"Time will ease your pain.  Life's about changing.  Nothing ever stays the same."  That Patty Loveless song from 1999 has run through my mind many, many times.  Mostly because it is so true.  And then there's that great quote from The Sound of Music, "When God closes a door, He always opens a window."  Also true.

That beautiful horse in the picture above, is gone from our lives now.  He looks so wonderful there.  We were so lucky to have him.  I wonder if we will come across another as good, ever.

I had to make that horrible, horrible decision to say goodbye to Reno, the best horse ever, in the fall.  He was 29 and I only got to love him for 5 years.  What a great 5 years he gave me.  It was a beautiful day, and I didn't want to try to coax him through a tough winter when he couldn't really eat hay very well.  He was showing signs of pre-Cushing's syndrome, and was even foundering on the grass that came in after the drought ended.  So I couldn't turn him out very much, and he couldn't eat hay very well!  It was not a good situation. 

It was the right albeit terrible decision.  Several friends, whom I will never be able to repay, came and managed the whole process for me.  I could not attend.  Some may be able to do that, but when I talked with the vet on the phone, even she said she couldn't do it with her own horses.   The only good side to it, was that he could be buried here.  We had enough discussed it with several friends who had experience with the process and although Handyman thought it would be nigh-on impossible, it wasn't---again, thanks to some very helpful friends.

"Hi...if you're not doing anything today, could you come attend the euthanization of my 1000 lb. pet and put him in the ground for us? That would be great.  Thanks!  Oh, and I won't be here.  So good luck with all that." 

He is gone but not forgotten and we are getting a stone carved for his site, and planting a super knockout rose outside the fence nearby (otherwise those silly goats will eat it.)

Princess is a little lonely without him, but she does have her goatie girls.  I am not sure if I am actually done with horses.  I did get bucked off my neighbor's horse soon after Reno was gone.  It was not fun.  Probably the most painful part (okay not really), was that I was hurt and could not get back on and ride that sucker into submission myself.  Fortunately, I wasn't so hurt that I couldn't drive a bus! 

That realization that comes over you as you do the quicky assessment, while still lying on the ground....nothing is broke, but something is definitely messed up---dang! he is going to step on me if I don't move fast, and what will happen to my family if I am REALLY injured?!  No surgery today if I can get up quickly!  (which I did.)  But my back/pelvis was jammed up for about 3 weeks.  Sleeping on heating pad, Aleve for breakfast and very slow walking for about a month, and I am back to normal.  Also made me miss Reno all the more.

It was a nasty buck and twist and brought my age right into focus.  Will I keep doing this?  Should I just move over to dogs for good?  Handyman would love to turn that barn into a woodshop.  What  about llamas?  Yeah.  Llamas!  They can't kill me and #3 would love to show a llama at the fair. 

Me?  The one who has looked down my nose at llamas for many years, is actually signing the little one up to lease a llama for the summer.  Pack up the chaps, Honey.  We're getting a pet that can spit at us! :)  Oh, and you don't have to shovel their poop, and they don't need a farrier, and they don't bite or kick or rear or buck.  And, oh yeah...you can't ride them.  :(

Handyman wants to buy me a mountain bike...so we can spend time together.  It's pretty hard to say no to that.  I'm just not sure if I'm interested in working that hard.  Something about having the animal do the work, while I just hang on...but then we won't be hanging out together...


Well, you gotta try these things out, or you'll never know.  I don't think I would be able to turn down just the right horse if it came walking into my life, though.  We may borrow a horse from a friend, just for a companion.  But I'm not sure I'm ready to sell my saddle yet.

Germs run amok!

Just so I can prove that our lives are completely not-normal...here is the timeline from one week ago:

Wednesday pm: We have Awana at our church, where I shepherd 65 2nd graders around for 2 hours. Hectic and worthwhile. Of course there are plenty of germs to go around. 10pm, after we are home, #3 starts complaining of stomach pain and begins vomiting--yea!

Thursday am: I stay home from my amazing lunch lady job to keep #3. She barfs throughout the morning, going through 3 sets of sheets. Somehow she can't get it to the trashcan, or the bathtowel on her bed.

Thursday pm: after washing umpteen sets of pukey sheets, things seem to have settled down and I got the kitchen CLEAN, just like they taught me at work. :) I take #1 across the street after school to keep the little boy who usually comes to our house on Thursdays, trying to save his family from any contamination. She gets to watch 2+ hours of Kipper and some scottish claymation show with funny dialogue she recites for the next 36 hours.

Friday am: I take #3 to her Grandma's for the morning, until Handyman comes home around noonish. (Oh, yeah, he was out of town, of course.) She hasn't barfed since yesterday morning and no fever. She just wants to sleep. My mom is flying in from FL on Saturday night, for an out-patient surgery. Tonight we are supposed to get together with cousins at MIL's house for my SIL b'day.

Handyman picks up #3 after lunch and takes her home. She seems okay. So we take her back to Grandma's and we all have a terrific supper. Fried chicken, homemade slaw, mashed potatoes with horseradish and green beans with bacon. Mmm, mmm, good. (This is important. It'll be the last meal I have for several days.) ;)

Saturday am: I cannot lift my head off the pillow. Somehow, miraculously, I do not barf my brains out. I drink honey water and pepto bismol tablets and never leave my bed, really, for about 8 hours.

Handyman heads to the airport to pick up my mom, and take her to HIS mom's house (where we had dinner last night). The two moms can hang out together and avoid the Bubonic plague that is reproducing in our home.

Sometime late Saturday pm: I learn later that this is when #1, #2 and MIL start barfing their brains out. I am blissfully sleeping through it, while Handyman cringes on the far side of the bed, facing away from me, clutching a Lysol can.
My mom is immersing herself in hand sanitizer, while her hostess is heaving in the next room.

Sunday afternoon: I am able to sit up and watch a little tv. I hear that girls have stopped barfing, but I do not venture downstairs until the later playoff game. Handyman doesn't really want me to sit by him, I can tell. I see rolled up sheets by the washer. I'm sure he'll get those washed for me. Mom is not barfing yet.

Sunday pm: #1 and #2 are grey with blue lips. I think they can stay home tomorrow. #3 is back to normal. Mom makes a batch of Cracker Barrel chicken and dumplings and sends them up with Handyman. They are awesome. I eat two entire spoonfuls!

Monday am: #1 and #2 stay home. I go to work. #3 goes to school. MIL is reputedly recovering. Mom still not barfing, which is good. She has to be at surgery at 7 am tomorrow.

Monday pm: #1 and #2 have regained their color and have watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy all day. #2 is with me that the battle scenes are too epic, too long and too boring. Everyone will be heading back to school tomorrow. I discover rolled up icky sheets still by the washer and take them directly to the trashcan.

Tuesday 5:40 a.m. I wake up to that familiar sound: "Bwaaaaaah!" It's Handyman, in the bathroom! Ack! Quick call to Mom, who says MIL is up and going already and she can take Mom to surgery and bring her home. Good thing--Handyman isn't leaving the bedroom. I cover all the chores, dogs, chickens, horses, cats, kids and head back to work while my head starts getting snotty.

Tuesday pm: Surgery goes well and Mom arrives back at Base Camp #2. Girls take out trash cans and Handyman remains completely out of commission. I continue to do all chores and make a new batch of laundry soap.

Wednesday: Another Wednesday, here already?! Off to Awana again. Handyman rises from his sickbed in the late afternoon. I still haven't seen my mother, who came into town last Saturday.

Thursday: We seem to be over it and I got a jump start on losing those 5 lbs. I gained over Christmas. I get to see Mom, who is leaving on Monday. We laugh (not at all) about the amazing-ness of bacteria.

Life in the Remodeling Trenches

I am giving thanks today for rigid-foam insulation board--why? you might ask...

Well, it will allow the toilet nearest my bedroom to remain above 50 degrees this evening. Many of you have gone a long time since you've used a privy...let me tell you there's a lot of positive things going on with indoor, heated plumbing.

Here's an actual conversation with Handyman, from earlier this summer:

"Well, now that I've ripped out the oil tank by the front door AND the sidewalk; and we've enjoyed that gravel sidewalk all winter, I need about $500 for materials to re-do the sidewalk in the bluestone that we picked out.

Me: Okay, I think I can come up with that...

Him: (Gazing over my head at the front of the house.) Well, before I put in the new sidewalk, I should tear off the roof because I could back the dump trailer right up to the front door and you wouldn't want to do that with a new sidewalk...

Me: (Mouth falling open--for once, speechless)

Him: (continuing on)...and if we're going to tear off the roof, WHILE WE'RE AT IT*, we should put in those dormers that we have been saying we want...it would be silly not to do that at the same time...

* The most expensive four words in remodeling

Me: (Mouth still open) gaaaaa...I guess so.

So, the dudes who tear off roofs for a living, came and only one of them fell off, outside #1's bedroom window, breaking the deck, but not his arm. And then the contractor came and added two wonderful dormers, one in the master bath and one over the front door. Now we can see out to the driveway from the landing at the top of the stairs. How it should've been all along, I think.

Handyman, being the can-do guy that he is, decided to go against one of his earliest statements upon moving here: "That roof is too steep for me. I'll pay someone to put a new roof on it."

And so with the money we saved from the roof, we went to a building materials auction and bought kitchen cabinets, for my birthday! Handyman and I met at an auction, so it is always enjoyable to return to our roots.

We spent all day in a giant, filthy warehouse, but got a terrific bargain for our efforts. Everyone around us agreed! 28 brand new kitchen cabinets, no particle board, some with beveled glass in the doors, for $2100!! Woo hoo!

And just to keep the entertainment level at peak, we brought them all home in a horse trailer! The Clampitts get a kitchen!

As the worm turns...

And man, has it ever turned! We are a changed family. We decided back in the spring to put #2 into school this year, since she was ready for 6th grade. We wanted her to have the chance to get started with band and sports and things that #1 really missed out on, when we stuck her into 8th grade, mid-year. (Not the best timing, we realized, but it was what it was.)

Well, #3 wasn't too interested in staying home alone, so we visited a teeny-weeny private Christian school that was absolutely darling, but didn't have a teeny-weeny tuition; and we visited our local public school. #3 said, "Mommy, it looks like the Children's Museum!" And it does.

So as summer was waning, both girls were signed up for public school, and I started looking in earnest for a part-time job. And I got one, at a local high school cafeteria.

So I spend my days making cold sandwiches, viewing the juvenile public up-close and personal and throwing away hundreds of pounds of food each and every day. (More on that later.) I've joined a team of ladies who work hard and strive each day for efficiency and overall pleasant-ness. It's really enjoyable.

The best thing about it? Each day, I complete something. Not like at home, where nothing is EVER done. I can totally see how women would come to rely on the separateness of going to work and shutting the door on home for awhile.

Oh, the other best thing is that the pay is very good and I am home every afternoon, evening, weekend and holiday AND summer! The tools of my trade: a hairnet and some plastic gloves...yee ha!

The Art Museum

Took the kiddos on a field trip to the Art Museum last week. It's been awhile since I've been to the Art Museum, thought we were about due for a trip, since we no longer need strollers and wipes, etc. I did remember my last trip to the Art Museum, where we encountered the GIANT piles of painted, knotted, piled nylon rope in the entry. These are piles bigger than furniture, some bigger than automobiles, uniformly knotted and coiled and stacked into massive structures, with little signs that say "Please Do Not Touch".

You're kidding me, right?! These things are indestructible and randomly placed in the ENTRYWAY, so that you have to walk around and through them, but we can't touch them?! They are made of rope, like from Lowes rope, and coated with seriously heavy coats of shellac..."Kids, don't touch the giant piles of painted rope. It's delicate."

But I digress. This time the entry was still in a state of un-pack, we thought. We were wrong. There were these frames, the size of patio doors, that had unfinished strips of plywood on the vertical sides and between the plywood there were different types of curtains sticking out. The frames were at all random angles and there was a second tier on top, that had shards of mirror sticking out of the edges. We could walk through them, and OF COURSE, not touch them. It was stupid and unattractive.

Of course, the descriptive card off to the side went on about how the different curtains and positions made the viewer feel different things, blah, blah, blah. Since my friends are just as shallow as I am, we could only feel endangered by the big shards of mirror sticking out of the edges of the unfinished plywood. Actually, the unfinished plywood made me think of my kitchen, but mostly all I could think about was that someone was actually able to get paid for such a piece of rubbish.

And then I remembered my favorite exhibit ever at the Art Museum...the unravelling cacti. I think that's when I realized how very shallow and uncultured I am. A man had paid some South American women to knit coverings for plastic cacti. These cacti were set up in a large diorama. Each knitted cacti had a yarn coming off it, running up to a powered spindle on the ceiling and at random times, the spindles would spring to life and unravel some yarn from the pieces. The "art" of this exhibit, was that it was always "changing" because it would be unravelled at random times, making it different. Huh? I've got stuff at my house that changes every time I look at it--the ring in the toilet, the stacks of laundry, even the litter boxes--perhaps I need to market myself more...

The "artist" didn't even do the knitting. Head banging on desk* Still don't get it.

We found our way to the clothing area, where we last saw women's outfits from each decade since the turn of the century, only to be disappointed--and shocked--at the display of coture from the 60's on, that included a swimsuit that was a brief attached to two suspenders that joined at the navel area AND NOTHING ELSE. The mannequin had other parts that weren't covered, fortunately the one boy with us was busy with the "artwork" that was simply a poorly-lit HOLE IN THE WALL, that you viewed from across the room.

I'm sure this description does little to explain the circumstances. There were some terrific things there and I am, for the most part, glad to take the kids. I just wish I could go without the whole Emperor's New Clothes feeling.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Yeah, yeah, yeah. My one fan (ccw) told me to my face the other night, that he was bummed that I wasn't blogging. Frankly, I'm bummed that I'm not blogging. I think about blogging every day. Then I think I must be pretty vain to think that my life is so entirely interesting that I qualify for daily blogger status. I mean how many times can you blog about where you have found socks? Or how many types of manure you handle in one day? (Bet I'd win.)

But really, the world is turning here at Netherfield. On Valentine's Day, Handyman's dad went into the hospital, and stayed for a long time. They tried to send him to a rehab a couple of times, but he got bounced back and then after yelling in my face that he wanted to die, he up and did just that.

It was my first up-close experience with death of a close loved one. I got to experience every single step of it, even the final end. I don't know how people go through this stuff without knowing Christ personally. What a bulwark it was for me to have God to rely on in all the various stages, with all the people I needed to help, in all the ways I was called upon to help.

All these decades of reading Dear Ann Landers and Carolyn Hax, and Billy Graham and all those columns in the magazines about life, have really helped. I was able to walk through those weeks without regret, saying what I needed to say and thanks to my dad, peeking during an altar call, I was able to reassure a lot of people that Grandpa knew Christ. And that was the ultimate peace for me and Handyman. We could say goodbye.

It was the first funeral I went to as a representative, rather than an attendee. And our friends came out of the woodwork--and what a blessing that was. You know how you never want to go to a funeral and you wonder if it's even worth your time...well it is. We were so blessed by the friends who toiled through an insane traffic jam to see us, just briefly--who bought us food because the stupid funeral home didn't even have a coffee pot that worked, who put on lunches for a huge entourage after the way-out-of-town burial--who colored with our kids in the funeral home kitchen so we could keep shaking hands. Note to self: remember how many ways you can be the body of Christ.

I actually stood at someone's bedside as they passed into eternity and I had absolutely no fear in my heart because I had said goodbye, days before, face to face, when he knew what I was saying AND because I knew he had asked Christ into his heart. Honestly, I always wondered if he remembered that he did that, and I probably should have talked more about it with him, but "that peace that passes all understanding" thing? It's real.

I could walk my kids through this first major loss of their lives with confidence in God and offer them peace for their broken little hearts.

Spring is coming now, I think. We have chicks in our attic room, with their mothers. We have contractors bidding on some alterations to our roof that are LONG overdue. My new horse is in training and I also have the opportunity to ride some other nice horses, to get legged up. #1 thinks she might get her drivers license this summer and #2 and #3 are going to school in the fall. Should be an interesting summer.

I have about 295 blogs in my head regarding the switch from homeschooling to public school, that I will be happy to unload at some point, but we're wrapping up some strep throat, orthodontia and raccoon attacks, so I really have to get out of this chair. Oh, and I didn't get pictures of the big crawdad I caught in the pasture this morning, complete with tail full of caviar, I mean eggs. I did release her into the creek and boy was she happy...

Winter blues

Well, the firefighter came and plowed out our driveway for us--first time ever to have that done. And it is appreciated. The piano teacher came zooming up the driveway in her little sedan, lamenting about customers cancelling. She said this is nothin' compared to northern Illinois. We must have gotten about 8" last week. It is pretty, I'll say that. And a ton more coming in tonight.

But I'm done with it. And now the Colts have lost. And Handyman is in Connecticut, via truck, not plane. And then there's this...in my chair, in my office, this morning...and on the floor. (Okay--I took the picture on my phone to send it to Handyman and then I cleaned it up and I don't know how to send it to my computer.) IT was a mouse, in a couple of pieces on the floor next to my chair and IN my chair, was barfed up more mouse with a big wet spot and a pile of erp. Aren't you glad I don't know how to send it from my phone. I'll be happy to send it to your phone if you like...

This never happens when he's home. Either the vermin sense his missing presence and they stridently march in, or the cats are just lazy when he's here, thinking he'll cover for them. Either way--it NEVER happens during the day. And that means, mice are running around here at night!

Where's my Lysol? Where's the sun? It's 8 degrees this morning and I have the Superbowl Blues. My favorite commercial--probably the Google ad, followed by the Underwear in the Office people. The Who (who I never liked, never listened to and was shocked that they were chosen), was undoubtedly the WORST halftime show EVER. They should have gotten Garth Brooks or Tim McGraw AND Faith Hill or Billy Joel and Elton John or someone who could sing! And what's a pinball wizard? That was the only song I had even heard of.

Hay Day!

The day came, bright and sunny. The tractor was already working its way around the field when I got the call from Field Owner. My excitement at finally seeing bales was "dampened" by the color of bales. It was a little sad to see what had been a glorious green field, packaged up into brown bales. The brown-ness was only on the top layer; as the hay was lifted into the baler, you could see green underneath. And I began to be more confident that the Hay Guy had done the right thing, letting it lay in place to dry.

Although Neighbor Rob was worried that it was still dampish...but his worries were for naught. Hay Guy's plan saved what could have been a complete debacle and earned my everlasting loyalty. (He later told the field owner that had I not called him all the time, he might have blown off the job altogether! Score one for tenacity.)

Neighbor Rob owns a couple of older hay wagons and we asked if we could hitch one onto the tractor/baler combo. Hay Guy didn't want to wait for us to get back with the wagon, but we assured him he could keep going.

At this point, Handyman was about 15 miles away putting in a window with my dad. I was feeling overly conscientious about having men putting up my hay, who had no vested interest in it, i.e. the gracious Field Owner who owns not one horse. He had already given me the field, for free. It was hay he could have made money on, but gave it to me as a thanks for driving his "punkins" to Awana last year. No big deal to me, at all.

And now there he was, putting up hay for the first time ever, while I'm burning up the cel phone to Handyman saying, "Are you comin?! Are you done yet?!" Now Handyman is not one to be budged, especially when a job is coming to its rightful completion. So we continued on.

I had offered some of the hay to another neighbor across the street from me, since they had graciously hauled Reno home two summers ago, for free. Reno, the free 24 year-old horse, had refused to get into the first trailer I "borrowed" and I had called them, on the verge of desperation, since they had a stock-type trailer, thinking he might consider that bigger. I was right. And I wanted to pay them back in some way.

So they came with their old tractor and wagon and kids on the back. It made for quite a little traveling party as we all circled the field. Field Owner was meeting new neighbors and experiencing what he'd missed in his cushy-suburban youth. Handyman did show up in time to pitch-in, and #1 got to drive our SUV pulling a trailer around the field. The highlight of her summer. She took her responsibility very seriously. And I was too busy to shoot even one picture! So bummed. It was such a pleasant afternoon.

At the end, there was 297 bales. Not bad for a 2+ acre field. We are so fortunate to have another neighbor with an elevator, free for the borrowing. But first Handyman headed over to Neighbor Rob's to help throw 95 bales up into his loft. The elevator doesn't fit there, as he has a lower slope and lower loft floor, so it was hand tossing, just to keep the old pecs in shape.

Then we loaded the elevator out of the neighbor's loft, hauled it home, set it up and Neighbor Rob's wife, Chris, my dad and I were on the receiving end of 75 more bales. It's always rewarding to labor, and it's so much more fun with friends.

My mom had made a big pot of spaghetti for everyone, but we were all in and separated by the end of the evening. Field Owner ate with us, at 9pm, but it wasn't quite the party I had envisioned.

Second cutting, here we come. In the Hay Maven's world, it ain't over yet!

Hay There!

And the rain came pouring down...on my freshly cut field of overgrown, stemmy, hay. The best laid plans of mavens came crashing down. The feed store owner, who I had clung to for reassurance through the rains of June, told me to just stop worrying about. There was nothing to be done.

And he didn't say this, but having been through the year that I've been through, I was able to keep in mind: 1) Worry is sin--it truly is. It is saying that your plans are better than God's and He'd better get things straightened out to please Me; and 2)There are way bigger fish to fry than a little field of hay. We paid $6/bale a couple winters ago and we made it, so all things considered, this was a hemorrhoid, not a crisis.

Being the complete hay ignoramus that I am/was, I called Hay Guy to ask about whether he was going to flip it over to dry it. (There are all kinds of pieces of mystery equipment with wheels going every which way that can flip the furrow of hay over 180 degrees and put it back down in place.) That seemed like what we should do, but Hay Guy said no, he wasn't going to touch it for a couple of days, that raking or flipping or spreading it back out or whatever would simply knock all the leaves off of it and he wanted to "leave" it sit and dry.

(Another lesson I learned this past year: It's okay to just accept your circumstance and do the best with what you are actually in control of--and not try to manipulate.) So, I watched and waited and drove by the field, watching the lovely hay turn a glorious shade of drab brown with whisks of gold--great for straw, painful for hay.

And then, there he was, a tractor out of the mist...since the field is around the corner from me, I never even see what direction the Guy rolls in from or how he gets there. He's there, he waves and has hay crumbs stuck all over him.

In the interim, I am trying to arrange how we are going to pick up all this stuff and what we're going to carry it on and where we are going to put it. You can leave the bales lay in the field overnight if you have to, but there is definitely a theft possibility (especially two years ago when hay was going for $25/bale in CA and FL). Also there's the dew factor, so the best plan is to get it picked up immediately.

I talked on the phone so much that week, my cel phone battery would get hot. It was ridiculous and all my calls were to men. The Hay Guy, Handyman, the Field Owner, Neighbor Rob. Bunch of men on speed dial--who wouldn't love it?!

I remembered when I was in 8th grade and we had moved to the boonies, so I could have a horse. I begged my mom to let me join the boys 4H club. Because girls were snotty and prissy and I didn't fit in. But boys, boys just want to goof around and they'll take ya. What you see is what you get. If they don't like you, you'll know it and you can move on.

But girls, girls are awash in false impressions and facades. You're never quite sure if you're standing on solid ground or about to have the rug yanked out from under you...all this to say, it was a little fun, I love to arrange things. I especially love to arrange things when things work out. All the convolutions are worth it, when the pieces come together.

Here we go again...

Summer has wound down, against my will. I even became a morning person this summer, hoping to get some extra credit, but no--the evenings are creeping in earlier and earlier. I think I wore socks to bed last night--that's a sure sign.

We had several weeks of dry, beautiful weather, that provided a glorious ending to my first summer as a hay maven. What is a hay maven, you may wonder? It is an extremely stressful position wherein you have access to a wonderful field of hay, thus providing winter fodder for your large lawn ornaments.

The trick is, you own no hay equipment. So, you have to find someone who will bale a small field--which is a detriment, the smallness. So you have to find someone who is willing to come to your little field to cut the hay, rake the hay and bale the hay, while the sun shines. And it will never be a set-in-stone appointed date because the ultimate decider of hay cutting, is Mother Nature! (Cue lightning.)

I began my summer as a hay maven with high hopes and my eternally willing-to-learn attitude. When I requested the option on said field, I was planning on splitting the spoils with my neighbor/friends Rob and Chris, who had hay equipment. When I got the option on the field, I found out that Rob and Chris had sold their hay equipment. Oops.

So, the learning process began. The first hay guy (not really sure of the correct title here), wanted $3.25/bale, laying in the field (this means I have to do the labor of picking up the bales and loading them on a trailer), OR he wanted 2/3 of the hay and no charge per bale. That seemed kinda high for me, so I approached my local feed store owner, (not the chain store). The local store owner also happened to have two ladies selling horse feed standing there when I came in. They all gave their opinions, agreeing with me that that was too high of a price and encouraging me to ask for a better deal. They said surely he would be willing to work with me on this...

I made Handyman make the call to the Hay Guy and request a deal change. I am such a weenie. The call lasts all of twenty seconds and Handyman reports that the guy said he wasn't interested in either splitting it 60/40 or 50/50 and there was no offer to change the price. Deal's off. Back to square one...

So, my stomach produces large quantities of acid and I start looking up weather predicting websites. I called a local farm co-op, in the smallest town nearby and asked for a referral for a "hay guy". The first name they gave me, I called. He seemed nice enough and seemed knowledgeable, and told me that at some point, I'd be mad at him. That's just how hay goes. I told him we were hardworking, honest people who just didn't want to be taken advantage of. He told me to watch for the bloom on my alfalfa and call him when I wanted him to cut it.

Then the roller coaster left the building. That was in early June. About the second week of June the alfalfa started blooming and I became a weather aficionado. I stayed up late to watch the weather every night and it rained, regularly. There was a name for this particular type of weather. I think it is "monsoon".

June started tapering off, the hay was as tall as an elephant's eye and still the rain would not stop. There was a four-day window of sunshine coming and the Hay Guy asked if I wanted him to cut it. I checked all twelve weather websites and they said it was going to rain on Thursday night. So on a very sunny Monday, I told him no, don't cut. It's going to rain on Thursday night.

On Tuesday, it was beautiful. But the weather man, woman and websites said it was going to rain on Thursday night. On Wednesday, it was warm and sunny, but the weather divas all warned of the rain on Thursday night.

Teachable moment: Once the hay is cut, it lays in the field for several days to dry, depending on the weather. It cannot be baled when wet or it will mold and all your money will end up on the burn pile, literally. We were having really cool nights in June, so our mornings had really heavy dew, which means more days to dry. More moisture means nutrition is leached out of the hay each time it is damp and then dries.

On Thursday night, I watched the late news and they said it was going to rain, THAT night. It did not.

My stomach began this little motion not unlike my washer on the spin cycle. It was now Friday and the weatherman said it was going to rain on Sunday. So I told the Hay Guy, don't cut it today either, because it's going to rain on Sunday.

Saturday was picture-perfect, but I knew it was going to rain on Sunday night.
I watched the news on Sunday, and they said it was going to rain that night. It did not.

By now, I was hyperventilating. The hay was almost taller than me. Everyone who lived nearby commented on "how tall the hay is". I demonstrated for my children, how you can keep yourself from smacking people when you really, really want to.

On Monday, I told the Hay Guy to cut it--I can't take it anymore. But, he can't. Seems he was cutting someone else's field, next to an area of home building and someone had thrown a 6x6 post into the hay field early in the year. He hit it with his mower and it would take two days to repair. He'd try to get to my on Wednesday.

On Wednesday his son had a motorcycle accident and broke his collarbone. (Dumb kid! What's he thinking?? Doesn't he know what I've got on the line?!) So his biggest helper is out of the picture. He'll try to get to me on Friday.

On Friday, he cuts the hay! It is an amazing, wonderful feeling. I want to run through the field, in slow motion of course, leaping and smiling. The day is July 3. The hay coulda/shoulda been cut weeks before, but we were 8 inches over in precip for the month of June!! On Saturday, the fourth of July, it rains for the entire day.

My hay, stemmy and long, is lying in the field for about 8 straight hours of steady downpour. I am lying facedown on my bed, muttering. There is nothing I can do...

UPDATE!

Pencil drawing: red ribbon--glad to get something, actually.
Water color: Blue honor group!
Charcoal portrait: Blue honor group, reserve champion!

Dog Obedience: big beginner dog, blue ribbon
Little, experienced dog, blue honor group, champion in his division

Dog Agility: big beginner dog, red ribbon and red ribbon (after slipping free of the collar and gamboling around the ring until Mom had to enter the ring to tempt dog to stop humiliation of #2.)
Little, experienced dog, blue honor group, reserve champion in standard agility and GRAND CHAMPION overall of his agility division, AGAIN. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah-oh yeah-oh yeah!

:) Off to sell snow cones and cotton candy!!

'Tis the Season

...for the 4H Fair! Wooo hooo! We entered fine art this year, which is really, really appropriate for us, since our entire house is papered with home-grown, fine art. Really. I finally convinced them that some of this needed to be displayed elsewhere. Last summer I walked them through the display hall saying, "See, you can do this. Yours is this good--you need to enter." I'm such a non-competitive, easy-going mom.

So when #1 exited her school building this spring with a spectacular 20x20 charcoal portrait, as soon as I could lift my jaw out of my lap I said, "There's your 4H fair exhibit!" It is a great, great picture.

Well, #2 is no slacker in the art department. She has a big fat notebook full of fashion drawings, no joke. This girl is Vera Wang in saddle shoes. So she draws a really sweet pencil drawing--on copy paper. Wouldn't have been my first choice, but she did it without my input and it's done. So, I head off to Michael's to find a frame for it. Fortunately she left a lot of blank space at the bottom, so I could trim it to fit an 8x10 frame. (Didn't know there was an aisle with 8.5x11" document frames--that comes later.)

So I trim the picture and we get it into Frame #1 (this will be important). The 4H handbook says all frames must have wire to hang them. But since I just give the book the cursory one-sweeping glance, I fail to note that the wire has to be screwed into the frame itself. This becomes critical...

My 85 year old grandma is here to visit and watch the dog shows. I don't talk to her much because she is always bent over sweeping up dog hair or loading the dishwasher...poor woman. She babysits, cleans up, teaches embroidery and expresses great interest in trampolining, garden beetles, chicken activity and evening foot scrubbing.

So, I load up 5 children (babysitting for the fireman down the street who lost his wife last year to BC). So I have them for 24 hrs. every third day. Sweet little boy and girl, between #2 and #3. We're all in the car, except Grandma, who is sweeping up dog hair. (I'm thinking she's looking forward to 1 hour of silence as we go to fairgrounds to drop off art.) #1 is in front seat putting wire on brackets of #2's picture frame.

#1 pulls just the wrong way on the wire of the frame and breaks glass as I am climbing into car with five children and two large framed artworks. (#1 did a watercolor at a class at the library as well as the charcoal.)

No problem! We can just hit Michael's on our way to 4H fairgrounds. We must be there by 7 pm to drop off and it's only 5 pm. So off we go. #1 stays in car with #3 and NB (neighbor boy), while I go in with #2 and NG (neighbor girl). I now find the aisle with the document frames (wouldn't have had to cut picture!!), which I now buy. #2 and NG convince me to buy $1 calendars for them all to color while we are driving...

Back into the car, #1 goes at the framing thing with vigor (a little less vigor perhaps, to protect glass in frame #2). Frame #2 is a document frame, MADE FOR 8.5x11, so now the picture has been trimmed a little too much. TOO BAD! It's going in. White space be darned!

Off we go. We arrive at the fairgrounds with the approximately 200,000 other county residents who are hauling in artwork, furniture, and any other non-living project you can imagine. I bring my five little chicks in with me and we proceed to fill out our little cards (Mom, how do you spell charcoal?)

4H Fine Art Steward approachs us almost immediately to let us know that our wire hangars are not correct on two of the three projects. Thankfully, they have provided a table with screw-eyes, wire and tools to correct such malformaties as must be pretty prevalent, since there is a waiting line for the work table.

#1 gets her watercolor frame re-rigged quickly. That girl is handy. Then we go to work on Frame #2 while the other chicks hit the water fountain. (Stay together little chicks. Don't hang on the ropes that divide the lines little chicks. Stand still you little cretins!)

We realize that Frame #2 is not made of wood. It's not even made of a natural material, unless compressed cardboard counts as a natural material. Our fingers begin to show the strain of twisting little bitty screw-eyes...we give up and whine for special treatment.

We are taken to the Matron of Fine Art, who shows a teensy bit of leniency in allowing us some extra time TO GO TO WAL-MART AND GET ANOTHER FRAME! She said it--GO TO WAL-MART AND GET A WOOD FRAME.

Little chicks, get your little hineys back in the car, no you cannot go through the tents, no you cannot have a snack, put your eyes on those calendars!!! True, Wal-mart is just around the corner, but it's Super Walmart, so that means the parking lot is akin to Disney World and I'll need a map to find picture frames.

This time I take #3 (the loose cannon with a piercing whine) with me and everyone else stays with #1 in the car. What would I do without #1??? We find the picture frames and I pick one that says in bold letters "Solid Wood". But we're in Wal-mart for cryin' out loud. What are the odds that I will leave with one, singular item in my hand???

We pass the back-to-school displays and there are crayons for 20 cents--now can anyone pass that up?! And they go with the $1 calendars I bought at Michaels, right? And we're trapped in the car for another drive--I wonder if Dave Ramsey sees it this way?? So four boxes of crayons go into the bag, forgive me #1, and we're off.

Back to the fairgrounds. The entire tribe piles out and I hand them off to #1 to take through all the empty fairground tents, while I head back to the dungeon, I mean fine art area to begin my labor for Rumplestiltskin...did I mention how helpful #1 is?

Back to the table, it is now 6:30. There are a paltry few little screw eyes left and still the parents surround the table, twisting and hammering. I begin on frame #3 in earnest and believing that since I am lawfully joined to the handiest man on the planet, this should be a breeze. After all, my proximity to him for almost two decades should have rubbed off a little.

Sure enough, the first screw eye is seated in a reasonable amount of time, what with having to share the one little hammer with three other sets of parents, on a plastic banquet table. I did take the precaution of removing the glass and the picture from the frame while I droned away.

Screw-eye #2 was not to be done. Indeed, I did not see one shred of evidence that frame #3 was made of anything different from frame #2 once we delved beneath the paint...it still looked like powdered something or other. I fussed. I spun the frame around the eye. I tapped the eye with the hammer. I pressed and turned and spat. Well, not really.

Finally, some kind soul at the other end of the table took pity on me--it must've been my hair--and came to my rescue. And she did use a teeny, weeny nail to make a starter hole for the stupid screw eye. (Handyman would have thought of this.) Let me say that the nail was so teeny that I had to hold it with needle-nose pliers while the other lady whacked at it. I kept expecting the glass to somehow slide off the table to the floor, but it held. And suddenly, she was finished. She did it.

Then I realized there was no wire left on the table, so I dispatched #2 (who had by this time come in to check on me) back to the car to retrieve the wire off frame #2. She returned with a wire barely long enough to make, but there was no stopping me now. I pulled the wire through and put those needle-nose pliers back to work pinching the wire around itself to close it.

Meanwhile, Frau Blucher the steward (not really--she was extremely patient and helpful), was bringing in some coated fence wire from her truck (I am not kidding about this) for the parents who were still there trying to get little Suzie's pictures corrected appointed.

Let me summarize: At this point I have paid about $20 to frame a pencil drawing on copy paper. This is one expensive little ribbon--she'd better win.

On to the dog show--bring your own baggies!

Here's the story,
of a short-haired lady;
Who was bringing up three very lovely girls.
All of them had longer hair,
than their mother.
The youngest one in curls.

Here's the story of guy who's handy.
Who had bitten off way more than he could chew.
There was no rest, from such a burden
He had all he could do.

Till the one day when they lady told this fellow,
that she knew that it was much more than hunch,
that if her stall mats
were not put in soon,
his new chainsaw might meet the treehouse with a crunch!

I know the pentameter is a little off, but it's early and I spent two hours waiting for the tow truck to come pick up my rental van, that I got because the lunatic on the cell phone hit my truck when I was coming home from vacation--oh, and my better half was on his way to Wisconsin. Thankfully, I have a spare truck at home and we had a lot of library books.

I have spent the last two months not blogging, but digging. I have planted 4,735 daylilies, gifted from a gifted-gardener friend. So now, I have flowers blooming out the ying-yang, and it's great! I'll try to post some pictures later...

We have also gained a dog and lost a cat...(tears and sadness). Little Darcy is gone from us. I cannot help but suspect the nefarious coyote or fox, although she was not a wanderer. It could have even been a racoon. Darcy was a great climber, loving to get on our giant roof. But a racoon could certainly have followed her. She would not be kept in either. She wanted outside in a bad way, but would come in in the evening when we called.

Our new dog is a smooth-collie. If you google tri-color smooth collie, you'll see a picture that looks just like her. Great dog, more to come on this.

I also promise to post my cousin's recipe for butterfinger dessert--yikes!

The hair report: I have more hair than my dad, but less than my husband. And no weird color change--so disappointing to my girls.

A three-hour tour...

Lewis, Clark and Sacajawea put in just south of the driveway.
As they head for the rapids, a friendly Mandan watches...
...and helps them over a shallows.
They turn east at the juncture with the overflowing creek.
and approach the notorious poultry penitentiary, nearly submerged.
Passing between the garden plot, piled high with "horse product" and the chicken "pen", they continue eastward, toward the "fort".
A friendly "native" joins the little band.
Another low spot. Lewis has to drag the dugout.
View from the fort.
Approaching Trail's End.

McCain sighting

John McCain came to our city yesterday (and sounds like about 5 others as well.) I heard he travelled 3500 miles in one day this week--yikes. Anyway, some friends of mine headed out to the airport to see him and they ended up pretty near the front. She said they waited for an hour or so and the big McCain jet flew in right overtop of them.

Now this friend has three sweet daughters and one very handsome, busy son. This son is the wonderful boy who wore the pink breast cancer bracelet for weeks, for me, even to football practice (it was the football coach who gave out the bracelets to honor his wife.) This boy has climbed out my upstairs garage window onto the roof, just to see the view--he is ALL boy, and a nice one at that.

Anyway, my friend tells me that her son got to shake John McCain's hand!! She says to me, on the phone, "K. got to shake John McCain's hand and say hi to him! He shoved his way through to the front..."

From the background, I hear K say, "No Mom. I got on my hands and knees and crawled through peoples' legs until I got to the front."!!

I was not surprised at all! I can just see his smiling little face popping up in the front row, knees black with airport filth, hair tousled with static from peoples' pants legs, women shreiking as some unknown thing rifles across their calves--typical K. fashion. And he'll never forget that moment as long as he lives.

You go K! Your zest for life is inspiring--sometimes dangerous--but inspiring nonetheless!

WWW.JOHNMCCAIN.COM

Celebrity Sighting

Usually it's Handyman who sees celebrities...and I mean lots of 'em. He's been there, done that with more than i can remember. We play "Six Degrees of Separation" with Handyman and usually get it done in 3. Debbie Reynolds, yep. Liam Neeson, yep. Faye Dunaway, you-have-no-idea. John Mellencamp, almost had coffee in his kitchen. Courtney Cox, yep. Cloris Leachman, yep. Jennifer Anniston, yep. Angelina Jolie, thank-the-heavens-resounding NO.

Anyway, this week it's my turn. We have tickets to see Sarah Palin on Friday, in our own county! Wooohooo! Somehow, I don't think it will be up close and personal like Handyman gets. But, it'll be a glimpse of history for #1 and me.

I just finished reading John McCain's biography. It was very interesting. I learned a lot of military history. I enjoyed reading it. I wish he were more conservative, but I am just glad he's not a socialist. I am frightened for our country now.

Do I think John McCain is a great candidate? No. But he's not a socialist. He understands the importance of military strength and Palin understands small business and how to stimulate growth in small-town America. They should be banging away harder at Obama's associations/influences and his complete lack of experience. But they're being "nice".

My concern is that we've become a nation of whiners who want the government to solve and manipulate everything to make life easy for us. I see many people who look no farther than Entertainment Tonight for their information and couldn't define socialism if they were asked. More people can name Angelina Jolie's kids than can name their congressman. What's up with that? Bigger government is not the answer, and never has been. Quit waiting for someone to come along and make your life better.

If you're that unhappy with how things are here, feel free to move elsewhere; France could use some more people and they have "great benefits".

BTW, check out my uncle's new political blog at http://itcanbefixed.blogspot.com . Leave him a comment--he'll love it!

Anyway, we'll be seeing the gal from Alaska on Friday. My kin-folk are rolling in this weekend to help with my exciting week next week. Thank God for kin-folk. I'll be kind of busy next week, but hope to post by the end of the week.

Horses are enjoying the cooler weather since Reno is already fuzzy-like-bear.

State Fair Soliloquoy

We started off at the little trail where lil gals "learn about farming" and Mom and Dad say things like, "This is where you pick up your government subsidy check for producing ethanol," and "Obviously they don't know anything about chickens since they have 200 eggs under each hen." Then we feel sad for little city kids who think that you throw a (fake) seed into some sand and step across the way and pick up a veggie and then get paid at the end. But, the lil gals love it!



Here's #2 taking her first and last steps on and off a school bus. She pleaded with me, "Mom, I've never been on a bus." Yeah, yeah. Thank heavens for that #2.




Requisite picture with giant fake fish, where I remind #1 and #2 that there are really fish this big swimming in Lake Michigan; where they are going with grandparents.



We all love draft horses, although whenever I am around them, I can't help
but pull my toes back inside my shoes as I imagine what ungodly pain it must be to have one step on you...



This was without any doubt, the largest horse I have ever seen, EVER! I have seen a LOT of horses, but he took the cake, and ate it! I know the camera angle is pretty bad--people would not get/stay out of my way for one second. Handyman is 6'4", with Binks on his shoulders, easily makes them close to 7' and that horse wasn't on more than a couple of inches of shavings, if that. We did not see him put his head over the top of the stall, but I don't think it would have been a struggle. The yearling in the stall next to him was eating the edge of the easy-up tent in the aisle behind them...




Here's one of my favorites--look closely...a little "plumber's action" goin' on.

We've been wanting a truck--this is what Dave Ramsey is recommending for our current situation...




Look who's driving! (Another instance where complete strangers would not stay out of our pictures!)

I think everyone should have one of these shots...



Day's almost over...


End of the day...




What's a soliloquoy??