this morning several large mushrooms had erupted in the front yard.

It takes a very dedicated mushroom to grow here in Dodge City.

The weather took a turn toward the more unusual this afternoon, as it even made the national map on the weather channel. Finally a big red dot in the middle of the Wyoming map. (Unfortunately, it was not a new Ikea location.) It was a large severe thunderstorm complete with half dollar sized hail and tornado warnings headed right for us. As a respecter of tornado warnings from our days in Alabama, we headed to the basement.

The storm passed just to the north of us and all we got was a little rain, a lot of wind and a few sizable hailstones.

See where this one left a small crater in the ground? I think it was significantly bigger than a half dollar, but I only had a quarter to use for comparison.

Also, while we are outside I took a picture of the one and only tomato in my 'garden'. I think it the largest tomato I have ever grown. I was thankful it did not get beaten to death by hailstones.

It is, however, still significantly smaller than a quarter. Now if I can just keep it from getting tomato rot fungus. I hear that is a problem in unusually wet years.

Resume Working?

Sent out a resume this week. Have an interview next week. I have reached the point where I have all the skills and experience necessary to do this job. Still not sure I want it. It's not that I mind working. Just that I miss not working.
Plus, I have been putting off cleaning the downstairs bathroom. How would I ever get that done if I am working more?
Praying that it will be clear if this is what I should do. Like maybe they will have a dedicated fungi lab...

I Got Nothin'

I was wondering why no one has commented on my hog wrestling post. I guess it just left you all speechless. And then I found that I had nothing to follow it with. Seems I might have underestimated the power of pigs. Check back tomorrow.

Hog Wrestling 101--When Pigs Fly

A primer for the masses...

Okay, I will try to explain this. First you need a hog wrestling ring. Filled with a very slippery mud-like substance. You will need some hogs. (Dodge City has a local source for all of these things. They can bring it to a county fair near you.) You will need to form a team of four people. (Coed teams are permissible up through Junior High. After this you will need either four men or four women.) I have no idea if there are training sessions for this or not. It is, however, a great reason to make matching t-shirts. My favorite hog wrestling outfits included pink shirts and pigtails tied up with hot pink curly ribbons. We will start with the basics.

The teams enter the ring through one gate. The pig enters through a gate on the opposite side. The round begins when the county extension agent 'drops the flag'.

The object is to place the pig in the barrel in the center of the ring.

Once the pig is in the barrel, you raise your hands in the air to signal your victory and end the round.

Some notes: The bigger you are, the bigger the pig. And the bigger the barrel. The barrel has sawdust in the bottom and the pig has to go in 'butt first.' Some pigs squeal. Some pigs run faster than others. You are at the mercy of the pig choosers. This is a timed event and if you are not successful a timer sounds and mercifully the round ends.

Okay, here it is all together.

The winning team took just over 8 seconds! You will just have to imagine a pig flying 'butt first' into a barrel. The winning team was sponsored by a local church. The STP has the outreach committee looking into this.

Also, I think this has wedding reception written all over it. If The Goober gets married before Amidala--forget dancing in the pig trough. Bridesmaids vs. Groomsmen. My Pig Fat Western Wedding. Sooo-eee!

Priceless

I found 4 chairs at a yard sale. They had red velvet cushions. They cost $1.00 each. I bought them for my pseudo-patio. They looked like this.

I recovered the cushions to be more patio friendly. Now they look like this:

So lets review.

One patio table $5.00

Patio dishes for 12 $3.00

Four patio chairs $4.00

Green vase and frog $0.15

Garage sale friends who stop by for lemonade--Priceless!

Good Morning, Sunshine...

...you brighten my day.

(Just a little sunshine for all of my girls who are having rainy days.)