Recharging

I have not seen my battery charger for my camera since we returned from vacation.  I didn't really look for it until this evening.  Which means it has been missing for over a week.  By this time it could be anywhere in four states.  Or lost in my house or car.  (I'm not sure which is worse.)  So I am going to try and upload a few pics for you before the battery dies.  My reformatted hard drive has recognized my camera as new hardware.  I hope it won't ask me to locate the software that came in the box with it 6 months ago. 

So here goes.

So that took me about 15 minutes, so that is it. 

As I was trying to locate pictures I would share with you I realized how many posts I have to do.  So stayed tuned for:

Red Rocks From Sedona

Is The Sun Setting Again Tonight?

Arches National Park

Things to Photograph When You Finally Grow Tired of Red Rocks

How To Take Excellent Photographs Without Ever Leaving Your Car

Say What?

sorry, that domain isn't in my list of allowed rcpthosts

So, evidently you can e-mail me, but I can't e-mail you until you somehow get on my  list of allowed rcpthosts.  Good luck with that.

Data Clear Without Backup

The new machine I learned this week has a sample data clear button.  When you push it, it gives you an option of data clear with backup or just data clear.  My brain needs a button like this.
The STP reformatted my computer's hard drive this week.  He claims my pictures are safely stored in a totally disorganized manner (just the way I keep all my photos) somewhere very safe and invisible to me.  I just have a little twitch about this.  In the process he asked me a myriad of times if there were any files I needed off the computer.  No, no, I assured him.  Anything I needed was lost in the last reformatting of the hard drive. 
Turns out it also cleared out my e-mail contacts and inbox, which had my addresses and 986 messages I might have needed.  All the emails my siblings had ever sent me and any I could intercept between themselves (book research).   Addresses of people I certainly meant to keep in touch with.  I'm choosing to look at this as a fresh start instead of a data clear without backup.  But if you want me to be in touch, you will need to email me.   The good news is my e-mail works again.

Pool Days

I miss summer afternoons at the pool. I had two of them this week.  Finished two books and two magazines. Declared 'adult swim' whenever I wanted to cool off. Tomorrow we head for home and my 'real life', which doesn't include a pool.  I will apply sunscreen to go to the hospital on Monday to facilitate the transition.  I'll adjust, but not easily.

Keep Your Mind on the Traffic

In addition to 100 pictures of the sun setting, I have about 1000 pictures of rocks.  Mostly red rocks.  I have at least 500 taken out the window as we drove by them.  Zoomed in on them.  Zoomed out from them.  Landscape and portrait.  The same formation from several angles.  I hiked over red rocks.  I hiked under red rocks.  I slid down red rocks and climbed up red rocks.  (Okay, you know its true--I have a red rock in the trunk of my car.)  Stop the car...I need one more picture of rocks. 

So I was thinking that the road signs should advise you to keep your eyes on the road.  Because watching the rocks is just too easy.

Sunset

We watched the sunset at the Grand Canyon.

I took a few pictures.

A few hundred pictures.

And none of them are as good as the real thing.

Which was awe inspiring.  And praise worthy.  Even the Goob said so.

Other People's Children

One of these things is not like the others.








One of these things doesn't belong.







Can you guess which one is not like the others, before I finish my song?

Why is it my kids respond to a camera by making a face which usually includes a clear view of their tonsils?

Just wondering. 

Over The Edge

As you already know I am not a fan of standing close to the edge of a cavernous drop with jagged rocks below.  The first sight of the Grand Canyon found me standing well back from the edge with heart papitations as the rest of my traveling companions got as close as they could to the edge and then...dropped over the edge.  (I found that the ones I had given birth to caused me the most anguish.)  But I managed to overcome my totally paranoid well founded extremely rational  fear enough to take a short hike down into the canyon.

Which gave us some spectacular views of the canyon. 

This is a picture I took of someone else's child out on the edge.  

 This also gave me palpitations because I have an excellent imagination and I was imagining having to tell his mother how he fell into the Grand Canyon while I stood against the cliff wall and snapped his picture. (Here.  I thought you might want this.  It's the last picture of your son. Umm, look how happy he was, just before he, umm.....)  

 None of the pictures of the canyon can even come close to capturing the grandeur of the place, so I will not post them.  You will just have to go yourself.

We hiked down the West Kaibab Trail to Ooh! Aah! Point.  Here we are ooohing and aaaahing.  And looking like a rock band.  Or maybe like a band on a rock.  Or maybe bandits on the rocks.

There is a rule on the trail that what goes down must come back up.  And going up is harder than going down.  I'm just saying.  Here is the Goob starting back up.

I stopped to take a few more pictures on the way up.  And I stopped to encourage the STP.  And I stopped to get a drink and eat chocolate, because hydration and nourishment are key to getting out of the canyon alive.  (That and staying back from the edge.)  And I stopped to let my heartrate return to normal.

This is a picture on the way back up.  At this point the kids are already at the top.  See them up there?  Okay, let me zoom.  (X12)

And here is the most amazing part of the hike.  While we were at Ooh! Aah! Point the Goober says, "I have to admit that of all the outdoor places you have taken me this is the first one I don't totally hate."

SCORE!!

The Grandest

Grand Vacation Eve

Things To Do:
Get rid of my headache
Go to bed
Finish laundry
Finish packing
Think of things I might forget to pack
Go to bed
Find list I made earlier of things to pack
Find list I made earlier of things I might forget to pack
Go to bed
Finish cleaning up kitchen
Pay a few bills
Go to bed

The SLD and the SFG

Today the sun is shining, the rain barrel is full, and I am feeling pressure to get some outside things done before we leave for the Grand Vacation.  The front flower bed is not going to be one of those things that I complete before departure.  I am digging out the sod that I planted there last Spring.  It is a very lonely job.  That is taking 8 times longer than I planned for it to take.  It would go much quicker if I had some help.  The last time I was out there digging, I was trying to think if I knew any strong (handsome) young men who could help me.  But it seemed just wrong to call someone else's husband and/or teenage son when I already have one of each. 
When I realized that I will not get that project done, I moved to the back yard and loosened the dirt along the fence to stick a few sunflower seeds in the ground.  They will germinate in 10-14 days, so they will be able to do that while I am away, and save us all the trouble of me going out to stare at the dirt three times a day for 10-14 days.  While I was digging along the fence, Dixie was patrolling the backyard for squirrels.  And watching me dig.  And then because she loves to dig and she is such a sensitive dog, she sensed that I wanted help digging.  And so she joined me in digging.  Only she decided to dig in the Square Foot Garden box.  With the lovely loose wonder dirt.  She started in the square foot of basil and, because the dirt is so loose and only 6 inches deep, she moved quickly on to a square foot of pepper and half a square foot of lettuce.  The problem with a Square Foot Garden is that two little dog feet can wipe out a whole crop in mere seconds.  When I saw what she was doing, I yelled at her.  And she looked positively ashamed of herself and just a little confused.  And then she came in the house and laid on the couch. 
And then I realized that that is exactly why I have no help.  Because I yell at them for not doing it right.  And then instead of doing it right they give up and lay on the couch. What I am trying to decide is if the problem is me yelling or them not doing it right.   I think that they don't do it right SO I will yell and they can lay on the couch. 
It bothers me that the dog figured this out before I did.  Stupid Little Dog.

Transplanted

It always comes as a surprise
When my withered roots begin to grow...

I do not remember moving as a child.  My parents moved their family of six into the house where they still live when I was just three or four years old.  It is the only house I remember growing up.  The neighborhood has changed. The house itself, in fact, grew a story.  But it has always been 'home'.
Since I left home to go to college I have moved 11 times (not counting the 4 times I moved back home).  And I moved three of my four kids when they were in middle school.  And after three of them moved out, I moved away.  I'm not sure where they would call 'home'.  I had some mother guilt about this last week.  I bought a few plants to assuage this.

I transplanted several things last week.  And this week, they look just the same.  No signs of new growth.  No signs of death.  Just not much difference at all.  I think that is pretty typical of transplanted things. And transplanted people.   It takes awhile for them to adjust, to take root, to start to grow again.
Although I'm not wilting, I'm not really thriving either. 
But I know Who transplanted me here and I trust the Master Gardener.
The rain is falling, and I think sunshine is in the forecast and I sense new growth is coming. 

I need You in my house, 'cause You're my home.

The STP and the SFG

As promised, here is the Square Foot Garden garden update.  Following the guide of the Square Foot Garden book.  Remember the amazing STP built the raised bed.  Complete with little decorative corners.  You can review that process here.  And then I began a search for vermiculite.  The Co-op guy is still working on this one.  I did find small bags of too fine vermiculite at the not-quite-a-stuff-mart here in Dodge City.  If the garden does not grow, it will be the Co-op guy's fault.  

To start we mixed three bags of compost.  (Because even though the STP built me a compost bin, you can not make good compost in three days.) 

Then we added almost equal parts of pseudo substitute vermiculite and peat moss.   

And used the tarp rolling method to mix it all together.

The STP was instrumental in hauling, mixing, and shoveling.   (This was key, because I was busy documenting our progress and reading the book, and telling him what to do next.)  Here he is filling the box.

The raised bed full of SFG wonder dirt. 

Next we used twine to divide the Square Foot Garden into Square Feet.

And then we planted the carefully chosen crops.

Two cherry tomato plants.  One pumpkin.  One miniature rhubarb (I don't think it is supposed to be a miniature, that's just how it's turned out so far.).  Four Walla Walla onions.  Two sweet peppers and two jalapeno peppers.  (At this point we can't remember which are which, but when they get peppers, we will know.)  Two square feet of lettuce.  Basil.  Cilantro. Four marigolds. And carrots.

The STP's hunting mentor told me I should not calculate the price per pound for mule deer steaks.  Likewise, we will not calculate the price per pound for cherry tomatoes.  But just remember, these are totally organic cherry tomatoes.  Watered with pure Wyoming rain water. 

Full to Overflowing

Today it rained.  And my rainbarrel is full. 

Enthusiastic Participant?

At the beginning of track season when we made the "no whining about track pact" we sealed the deal with a video game purchase.  (To offset all the time the Goob would be spending outdoors exercising)  And the checkout lady was our witness.  "I'll be looking for your picture in the paper," she said. 

This weekend we celebrated the end of track season.  The Conference meet was last weekend and the Goob was part of the fourth place relay team.  So he got a fourth place ribbon.  Which is way better than a participant ribbon that they used to give out at track day. 

And he got his picture in the paper. 

We celebrated with Oreo Mcflurries and by watching Forrest Gump.  Run, Goober, run.

For Your Amazement

 Yes, to your amazement he will show him even greater things than these.  For just as the Father raises the dead and gives them life, even so the Son gives life to whom he is pleased to give it.

John 5:20b-21 

Just a reminder that, while I judge based on appearance, Jesus knows what's inside.  And God has been doing amazing things with bushes in deserts since the days of Moses.  Green leaves on dead red twigs.  Amazing.

Down My Rain Barrel

One of the songs on a record we had as children was about an invitation to come out and play.  Something something down my rain barrel, slide down my cellar door, and we'll be jolly friends--forever more.  But I couldn't remember (or even imagine) what we would do down a rain barrel.  So I googled the lyrics I could remember.  And I came up with a number of other people looking for the lyrics.  And then I found them. 

Say, say, oh playmate,

Come out and play with me

And bring your dollies three

Climb up my apple tree

Shout down my rain barrel

Slide down my cellar door

And we'll be jolly friends

Forever more more more more more

Sliding down the cellar door, I got that; but I never had a rain barrel.
Until today.

I've been researching and shopping online for rain barrels for over a year.  Occasionally I put one in my cyber shopping cart and pushed it around the internet.  (And then I parked it and logged off.)  Last year I had a rain tub.  But today the STP made me a rain barrel.  That is him in the barrel.  He was in there shouting directions to the Goob.  Who, as you can plainly see, he had over the barrel.

And this is the totally awesome spigot the STP installed in the barrel. 







And here it is all set up behind the garage just waiting for rain. 

As with most of my ideas, the locals scoff at my desire for a rain barrel. 
"It doesn't rain here," they say. 
Like maybe I haven't noticed that.  They think that it must be a 'back east' thing. 
"You're not from here, are you?" they say.
I don't tell them I never had a rain barrel before.  Because I never needed one before.  Because it rains where I am from.  I don't respond to them at all, because (in my head) I'm singing the next verse.

I'm sorry, playmate

I cannot play with you

My dolly's got the flu

Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo

"You're weird,"  they say. (In their head.)
I will use my rain water to water my garden.  And if it doesn't rain, I will just invite my jolliest friends over and we will shout down the rain barrel.  Either way, I see only good things ahead. 
Forever more more more more.

She Got Up Off The Couch

But she did not return to C25K week 4.  Instead she went to work at the IBHCF.  And she took this picture to share with you.  Because it is quite colorful and extremely lab-like. 

And when she came home from work, she mostly got back on the couch.  Because she forgot how early she has to get up to work in the lab.  Next week its back to the bank.  She will be ready. 

The STPs Dreams Come True

The STP had a dream.  In his dream everyone in town had a cow.  And all the cows had escaped and were running about the town.  And our cow was little.  Like a dog-size cow.  (Maybe this wasn't exactly the dream--only my recollection of what he told me when we were both half awake/ three quarters asleep.)  I'm no Joseph, but if Pharoah had had this dream it seems like we might be in for a famine year.  Just glad there weren't 7 little cows in the dream. 
Because I am not a fan of starving, and as a service to the STP, I interpreted the dream to mean that just because everyone else had a truck, we didn't really need a truck.   Just a cute little Volvo.  The STP dismissed my dream interpretation as nonsense.  He said it was his dream and leave it alone.  I shared my thought with someone else, who thought maybe the dream meant that we were to have a little truck.  I dismissed that as nonsense.
And alas, here is the little truck that will be our second vehicle.  We do not actually own it yet, we were just 'trying it on' in front of the house.  But by next week we should be the proud owners of a pick-up.   It only took the STP two years to get a truck.  I'm thinking a cowboy hat can't be far behind.  I love being married to a dreamer.

A Tree Does Not Grow in Dodge City

This is the first tree we planted in our Dodge City yard.  It is an evergreen, in case you could not tell.  We deliberated for some time about where to plant it.  We didn't want it to block the view when we were pulling out of the driveway.  (We are nothing if not forward thinkers.)  The STP brought this tree home from somewhere.  It was like a prize and he loved it.  And he faithfully watered it.  And we never mowed it over.  It is dead.   It has been dead for almost a year.   We continue to mow around it.  Just in case.

You might remember this next tree.  We bought it from the not-quite-a-stuffmart grand opening last Spring.  You can see what it looked like when we brought it home.  We were so hopeful.  We planted it strategically to provide us some privacy when we sat on the porch swing. (If you google map street view our house you can see what it looked like last fall when it still had leaves.)  It did not get any leaves this Spring.  I am pretty sure it is dead.  The STP thinks it is a slow starter.  He thinks it will get leaves.  He continues to water it.  His picture is in the dictionary under optimist. 

This little gem is a red wood something I can't remember right now.  It came highly recommended for this climate and offers year round beauty because it has that awesome red bark which adds interest to my winter landscape.  Princess Amidala and I purchased it in the Fall.  We could hardly contain our excitement. I planted it where it would hide the vent pipes on the side of the house.  (You can not see the vent pipes in this picture because they are about three feet above the top of the plant.)   It certainly added interest through the winter, but it has failed to show any signs of life this Spring.  The STP is not highly invested in this one, but I'm going to leave it in the ground a little longer.    

When I first moved to Wyoming, I wondered why they didn't plant anything here.  Now I know. 

Saturday I am going to plant some more things.  Never give up.  Never surrender.

C25K2C

Week 4 day 2.  Didn't feel too bad during my run, but have tremendous hip pain right now.  I am going back to the couch with my heating pad.  Hopefully I can move in the morning.  I think the STP's favorite Revelation verse may apply.

This calls for patient endurance and faithfulness

on the part of the saints.  Rev. 13:10

Or maybe the one about not loving your life so much as to shrink from death.  By morning death may look pretty good. 
Don't give up now good running buddies.  We can do this.  We can do this.  We can do this.

A Chili-ng Tale

Yesterday I made a big crock pot full of chili for todays' fellowship dinner.  And a bowl of green jello with fruit cocktail.  I did not spill a drop of the jello.  But as I was making my last trip to the car this morning with the crock pot in two hands, and my purse over my shoulder, the handle on the crock pot fell off and the entire crockpot crashed to the floor and spilled and splashed as only two gallons of tomato based greasy sauce full of lumps and beans can spill and splash.  Like two feet up on two separate white walls.  And all over the floor, and my shoes and splatters up to my knees. And beans that rolled all the way under the couch.  And then I set my purse down in it.
So I did what any self respecting PW would do in this situation.  I posted it on FaceBook.
(The Queen of Queens expressed surprise that so many of my FB friends could relate to spilling a crock pot full of fellowship dinner chili on a Sunday morning.  Because the devil can still disrupt her Sunday morning with a poopy diaper, or a projectile vomiting child.  Once you move out of this phase of your life, the devil uses dropped casseroles and misplaced car keys to make you late and irritable.  The Queen will learn this.  There is no need to tell her.)  
And then I took my camera out of my purse to get a picture.  Because it was picture worthy and I wanted to share it with you. 

Right here is where I would put the picture. 

But when I turned my camera on it politely asked me to charge the battery.  Because that's the kind of day the devil wanted me to have.  But I had just read and posted about how God is not afraid of a mess.  So even though it wasn't my plan to clean up chili, I embraced rose to accepted the challenge, counted to 2 and 1/2, and scooped and scraped and scrubbed.  I scooped the top portion into a smaller casserole (oh, yes, I did!)  because I applied the 3 second rule and it never really hit the floor and even though I wouldn't feed chili off the floor to the general public, I am not above serving it to the STP.  And then I scraped the majority of the wonderful smelling chili into the garbage can.  (The smell was one advantage cleaning up chili had over cleaning up projectile vomit.)  And then, just as I was almost done scrubbing, I backed into the garbage can and spilled the chili in the other direction and down one more wall.  And then God and I laughed together, and I said, "Not today!" to the devil and I went to church and worshipped.  And the jello was a hit at fellowship dinner. 
All in all, it was a very good day.

THE END

Messy Me

From the book "My Bangs Look Good & Other Lies I Tell Myself":  Pg 49

"God does not seem to be afraid of a mess.  He is perfectly comfortable in a stable or on a lonely road or in a scandalous situation, because he knows it is not the end of the story.  God has good plans for us tired supergirls.  They may not be easy or neat or fit into our cyber calendar, but they bring life and clarity and love and truth into the the world in which we live.  And I don't know about you, but I want in on his plan.  Even if it's messy."

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!