Creepy Crawly Things

I've been working on a new knitting project. I am learning to knit socks with a Magic Loop cast on process. This means you knit both socks at once. To me that makes sense because they will match, and when they are finished, you can wear them, not set one aside and start the second.
After lots of learning and knitting practically the whole way to Lake Powell and home, I had gotten to the cuffs. As I looked at these socks, I felt nothing but boredom. So I snapped a picture and frogged (ripped) them out. I have started a new pattern called Mojo (by Donyale Grant), that has some fancy knitting and purling, which gives it ribs and a pattern. I will snap a picture when I get far enough along to be able to see anything.

We got three frosts, three nights in a row, which virtually killed all of the garden. A few hardy garden huckleberries and some peppers are still hanging on, plus I noticed one zucchini plant still looking perky.

Sailor spent a lot of time on Saturday pulling all the tomatoes up and harvesting them, plus all the volunteer huckleberries and tomatillos. Sunday, he made up a very good jam of all that goodness. We had a Green River watermelon which he used to add a few really ripe chunks into the jam, plus the huckleberries, and a huge zucchini. He peeled the zucchini, then cut into long chunks which he sent through the food processor grater. Then he added sugar and Sure Jell and stirred until it got thick. He got over a gallon of jam which he processed in smaller jars. We also harvested some tiny honeydew. This is our first success of melons. Hopefully if we plant them earlier than mid June, we might have better success. We bought these when they were closing them out at .25 for four plants. But it gives us hope.

I brought in all the house plants. In the spring after danger of frost is gone, all the houseplants are taken outside under the mulberry tree. There they camp all summer and into the fall. They come back into the house revived. In fact, I haven't seen the fern look happier than when it has been watered daily with the sprinkler, (something I must do for it is spritz it daily.) The cyclamin are all so happy each fall, blooming. My Christmas cactus always are ready to bloom after their summer camping under the tree. They are easy to take outside in the spring. I just start hauling them all outside, arranging them so they all get a shot at the rain-bird sprinkler, and removing their saucers.

Bringing the plants back inside in the fall, however, is a much harder ordeal. Usually I have time to spray them for spiders and all other insects that have taken to camping out in their folds while they are still outdoors, but this past week I didn't have time. We were gone all last week on a boating Mess-about at Lake Powell, which is a whole different post. By the time we got home, the cold front was upon us. We barely had time unload the boat, back it into it's place, cover it with tarp and unpack all the gear. I gathered all the plants onto the porch and Sailor brought them in the house.

I should clean the saucers in the spring and put them away, but I was lazy and just stacked them outside. Which meant, now when bringing them in, I had to fill the laundry room sink with soapy water and wash and dry them before I could replace all the plants to their spot in the house. It is a big process, which includes vacuuming the spot where they will sit and arranging rugs and tables by the windows. I also washed those same windows because they are hard to reach when all those plants are in the way. By the way, I have learned a really neat trick. Rain-x was introduced to me by my son who lived in Mississippi, where they get lots of rain. By rubbing this into the windshield, the rain just beads off. Then my sister took it one step further. She rubs it into Mom's windows. They shed the raindrops as well, and they seem to last for at least 6 months without having to redo. So I rubbed it into three of my windows.

I've also been watering them with Miraclegro-laced water, dusting the plants for bugs and spraying for spiders before I place them in their new home. Spiders give me the creeps. In fact any creepy crawly thing that somehow gets into the house is eliminated. I have been brushing all the dirt and cobwebs away from the bottoms of the plants, and have found several unwanted residents still hanging around them.

It reminds me of a story. Several years back we were having a family get-together here at our house. As we gathered around the table to eat, a HUGE spider was calmly making its way past the table toward the corner. I couldn't figure out where it had come from, because before company, my house gets a thorough cleaning. I was embarrassed and creeped out. I asked Sailor to get rid of it, and he calmly picked it up on a paper plate to take it outside! This meant lifting it over the table, people's heads and the pizza in order to get past everyone and take it to the door. I just wanted him to dispatch, not escort it. Of course it dropped off the plate, and onto the floor and caused several to shriek and move aside. But instead of stomping it, he picked it up again. Well, that was enough to get me to feeling like there were spiders everywhere and I was itching and shuddering.

We got back to the food at hand, and I was telling some sort of story, when my niece, Nina got a creepy look on her face while looking at my shoulder and said, "What's that thing on your shoulder?" Of course I reacted by brushing my shoulder and jumping sideways off my chair. That sent Nina into hysterics. She had been teasing me, and her timing was perfect. She had waited until things had calmed down enough to sort of forget the spider, but also short enough for me to still be on the alert. When I realized she was teasing, at first I felt really mad, yet seeing her lay down on the rug on her back, kicking her feet in the air as she gasped with laughter also made me laugh and see the humor in her very mean prank.

Nina has been my sister's foster daughter for many years, even after she married and had children, we all considered her part of the family. Recently things changed so she is legally part of our family now. Welcome Nina, you rascal you. I love you to pieces, even though you have a practical joking side to you. You are charming and I love you and your darling family.

Back to the task at hand, I still have thirsty plants that need to be placed in their new home. I hope everyone reading this is having a wonderful day.

~a

How to get motivated to vacuum behind the dryer

Random Thoughts:

1) How to get motivated to vacuum behind the clothes dryer:

spill something dirty behind it. ie potting soil.

2) If I were to build a new house, I would NOT put my dryer off the kitchen or in the middle of the house with no place to vent it.

3) I hate riding the bus, but I guess if I had to, Mexico would be the place.

A little bit of history here:
When this old house was built, in the 1940's, there was no such thing as a personally owned clothes dryer, so it wasn't built with a laundry room in mind.

When it was remodeled in the 1960's, a large room was added to the side. We call this the *Cultural Hall. The existing kitchen which was 5 feet by 8 feet was converted to the laundry room. the existing dining room was converted to a kitchen, and the newly added Cultural Hall became a family room/dining room. The dryer now lives in the center of the house with no place to vent. When we first moved here, the dryer was vented into the basement near the heater. This was remedied eventually when I purchased a small plastic box that holds water from one of those random catalogs you get in the mail. The dryer vents into the water and the dust doesn't go too far. But sometimes I forget to refill the water. When it was vented into the basement, the heater naturally pulled the existing air which contained dryer dust. 23 years later, I still have dust in every room that looks like dryer dust. I have to find a chimney sweep who is willing to come clean my vents.

*The term "Cultural Hall" is in reference to what the room is called in our Church. It is the social place where we have all the parties, wedding receptions, Relief Society dinners, funeral viewings and dinners, and it is a basket ball court. The room is so big in our house, we wondered why they had built a Cultural Hall in the near-by Church.

A disadvantage to having my laundry room right off the kitchen, besides the noise, is the refrigerator sucks the dryer dust into its vents and I am constantly getting under and behind it to vacuum all the coils. If I were to build a new house, I would make sure the dryer has an outside vent and a door that closes it off from the rest of the world.

Anyway, I had placed a tray of peat pots filled with potting soil near the dryer on a shelf, temporarily. When I slammed the dryer door the peat pots fell behind the dryer. That's what I get for being lazy. I should have never placed them there in the first place. I added to my work.

I am packing for my trip to Denver with D2. I didn't realize it was so close at hand until we looked at the calendar last night. I am a week behind and was shocked to see it will be this coming Monday!

Mom is safely back from Mexico. My mom, almost 87 years old, rode down there in a van with some immigrant friends of hers. They stayed with their family and enjoyed the annual carnival that is held in their town, until the swine flu broke out and it was closed down. Then they left the van there for family, and boarded a bus for home. Mom says the bus in Mexico was so roomy and nice with a bathroom, lighted isles, air conditioning, and very comfortable seats. They had to change buses in Texas. The bus from Texas to home, it was not air conditioned, no lighted isles and cramped with the seats much closer together and very uncomfortable. hmmmm that doesn't say much for the US, does it.

Anyway I must get busy with the rest of my work.

have a nice day
~a
PS the lilacs are just coming out. By the time I get home they will all be gone. boo hoo

I don't mind owning a kitty

I don't mind owning a cat. In fact, most of my life I have owned cats or some sort of pet. When I was young, I lived on a farm. We had cows and cats. This is a baby picture of me and our cat Felix. Felix lived to the ripe old age of 21! And she was never our favorite cat. Isn't that how it goes?

Anyway, the cats all joined in the milking barn when Daddy would milk and he would squirt the milk into their mouths. They loved it. They hunted mice and kept our property fairly free of mice. We had apple trees and I remember picking up fallen apples and feeding them to the cows. They were tame cows.

My job was to go round up Swapsy from the pasture and walk her home every evening. I would lock her in the milk barn and give her a bucket of grain and a leaf of alfalfa hay. She was a Jersey cow. She was so tame that when she saw me coming, she would start coming to meet me. When she had a baby, it would spend the night in an open shed with straw. In the morning, Daddy would milk her and let her out. The baby would nurse all day. That way we got milk and so did the baby.

When we were young, I remember once counting all the cats in the yard. There were 27 cats. Most were wild. We had our favorites, Dusky was an amazing mama cat. Long haired gray cat who defended our yard fiercely. Once we heard a series of yelps coming from our barn as we visited with the new neighbors. Their collie had wandered where he shouldn't have and pretty soon here came the collie with Dusky riding his back like a jocky. She rode him until they reached the bridge, then she dismounted, dusted off her paws and calmly walked back to the barn where her kittens were. She was amazing. She was killed defending her litter of kittens and Felix's kittens who were living in boxes on the front porch for warmth during a very cold winter. Two huge dogs, a St. Bernard and a terrier mix played tug of war with her, Daddy told us. We awoke to see the carnage. She lay in state in the barn until it thawed enough to bury her.

When we got married, we owned a mouse. She lived in an aquarium we filled half way with dirt. We named her Raynelda Mouse, after a local news anchor, Raynelda Muse. We felt sorry for her and got her a husband, and named him Rasputen. They had babies. After they grew up, we decided the babies and the dad needed to live in Sailor's Dad's hay stack. I am sure the local cats got them, but that way we didn't have to. Raynelda lived to the ripe old age of two after her husband and children left her. One day she didn't act normal, I knew she was dying and it was so hard to watch. I buried her in our front garden with the flowers.

Then we moved to our own farm. 118 acres. We had goats, sheep, cows, a dog and of course many cats. The cats came with the property. The Dog, Susy was an Australian breed called a Kelpie. We lived there for 8 years. Just as we were moving away from the farm, the kids discovered one of the mother cats had just given birth to a litter of kittens. There was one that had markings of a Siamese, but it had a white face and tummy and his ears and tail were black and a tiny oval spot on his back was white. His face was divided across his eyes (which were blue). Above the eyes was a brown and below white. I have found a picture of one that looks like him and the caption says his is a Ragdoll Breed.

We named him Meow Tse Tsung. Meow for short. Meow traveled with us to our northern town. His eyes were barely open. I fed him with an eye dropper. Two ounces of milk, warmed in the microwave every two hours. He was a very nice cat. I house trained him quite quickly and he even learned to potty on the toilet. Then we moved to our Utah home and he came too. He lived happily until a new dog in the neighborhood came to sniff on our property and he defended it. The dog killed him. It was sad. If you see a pattern here. . . maybe that is why I realllllllllly dislike dogs.

We acquired a new kitten and named her Phoebe. She grew up and had kittens. One of her sons was a black cat named Two A.M.
Sailor's thoughts were that since everyone else names their black cats Midnight, he would be different. After a few years, along came a neighbor cat. He was an orange stripped cat we nick-named Hobbs. He had been kicked out of the neighbor's house for his bad manners. He decided he belonged to us. He chased away our two cats. They vanished. We called and called for them. We looked everywhere. About six months later, we found Phoebe dead under the apple tree down the street. She looked like she had been fed and cared for by someone else. Perfect. I still don't know what killed her. It was so sad. We thought we spotted Two A.M. once in the shop. He used to watch Sailor so closely that sometimes his paw prints were in the paint. It was sad to have him driven away. When we spotted him in the shop, he cried to us, but was afraid to come. We think he became a ferrel cat. That was so sad.

So Hobbs became our cat, by default. He thinks he owns us and tells us every.single.morning.and.night, well, any time he sees us, for that matter, how we need to feed him. He thinks he needs to be an inside cat, and yearns by the door. Sailor has given him several showers when he has gotten the nerve to come inside. He was disowned by the neighbors because he pooped on their piano. He will never become our house cat. Never!

I give you this insight on our cat ownership so you know the background of our pet ownership and this current cat. I am not really attached to him. But because he is now our Only Cat, we feed him, we hire a girl to babysit him when we leave on vacation, but he is not really the cat we chose.

He has other faults besides driving our favorite pets away and pooping on pianos. He throws up. I have heard this is common with cats who clean themselves. They swallow hair and then throw it up. I thought it was just reserved for the long-haired cats. But this is something he does.

He eats, then he throws up. It used to be the back step. I would have to round up the hose and spray all that gunk away. But then he took to throwing up on something nice, like the back door rug and I would have to take it out to the lawn and hose it off. This is annoying. Then one day he threw up on my FRONT rug! While we were gone on vacation, he threw up right in front of his little Kitty house. It is so disgusting. But that seems like kitten play compared to what he has started to do lately. Now he has taken to throwing up on our cars!

Yes, our cars. He must eat and then quickly run to the front of the house, jump over the fence, then run to the car, hop up on it and then proceed to throw up his food. Bleah. Like I said at the beginning of this post, I don't mind owning a cat. It is nice not to see mice running across our garden, which happened after Meow and before Phoebe. So I like it. but I DO NOT LIKE this new habit he has taken to doing. NOT FUN. I put up with washing the sidewalk, the rugs, in front of his house, but this new habit is really out of hand. Its not like he feels the urge and then proceeds close to where he is fed, no, he has to come a LONG way in order to do this dastardly deed.

We have tried giving him that medicine you have to put on his paw and have him lick it off. He usually flicks it off his paw before he licks it off. We have tried using that stuff you gag down his throat. We have tried all sorts of things. He is not a fat cat, of course, because he is bulimic.

Personally, I am almost to the point that I would rather have mice running across the back of the garden than have this. I never even invited him to join our family, and now I am starting to resent him. I am NOT a happy camper.

notsosure I want to even own a cat.
~a

If Matrix were running on Windows

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

I found this on someone else's blog. She said ". . .if the Matrix were running on Windows...If you have not seen the Matrix it might not be as funny. If you've used Windows I think you'll get it though."
She says it all. I have been having lots of problems and I think it all stems from my stupid Windows.
I know S2 will love this. He has been hyping Apple and Mac for a LONG time.
I get it, S2, I get it.
have a nice day~
~a

Good Bye Ol' Blue

A couple of weeks ago, a young man named Jesus (pronounced Hey-zus) came to my door. He spoke a broken English with a Spanish accent and asked what I was thinking of doing with this old car?
I asked him if he wanted it and he offered me $50 for it. I told him I would call my husband and see what he wanted to do. Last night I called him back, and he said he would come today.

Ol' Blue has a long history with us, in fact she has been with us for 9 years, according to the license plate. I really didn't know she had been around that long! Funny (sort of scary) how I get "house blind" to junk sitting around. She has spent most of her life with us sitting around in our yard. We traded her for our Ford Econoline 150 van, known as The Pickle, years ago. The man who traded was very anxious to trade and then being a sharp trader, wanted Sailor to finish painting the side he had just primed. They had made the deal, and Sailor was painting the Pickle in his spare time after work.
But to make it more intense, Sharp Trader showed up one evening with Blue and his wife and kids and pretty much forced Sailor to finish the painting RIGHT NOW while he waited. He wanted to get this transaction completed. I believe there was money involved, but I don't remember, probably $500. He handed the title over to us and drove away. We discovered he had owned Blue for a couple of years but had never transferred it to his name.

In good faith and stupidness, we traded, after Sailor had finished a rough job of painting The Pickle. It was late at night when they drove away in our van, leaving little Blue in its place.

I spent the next day cleaning her. He had driven her to the dairy and had sat on the seats in his dairy clothes and put his dairy boots on the carpet, and she smelled like fresh dairy. yech! I wasn't very happy, but we were struggling and couldn't afford too much else, so I tried to make the best of it. I cleaned her, sprayed Fabreeze and put in a deodorizer. I washed her windows, upholstery and her exterior.

In good faith, the next day, I took Ol' Blue to get an inspection sticker and license plate. I had a smaller car to drive! It was sort of fun. The radio seemed to work but the AC didn't seem too great. I was taking her on our first trip to the grocery store about a mile away. As I left the parking lot there was a problem. I think she began to smoke, (it was long ago and we have been through lots of cars since this one) and I believe she refused to run, or maybe I just barely got her home, I cannot remember. My point is: this is not what you like to have happen with a newly inspected, licensed car. We towed her to the fixing dock and I was without a car now. As my children walked to school, I would see The Pickle drive by. Did they offer us a ride? no. As I walked to the grocery store, I would see The Pickle parked there. As I lugged my groceries home on foot, she would drive by. She always waved and smiled.

Do you sense a bit of resentment here? Well you are right. I was furious that someone would take advantage of my sweet husband like that. He never was a great trader, bless his heart. I was furious that even after we told him that it had blown up, that he didn't offer to trade back. nope. I still loved the wife, but I had a hard time looking at that creepy husband.

So Ol' Blue sat in the dock. Pretty soon, Sailor found me another New-To-Me-But-Used Car and Blue took a side seat in the fixing dock. Sailor had plans of fixing her up for one of the kids to drive, but we didn't' get around to it. He purchased all new stuff and had her pistons reworked (I don't know the proper terminology). Her engine sat in the shop while life hurried on. Pretty soon we got another old vehicle, a white Toyota, given to us for free from the Band Teacher, because it was leaking oil. This became S3's vehicle because it was easier to fix than Ol' Blue. And after a while, she was moved out to the street. There she sat, tires flattening, stuff inside getting sun bleached while awaiting for Sailor to pay her some attention.

That is where Jesus came in. Nine years later. He came today with the $50 cash. As he worked on taking off the front bumper so he could tow her, he talked to me. He told me he tows these old vehicles up to Provo and after selling as much as he can, tires, radio, etc., he sells the rest for scrap metal. After a bunch of hard work, he can get around $350. I told him there are lots of things, spark plugs, oil filters, air filters, brake shoes, and nuts and bolts inside. I don't know if he can resell these, but some are in their original boxes.

It was sort of sad to see her pulled away, yet very liberating. Sad, because it represents an unfinished project we never got to. Sad because we had purchased lots of parts to fix it and the money is totally wasted. But the longer she stood there, the older she got and harder it was to find parts for her. In reality, she had to go.

I am sure the old man next door is thrilled to have her go, since she was parked in front of his house, not ours. He was sweet about this, since he is almost blind and didn't have any vehicles to park. I should go and clean up where she stood later today .

Jesus promised to come back and pick up the Old Neighbor's refrigerators next week. They have been parked in his back yard for practically as long as Ol' Blue has been in front. It is good to clean up the neighborhood! Thanks to Jesus.

~a

Biggest Loser

I have a talent of sorts, if you want to call it that. My talent is that I lose things easily. My friends and family could rightly call me the "biggest loser" because I do this so often.

I waste so much time looking for "that object" that I just saw yesterday and need so badly today in order to continue with my project. It is so aggravating to me. I used to be able to call upon the children, describe the missing object and instantly there were 6 extra pairs of eyes on the lookout. Usually, among these sweet and alert children would be one who just saw it and direct me toward the thing I was missing. Sometimes, it turned out, someone had borrowed it and forgot to put it back where I had originally placed it. Sometimes not and I would realize that is where I had placed it. But now I have no one to blame or call on but myself. Sweet Sailor is my only other alert "eyes", and sometimes he can direct me to the lost thing, but many times he is at work and I have to take up the hunt on my own.

The solution is simple in theory:
My father-in-law used to say "a place for everything and everything in its place." I have always admired this virtue, but have never quite been able to put it into practice in my life.

One key is to relieve myself of unnecessary extra things. I watch as people move from an old house into a new, they go through their stuff and throw. They would rather throw than pack it and move it. It is a good cleansing practice, but my problem is I am too comfortable. I have lived in this house for 22 years and have not had to sort and throw.

I am realizing at this stage in life that I own too many things. I look around and think to myself, "Self, if you died, your poor survivors would have such a terrible time cleaning out your house. There is just too much d**m junk here."

Sorry, I don't usually swear, but the stupid stuff I own and worked all these years to acquire is just that: Stupid stuff. And I wasted good money and time acquiring it, sorting it, saving it, dusting it and eventually sorting through it looking for something else I know I have.

For example: I own at least 14 pairs of scissors, maybe more, mainly because sometime in my history I have lost a pair and I purchase another, or I forgot it at home and am on a trip and desperately need one for my latest stitching project. The reason I am aware of the scissors number is because I had the opportunity of getting them sharpened for $1.00 each. I gathered as many as I could find and brought in around 7 pair. While those scissors were in the shop getting sharpened, I needed scissors, so I began to search the house, and the very next week brought in 7 more pair.
Don't even get me started on pens. I am a PEN JUNKIE. I am sure would be embarrassed if we just got a box and placed every single writing instrument into it that resides in this house. Probably most have dried up and should be tossed.

::blushes with embarrassment::

But that is a different post.

Back to losing stuff:

In the past few weeks, I have wasted time on several occasions looking for something. I think when my sister was here once, within a 24-hour period she witnessed two or three different occasions of me looking for the most recent missing thing.

Last night I lost the stylus to my Palm Pilot. Please don't ask how I lost it, I have no idea, it just was missing when I went to use it.

I couldn't go to bed until I found the extra two I had purchased. I had just had them the day before, held them in my hand and in trying to put into practice the Place for Everything Principle, thought to myself, "where would be a good place to store these extra stylusi?" (is that the plural of stylus?) I had three* because in order to replace the one that had broken had to purchase a package of three. I thought I had put them in a safe place, but it was too safe.

*I am justifying myself for having two too many in the first place

I searched the house, even though it was 1:30 in the morning. I probably wouldn't even need to read anything on my Palm in order to go to sleep I was so tired. I wondered around the house, dumping out my purse, my church bag, and sorting through and cleaning other things looking for the old one and for the two new ones I had just put away in a nice "safe place."

It is at this point that I began to pray. Yes, I use prayer to help me recover what I carelessly lost. I am sure the poor Lord is just shaking his head at me, saying, "Dear Annie, please get more organized so I can put my attention toward other more important things, like flood victims, diseases, and other things."
But in my heart, I know that He knows all things, and he is pretty sweet to answer most of my prayers almost instantly.

The point to all this is I am very talented at losing things. But the one thing I can't seem to lose is weight. Why is that? I hear about someone who has lost weight, and it almost seems like I magically find it. Not that I hurry around and eat a dozen donuts or anything stupid like that, I just notice the scale has jumped upwards.

It goes like this: You lose 5 pounds, I hear about it, and I find it and add it to my collection.

And yes, I have even approached the Lord on this one, but there is always some sort of clause in my petitions like, "I want to lose this weight in a healthy way, not get pancreatic cancer or something dangerous." But He must think that this time I am on my own. After all I haven't lost anything that He needs to help me find.

::heaves a big sigh::

And now, with this latest procrastination distraction just completed, I will get out and take that walk I have been dreading. Wish me luck and remember me in your prayers. I need all the help I can get to continue this exercise quest. I am hating it.

~a

Really, I do count my blessings that I have legs to walk with, I have a healthy heart, no diabetes, no disease that I know of, fairly good feet and knees, although they give me lots of sass, a sweet husband who supports and loves me.

Don't try to sell me anything, Part II

On several occasions where I had to make a trip to the mall in Salt Lake, I passed by a kiosk that had Egyptian 400 thread count cotton sheets, all sizes for $22. It came with a flat top, fitted bottom and four pillow cases for that price. It didn't matter if you purchased them for a twin or a king bed, all were the same price.
I saw this kiosk at first around Christmas. I finally got around to maybe getting a set in May or June. The kiosk had moved, much to my relief they were still in the mall. So I purchased two sets, a white set and a lavender set. When I got home, I put the white ones on my bed and ohmygosh, they were the softest, most wonderful sheets I had ever touched. I was in love and started telling my children about these amazing inexpensive sheets.
My daughter expressed interest, so I purchased her a set. Then the other daughter told me she wanted two sets. I decided the next time I was in the big city I would purchase the other daughter a couple of sets and maybe get a set for every other child as a Christmas present or something, plus I thought they would be great for guest beds. My plan was to come up with mucho money and just buy all I could.
Well, I came back last week, armed and ready to purchase many sheets and guess what? It has gone out of business, and the heart-breaker was they had closed LAST WEEK. The mall information guy said their lease ran out and they stopped business in both malls. You may remember the curse I tend to put on products I love, that is if I find a product I adore, it usually discontinues.
Now I have looked online. I have found several sites that sell sets of 300, 400, and 600 tc Egyptian cotton queen-sized sheets for around that same price, but when I went through all the ordering information and finally got around to shipping, an additional $20 is attached to the cost, so there goes my plans. I have found many, many sheets that are much more expensive and want to charge the Bed Bath and Beyond prices which are way BEYOND my budget. So it is back to square one. I gave the other daughter my lavender set of sheets, because I had promised to get her a set, and now I only own one set for myself. *sniff*
My only hope is that this kiosk will show up again around Christmas. (oh please, please, please come back Discount Sheets) I promise I will be ready with several wads of $100 bills, armed and ready to buy your whole kiosk out of business, at least for the queen-sized sheets.

You may wonder about hording mentality, but for me this is the kind of thing that triggers that reaction.

::sigh::

hope you are having a great summer, dear reader.

~a

4th of July

When I was a young girl, the 4th of July was one of my favorite holidays. I loved going to the University stadium and enjoying the pre-fireworks show. A man stood down in the field with a microphone and led us in stupid songs, like Old Mr. Ford had a puncture in his tire. We had to make the arm motions and noises and eliminate words one at a time until we were just doing motions and noises with the joining words.
It went like this:
sung to the refrain of Battle Hymn of the Republic


Old Mr. Ford had a puncture in his tire (Glory, Glory Hallelujah)
Old Mr. Ford had a puncture in his tire (Glory, Glory Hallelujah)
Old Mr. Ford had a puncture in his tire (Glory, Glory Hallelujah)
and he fixed it with a wad of chewing gum. (somewhat distorted tune of His Truth is Marching On)

the motions and sounds were:
Old Mr. (uhh) had a (sssss) in his (arms up, elbows bent hands over head to form a circle)
3 times
And he fixed it with a wad of chewing (singing "mmmmmm" instead of "gum" pulling in and out and in imaginary gum in trombone fashion from teeth)

It was sung 5 times. The first was without motions.
Second verse just substituted "Ford" for "uhh"
Third substituted "uhh" for "Ford" and "sssssss" for "puncture"
Forth verse substituted like the second, but added the hand motion for "tire" leaving the word unsaid
The fifth verse substituted "mmmmmm" instead of "gum"

It was highly entertaining to children. We loved to bring guests, because we were in the know and it was fun to watch the guests catch onto the silly songs. I am sure it was pretty boring to the adults, maybe not. I think they had music and other entertainment, but I never remembered that stuff.

At last it began to get dark. The first displays were down on the field. Elaborate flags that lit up in fireworks. There were spinning wheels, Niagara Falls in fireworks, and other very delightful and amazing displays.

At one point everyone lit a match. The whole stadium lit up on the count of three and once where it was dark, we could see everyone's faces as though the lights had been turned on for a second. Daddy made sure we always had a good supply of stick matches so we could hurry and light more if ours burnt out. Our seats were always on the west, in the shadows of the tall mountains behind us. Sometimes we shivered and brought sweaters and blankets as the sun set.

Finally the fireworks began in earnest. The MC felt it his obligation to continue with his running banter, and encouraged the audience to "ooooooo" and "ahhhhhh" in unison.

Once when my little sister had an accident (she had hit her head really hard and received a concussion), she wasn't allowed to do anything exciting, so she had to stay home. I stayed home with her as the family went to the fireworks. Now you mothers will cringe when you hear the next part. We decided to find out if we could see the fireworks from home, so we got a ladder and climbed upon the roof. heh heh We knew the whole program so much by heart, that we produced our own little show, singing the songs, and trying to remember what they might be doing now. We didn't light up matches, that's a good thing, but we did ooooo and ahhhhhhh when the tiny fireworks lit up the horizon. It wasn't the same as them bursting over head, but we didn't feel too left out. These are good memories.

The town where I now reside is located in the west desert of Utah. It is very much unlike my childhood traditions. For one, it is hot here on the 4th.

We have other traditions. The first and most loved by the kids, and hated by me, is the cannon which drives all over our One Square Mile town at 6 in the morning and ignites the noisy kind of firework. They awaken the town. The first summer after we had moved here, I had particular trouble getting my baby to sleep. I was exhausted and was highly irritated by the loud cannons going off all over town. You don't just hear the ones in your neighborhood, you head the whole stupid display for about 15 minutes. They have a fund-raiser for the scouts in the park. They already have the big grills fired up and are making pancakes, sausage and eggs. So they shoot off cannons so we all get up and support the scouts. We could never afford to feed our family of 8 at the park, so I had to get up and make a delicious breakfast.

After breakfast, everyone gathers up and down Main street. People have parked their cars, set up lawn chairs strung with rope and all sorts of ways to reserve their spot on the sidewalk in the hot sun. We never had that large of a group to feel a need to save spots and depended on kind "established families" to offer us a space with them. The senior citizens have stadium seats taken from the local ball field set up for them in the park and in the shade, right beside the MC who is telling us over a loud-speaker what the next display is.

We have a parade with the Summer Marching Band, old tractors and cars, horses, cowboys, floats with Miss County, Miss Rodeo, and Miss City and their attendants riding. We have ATV's, and a little train which houses a guy dressed up like Gorilla that jumps out of his cage and chases the kids. We have the float with the grocery store employees throwing out frozen otter pops to the kids and many floats that toss out various forms of candy, mostly taffy. The library tosses out old discontinued books. At one time, one of the members of the City Counsel used to follow the horses with a little wagon and a pooper scooper. He had a clever saying on his wagon about serving the people. The fire trucks come by, and one sprays water on the crowds and they all blow their sirens. Oh, and all the Demolition Derby cars. Yes we have one of those here.

After the parade, the park is filled with vendors selling goods to eat, games to play, lots of fund raisers for cheerleaders, scouts, etc. There is a Patriotic program where many people sing, read and honor the heros. Then everyone retires to the houses until the evening.

The Destruction Derby begins about 6 or 7 in the evening. There are at least 70 heats. No, I am exaggerating, but it seems like it. I have been to several, but once you seen one, they all kind of blur together and look exactly alike. Even the Master of Ceremony's banter is about the same. And it is not cool enough in the evening to enjoy anything. It is so hot, and the persons planning this a long time ago, didn't realize that most of the seats in the arena face west, toward the setting sun, so everyone fries and develops migraine headaches before the derby even begins.

I had never seen anything like this when we first moved here. People spend the spring and summer months getting ready by fixing up old cars. They remove interior stuff, weld up roll bars, smash the windows out and soup the engines up. Then when the heats begin they drive into each other and try to be the last car moving in the end. If you sit too close, you get dusted and sprayed with mud and grit. This is not my idea of a perfect July 4th.

Finally when the sun has set, the dust has settled, and the last of the 1,000,000 or so endless noisy Crash-up cars have all limped away, three are declared champions and given a tiny amount of money as the prize along with a garish trophy. Then we can finally watch fireworks, put on by our volunteer fire department. We don't get them overhead, like in the University stadium, they are further away. The display doesn't last as long, but hey, we are on a tiny budget compared to the big city. After about 10 minutes there is a large group of fireworks all lit together and the night is over.

It is always hot on the 4th. I think that is what I really dislike about the 4th of July. I have found that I just wilt in the heat, and would much rather not bother with any movement at all. Sailor says the opposite of hibernate is to aestivate. That is summer hibernation where you crawl into a cool hole and sleep it off until the worst of the heat is gone. I guess I am a squirrel at heart.

The 4th was fun while the kids were home, but now that they all have married and moved away, it really isn't my favorite holiday any more. I would rather skip it all together. Probably my favorite part is watermelon and a wonderful treat my grandma used to make called Crullers. It is sort of a fried bread that bubbles, like vanity cakes in Little House on the Prairie. They are salted and served with watermelon. But I can eat that without all the other hoopla.

In fact, party-poopers that we are, in the past years, we have skipped all the town celebrations and quietly picked the summer apples on the tree down the street and canned applesauce. If I have to endure the heat, I may as well be doing something productive.

One more thing that is my favorite is the Air Force planes that fly over us right before the parade. It is a new tradition, but they leave Hill Air Force Base in northern Utah and fly the entire state of Utah, doing a quick zip over our tiny Main Street to the west then turn around and come back east before they head onto the next town. That absolutely thrills me to my soul and I find myself shedding a tear with wonderment and awe.

As we watched our children grow up and move away, my husband began to rack his brain with ways to entice our children to come back and visit us. The kid's Grandpa had horses and a farm. But we don't' have that kind of children-magnets. Much to our surprise, the 4th of July events in this town is what they talk about from their childhood memories. How were we to guess it would Crash-Up Derby that brought them back to see us.

I hope you all have a wonderful 4th celebration.

~a

Neighbors

My daughter just moved. I don't know how her new neighbors are, but she really disliked the ones who lived next to her on one side at the other apartment. They were loud when the baby was sleeping, made rude comments to her when she came in late after going to the gym (her only time to work out) and left cigarette butts on the ground and dog poop in the grass where her son liked to play. Their bedroom is adjacent to the neighbor's. They could hear them "recreate" all night sometimes. How gross is that?
I hope she has better ones now. She lives on the ground floor like last time, and I hope they are more insulated. You could hear the woman's high heels walk across the floor all the time.

Neighbors can be hard. That is why I would like to live WAY out in the country away from 8 barking dogs on one side, away from a nosy one on the other side who uses his very large flashlight to see if we are home. Away from the one two blocks from here who decides to play his drum and his friend the electric guitar for up to two hours right during our dinner hour, so we really don't want to sit out on the patio to eat, besides the stupid dog on the other side, there is no peace. Away from the train that honks four very LONG blasts in the middle of the night (really the train engineers are my neighbors as well). Away from the large trucks who use our street to get to Main Street and shift up four gears just as they progress away from the stop sign on the corner, so when we talk, we have to cease for a minute to be able to hear one another.

I do have one I LOVE. Sister R, across the street, is around my mom's age. She is so wise. I love visiting her and philosophizing with her. She is amazing to me and I want to keep her around forever. I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Whenever we get the old Sunday School lesson on "who is your neighbor", I always feel guilty. I think, at heart, I am really a country girl, even though when we moved to the farm I cried for months every time I went out to the clothes line and hung diapers. We had just left a four-duplex neighborhood of young parents. Anytime I felt lonely, I would wash a batch of diapers and go outside to hang them. There was always someone in one of the other back yards hanging their diapers.

But I learned to love the quiet. I loved the darkness of the night with no lights but the stars. As Roon Dimik said in Big Business, "the only thing crowded was the sky studded with stars." I could actually see the Milky Way every night there. I was afraid of skunks, but that was about it.
I haven't seen stars very much since we moved to the neighborhood. Too many street lights.

I just got back from a short vacation to see my mom and children. Mom's house is located on 18 acres. She has neighbors, but they are fairly far away. Tonight after we unloaded our car, there to greet me, when I checked the mailbox, was a stupid dog barking at me. *sigh* I didn't miss him at all.

~a

put your mail on hold online

I didn't know until my savvy sister told me that you can put your mail on hold online by going to this Post Office site, and fill in all the information!
Wahoo! It is always such a pain in the neck when you are packing, hiring someone to watch the cat and the yard to also remember to go to the Post Office and fill out their forms.
Hurray for modernization! I am so glad they do this.
Yea!

~a

Alfred Hitchcock returns with Birds 2

Today I awoke with a start. There was noise coming from the corner of my ceiling. I recognized it at once as the same birds who had established a home in my attic last spring.

Those Starlings made such an awful mess in my attic last year that it took most of a day in a hot attic to clean. There were bird droppings everywhere near the area where they lived. They took to playing on the boxes near by, and scattering sticks, feathers, more droppings and other debris all over the place. They are a messy lot, those Starlings, and I wasn't about to let this happen again.

"OH NO YOU DON'T" I said, rising up from my bed and throwing on my clothes, setting a new world record for quick change artists.

I quickly donned my coat and gloves, and armed with a hammer, some boards and nails, I got a ladder and ventured to the corner of the house. As I climbed the ladder up to the hole under the eves, I realized with dismay that the whole project was especially designed for someone who favors the sinister hand. Call me clumbsy, but I just cannot hammer with my right hand on a left-handed project, and don't ask me to try it with the left hand. That would spell disaster. Besides possibly making more entry holes for the birds, I was afraid I would fall off the ladder. So I did a quick make-shift job, jamming boards and shims up against and into the hole. This will have to suffice until Sailor can do it right.
I'm not sure why the former owners who built this roof didn't finish the eves up properly at the time, but it has been this way for many years and really hasn't caused any problems until last spring. It was one of those projects on last year's "Honey-do" list for Sailor, that he never got to.

As I was re-reading last year's post, I realized there is yet another place they can enter, and I had better go looking for that one too.

At least I won't be rudely awakened by the noises that sound like they are coming from my wall. Dogs barking* next door are bad enough, but birds in the belfry? I cannot abide that one again.

*we think we have a solution for this. More later. . .

have a nice day everyone

~a

My own Bermuda Triangle

I usually love a good mystery, but when it comes to losing stuff in the house, I am not such a big fan. Some lost things find their way back, especially when I am actually looking for something else. That's when they choose to show themselves.

Ever since Christmas I have been missing a fleece blanket. It was a really soft red and green plaid one and during these recent cold months, I have wished I could find it. I have been meaning to write to my children and ask them if perchance they had seen it during the Christmas reunion. I had four of my children, their spouses and a grand child visiting at the time.

I haven't been on my treadmill since the 13th of December, but because I have found all the weight I had previously lost (which is something I never want to find), I decided it was time. Yesterday I did a walk/run interval training on the treadmill. I looked for my clock that usually sits there. I found it in a different room, with the battery removed! What's that? I know I didn't move it.

During my run yesterday, the heat didn't come on. With the exception of looking for the clock, I got along OK. Today the heat did turn on and I needed my fan. I reached over the top of the fan and turned it on. But it felt different, and when I looked, it was different. The one that usually graces the side of my treadmill is a weak-sauce fan. It doesn't oscillate, just has two speeds. The lowest speed is just about right for me. I am just wanting a tiny breeze, sort of like the great outdoors would provide if I were running in a perfectly quiet day. What I found in its place was the larger black oscillating fan. It is made to blow across the room. I stopped the treadmill, and looked around the room, hoping to find it right there. Then I looked in the furnace room. There where the oscillating fan belongs was a blank space, but no ws fan. What could have happened to it?

I just hate when this happens to me.

To further demonstrate how this messes up my day, at this moment, I am still in the middle of my interval training. The treadmill is on hold with the light blinking, asking me to get back on and complete the second half of my workout. But instead, here I am posting a blog on my frustration. I have been looking all over the house, in all the rooms, in cupboards, and closets. No fan. I have looked in places filled with everything but my fan. I have too much stuff. I must de-junk. But that is another story for another day. I have things to do. I will just turn off the main heat in the house until I am done with the exercise and hope in the course of things I will come across it accidentally when I am looking for something else.

Does this happen to other people? I can easily blame it on my company that was here during Christmas, because it was there just before Christmas when I was faithfully running.

But when I blame others, it usually turns out that I find the missing object in mid-tirade. Then a light turns on in my head and I remember moving the offending object, and the reason why I moved it in the first place. grrrr

::sheepish grin:: heh heh

Oh well. While looking I did find the red fleece blanket and a missing walk-man.

'nuf said.

Back to my run.

~a

Fences

Our library had a Smithsonian Institute Traveling Exhibition Service. We are the only library in Utah that got to have one of these. And I see only four places in Utah got to have it. So I feel privileged.
The librarian told us it took them two days to set it up and it came in 30 crates.

It is very interesting. I thought about our own fences in our back yard. We are surrounded by three different fences.
To the north is a 6' chain link fence. The 9 dogs next door can see through this fence and they bark at us.
The 6' old wooden fence to the east is nearly falling down. Those neighbors have a tiny "yip-yip" dog that can sneak through a hole in the fence. He is smaller than a cat. He likes to run through our sprinkler. When we come outside to chase him back, he barks at us, as though we are treading on HIS property.
The fence on the south side is a very rickety picket fence only 3 feet high. When our dog was young, she used to just sail over that fence like a deer. But before she died, she had such bad arthritis in her hips, she could barely walk. Our old neighbor next door cannot see. He is legally blind, but continues to plant a garden and live alone there. He stands at that picket fence and calls to my husband, to see if he is working back there. Usually he needs help on something.
It looks like the former owners of our house either were lazy, poor or didn't want fences. Maybe they drove the neighbors to build fences. They say good fences make good neighbors. Maybe the neighbors were trying to make good neighbors out of the former owners.
We have been contemplating building a fence to make good neighbors out of the dogs next door. I have mentioned before that they bark a lot and like to howl at the trains. I don't think a fence will mask out the sound, but if it is dense enough, they won't be able to see us and therefore won't bark at us?
How long have they lived next door? 14 years, and their dogs bark at us every time we come outside, as though they own our yard. Maybe a concrete fence will be thick enough to not alert them.
But like our fences, we will have to build in stages because our budget cannot afford to do all three sides at once.
More later. . .

Link

Next Time

Tune in next time when the Sailor asks:

Are there bats in the belfry?

or

How do you kill two bird's nests with one stone?

(shades of Rocky & Bullwinkle)

How easy would it be?

We have dogs next door. Not just a few dogs, we have counted 9 dogs, including two German Shepherds (that take their job seriously of guarding their yard from invasive cats, other passing dogs or people who walk by), another mix dog that is as large as the German Shepherds, 5 cocker spaniels that eagerly bark at every train that passes, and a puppy which at his young age is as large as the full grown Cocker Spaniels. The German Shepherds are police dogs, therefore any harm done to them would count as assaulting an officer. They live in their back yard that is not more than 25 feet away from our bedroom window. Only a chain link fence separates our yard from theirs.
The cocker spaniels think we are threatening them when we walk in this section between our house and the fence and bark like we are invading. Every time. Every time we go back to check on the water, every time we go to work on the house, or mow the lawn. They bark. They think they own this section of our yard. So they bark.
We also live a block away from a train crossing and hear every one that passes through with the usual warning blasts all night and all day.
For this reason, Dave and I have dreamed of getting a house, far out in the country in the middle of 100 acres, away from any neighbors, dogs or trains. This imaginary place is far away from city lights, where we could go outside and gaze at the stars.
We once lived on the edge of a 118 acre farm we owned. We could go outside at night and easily see the Milky Way, anytime we wanted. We had a clear view of the surrounding mountains. To the East were the Ragged Mountains, to the South the San Juans, to the south west was the Uncompagre Plateau, and to the north was the Grand Mesa. We were surrounded by alfalfa fields that stayed green most of the summer, in between the hay harvests. Because the job Dave had was closing, we were forced to sell the farm and move away. Our moves have taken us reluctantly to the middle of a small town.
We have longed for a peaceful night with no noises around us. We must put in earplugs in order not to be disturbed by the train and barking dogs.
We have driven around in the countryside to look at acreages for sale. We have dreamed of buying the property next to the orchard which is located in the middle of BLM land, on our way to Salt Lake. Of course it is not for sale, but when we stop at the rest stop there, it is completely quiet. You can look up to a black sky glittering with stars. The air is fresh. It doesn't smell like the surrounding dairies or stock yards that border our small town.
How easy would it be to just go out into the mountains in the West Desert and camp permanently. Sure there are snakes, spiders, coyotes, mountain lions and other dangers, but in our imaginations, we would build up a fort that would keep all the hazards away. We would somehow dig a well and find fresh water. We would build windmills that would catch the energy and be stored in batteries. We would build a home out of the adobe soil and fashion bricks that harden in the sun. We would build solar panels to heat the home and provide energy. We would plant many cottonwood and elm trees that grow fast and would provide shade in the summer and wood for our wood-burning stove in the winter.
We would be self sufficient. We would plant a garden and gather the seeds at the end of the season. We would store the fruits of the garden in a root cellar and can the rest in bottles. We would raise our meat, pigs for meat, chickens for meat and eggs, goats for milk, butter, cheese and meat, horses to help plow the land, hay to feed the animals, corn to feed the pigs. We would live in this ideal place until our old age forced us to surrender.
Then as we imagine this perfect life, we begin to picture our children. We would probably never see our children or grandchildren. What about Church on Sunday? Would we have to use up valuable energy in gasoline to drive all the way into civilization to worship on Sunday? What about Church callings?
Then we picture the Lord on Judgement day.
L. How have you handled your adversities?
a. we did fine we had no adversities
L. How did you serve Me?
a. by reading our Scriptures and saying our prayers
L. What about my children, how did you serve them?
a. We took care of ourselves, Lord. We are your children

Anyway, you get the gist of this interview. We would be weighed in the balance and found wanting.
The Lord doesn't want us to become hermits and live our lives in a cave. He meant for us to live together, church groups, and serve Him by serving His children.
How do we handle our adversities? I think a fence in the back yard with thick foliage between us and the fence to give us our haven, but no fence in the front. In the front, is a large lawn that connects with our neighbor's lawn. We have a path that is worn between our front door and theirs. We bring each other cookies, bread, and visit in the front. Yes we still need our space away from everyone, but the front is open to the visiting world.