The Golb Yawaevig or Is Everything Just a Little Backwards?

Got my own copy of the Square Foot Garden book in the mail today.  (From my favorite sister.)  Went to the Dodge City Co-op to get my ingredients for the mix for in my raised bed.  Bought peat moss and some starter compost and discussed vermiculite with the co-op guy.  This is my second attempt to buy vermiculite from the Co-op.  The Co-op Guy is not a fan of vermiculite.  I wasn't asking him to marry 4 cubic feet of vermiculite.  Or even use vermiculite in his garden.  I just wanted him to sell me some.  Evidently, he doesn't have any to sell.  But he will get some.  He will not, however, commit to when he will get some.  I told him my garden is behind.  He says his garden is behind too.  Says his windowsills are covered with plants.  Plants?  I don't even have any dirt.  I think I win the behinder prize. 
It was 30 degrees, 60 mph winds, and snowing here in Dodge City today.  Glad I didn't have any plants in my garden to freeze, or any dirt to blow away.  Thanks Co-op guy. 

Obsession

Still thinking about my overzealous dental hygiene.  And wondering why I don't get obsessed and hooked on things that would benefit me.  Why do Diet Pepsi and Milky Way bars appeal to me so much more than baby carrots. Why don't I ever fixate on dusting or vacuuming the way I do on browsing and googling.  Why can't I not stop running, instead of having to force myself to exercise.  Why isn't organization my vice, instead of high clutter tolerance.  (HCT-my newest disorder :) )  Why aren't I as good at finishing things as I am about starting them.  Hold that thought...I need to go floss.

Not There Yet

I slept over at the hospital last night.  I packed my regular toothbrush, instead of my spinning electric one that I have to use because I brush too hard. I've stopped flossing multiple times a day.  I figured I could use a regular toothbrush if I just remembered to brush lightly.  After all, it is a soft toothbrush. So this morning while I was brushing my teeth, I was thinking about how well I was doing.  I thought maybe I would not have to pack my electric toothbrush for my week vacation to the Grand Canyon.  I thought about my gum surgeries and how I was never going to do that again.  I wondered if the Goob brushed his teeth today.  Or last night.  I wondered if it was too early to call the STP and see how he slept and tell him about my toothbrush and that I loved him.   And when I was done thinking and brushing, my gums were bleeding. 
Perhaps overzelaous teethbrushing is like an addiction I may never get completely over. 
Hi, I'm Brenda, and I'm an overzealous tooth brusher.

Can I Help?

So the Goob's track coach, who I am indebted to, because not only does he put up with the Goob at track but is also his math teacher, asked me last week if I could help at this week's track meet.  I am good at helping at sporting events.  I was quite the soccer mom back in the day.   I excel in the concession stand.  But there was no concession stand at the track meet.  (This is another reason the Goob is not a fan of track.  After all, what kind of sporting event can it be without a decent concession stand?)  The Goob came home on Friday and said I would be raking the sand pits.  My friend said this was not a bad job;  where I didn't want to be was the shot put.  So I wrapped my mind around raking sand all day and getting a little sun--kind of a zen-gardening frame of mind. 
When I arrived at the track, the coach (who remember has had my beloved son every day in class for the last two years) said I would be working with Coach History Teacher at the discus.  Just beyond the shot put in more ways than one. (Somehow I think this plan may have been hatched in the teacher's lounge.)

This is the view of the track from the discus court field station place.  See all those middle schoolers?  Everyone of them threw the discus.  At least three times.  My job was to run one end of the measuring tape so they would know how far they threw. 
My dad had a big tape that he would never let me touch.  After Saturday I no longer have any desire to touch the tape. 

Coach History Teacher's Wife ran the end of tape out in the field.  When she bent over her back side pointed to the train tracks.

I ran the end of the tape through the middle of the circle. So when I squatted down or bent over to hold the tape, my back side pointed to the spectators.  A thousand times.  Remember I had dressed thinking I would be raking designs in large Japanese sand pits.  So I had to leave my sweatshirt on even when the sun was beating down.  And today it is slightly painful to go up and down the stairs.  (Look closely, you can see the tape in the dirt in front of the circle.)


I knew that I would blog this and I thought about asking the Goob to take a picture of my back side through the fencing.  But I decided against that. That would make me some kind of blogging nut.  Not to mention be the ultimate in embarrassing for more than one of us. 

So here is my advice if you ever are asked to help at a track meet:
1.  Try to think up a good reason you can not help.
2.  Arrive early and grab a rake.
3.  Offer to 'shag' discuses  disci whatever is being thrown.
4.  Dress in layers.  Wear a shirt and pants that pass the squat test.
5.  Do not touch your nose and upper lip after you have touched the tape which has been pulled through the dirt.

Can I quit track?

Track Update

The Goob is out for track again this year.  You may recall that last year was a painfully long and whining season.  This year he is again on the team under duress, but we negotiated a no whining clause into his contract before the season began.   (Plus the weather has been more outdoor friendly.) 

So here he is throwing the discus.  (Notice his shoes do not velcro this year.)

 

And here he is running the first leg of the 800 medley relay.  (Notice there are other runners in the same picture.)  Because these events have not been run in fifteen years, there is a possiblility that school records were set yesterday.  How ironic would it be if the Goob ends up in the record books?  Oh, really ironic.  Only one more month of middle school.  I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I Love This Plan

The other night Ghostbusters was on TV.  I still have never seen this movie in its entirety.  But here was a quote from near the end when the staypuft marshmallow guy is tromping through whatever city: 
I love this plan.  I'm excited to be a part of it.  I love this quote.  I can't believe this isn't the most quoted line from this film.  I think it could be way more useful than:  Who you gonna call? 

I plan to use this new quote a lot.  Today I am using (If you don't leave a space between am and using its quite amusing.  Literally.) it in reference to my cell phone plan.  Last month I used almost 800 minutes on my cell phone.  Remember not that long ago I had a plan with 30 minutes and most months I had 17 left over.  And I texted and I pixflixed this month. I am really getting my money's worth out of my cell phone plan now.  So I just wanted to say:  I love this plan.  I'm excited to be a part of it.
Other plans I'm excited to be a part of:
   My square foot garden  (even though I have no vermiculite)
   Running the C25K program (with my dog, my sister, her daughter, and my daughter(s) )
   Amidala's NFL rivalry wedding.  (I hear they are drafting the groomsmen this week.)
 

Crafting With Ms Brenda

The Slovakian Princess sent me a link to the essential life skill of toilet paper origami.  So I did a little research to see if this indeed essential, or even a skill.

  I started with the basic triangle.  If this is a skill, I believe I have mastered it.  If I apply for a position at a hotel, I will list it on my resume.

From here I moved on to the diamond.  A little trickier, but it is the one I would use in public bathrooms.  I think the extra effort is evident.

Next I tried some of the fanfolds, but I think this would work better with the toilet paper my mom buys.  A crispier version.  (My roll from downstairs was a little too soft.) 

You can just go to the web site if you are still interested and try these yourself.  There are very good directions available.  With pictures.  You can also buy a book or two dedicated to this topic.  I might check to see if I can just borrow one from the library, rather than invest in my own copy.  Because pretty much I have spent all the time and energy I am going to on toilet paper origami. 

Here then is my bottom line on TP origami:  

This is not essential in my world.  In my world the toilet paper is not even on a holder.  It just sits on its end.  This eliminates the hassle of whether the paper should roll off over or under. In the upstairs bathroom, it has a fancy place to sit. 

In the downstairs bathroom, it is not so fancy. 

Me:  I'm trying toilet paper origami.

STP:  I know.  I went downstairs to the bathroom.

Me:  Oh, did you think you were in a fancy hotel?

STP:  No, there was no toilet paper there.  I thought I was in a really cheap hotel.

Me:  Oh, sorry.

And I am a crumpler, not a folder, anyway.

Remember the Goal

Alex's best friend drove him home from youth group last evening.  Like in a car.  Okay, he just has his permit and it was mini-van and his mother was in the car, but STILL!!  Last week we went to a high school orientation and scheduling meeting.  (Remember when the child was anti-social and dropping out of school after eighth grade?)  Sometimes the hardest thing about parenting is just sticking with it for the long haul.

I Like To Move It

Just back from zumba. Going to work/retreat this weekend.  Will finish up week 3 c25k.  Let me just say that 3 minutes is a lot longer than 90 seconds.

Nothing But My Feelings

When the girls were little and would fall down, I would pick them up, brush them off and proclaim that nothing was hurt except their feelings.  As they got a little older and I got a little more secure in my parenting abilities, I could do this from across the room.  It was the my equivalent of 'rub some dirt on it'.  Once The Slovakian Princess plummetted from a pickle bucket that she used to reach the kitchen counter.  I watched her fall, heard her scream, and ran to her to see if she was conscious, gather up any teeth she had knocked out and decide if I should load her in the car and meet the ambulance half way to town.  When I couldn't find any spurting blood or protruding bones, I asked her what she had hurt.  Between sobs, she managed to gasp, "My feelings."

Last night the STP hurt my feelings.  It was to his disadvantage that it happened while I was watching my new favorite show "Parenthood".  So I decided that I would rather be married to Adam Braverman.  Who would just want to go for a walk with me.  Who would clean up my bike without being asked.  Who would certainly sit on the couch with me, especially if I ASKED HIM!!!  (Also, I should mention, that the STP did sit on the couch when I asked him. It was just that he didn't have the right attitude.)  So I went to bed mad at the STP.  The STP did not notice.  The STP went to bed exhausted, sick with a lingering head cold. This morning I woke up still upset with the STP.  The STP did not acknowledge my deep disappointment.    The STP woke up rested, in love with the world, and deeply in love with me.  He kissed me goodbye and I kissed him back.  I decided not to replace his picture in my wallet with Adam Braverman's. 

A Sparkle Dun Done

This is the fish-eye view of chapter 6--The Sparkle Dun. 

And this is the fish-eye view of my first attempt to tie a sparkle dun.

  I think the adptations I made will make this an excellent fly to use in heavy pocket water of mountain trout streams.  The loosely dubbed body will allow air to be trapped within the dubbing wraps and will aid floatation.  And the total lack of hackles will allow it to ride low on the water.  I plan to use it when I fish in less pressured wilderness streams. 
I am ready to move on to chapter 7, but first I need to locate a stripped goose biot. (I am not making this up.)  If you have an extra goose biot you are willing to send my way, I may be willing to strip it myself.  Just let me know.  Also, even though I have a hair stacker I (obviously) don't know how to use it.  And if you know what heavy pocket water looks like or what pressures a wilderness stream, I could use that information as well. 

Memories of Fishing

My sister took her kids (and her nutcracker(?)) fishing.  You can read about it here.  She tells them they go fishing "for the memories". And that makes me wonder why I have a fascination with fishing.  And I'm wondering if 'creating' memories is a good thing or not. 
When I was a young mother (read: a young women with young children) I did a lot of things with my kids. The problem with this, which I discovered much later, is that they have no memories of me as a young mother.  And moreover, they have very few memories of their own young lives. And another problem is that I have very little control over their memories. I once orchestrated a trip through New England, which included the Statue of Liberty, whale watching off of Cape Cod, and star-gazing at Acadia National Park, not to mention learning the shapes, names, and capitals of each of the New England states.  Along the way we took a few pictures, and had a very good time.  (I have precious memories of this trip.)  After the trip, when asked, they could recite and recognize all the states and capitals.  And when asked, they declared their favorite part of the whole trip  (which included eating lobster, catching hermit crabs, and Mystic Seaport Aquarium) was the day I did laundry and their Dad played with them at the playground. 
Today, they have no memories of this trip at all. 
What they do remember is the vacation I took them on to Williamsburg, Virginia which included 125 degree weather, lemonade without ice, a closed wigmaker's shop, vending machine candy for supper, watching junk yard wars on TV, and the fact that we DID NOT go to a water park or see fireworks on the 4th of July.  I was a middle aged woman, and they were middle-schoolers. (If we took any pictures on this trip, I'm pretty sure we never printed them.) 
I have memories of fishing with my Dad.  Once. They include walking a long way--through the woods with a troup of brothers, sisters, and maybe cousins.  A stream that is about a foot or a foot and a half wide.  I don't remember holding a pole, or seeing a fish.  I don't remember it being a particularly good experience. 
So what I'm wondering is if my Dad remembers fishing with me.  If my brother remembers catching a fish or if my sister remembers fishing at all.  Is my desire to fish an attempt to recapture or create my own memories?  Does my sister take her kids fishing because she has good memories of fishing, or no memories of fishing?  Will her kids fish with her grandkids because they have good memories of fishing?  Or are they too old already and will remember that they hate putting worms on hooks and taking hooks out of fish mouths, not to mention the look and taste of fish? 
This year I will take my last child to the Grand Canyon.  To look at a big hole in the ground as he describes it.  He will read a book in the back seat and glance out the window occasionally.  I am an older, wiser mother who will not put a lot of pressure on him or on myself to have a memorable time.  The really nice thing about being an older woman, is that my memories won't last for long.

Zumba, C25K, FaceBook?

I am a fan of Ashton Kutcher on FaceBook.  Ashton likes this video.  Do not click this link unless you have 9 minutes you have not already wasted on FaceBook.  It combines FaceBook and a workout.  What I'm wondering is: Can I count the time I spend on FaceBook as workout time?  Or would that require me to learn to upload pictures?  Cause I'm still having digital image issues. 
And I'm still not a big fan of FaceBook.  I am not clever enough to be good at FaceBook.  Also, I am wanting to click the unlike button, but I am afraid of what that does. 
Also, one more online confession.  Yesterday I went cybershopping and filled my cart.  And then I just left it sit.  I didn't check-out.  I didn't empty my cart.  I just left it and logged off.  It was like all the good parts of shopping (browsing, choosing, finding bargains, imagining how happy all these things would make me), without all the bad parts (the dressing room and spending money). Is my cart still out there?  Does someone else have to come along and empty it?  If I have something in my cart, can someone else just snatch it from my cart?  Even if I am on my way to check out?
Today I am going to shop for trucks and cars online.  And then I am going to walk to work.
I should have titled this post Random Thoughts With No Purpose or Direction.  Then you would have known right up front not to waste your time reading it.

Midweek Encouragement

Whenever I vote for my favorite ideas at the refresh everything website, the Pepsi site generates little comments.  Things like 
Awesome!  Gracias! Sweet! Good job! 
I can vote for 10 ideas each day.  On both of my e-mail addresses and again by logging in through my FaceBook page.  I do it just to get all the positive feedback. 
Cool!  Love it!  Boom!  Right on! 
Today I am resolving to give more positve feedback. 
Oh yeah!  Rock on! Bueno! Nice one! 
In addition to the much needed community center here in Dodge City, and parks in Nanty-glo, I am voting for the clown nose club to provide unconditional love and happiness to PSU.  I don't think you can get much more encouraging than unconditional love and happiness. 
May your day be filled with lots of both.
Yeah, baby!

One Saturday Morning

Ah, my old friend, the overhead projector.  The precursor to the video projector.  In church basement closets everywhere.

And advantage #73 of being married to an STP--easy access to the overhead projector.

The STP brought it home for me and I set it on a chair in the big room.  (Have I ever mentioned I painted three chairs Indian Gem?) And I projected my homemade custom overhead on the wall.

And I transferred the image to the wall by tracing with a pencil.  And another pencil.   And another pencil.  And then I resharpened my pencils and traced some more.

And then I painted with my Baker's Chocolate paint.  It was like a paint-by-number--with only one number.

And what I ended up with was two western pine trees silhouetted on the Fall Leaf big room wall.

Another Ta Da!  Big Reveal moment.

Overhead projector         no charge
Leftover brown paint       no charge
Pencils, sponge brush      no charge
Custom wall art               Okay, it's no David Bromstad, but I'm happy with it.

And I still have a little paint left in my quart can of Baker's Chocolate...  And that window I salvaged/rescued from the Shell Community Center...

Eggsactly The Way It Should Be

Wasn't sure we needed to get out the Easter baskets this year.  No one here who believes that bunnies lay colored eggs.  Everyone knows what puts the magic in the magic eggs.  But the Goob has always been a child who loves routine and to whom traditions are important.  So we found the baskets, filled them with that annoying grass that mutiplies and spreads throughout the house, and made plans to color the eggs.  We used the tablecloth.  The one we only use for drying homemade noodles and blotting the Easter eggs.   And there is something comforting and, well, familiar about it.

We were a little short of yellow food coloring.  And the Goob was slow with the red color.  So we ended up with an abundance of eggs in shades of green. 

 

And just because there were only three of us, and none of us were very little, doesn't mean we didn't make a mess, or have an 'accident' or two. 

The Goob worked very hard on the Oscar egg.  But try as he may, it kept getting prettier and prettier with each new cup of dye he put it in.

In fact it was not ugly enough to warrant a picture. 

And after we went to bed on Saturday, the bunny came and left chocolate eggs and jelly beans in our baskets.  And the bizzarre clock Sprung ahead an hour, BUT WE REMEMBERED!!!! and DID NOT arrive an hour early to sunrise service.  And today we are eating deviled eggs and split pea soup.  And maybe the Goob gets his love of routine and tradition from his mom. 

Smile

Zumba cool down song. I have no idea who Uncle Kracker is, but today he made me smile. Glad I got up early and went to zumba. The STP was right about this one. I think I will go wake him up.

SMILE Lyrics - UNCLE KRACKER

Last Weekend's Project

I want to tell you about the project I did this weekend because it didn't cost me anything and it involved paint, but first I need to back up and show you last week's project. 

Remember last summer when my garden was as big as a flower pot?  And I promised the STP would build me a much bigger raised bed garden this year?  Well here is the beginning.  Sixteen square feet of potential garden.  According to all I have read about raised beds this should be adequate to feed 1/2 of one person for one season.  Or to grow two healthy tomato plants and two pepper plants and an onion. Or one zucchini plant. 

At any rate, it is a good beginning.  And the STP got to use his tools.  Like this corner vise he had to have last year to build the flower boxes.  And his cordless drill/screwdriver that his wonderful wife got him last year for Christmas so he could build her things like flower and garden boxes. 

And, then, because the STP is henpecked loves his wife so much, he added these little pretties on the front corners so they coordinate with her fence posts.

Sadly, when I went to paint the garden box, I discovered that the paint bucket was left in the garage over the winter, and had gone through several freeze thaw cycles.  The internet advised that if the frozen paint looks like cottage cheese when it thaws, it is no good.  So I just stirred it up as well as possible, let the curds settle to the bottom and used the whey to 'stain' my garden box.  Ta Da!

I went to the Co-op to inquire about vermiculite, but they did not have any.  Plus, it is snowing this weekend, so there is no hurry to plant anything.  I will update you when there is actually dirt and seeds/plants in my garden.  This year's watering system will be a bucket and a cup, but next on the STP's list is a compost box. 

And here is a little hint about my most recent project:  Any guesses?

(Aunt Sara's) Garlic Tomato Dip

1 can petite diced tomatoes
3/4 cup olive oil
1 tsp. garlic powder
2 Tbs. Italian seasoning
1 dash salt
1 dash pepper
2 Tbs. minced garlic

Mix and let marinate for 24 hrs.
Serve with French or baguette bread.