Thankfully

Things I am thankful for--2009 edition:
1. My youngest daughter ,who reminded me of my thankful list.
2. My middle daughter, who did not remind me that I never got to 100 last year.
3. My oldest daughter, who may or may not know that it is November.
4. My son. Thankfully, there is only one.
5. My husband, who loves me. Period.
6. My granddaughter, who knows how to 'leave a message'.
7. My grandson, who couldn't be any cuter.
8. My sons-in-law, who love my daughters.
9. My jobs, which will pay for #10.
10. My plane tickets home for Christmas.

Speaking of Minimal Effort

The Goob wore his bedsheet ghost costume again this year. The big difference from last year is that he is so much taller that the ghost appeared to be floating rather that dragging along the ground. (And he tripped over his costume less.) On his way to a party, he made a few stops where people had their porch lights on. His theory is that people with their porch lights on WANT kids in costume to come to the door so they can give them candy. (I'm not sure they want to give candy to six foot tall bedsheet ghosts carrying pillowcases.) Here he is with the best part of his 'haul'. What a Goober.

Power Pumpkin Carving

I bought my pumpkin along time ago. It sat on the back porch because I bought it too early to even let any one see I had a pumpkin. I mean the kids were hardly back to school. But suddenly it was Halloween night and the pumpkin wasn't carved. It was already dark. And there was no way to get a candle inside the pumpkin. And no plan. So we just had to wing it. With a prayer and a power tool.






First we cut off the top (like Stasi suggested).

Then we searched for the pumpkin carving tools. Which were probably never on the truck.

So we decided to use the drill. And no pattern at all.

And then, just because pumkin carving is a good excuse to stab things with a knife, we used a knife too.

And then we put the candle inside and put it out on the porch. The front porch. Where it was less than impressive. But really, it is more about the process, isn't it? Isn't it?

I wish I had a really cool picture of it in the dark, but that would have required me to go outside and work with the camera, and, obviously, this was a minimal effort Halloween year.

You should just go to Ami's blog and see her pumpkin.

(I taught her everything she knows about pumpkin carving.)

Good News/Bad News

Good news: My odometer in the Subaru turned over this week to a really fun number: 123456 original miles. (As a bonus I remembered to set the trip odometer at 123333 miles so that it would also read 1234 at the same time!!)
Bad news: The muffler on the Subaru detached itself from the rest of the car at 123476 miles.
Good news: When the STP opened the glove compartment to get out the owner's manual he found the Goob's phone which has been missing since Labor Day weekend.

Which just leaves me with one question. Why did the STP even need the owner's manual? To see if the muffler was supposed to be attached to the car?
Anyway, more good news than bad.
All in all...

This Old House

Our house was flipped before we bought it. Not exactly restored, but certainly repurposed. People will just stop by when we are outside and tell us how much they like what we have done to the place and what a difference it is from what it used to be. We have no idea what it used to be, but yesterday two middle school boys came to the door to buy a candy bar from the Goob. (He is such a good salesman that instead of going door-to-door he has people coming to him.) I invited them to step inside. And they mentioned that the house was really different. And I asked them if they had been in it before it was redone. And they said yes. In fact they used to play in the house when it was empty. They just crawled in through the back window. Now I am really curious to see some before pictures.

Bumper Cars

This is the bumper that exchanged paint samples with the side of the garage. It sported blue stripes for a few weeks--a reminder of my sad backing up abilities. My loving husband noticed the scrape within 12 minutes of it happening. He asked what happened but was kind enough not to make a big deal out of it. (It wasn't like I had scraped the bumper on his car or anything.) Several weeks later, the youth group was having a car wash and one youth leader polished the blue paint off of the bumper, leaving just a few nondescript black scratches. When I saw this extraordinarily kind gentleman on Sunday, I told him how much I appreciated that act of paint removing kindness. And his response was, "That's Jesus." Say what? And then I was thinking how much like Jesus that was. When I am a big screw up, Jesus doesn't get mad at me and He doesn't yell at me and He doesn't keep asking me questions about it. He is kind and forgiving like the STP. But then He goes one step further and He patiently scrubs off the paint. The paint that no one else is willing to get close to. (Because maybe it will rub off on them or something.) The paint that I think I have to drive around with the rest of my life like some kind of penance for being a screw-up in the first place. Annnouncing to the world, "Steer clear. I can't back up!" You gotta love that kind of forgiveness.
Oh yeah, that's Jesus--the paint remover.

Weather, As Usual

This is what it looked like when I was leaving for work yesterday morning. Even though the weather man says this is 30 degrees below the average for this time of year, I am beginning to think this is usual weather for here, and I might as well just get used to it.

Rhoda Horse

And stayed on.

Life in a Vacuum

While the BGITW was here I was running my very sucky vacuum cleaner in the living room. She asked her mom, "What is that?" This is just one generation away from the girl who asked, "Whose vacuum is that?"
My mom vacuumed every day. She covered up all the hardwood floors in the house with wall to wall carpet. She wore out vacuums.
I have a very sucky vacuum that I run whenever I feel like it or when the dog hair becomes visible.
Two thirds of my daughters do not own a vacuum cleaner but I think they would recognize one if they saw it. The third daughter owns her vacuum because her parents bought it for her when she went away to college. She used it at the end of each school year.
My granddaughter does not know what a vacuum is. I'm guessing she wouldn't recognize an iron either.

The Harvest-A Garden Tale

There was snow on the mountains this morning and there is a frost and freeze warning for the basin tonight. So I had to rush home from Dodge City Federal this afternoon and harvest my tomato crop. You may recall that once upon a time I planted a tomato plant. And earlier in the summer I nearly lost the entire crop in a hailstorm. This was by far my best year for tomatoes. Neither the STP nor the Goob were here to help me, so I had to bring in the harvest by myself. And while I was at it, I just went ahead processed the whole thing myself as well. And who was here to help me stir the pot? Just myself. But I am no Henny Penny, er, Chicken Little?, er, lil chickie... (I had to google "chicken work who will help me"!) ...LITTLE RED HEN! Oh no, I shared the fruits of my labor with the STP and the Goob. I made quinoa pasta elbows with a tangy meat sauce. Such a noble end for my one tomato.

And then I did the dishes all by myself. I guess that's kind of like a fairy tale ending to my garden season.

Near Death in Yellowstone

My friend the game warden lent us his copy of the book, "Death in Yellowstone" the day after we returned from our latest two day excursion there. Here is a picture of the hotsprings we did not allow our two year old granddaughter to fall into. Here is the geyser that our son in law did not peer into. Here is one of the waterfalls none of us jumped off of. Here is a picture of a buffalo that we managed not to be gored by. Here is another picture of a buffalo taken by the Yellowstone Lake that we managed not to capsize a boat in and subsequently die from hypothermia. Here is the river flowing under the Fishing Bridge that we did not drown in while fishing in hip waders. The forest fire caused by lightning was still under control while we were there, so we were not burned, overcome by noxious fumes, or hit on the head by falling snags.

Good thing we did not have the book before we left or I may not have gotten out of the car. (Although I must say that the closest I felt to death all week was while I was a buckled in the backseat when Jimmy was driving down the mountain.)

Here then is my favorite quote from the book so far (in relation to the canyon):

I couldn't help thinking what a thoroughly elegant place this was to commit suicide. Jump and your family would have ample time to forget you while you were reaching the bottom.

Pot Pie and Olive Oyl

The Iovinos are in the air. On the way to Wyoming. While they are here we will cook something Italian. And maybe a big pan of pot pie with beef. In anticipation I went grocery shopping with the Goob the other day. (The Goob agreed to go because I was grocery shopping in the small city with the BIG store with an electronics department.) The Goob wandered about the grocery aisles and reported back to the cart whenever he spotted something of interest. Like olive oil.
He discovered virgin olive oil, extra virgin olive oil, 100% pure olive oil, and olive oil with a questionable past.
Any idea which we should use for pesto?

Beginning of the Season

Announcing the arrival of a new list, fall, football season... and the new satellite dish. (Because 'upgrade' is still one of the STP's favorite concepts.) The Goob has inherited this trait directly from his dad. In addition to the new dish network and the DVR upgrade, we now also own two Wii remote adapters that make it possible to kayak and target shoot in front of our HDTV. I'm still going to make a list of things to do and places to go for fall, but the STP says he has hauled all the rocks he's going to haul for this year. (Unless I let him 'upgrade' to a pickup truck...)

End of the Season...

...garage sale find!

A serendipitous end to a great garage saling season.

What did you do this summer?

Oh, I did a little kayaking and a good bit of saling.

Climb Every Mountain

Her Royal Highness, Princess Amidala, is preparing to pack her car and move back across the country. I am excited for her to be there, to start her new job, to have her own place. I am devastated at the thought of her leaving here. On Sunday we did a little more mother/daughter bonding. We climbed a mountain. (Actually, we forded every stream as well.) We did it with another mother/daughter team. Here we are at the trail head. In truth, the daughters hiked together. And the mothers hiked together. The trail guide hiked in between. He was kind enough to stay close enough in case we needed anything. He said that he just listened for my labored breathing. If he couldn't hear me breathing he came back to check if I had fallen that far behind (or off the mountain completely), or if I had really passed out. The mothers kept plugging along. The daughters sat and rested quite often. (Okay, the daughters sat and waited for the mothers to catch up.) Here we are at the top--9500 feet above sea level and about 500 feet above my comfort zone. Dixie felt the same way about being out on the ledge. She sprinted up the mountain. (The only reason she was breathing heavy is because she was straining against her leash.) But once we were at the top, she cowered against the lookout building and refused to look over the edge. So that's where I am with the princess--at the edge of my comfort zone. Pretty sure she is ready to launch. Not quite willing to let her go. I am having a sound of music moment right now. Wanting to hold on tight. Trying to remember that you can't hold a moonbeam in your hand. Willing myself to say 'follow every rainbow'. 'Til you find your dream'.

Maybe I should get my marionettes down from the attic.

My Son, The Capitalist

Before we went up the mountain the Goob was not exactly enthralled with the idea of camping for a long weekend. He explained that his misery was caused by the mere thought of spending three days with PEOPLE in the OUTDOORS. Two of his least favorite things. He went on to explain to me that he doesn't just naturally like to be around people. Says he is just not much of a 'socialist'. That explains a lot. And yet he almost thrived for three full days in the mountains. He managed to live on hot dogs and poptarts. He slept in the tent, climbed on the rocks, went to the river, chatted by the campfire. And I didn't even have to bribe him. Maybe there is more 'socialism' in him than he cares to admit.

Fear and Trepidation

Time for our second time on the annual all church camp out on the mountain. Now that I know what to expect I am looking forward to it even less than last year. Plan to cook everything on a stick, but the STP wants steak, corn on the cob, pancakes, and green tea. He also wants all of this to be gluten free and appear magically at the campsite. I am going to take a book, and a chair. The STP and the Goob will share the tent. The STP's daughter and I have reservations in a camper with extra bed space. Hoping to see some big horn sheep--in the wild. Camping is really only fun when you are a kid and your Mom does all the preparation and all the unpacking and all the laundry. I have a new appreciation of all those trips to Clear Creek and Cook's Forest. With 8 kids, and a tent. I'm going to put a chapter on camping in the book.

A New Month

I lit the candles in the lanterns on the front porch this evening. I ordered some fabric online for curtains in the downstairs room. I started a new list, but decided I would continue to work on the summer list until after Labor Day. Life is good.

I Believe I Can Fly

Our other Women In The Outdoors class was flyfishing.

We learned how to put our rod together. How to tie our line together. How to tie our fly onto our line. We learned the life cycle of the mayfly. We learned to say nymph with a straight face. We practiced casting without a fly. We tied this fly on and cast it out. A big fish took it and ate it. We reviewed how to tie our fly to our line.

Flyfishing requires a good deal of concentration. Like you have to actually keep your eye on your line. So we could not take a lot of pictures while we were flyfishing. But we added a few things to our Christmas lists.

Ready, Aim, Fire OR In A Bulls Eye

Here are the results of our marksmanship class.
This is Amidala's first target.
It turns out she is cross dominant like her Dad. This means that even though she is right handed, she is left eyed. So she had to wear glasses with the left eye taped over. This was supposed to trick her brain into using her right eye. (Amidala's brain is evidently too developed for such trickery.) With her left eye taped shut she could not see anything. She definately could not see to use the sight on her rifle. She could just point the gun in the general direction of the target and pull the trigger. Which is somewhat satisfying in and of itself. But not exactly in the realm of marksmanship.

When the left eye trickery failed to help, they got her a left handed rifle and had her shoot lefthanded. Seems her left hand was more willing to be tricked, er, retrained than her right eye.
This (and the bullseye in the first target) is the result of Amidala shooting left handed.





This is my first target. I did not have a cross dominant problem. I did not have a left handed gun. I did not have scotch tape over my glasses. (I didn't really have any excuses.) I just had to squeeze my left eye shut. And try to line up the sights. And hold the gun steady. And pull the trigger smoothly. (And remember to flip the safety off.)



This is my second target. Turns out that I am consistent. A consistently bad marksman.
After we practiced shooting paper plates we moved on to shooting paper silhouettes. Little black outlines of animals. Five ducks in one row. Five turkeys in the next. Out of twenty animals on my target sheet I managed to nip the toe of one big horn sheep. But I'm thinking that if those turkeys were life size instead of an inch high, that I would have a pretty good shot at hitting one--even with one eye closed. Unless, of course, they were moving.