Public Meeting Number One

Last night was the public meeting about the proposed truck route thru Dodge City.  It was my first public meeting.  We signed in upon arrival and got several pages of information.  There was a sheet to sign on if you wanted to speak.  I wanted to speak  and I had several questions so I signed on the sheet.  There were several policemen stationed near the back and the door.  Evidently public meetings in Dodge City have a reputation.  Also in attendence were most members of the Dodge City Council and every  employee of WyDOT.  Even the ones on injured reserve.  (Seriously, the one in charge of driving pretend trucks around maps hobbled to the podium and used his crutch as a pointer.  I wondered if his injury was a result of a previous public meeting.) 

Turns out you do not have to sign up to speak or ask a question at a public meeting.  But because I was on the list I got to speak with the 'speakers'.  My bad. I just pointed out my house on the map.  Asked them to number it.  Communicated that I thought it was a bad idea to put 'signage' in my front yard.  Threatened to lash myself to the tree in my front yard in protest if they proceeded with their hair-brained  hare-brained proposed plan.  I hope it doesn't come to that.  Because, baby, it's cold out there.

I am also gathering pictures of Council members' and downtown business owners' front yards.  Just in case.

Saving My Grandkids

The Queen of Queens called today and asked me to tell her just one terrible thing she did when she was little.  Something that would offset her one and only son toppling the Christmas tree over on top of himself. 
So I reminded her that she was the two year old who stood on the dining room table and twisted the hanging lamp until the cord snapped, the glass fixture crashed to the table, and glass shattered and sprayed all around the room and over all three of my baby girls.  And then the cord hanging from the ceiling caught fire.  On a Sunday morning of the church Christmas program. 
And then I reminded her that she was the four year old who took a pair of scissors and cut a hole in my couch when she was supposed to be having a 'quiet time' (or was it a time out?).  My couch that was just a few months old. 
I think Nick will live to see another day.

Advent Gem

Here is the gem from this week's Wild Goose Chase.  Mark Batterson had this to say after noting that God took Abraham out of his tent to look at and count the stars:

There is something about looking up into the night sky that restores my perspective and recalibrates my spirit.  It reminds me how small I am and how big God is.

My prayer is that God would use the rest of Advent to restore my perspective and recalibrate my spirit.

A Listless Christmas

Dear Extended Lane family: 

Hope you are not waiting for my Christmas list for this year.  Because I am not making one.  And I'm not reading yours.  So don't expect me to get you anything on your list.  Because the truth is that none of us need anything.  And also the truth is that I can't remember what I got you last year, or even what you got me.  (Of course last Christmas' memories are a blur of emergency rooms, hospital rooms, and funeral homes.  And my memory in general is lacking.)  So this year I am getting you something I think you will like.  And if I am way off, then maybe we should get to know each other better.  Or stop exchanging gifts. 

This year I made something for our three family exchange gifts.  Something I compiled, something I knit, and something I painted.  Customization ala Ms Brenda.  Now don't you wish I had your name?

Overhead Structure With Signing

Today the Dodge City Gazette published a map of the town's latest truck route proposal.  It highlights the proposed alternate truck route through town. It is part of an ongoing struggle between Dodge City and the DOT in an effort to maintain the integrity of the main intersection in town and accommodate truck traffic through town. 
The map lists and numbers 21 structures affected by the changes.  My house has a prominent place on the map.  It is the unnumbered structure at the south end of the route.  It would be the house with the 'overhead structure with signing' in the FRONT YARD!  What the DOT and Dodge City fail to realize is that I am both the daughter and the mother of highway engineers.  I know how to read a map.  I know that is my house with the proposed overhead structure in the front yard.  I've been thinking about replacing the dead tree.  But I hadn't considered replacing it with overhead signage.  So I am going to have to go to the Dodge City/DOT public meeting and ask a few questions.  Like: 
Why didn't my house get a number? 
Have you ever been as far south in town as Third Avenue South? 
How much shade will the overhead signing provide for my front porch? 
Can I hang my own signage from the overhead structure? 
Are they prepared to deal with this?  I hope so.

 

Squish Squash

I overcooked, not one, but two spaghetti squash.  Way more squash than spaghetti. 
Ever have a plan?

I Love a Parade

Our church had a float in the Dodge City Holidazzle-formerly-known-as-Christmas Parade.  It was my idea.  (The float, not Christmas).  It was the result of weeks of negotiating between myself and God Himself. 

I would not have gotten the idea except the Dodge City Chamber of Commerce lady handed the parade info to me while I was working at Dodge City Federal S&L.  You know, to deliver to the STP.  Which I did.  We (meaning he and someone else) should have a float in the parade I told him.  Because Christmas is really our holiday and we should celebrate right out in front of God and everybody.  We agreed that would be a good idea, but who could we snooker, er, ask to organize such an undertaking during this busy time of year.  (Plus, we've never done that before.)  We didn't even have an idea.  And, besides, I was going to be out of town that weekend.

That's when I got the idea.  To go along with the Treedazzle Holidazzle-formerly-known-as-Christmas theme, we could do the Legend of the Three Trees Story.  And we could hand out little chocolate treasures and copies of the story to all the spectators.  Okay, maybe God Himself gave me the idea, but I knew what to do with it.  I took it right to the Youth Pastor's Wife and suggested she do something with my great idea.  She politely declined and I politely told God Himself that I had tried my very best.  And besides that I was going to be out of town that weekend.  Sorry God.

Then that meddling Mark Batterson in his meddling Wild Goose Chase book wrote about how God Himself talked to Moses on the back side of the desert from a burning bush.  And how God can show up anytime and anyplace, and when He does, that place is holy ground and I should take off my sandals. And I, like Moses, had to make a few more excuses.  How could I build a float?  How would I light the trees?  Where would I even get three trees?  And remember I'm going to be out of town that weekend.  Sorry God.

Then the STP himself preached an advent sermon about redeeming the distractions this Christmas season and I had to sigh and try one more time. (I also had to remind God Himself that we now had less than a week to put this whole thing together.) So I took my great idea to my small group and in my small group (which really is quite small) we had three trees, lights, a trailer, a generator, and an almost free evening to put the float together.

So Thursday night we did just that.  I had a little bit of trepidation that we could not, in fact, pull this off, and that it might be an embarrassment to the church and maybe to me if anyone found out it was my idea.  And God Himself had to remind me that He had not asked me to be successful, just obedient.

So Friday night I was indeed out of town and the Three Tree Float floated down the main street in Dodge City in my absence and the whole thing was orchestrated by God Himself.  When I asked, the STP said he did not notice any of the parade spectators in their bare feet.  I guess they did not realize they were standing on holy ground. 

(The next thing God asked Moses to do involved a snake.  Makes you wonder what's coming next, doesn't it?)

HGTV Overload

I was on call on Black Friday.  So I had to do my shopping within 15 minutes of the health care facility.  Which still left me hours to knit and watch the holiday marathon on HGTV.  And I gleaned more decorating ideas and more inspiration than one woman should be allowed to glean. 
Here's some of what I learned:
1.  Don't forget to decorate the front door or dining room table.  (They did not give me any hints on what to do with the stack of papers I already have on the table.)
2.  Mix high and low.
3.  You can hire a decorator if you are a TV celebrity, a country music star, or married to a NFL player.
4.  I can not afford a decorator.
5.  How to cut dovetails on ribbons.  (This is so simple I can't believe I didn't already know this.  Maybe I knew it once and forgot it.)
6.  Disney World Christmas decorators work year-round and have a ribbon ROOM
7.  I definately want to visit Disney World at Christmas time.
8.  Teal and copper are the new red and green.
9.  Pheasant feathers are a legitimate Christmas decoration.
10.You can spray paint your Christmas tree.

On Saturday, I stayed home and decorated.  I tried to remember and apply what I learned.  I used a lot of things I already owned and some things I had bought at yardsales.  I decorated the obelisk with 45 cents worth of lights from a yardsale.  And I used two spools of wedding ribbon to string a dollar's worth of garage sale ornaments from the chandelier.  And I put the other 50 cents worth of ornaments in the big blue pot on the front porch.  And I finally took down the porch swing and the bats and hung the snowflakes.  I put the garland on the fence.  Late in the afternoon I had to send the STP to the store for one thing that I didn't have but needed.  Desperately needed.  Like absolutely couldn't celebrate Christmas without it.                       A can of silver spray paint.

Stand back because I haven't even started on the tree or the big room yet.

Bring the Tupperware

Our old friend Josh taught us the best thing to bring to Thanksgiving dinner--our Tupperware. 
This year we hosted a small Thanksgiving affair.  It was a rather last minute event.  I bought the smallest turkey I could find on the last day possible to thaw it in time for today.  When I bought the turkey no one was coming for Thanksgiving dinner.  (That will be 4 pounds of turkey for each of us and the Goob's mouth is so sore from having his braces adjusted that he can't chew anything.)  Today there were 7 us.  It was the best turkey I ever roasted.  I really wanted to take a picture of it, but I was already gloating, so in the interest of not being overly prideful, I refrained.  But trust me, it was awesome.  And after I sent a little home with the guests, I still have leftovers safely stored in my own tupperware. 
So this evening I am thankful for:
91.  Changed plans
92.  Moist, tender, delicious, melt in your mouth turkey
93.  Gluten-free gravy over mashed potatoes
94.  Cheesecake with caramel and chocolate
95.  Leftovers
96.  Friends who are willing to take a risk on my cooking
97.  Friends who bring their own tupperware
98.  Macy's
99.  Football to nap to
100.  My dog
101.  My God

So it wasn't quite Perkin's, but as Thankgivings go, it was a good one. 

Just as an observation: when you choose your Thanksgiving guests there is less drama than having a big family Thanksgiving with your big family. Not as much pressure to make a perfect pie or decide who will bring the rolls.  Not as much analyzing of what 'she' might have meant by that comment, or jockeying for position, or bickering over left overs from years past.  Not as much chance that someone will get mad and leave early.  No need to use paper plates for fear someone will throw things.  I miss our big family.  I almost miss Perkin's.

Lines of Communication

Me (incredulous):  Goob, did you get your haircut?
Goob (equally incredulous): NO
Me:  Oh, maybe you just got taller.
Goob:  Yeah, I must be outgrowing my hair.

Approaching Thanksgiving

82.  Turkey bucks  (which is closely related to coupons, not turduckens)
83.  Mrs. Speece's cranberry jello salad recipe
84.  Homemade applesauce
85.  Foley mills
86.  Sweet potato casserole
87.  Pecans
88.  Chocolate chips on sale
89.  Ron's Food Farm--close to home
90.  Positive numbers 

Hunting story #5--A Blast from the Past or Delilah I Ain't

There are still new things I am discovering about the STP after 30 years of marriage.  This hunting season I heard two stories from his childhood that I had never heard before. Most of his stories I have heard over and over again.  But evidently these two are reserved for sharing with hunting buddies while walking up and down hills rather than the woman you have been sleeping with for 30 years. 
One story involved a bank his Great Grandmother had put coins into while his mom was pregnant with him.  He still has a few of those coins.  He told me he had never told me this one before because he didn't want me to marry him or stay with him for his money. Yeah, good thing I didn't know about that Indian head nickel.  (Anyway, he should know by now that it's his good looks that keep me around.)
The other story involved rabbit hunting when his father shot the dog for not hunting up to expectations.  I accused the STP of making this story up.  Maybe he had his childhood confused with a movie he saw once.  Was the dog's name 'Yellar'?  But he says you don't ever forget something like that.  I'm not sure you ever get over it either.  If he had told me this before we were married, I might not have married him.  I certainly would have thought twice before birthing any babies with him. 

So today I am thankful for
81. my dad, who has been married to my mom for over 50 of his 70 something years and who never shot the dog. 
(Although, now that I think about it, I'm not sure what ever happened to either Happy or Jeanie.)

Just Askin'

Would eating a McFlurry in a snowstorm when it is 12 degrees Fahrenheit be the polar opposite of barbecuing in a sauna?

If you haven't been menstrual in over a year, can you still be pre-menstrual?

Why do people who can't control their bladder for two hours in a movie theater all sit in the same row?  (And why is it my row?)  ((And would it be rude to ask everyone in my row to please 'just try' before the movie starts?))

In My Seventies

71.  Payday
72.  Laughter
73.  Teeth
74.  Voice boxes
75.  Trombones
76.  Bacon and eggs
77.  Chicken in a bag
78.  Photographs
79.  Memories (I think that was already on my list from this year, but it followed photographs so well that I am going to leave it here.  When I am really in my seventies, my memory will not be as sharp as it is now (?)and I will list the same 10 things over and over again throughout the month of November.  Or I may give thanks in October.  Are you looking forward to my seventies as much as I am?)
80.  Songs in my head

Sing a New Song

You could be reading The Wild Goose Chase along with me.  Or you could do like the STP does when I read a book and just wait for me to share the gems with you.

Today's gem:  Sacred routines become empty rituals when we do them out of left brained memory instead of right brained imagination...One of the greatest dangers we face spiritually is learning how and forgetting why. 

So today I will try to be more aware of changing my place and my pace.  More aware of my surroundings. 
Of course, by taking the time to share this with you, I am now running late (as usual).
Look for me today.  I'll be the bank teller humming a new song.  (It will of course still be off key and mostly unrecognizable :) )

Rotten Banana Tuesday

61.  FREE rotten bananas
62.  Country church cookbooks with tried and true recipes
63.  Gluten-free flour and rolled oats
64.  People who appreciate a home-made gluten-free banana nut muffin fresh from the oven
65.  A Tuesday morning with time to bake

(a little break here because the next entries are not really related to rotten bananas)

66.  Anastasia Grace--a gift from God 28(!) years ago today
67.  Hot tamale nail polish and nine toenails to paint it on
68.  A balanced checkbook
69.  Negative numbers
70.  Apples

Sunday Thankful

I am studying Mark Batterson's book Wild Goose Chase with my small group.  Love his use of adverbs.  So tonight I am thankful that God is:
46.  Unconditionally loving
47.  Omnipotently powerful
48.  Eternally faithful

And I am thankful for these things which I usually take for granted:
49.  That the earth continued to orbit the sun today
50.  That as the earth rotated on its axis at about 1000 miles/hour, gravity was greater than centrifugal force, and I did not fly off.
51.  Bacteria in my colon
52.  Breathing

And I am thankful for these things unique to my day:
53.  Lunch invitations
54.  Gluten-free enchilada lasagna
55.  Gluten-free brownies
56.  Friends who think enough of us to extend and share 53, 54, and 55.
57.  Small group
58.  Snowflakes
59.  Tires that are not flat
60.  Sabbath rest

Hunting Story #4

The Saga Continues...
Going to Billings today to buy more accurate ammunition. 
'Nough said.

Talking Turkey Thanks

I was thinking about grilling our turkey this Thanksgiving, but then I heard this quote on Parenthood (you know, my favorite TV show):
Grilling dad to son:  How do you like your hot dogs?  Burnt?  Very Burnt?  Or completely black?
The STP has come a long way since the girls thought that all hot dogs should be peeled before eaten, but I'm not sure he is ready to tackle a turkey.
Nonetheless:
41.  The Weber grill
42.  Grill gloves
43.  Turkey bucks
44.  Charcoal
45.  Charcoal starter

10 Things I'm Thankful I Know

31.  How to read
32.  How to knit
33.  How to pronounce ragout
34.  That Jesus loves me
35.  Where my car keys, my cell phone,and my camera are right now
36.  That homemade chocolate chip cookies and fresh salsa are worth the effort
37.  That homemade potato chips are not worth the effort
38.  What Panko breadcrumbs are
39.  What, in the grand scheme of things, is really irreplacable
40.  That the things that shape me do not have to define me

Oh My (Bountiful) Goodness

I was away this weekend when the bountiful basket arrived, so the STP picked it up, sent me a picture of all my wonderful produce on the counter, and then put it away in the refrigerator.  So it was like Christmas-getting wonderful surprise things; and like Easter, where you have to look for your basket like it's some kind of treasure hunt.  So far in my fridge I've found eggplant, and mushrooms, and collard greens (otherwise known in our house as compost greens), and green beans, and cauliflower, and zucchini (are you out of your mind?), and these:

Any guesses?

The STP reported they were persimmons.  So we googled some recipes.  Evidently people native to the state of Indiana use the pulp of persimmons to make puddings and cakes around Thanksgiving time.  One site suggested you could squeeze them through a laundry bag to extract the pulp.  There were just enough pictures to convince the STP and I that we may not need any persimmon pudding this Thanksgiving, thank you very much.  But just as I was about to scald my little persimmons anyway, I noticed this:

Maybe these were not in fact persimmons.  Maybe they were FUYUs.  So I went back to Google.  And I discovered that there are two types of persimmons.  The kind you boil and squeeze through a laundry bag to remove the annoying seeds and mix along with 13 other ingredients into a pudding which you steam in the oven for two hours while you stir it every 15 minutes and serve it with brandy flavored whipped cream,  AND FUYU persimmons which are seedless and which you peel and slice like an apple and serve with little tooth picks.  (I am not even making any of this up.)  And my bountiful basket came with the FUYU kind of persimmons. How good is that?  I prepared one just like the recipe:

And then I adapted the recipe for less formal occasions by eliminating both the little toothpicks and the little plate.

And for serving to real men during Monday Night Football might I suggest just eating it right off the knife.

This concludes this segment of Ms Brenda Cooks FUYU.

Thanks Be

23.  Stouffers' Vegetable Lasagna--Heavy on the pasta and cream sauce--light on the vegetables.  All the glory--none of the fuss.  Really--this stuff is good.
24.  Scrubs with drawstring pants. You know how I feel about drawstring pants.  They are especially good after a family size portion of Vegetable Lasagna.  They should be the official garb for Thanksgiving Day ( and the day after Thanksgiving).
25.  Floss.  And the feeling of clean teeth after using said floss.
26.  Home made cinnamon rolls.  I haven't had these in a long time, but just the memory makes me happy. 
27.  Memories.  All sorts.
28.  Scissors.  It would be so much harder to cut things without them.
29.  Warm weather in November.
30. The anticipation of the first snow of the season.

Confession is Good For the Soul or How Big Is That If?

Today was another beautiful fall day in Dodge City.  A perfect day in fact to trawl troll skulk drive through town with my alternate hands.  Actually I do not have a bucket and shovel for alternate hands.  But I do have a bucket and shovel that fit in the back seat of my car.  So this afternoon I loaded up my bucket and shovel and drove (using my regular hands) to the north end of town to dig out my peonies.  What were my peonies doing on the north end of town? you might ask.  Well, they were thriving there.  Outside the old parsonage.  Where the former pastor's wife left them.  Years ago.  She had plenty of chances to come and get them.  And as the current pastor's wife, if I were to live in the parsonage, they would now be my peonies.  In fact they are now my peonies, because as I already told you, today I dug them out and moved them to the south side of town.  Into my newest flower bed.  Where they will be loved and appreciated.  Don't think of it as stealing.  Think of it as relocating.  To a better place.
(If I had an accomplice, I would have vidoetaped the whole thing and posted it on You-tube and linked to it from my facebook page so.  If you just moved next door, I wouldn't have to go to such lengths.  Or we could go together...)

Twenty-two

22.  Chocolate chip cookies with nuts, a grandma who always had homemade ones, a mom who taught me to bake them in her kitchen, and a daughter who makes the best ones. 

Seriously Thankful

16.  The STP--Who loves me enough to hide the leftover Halloween chocolate
17.  The Goob--Who loves me enough to watch The Biggest Loser with me
18.  The Slovakian Princess--Who loves me enough to include me on her thankful list without prompting
19.  The Queen of Queens--Who loves me enough to bring my grandchildren to Wyoming to visit me
20.  Princess Amidala--Who loves me enough to publish a second thankful list to make me happy
21.  Jesus--Who loves me enough to die for me

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Now is your chance.  Remember how you would like to live closer to me.  So we can have tea together and laugh together and talk over the fence and share a clothesline?
Well the house next door is for sale and you could buy it and live next door to me.  Come one.  You know you want to.
I already know where we will put the gate in the fence. 

In All Circumstances

Five things that I do have today that I am struggling to be thankful for:

11. Alarm clocks
12. House guests
13. Pony tail holders
14. Pomengranate seeds
15. Laundry

I Thessalonians 5:16 Rejoice always, 17 pray continually, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

A Comment on My Alzheimers

After I posted this morning I remembered that I was thankful that I do not have early onset Alzheimers.  So I added it as a comment--thinking how clever it was that I forgot I didn't have Alzheimers.
When I checked the blogs after work today I was so excited to see that someone had commented on my thankful list.  But when I checked the comments it turns out it was me commenting how thankful I was that I didn't have Alzheimers.  So I will not count not having Alzheimers as  #11 on my thankful list. 
(The STP has promised not to tell me when I really have Alzheimers.  I'm pretty sure I will be blissfully ignorant.)

Starting With The Little Stuff

Time again for Ms Brenda'a mostly annual November giving of thanks.  This year instead of starting with the obvious, I am going to start with the mostly overlooked things I am thankful for.  (Remember that I am thankful to God.) 

Today I am especially thankful for things I do not have:
1.   leprosy
2.   ingrown toe nails
3.   blindness
4.   bedbugs
5.   more than $10,000 of credit card debt
6.   divorce papers
7.   a drug addiction
8.   the ability to read minds
9.   blue hair
10. a sinkful of dirty dishes

Oh, AWANA Be Like Jesus

You might be from Wyoming if your AWANA club theme is 'hunter's orange' and your game pin is sporting antlers.

Tricks and Treats

We are better prepared for Halloween this year.  The Goob recycled his bedsheet ghost costume and was a finalist in the school costume contest.  The STP bought the candy when it was on sale and hid it safely.  (Because I can not be trusted around chocolate.) 
We grew our own pumpkins.  

I carved bats on my pumpkin.

The STP carved most of a skull on his.  (I carved the left eye while he stopped the flow of blood and bandaged his thumb.)

We have chocolate for trick-or-treaters.
We have a festive and welcoming front porch.


 

We'll leave the light on.

A Scary Moment

It is always scary to let your child do something by themselves for the first time.  Especially true if a knife is involved.  This year the Goob carved his own pumpkin.  I managed to refrain from saying (out loud), "Don't cut yourself." 

 He started by cutting a hole in the top. 

He figured in the size of his design and the size of the SFG pumpkin. What he failed to account for was the size of his hand in relation to the size of the hole in the pumpkin.

I silently watched as he used his critical thinking skills to solve the problem.  The STP suggested he cut a bigger hole, but the Goob recognized the flaw in that plan in that the lid would fall into a bigger hole.  Maybe a long handled spoon will work to remove the seeds and slime.

Too slow and relatively ineffective so he revamps the design to include a bigger mouth through which to remove the seeds. 

The pumpkin still holds tightly to seeds and slime and the Goob ponders his next move.  

The pumpkin ponders the Goob. 

Finally the Goob decides that a hole in the bottom of the pumpkin will solve the problem.  He confidently ASKS HIS MOM to cut the hole.  (Yeah for me.  Yeah for teaching critical thinking skills.  Yeah for being hands off and mouth shut.  Yeah for still being needed.)

There was just a little blood shed at our pumpkin carving this year.  The STP stabbed his thumb with a knife.

No Elk For You

Hunting story after the snow starts:  (Second trip up the mountain) We walked up a hill and down a hill and up a hill and down a hill and up a hill in snow up to our knees.  In a blinding white-out of a snowstorm which made it impossible to see any elk.  The 4-wheeler came up lame and we had to shovel snow drifts up to our shoulders with one and a half shovels to get the truck out of the cabin.  I can't move my arms.

Hunting story after the snow ends:  (Third trip up the mountain) We walked up a hill and up a hill and up a hill and up a hill and up one more hill.  We finally saw some elk.   A herd in the distance just before dark.  A trophy bull running full speed across the road in front of us.  And a couple being field dressed by other hunters.  I thought I was going to die.

The moral of the hunting story appears to be:  Right place, wrong time.

The STP arrived home sick, tired, muddy, hungry, elk-less.   Sore and sorely disappointed. 
On the bright side he did not get eaten by bears, lost in the wilderness, suffer a heart attack, crash the 4-wheeler,  get shot by mistake, shoot anyone by mistake or any of the other morbid scenarios I may have imagined while he was gone.  I'm just glad to have him home.

Parenting,Teaching, and The Bravermans

Parenthood.  (You know my favorite TV show.)  I can relate to the show on so many levels.  Because I have parents.  And I have parented precocious preschoolers and special needs elementary schoolers and awkward middle schoolers and promising high schoolers and young adults of the married and unmarried varieties.  And I have brothers and sisters who have over the years watched and judged my parenting and said to themselves, "MY kids will never..."  right up until they had their own kids. 
I have just about all the ingredients to write my own show. 
Tonight's episode would be about parent-teacher conferences. 
It will be titled "So You're The Goober's Mom".
I spend the first part of the day working, talking to and texting my co-parent about the evening plans.  I debate with myself whether I need to make the effort to go to parent-teacher conferences at all this year.    I would be happy if my co-parent attended Parent-Teachers this year by himself.  (I think that was the deal.  I handled the early years and he gets the teen years.)  At the end of the day, my co-parent doesn't know that parent teacher conferences are this week.  My co-parent ends up in a cabin on the mountain dreaming of elk.  I end up at parent-teacher conferences by myself.  I move down the A-wing with a schedule and a report card in my hand.  Until tonight I do not know what the Goob's teachers look like. The Goob's teachers can not guess whose parent I am.  I suppose if you met the Goob as a high school freshman you would expect his parents to be tall thin blondes.  Ha. Guess again. 
So in 30 minutes I introduce myself to the guidance counselor, the principal, and 5 of the Goob's teachers.  Some of them are not as old or as young or as scary as the Goob led me to believe.   Each of them gently tells me the Goob is a unique person.  And they try to decide if that is in any way related to my parenting.  I try convince them that my co-parent is a tall thin blonde who is extremely talkative and whose native language is sarcasm.  I try to convince them that the Goob got his superior intelligence from me.  I have less than five minutes to make my case before we parents and teachers pass judgment on each other. 
There is no easy way to judge effective parenting.  No report card with percentages to tell how well you are doing.  By the time you figure out one stage (or one child) you have moved on to the next.  Thus my fascination with the Bravermans from TV Land, where all problems are resolved at the end of the hour long episode, and they have that great backyard with the party lights where everyone has dinner together. 
A blog bonus:  The best parenting advice I ever received:  Hug your kids at least twice every day.  I learned that at a seminar in an elementary school auditorium.  The speaker was a policeman.  The subject was how to keep your kids off drugs. 

Unidentified Frying Objects

In the co-op basket we sometimes get things that we don't usually eat.  Like artichokes.  And sometimes we get things we can't even identify.  This week we got winter root vegetables.  Like sweet potatoes.  And long large white carrot-like roots which happen to be parsnips.  I thought I had a recipe for a parsnip casserole, but it turns out it called for rutabegas.  I am still quite happy about this because 1.  I remembered I had the recipe.  2.  I found the recipe.  3.  It reminded me of the wonderful neighbor from our years in the little house in the big woods.   She wrote the recipe down for me in 1988.  I have never made it. 
Luckily Real Simple and BHG both have recipes in the November issues which use parsnips, and on the Today show today they roasted some parsnips on the food segment.  I don't think I have enough parsnips. 
Here is an additional recipe I found online.  I might try it out on the Goob.

Honey It's Parsnips

1 1/2 lb parsnips, peeled and diagonally sliced into 1/2" pieces
3/4 c. water
1/2 ts. salt
2 Tb. butter
1 Tb. honey
1/4 c. orange juice
1 ts. orange peel; grated

In a saucepan, cook parsnips in water and slat over medium heat until fork tender, about 10 minutes.  Drain and remove from pan.  In same pan heat butter, honey, juice and orange peel together; toss with parsnips and a little salt, if desired.  Serve hot.

Hunting Stories

Hunting stories, when they see nothing to shoot at, are not the most exciting sagas. 
"Then we walked up a hill and down a hill and up a hill and down a hill..."  
But just for the record I made some beef stew to send along with the STP.  (Just saying that makes me feel like such a good hunting wife.)  And the STP raved about how good it was. 
So it seems I have found my cooking niche:  Burly men who have spent the day walking up a hill and down a hill in the wilderness and who arrive back at camp after dark with no other choice but my cooking. 
It's nice to be appreciated.

Taking the Choke out of Artichoke

Artichokes.  Just the name is less than appetizing.  I've eaten artichoke dip, but never just an artichoke.  Until last week when I steamed two artichokes.  Just because I got them in the  co-op basket.  I followed the directions.  And the Goob and I agreed that eating an artichoke is a lot like eating a crab.  You have to remove the spiny parts.  And steam them.  And tear them apart with your bare hands.  And you season them to make them palatable. And you pile up the inedible parts.  And there are precious few edible parts in comparison to the pile of inedible parts.  You don't eat the gilly/hairy parts.  (In the artichoke the hairy part is called the choke. You have to remove the choke to get to the heart which is the most edible part.) 
Knowing how to eat a crab and an artichoke will come in handy if the new Uncle M buys a beach house and invites us to spend a week. Or if we are desperate for a butter delivery system.  Or if either the Goob and I are ever marooned on an island with a volleyball.  Which is how we suppose someone discovered that crabs and artichokes could be eaten in the first place. 
Tomorrow we get another basket of fruits and vegetables.  Otra dia. Otra adventura.

Ms Brenda's Productive Day Off

Today I had a day off.  And the STP was hunting on the mountain.  And the Goob slept until noon. 
So I made myself a list.  And I did everything on the list that I wanted to.  There were some things I should have done, but I didn't even put them on the list.  And there were two things that I put on the list that I knew from the beginning I was going to do last, if at all.  And I never got to them.  The STP will not be surprised when he gets home and sees they are not done.  He must know by now that I am never going to (1)iron his shirts or (2)clean off the dining room table.  But I cleaned out the SFG and the flower boxes and I made the STP a gluten free apple cake.  And I have another table.  So I think I am golden today.  It was such a beautiful fall day I thought I would share it with you.

Here are three pots I bought at a yard sale early this morning.  I planted something in each of them.

These are the carrots that are the last thing harvested from the SFG.  Obviously I planted a medley of carrots, some of which were pink and some of which were short and stubby.  Something I was unaware of because carrots, as you may know, grow under the ground.  I posed the carrots on the washer, because I also did several loads of laundry today and my washer, although very functional, is not particularly photogenic in and of itself.

These are the sunflowers that I cut down from along the front fence.  I left the heads in the birdbath for the squirrels to eat. (And because they just looked good there.)

This is the current arrangement by the front door.  Today I added the seed heads from my coneflowers.  They look better than this picture gives them credit. 

So I know by now you wish you really could have been here to share my day.  Because it was the kind of day where you could drink apple cider with me and eat apple cake with a fork right from the pan warm from the oven.  It was a great fall day.  But I missed you.

More MOTB Musings

My favorite MOTB quote:

"Mom, this is so not the time to be yourself."

From The Wedding Date

With thanks to my girls for letting me be me.

Mother Of The Bride

I have a few thoughts on being the mother of the bride.  This past weekend was my third time to be the MOTB.  (One good thing about having three daughters is that I got three chances to try and get it right.)  But it's something I hope never to do again.  The STP has officiated a lot of weddings over the years.  Some have lasted 25 years.  Some lasted less than 6 months.  I'm hoping these three are of the long lasting variety.  The STP had this to say at the rehearsal about the MOTB:  Last one in, first one out.  (I guess pastors have those little sayings to help them remember things.  Along the lines of Spring ahead and Fall back.) 
This week the STP told me I could not text Princess Amidala while she was on her honeymoon.  That was, of course, after he caught me texting her.  (In all fairness, I just texted to see if it was alright for me to text her.)  The STP overruled me and I have been abiding by his silly male sensible advice.  But I just want to say that it is not fair. Do I want the Prince formerly known as boyfriend  new husband  Raving Raven  He-Who-Does-Not-Even-Have-Blog-Name to think he can have her all to himself?  I do not.  Do I like it, even a little bit, that when something wonderful happens she will tell him first and not even think to call me?  I do not. Do I want to have to think twice before I send her a text? I do not.
I know it is good.  I know it makes for a healthy relationship.  I know I have to mind my own business.  I know my role has changed and that I really don't want it any other way.  But I do not have to like being the first one out.

Things Get a Little Batty in Dodge City

This is my front porch.  I grew those pumpkins in the SFG.  And I have mums the size of flamingos. (And yes, the flamingo is wearing cowboy boots.)  It all looks peaceful enough, but wait... there's more.

Because I have three bats on my front porch.  I found them on the Bridge Bust over the Susquehanna River, and I do not regret my purchase.  (I only regret that I did not have adequate funds nor room in my carry-on to purchase a dozen more.) 

They would like to fly free, but I have them tied somewhat securely with fishing line.  So they are forced to spend the day fluttering about a very small area, waiting for nightfall, dreaming of freedom, and making passersby green with envy.  Where did she get those bats?  Why don't I have any bats?  (Am I prepared to deal with that?  Oh, yes, I am. )

  Because at nightfall, when the street lights in Dodge City come on, the real magic happens.

And the fluttering bats cast fluttering bat shadows on the front door.

Lets just sit here on the porch swing on this beautiful fall evening and admire the genius of this.

Cute Couple

 These two just got married.

See.  The sign says so. 

The Winner

There was a lot of (primarily) good natured ribbing and a few bets on the outcome of the Steelers/Ravens game on Sunday, which happened to take place during the wedding of a big Ravens fan and a significantly more petite Steelers fan. 
In the end, Ravens won.  And we gave them due homage. 
And now the 'New Uncle M' can always say that the last time the Ravens beat the Steelers was on his wedding day. 

And while we are 'showing our panties' let's just go on record and say who we are all fans of:

Who Knows When?

I'm pretty sure our family will continue to grow, but this is the end of the sons-in-law. I have to take a lot of the responsibility for this bunch, but as far as the in-laws go, I can say to my girls what they say to me about their dad: 

You picked 'em.

Her Mother and I?

Rehearsal was on Friday morning.  The ceremony is this afternoon.  That may be just too much time between the practice and the performance.  Not that I will forget what I am to do.  (Because I can forget what I am doing in just a matter of minutes.)  But that it gives me too much time to think about things.  At the rehearsal the STP practiced giving the bride away.  And when the officiant asked, "Who gives this woman...?"  it was like that commercial and what I heard was, "Who gives this baby...?"  And before I could wrap my mind around it, the STP rehearsed his one line.  The one we've been preparing for for 23 years.  And he just spoke up in his outside voice and declared, "Her mother and I." 
I don't think so.  What made him think that after 30 years of marriage he could presume to speak for me.  I mean, when someone asks me what the STP would like to drink, do I say iced tea, no lemon?  No, I say you'd better check with him.  So I think he should have said, "You'd better check with her mother."  Because I am not sure I want to give this one away.  In fact, I think I want the other two back. 
So pray for me today.   Because I have to walk up the aisle, and take part in a unity cermony, and watch the STP give our baby girl away.  And when the officiant gets to the part about 'speak now or forever hold your peace' and he asks if anyone objects I just might blurt out, "Her father and I."

Wedding Eve

Spent the day with our little family today.  Four kids, two in-laws, two grandkids, one adopted almost a daughter.  Slept in, strolled part way across the bridge for the local Bridge Bust festival, finished last minute wedding decorations, went out to eat, and took a family picture along the Susquehanna (because who knows when we will all be together again).  We will of course all be together tomorrow and we will be adding one more in-law to the family.  It is encouraging to see how comfortable we have become with each other since the current in-laws came into the family three years ago.  Hopeful that the new acquisition will be smoothly assimilated as well. 

Leaving On a Jet Plane

Almost packed and ready to fly.  Just a year ago I was having a hard time letting the youngest princess go.  Not finding it any easier tonight.  Seems like a significant point in our parenting journey.  The end of an era (Do 28 years constitute an era?) of parenting daughters.  Bittersweet.  But I will focus on the sweet and plan to enjoy every minute.  Gonna give out lots of kisses, and smiles.  (Gonna hold you like I'll never let you go.)  Gonna wear my green sweater for the trip.  Cody to Salt Lake to Philly to Uncle M's.  Gonna get up at 3:00am.  Gonna get to bed now. 

The Unpampered Chef

As a matter of policy, I do not attend 'parties' that sell things.  I make only the occasional exception, and I made one the other night for a Pampered Chef party.
I had no idea.
I do not watch the home shopping network nor the food network, except for an occasional episode of Cake Boss.  So with all those gadgets I do not have, (not to mention my limited range of taste buds) it is no wonder I can not cook.
And yet yesterday, inspired by the butternut squash in my refrigerator and the Prairie Mama, I made Butternut Squash Soup.  I used Emeril's recipe.  Because it sounds fanciful and it called for a minced jalepeno.  And I grew two square feet of jalepenos.  I also used one half cup of thinly sliced carrots fresh from the SFG.  And an onion from my co-op basket.  And amazingly I made a pot of soup without the aid of any prep bowls, pinch pots, mandolines, julienne peelers, or immersible mixers.  I guess I am just extra talented with a paring knife. 
Emeril's recipe said to serve it with 'the shrimp salsa'.  I suppose this is where it would have been helpful to have seen the episode.  I didn't have any shrimp salsa, let alone 'the' shrimp salsa.  I served it with a spoon.
I thought the soup was delicious.
The STP thought it could use some bacon.
The Goob thought it inedible.    He said it looked like mashed carrots and tasted like mashed potatoes.  He made gagging noises and said he would rather starve than eat it. 
I suggested he could do just that. 
I don't think a mandoline would have made any difference.

A Taste of Fall

Fall officially arrived this week and along with it the end to my summer list.  Things that never got crossed off:
1.  Hit golf balls
2.  Gather patio rocks

3.  See petroglyphs

4.  Visit Jackson

5.  Shoot rodents

A good start to next summer's list. 

Also with the arrival of fall is my return to cooking.  The STP came into the kitchen last evening to find me frying okra.  I had cut the okra, and had three bowls of stuff prepared to dip said okra in, and a pot of boiling oil on the stove.

STP:  Does frying okra involve more than two steps?

Me:  (wiping sweat from brow)  Yes.

STP:  I guess that counts as really cooking.

I'm not sure if the tone of voice meant he was glad to see the return of cooking, or just resigned to it.

Reminded me of the country song:

 We  fry everything, way out here.

Also, I am home today from all of my jobs and am seeing the need to do some fall housecleaning.  (Not that I have any plans to really do it, just that I see the need.)  Moving in that direction, this morning I threw away a bowl of candy that was in the china cabinet since I can't remember when.  There was a handful of mystery flavored dumdums, one butterscotch button, and an extreme sour warhead.  I opened the war head and licked it to see if I could taste sour, and I can.  And then I threw it away.  But it made me remember when the Goob was little and he would ask people to lick the sour off his warheads.  And you really have to be a good friend (or not quite right) to lick the sour off someone else's warhead and then hand over the sweet inside.  And I am thankful that in my life there have been and continue to be such people.  People who have cared enough about me to at least share the sour things with me.  And to revel with me in the sweet times.  A lot of them will be at Amidala's nuptials this weekend.  I'm looking forward to a sweet time.

And I just want to express thanks to my friend Jesus, Who is the ultimate Warhead sucker.

The Plan

Today:  B--Work at bank    D--Go to dentist    A--Request school assignments
Tomorrow:  B--Pack    D--???   A--Get school assignments
Weds:  B--Panic    D--Rescue B.     A--Day off (do school assignments)
Thurs:  B,D,A--Fly Cody to Philly

Ever have a plan? 

Season to Taste

This week at one of my jobs I got 'fit tested' for a mask.  (Not my bank job, where it is quite inappropriate to wear a mask at the teller window.)  Fit testing involves putting on a mask, and then pulling a hood over your head so you look like the guys who come to get ET, and then walking and talking while the fit tester sprays a bitter aerosol into your hood to see if you can taste it.  If you can taste it, then your mask does not fit.  Or you have no bitter taste receptors.  As appears to be my case.  The fit tester sprays the  bitter spray into your hood without the mask to see how sensitive you are to the bitterness.  After two sprays everyone else in the room was gagging.  After 15 sprays I was going , "No, nothing."  So I can not taste bitter.  Who knew?
Since I have no desire to be bitter, or to taste bitter things, this is not a problem for me.  But I recognized immediately that it could be a problem for you.
This then shall serve as my public apology for the food I have served to my children over the past 28 years.  You tried to tell me it was yucky.  You tried to hide it your mashed potatoes.  You begged for a dog to feed it to.  (While I am at it I might as well apologize to the SLD, too.)  And I am going to apologize to everyone who I have had over to eat.  And to every church member and adherent who has unsuspectedly eaten from my crock pot at a church dinner.  Sorry.  I didn't know.
The good news is that there is also a sweet spray for fit testing.  And I have no problem tasting sweet.  So my mask fits, and from now on I will be more diligent in following the recipes.  Or maybe I will only make sweet things. 

In The Zone

The NFL Red Zone is like watching football with a crazy man holding the remote control.  Only the crazy man is not sitting on the couch with you and you can't threaten him and take away the remote if you have enough of schizophrenic football watching.  On the other hand, I see why anyone with a Y chromosome would love it.  Because they can flip back and forth between games and channels without even lifting the remote.  Leaving two hands for eating and drinking.  Enjoy your free preview STP.  Next week its back to one game at a time.

New Scoop on Poop

Last weekend the STP and I went on the NPS ranger led-off trail-best last hike of the summer.  

The ranger was full of interesting tidbits about the area we were hiking through.  He stopped to talk.  A lot.  At one point he was talking about the wild horses and mentioned some stud piles we had hiked past.  Any questions?  So one brave soul voiced the thought that had fleetingly passed through my brain, but had not lingered long enough to fully form into a question. 

How do you know it is a stud pile, um, you know, as opposed to a 'mare pile'? 

During my time in the microbiology lab, I have examined more poop than the average person, and I can't tell by looking, or smelling, or any other manner for that matter, the difference between male and female stool samples.  So how could the ranger tell?  His explanation was that the male horses use stud piles to 'mark their territory' and that the females' poop would be more spread around instead of in a pile in one place.   I'm not sure about wild horses, but I think that the reason has less to do with marking territory and more to do with just male/female issues.  Boy horses focus on one task at a time.  Girl horses are multitasking and don't have time to stand in one place long enough to make a pile. 

Just my theory. 

Just putting it out there. 

Fantasy Zumba

Made it to zumba three times this week.  A record.  I moved myself from the back of the room to the center and positioned myself directly in front of the instructor.  That way I am not distracted and discouraged by comparing myself with the other class members.  And my mind is free to concentrate on my zumbaing.  (Because my battle of the bulge is being fought in the trenches of my mind.)  At first I pretend to be a salsa dancer, moving in rhythm with the Latin beat.  But that requires way too much imagination energy at 5:45am.  So then I pretend that I am looking in a mirror.  And the instructor is my mirror image, and, yes, my thighs look that good.  This little fantasy makes it easier for me to follow the movements that I am supposed to be doing, although my mirror image is oddly ahead of me most of the time and way more coordinated than I am. By the end of the class the fantasy has shifted to where I am in a women's prison, the instructor is some sort of sadistic prison guard, and if I don't finish my morning workout I won't get my cigarettes today. 
If my body was as active as my mind, I would be a thin woman.

Camping Is Intense IV -- Campfire Cooking

On Saturday morning I made eggs-in-a-bag for the STP and me on the woodstove in our yurt. 

On Sunday morning the STP was not on the mountain and I ate poptarts with the Goob and bummed hot water for my hot chocolate.





I saved my mountain man jumbo eggs and two pounds of bacon for Monday morning.  Because the best thing about the campout is breakfast cooked over the open fire by the wonderful camp cook.  But the wonderful camp cook was not feeling well at breakfast time on Monday so everyone had to cook their own breakfast.  As I am not much of a cook in my own kitchen and I can't remember the last time I fried an egg, I was not going to try dippy eggs while bending over a campfire griddle in front of curious onlookers.  So the STP stepped up to cook my breakfast.  The bacon was blackened and the super eggs looked like this:

Note: Do not click on this picture to make it bigger.  Trust me, it is not pretty.

One of the 9 year old onlookers said,  "That's why I always let my mom cook."  My mom taught me that if I didn't have anything nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all.  And I couldn't come up with anything nicer than that, so I quietly ate my eggs (and fed my bacon to the SLD). 

Back to Zumba

This morning I went back to zumba. Do you think it is possible to get healthy and thin in three weeks?  Drat your countdown, Amidala.  Although I can't wait to see you.

The Lord Is My Shepherd. I Shall Not Fret.

Ms Brenda Explains the (somewhat archaic) Hymns
This morning the worship leader led me to wonder what kind of words would be fraught with heavenly comfort.  So I came home and inquired of my old friend dictionary.com

And I discovered that 'fraught" is not the past tense of 'fret' as I had imagined.  In fact it is not a verb at all, but rather an adjective.

fraught   /frɔt/

–adjective
1. Archaic . filled or laden (with): ships fraught with precious wares.
 
Synonyms include: abounding, attended, bristling, charged, filled, heavy, laden, replete, stuffed, as well as haggard, harassed, harrowed, peaked, pinched, sapped, starved, strained, stressed, taut, tired, worn
 
So the same word can mean either stuffed or starved.  Go figure.
Let's check out the World English Dictionary to see if we can further muddle clarify this.


fraught (frɔːt)
— adjective (and foll by with )
1. filled or charged; attended: a venture fraught with peril
2. informal showing or producing tension or anxiety: she looks rather fraught ; a fraught situation

So my previous understanding of fraught was more in line with the informal, and the hymn writer's more in line with the archaic. Of course it was probably much less archaic in 1862.  When I'm sure the hymn was fraught with meaning.
 

He leads me beside quiet waters, 

He restores my soul.

There is still comfort in those words.  Which reminds me of something else the worship leader said today:  God is good. 

All the time. 

When David wrote the 23rd Psalm. 
In 1862 when Joseph Gilmore wrote He Leadeth Me. 
In 2010 when Ms Brenda doodled the word 'fraught' on her church bulletin.