One of the things my dad always says is, 'The only way to have money is not to spend it.' And he doesn't just preach that, he has always lived it. That saver's attitude is responsible for much rust, repairs, and 'historic' pieces of equipment on our farm, for example: having the same old (but functional!) cattle trailer for roughly 256 years. That attitude is what has made the Broken B successful, though, so I can't hate it.
The exact polar opposite of my parents' frugal attitude was evident last weekend, when my brother and I went to a farmer's bankruptcy sale. Let me first say that it was a hard decision for us even to go. It's a tough thing to go and tromp around a farm that someone else has poured the heart and soul and sweat of generations into, and has come up painfully short. You feel a little like a black-hearted vulture, looking to scoop up a good deal at the expense of one of your own: a piece of equipment or machinery that might have been a 4th generation farmer's purchase of a lifetime, now up for grabs to the highest bidder.
On the other hand, taking the emotion out of it and looking at the situation entirely from a practical business perspective, the sale flyer listed several things that would certainly help out around the Broken B. And, in keeping with my dad's theme, why should we pay new prices for something we might be able to get for less? And so, our practical side won out.
Once we arrived at the sale, we realized: This was not a farmer to be felt sorry for having done things right, been smart about his business, and worked his tail off only to go under anyway. This was a guy who'd hitched a ride on the Credit Express and rode that train all the way down the line to Skidsville. Barely a rust spot in sight, the equipment and machinery lined up along the top of the hill had hardly seen ONE year of use, let alone 256. His working facilities and pens were exquisite in their setup and quality. And it wasn't just Wal-Mart-type bargain basement stuff, either. This guy had leveraged himself to the top of his Carhartts, with the Cadillac of Everything.
My brother and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and said (dad would be so proud), 'And this is the way you DON'T do things.'
So, we raised our hands a few times and challenged our fellow auction-goers to the strategy game of Bidding. (Getting a good deal and winning at a live auction really is another art form that a farmer has to be good at. Maybe that'll be a future post.) We won some things, lost others, and came away with a couple of items that will make working the cattle this spring a whole lot easier ... and we'll probably still be using those things when the NEXT generation takes over the farm. Because the only way to have money is not to spend it.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
I have prevailed!
For years, I (and many of my contemporaries, I've observed) have had an ongoing battle. A tangled mess of a sticky situation, the war has been infinitely frustrating, and at times has even caused me to question my very sanity. I speak of the epic tale of the SaranWrap War.
Remembering times past when I have crossed blades with this Clear Evil makes me hang my head in shame. How is it that my motor skills can coax Beethoven from a string of 88 keys, but can never seem to successfully tear off a strip of SaranWrap to protect my favorite dish in the refrigerator overnight? I am sorry, apple salad, that I wasn't dexterous enough to save you.
True, I could have yielded to the Double-Sided Tape of Death and simply bought Press-n-Seal. But I'm kind of stingy, and I had a roll of roughly 5,000 feet of the stuff. Plus, I might never have been able to show my face again at a church dinner. Imagine, if you will, a whole host of church ladies, gourmet gastronomists all, wheeling around the kitchen in a varitable synchronized ribbon dance of Saran.
I could not let myself be so disgraced by the Filmy Fiend. So, I bravely saran-ed on, resulting in innumerable crushed egos and saran-balls of defeat ... until ...
TRIUMPH!
As soon as I grasped the Paper from Hell, I somehow knew that today was different. I dispensed the required amount, flicked my wrist (in what I can only imagine was as graceful-looking as a Russian Imperial ballerina), and magically ended up with a (mostly) flat, (mostly) intact, but more importantly, (mostly) USEFUL, strip of Saran!
Ah-HA! I AM VICTORIOUS! How shall I use my new-found gift? I feel like sharing it with the WORLD! Maybe I'll write a book. Maybe I'll start a new SaranWrap art form. Or, at the very least, I'll join the Saran Dance at the next church dinner ... !
Friday, November 21, 2008
The Caterpillar, The Oracle?
To me, there is something oddly comforting about old, familiar sayings. I don't 'collect' them, per se, but anytime I hear them, I love to think about how they were started.
This time of year, all the old folks in my town are talking about the winter. Like walking Farmer's Almanacs, they all have different old faithful predictors of how bad the weather is going to be this year. One new one (well, new to me anyway) I heard recently was this: it was concerning to this particular gentleman that the weeds were so tall at this point in the year. Upon further exploration, I learned that the old man was concerned because, he said, 'Every fall, God leaves the weeds tall enough to stick out the tops of the snow drifts so the birds have something to eat through the winter.' Wow, if that's the case, we'd better start stocking the cupboards, 'cause it's gonna snow cats and dogs.
One winter weather predictor that I've heard about since I was little, was the Wooly Caterpillar - those kinda plain fuzzy worms that're black on both ends and brown in the middle. They're fun to pet, because they curl up into a ball like a rolly-poly bug. Anyway, the deal is that depending on the amount of brown or black you see on the creatures, that's how bad or good the winter is supposed to be. (I could NEVER seem to remember which was which, so I made up a saying: 'The bigger the brown, the better the weather.' It rolls off the tongue pretty well, if I do say so myself.)
So, the more brown one of the wooly un-mammoths have, the nicer the winter weather is said to be. And this year, in general, we've been seeing an unsettlingly large amount of mostly black on them. But then I saw this guy on the sidewalk of the homestead the other day! Looks like fair weather 'til spring!!
Of course ... it might be a bad sign that he was dead.
This time of year, all the old folks in my town are talking about the winter. Like walking Farmer's Almanacs, they all have different old faithful predictors of how bad the weather is going to be this year. One new one (well, new to me anyway) I heard recently was this: it was concerning to this particular gentleman that the weeds were so tall at this point in the year. Upon further exploration, I learned that the old man was concerned because, he said, 'Every fall, God leaves the weeds tall enough to stick out the tops of the snow drifts so the birds have something to eat through the winter.' Wow, if that's the case, we'd better start stocking the cupboards, 'cause it's gonna snow cats and dogs.
One winter weather predictor that I've heard about since I was little, was the Wooly Caterpillar - those kinda plain fuzzy worms that're black on both ends and brown in the middle. They're fun to pet, because they curl up into a ball like a rolly-poly bug. Anyway, the deal is that depending on the amount of brown or black you see on the creatures, that's how bad or good the winter is supposed to be. (I could NEVER seem to remember which was which, so I made up a saying: 'The bigger the brown, the better the weather.' It rolls off the tongue pretty well, if I do say so myself.)
So, the more brown one of the wooly un-mammoths have, the nicer the winter weather is said to be. And this year, in general, we've been seeing an unsettlingly large amount of mostly black on them. But then I saw this guy on the sidewalk of the homestead the other day! Looks like fair weather 'til spring!!
Of course ... it might be a bad sign that he was dead.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Smooth sailin'
To some, this might just look like a picture of any ordinary stretch of rural road.
(Yes, there is a chance that I might have taken this while hanging out the window of my car, driving 60 miles an hour. Hey, it was either that, or snap the pic through the bug-splattered battlefield of my windshield. I did what I thought was best. Plus, I did have my seat belt on. Safety first! But meanwhile, back at my point ... )
THIS is not just another road. This is about 28 miles of the paved streets of heaven, dropped right down in the middle of Northeast Missouri. I cannot be sure what we humble citizens could have possibly done to deserve such a gift, but IT IS GLORIOUS!! (Never mind that a couple of us almost perished in the terrific traffic hazards caused by the road-building heavy equipment. That is PEANUTS compared to the MAGNIFICENCE of this achievement!)
Truly. In the whole of my existence, I have never witnessed a smarter, more well-timed, perfectly-placed use of Department of Transportation funds. The pitted, potted, over-used, dangerously narrow rubble that got resurfaced had nearly crumbled back into bare earth. I personally was considering buying a buckboard and mules to make this trip. But not anymore, DOT. Not anymore. I can now glide breezily over the new, glossy surface of the asphalt like my car was a hovercraft. Or maybe a Buick.
Friday, November 7, 2008
The Elections
Of course, you knew I couldn't let this monumental happening just slide by un-commented-on ... but, I'm probably not going to harp on what many of you are expecting.
True, the Presidential election did not go the way I had hoped it would. And, the results do make me a little uneasy. We'll see how he picks his Cabinet. But what I really want to report on is what happened in the state of California this election.
(Stand back, I'm chapped over this one.)
People in California voted to pass Proposition 2. The proposition, which won’t become law until 2015, requires that all farm animals, "for all or the majority of any day,"not be confined or tethered in a manner that prevents an animal from lying down, standing up, turning around or extending its limbs without touching another animal or an enclosure such as a cage or stall.
Sure, at first blush, this looks like something that should be passed, right? No one wants to think that the animals they're eating were, literally, cooped up. (ha.)
But the bigger issue here is this: even the American Veterinary Medical Assocation told the people of California NOT to pass this law. THE AVMA!!!! But they passed it anyway!! They didn't even trust the opinion and urging of the very people who most of them take their own animals to for proper, humane, compassionate care. Guess what it's going to do to many of the farmers it effected in California? Put them out of business.
Bloody hell, people.
What I don't understand is how it is legally acceptable for people who have had absolutely no contact with a farm or its operations to vote on the way we (farmers) conduct our business. I don't remember being given the opportunity to vote on whether or not big banks are allowed to lend money to people who have no way to repay it. I don't remember voting on how much unnecessary fertilizer/chemicals/etc urbanites are allowed to use on their purely aesthetic lawns. Where can I write THAT in??
I live in Missouri, and Prop 2 terrifies me. People who have no clue about agriculture or animals voted against even the informed, educated opinion of the experts. The ignorant majority is going to legislate our nation's agriculture out of business, and effectively ship all ag-related operations to Brazil, Argentina, etc. where we will have NO say whatsoever in how animals are treated, what kinds of chemicals they use on our food products, how their horses are slaughtered, etc.
These days, people are so terribly concerned about sticking up for those who have no voice (i.e., animals, the poor, the disadvantaged). But the underdogs who really need the extra volume right now are the farmers. Who is championing our cause to the likes of Oprah? My guess is that'll only happen once the public figures out that all this apparent do-gooding is going to push food production out of our country, thus driving the price of food up to Red Russia levels, where we'll all stand in lines to buy beef or eggs, and no one will be able or willing to put even a single can of beans in the Feed Our Homeless bins.
Oh well, above all else we must do what's good for the animals. To hell with first considering the PEOPLE in this country.
True, the Presidential election did not go the way I had hoped it would. And, the results do make me a little uneasy. We'll see how he picks his Cabinet. But what I really want to report on is what happened in the state of California this election.
(Stand back, I'm chapped over this one.)
People in California voted to pass Proposition 2. The proposition, which won’t become law until 2015, requires that all farm animals, "for all or the majority of any day,"not be confined or tethered in a manner that prevents an animal from lying down, standing up, turning around or extending its limbs without touching another animal or an enclosure such as a cage or stall.
Sure, at first blush, this looks like something that should be passed, right? No one wants to think that the animals they're eating were, literally, cooped up. (ha.)
But the bigger issue here is this: even the American Veterinary Medical Assocation told the people of California NOT to pass this law. THE AVMA!!!! But they passed it anyway!! They didn't even trust the opinion and urging of the very people who most of them take their own animals to for proper, humane, compassionate care. Guess what it's going to do to many of the farmers it effected in California? Put them out of business.
Bloody hell, people.
What I don't understand is how it is legally acceptable for people who have had absolutely no contact with a farm or its operations to vote on the way we (farmers) conduct our business. I don't remember being given the opportunity to vote on whether or not big banks are allowed to lend money to people who have no way to repay it. I don't remember voting on how much unnecessary fertilizer/chemicals/etc urbanites are allowed to use on their purely aesthetic lawns. Where can I write THAT in??
I live in Missouri, and Prop 2 terrifies me. People who have no clue about agriculture or animals voted against even the informed, educated opinion of the experts. The ignorant majority is going to legislate our nation's agriculture out of business, and effectively ship all ag-related operations to Brazil, Argentina, etc. where we will have NO say whatsoever in how animals are treated, what kinds of chemicals they use on our food products, how their horses are slaughtered, etc.
These days, people are so terribly concerned about sticking up for those who have no voice (i.e., animals, the poor, the disadvantaged). But the underdogs who really need the extra volume right now are the farmers. Who is championing our cause to the likes of Oprah? My guess is that'll only happen once the public figures out that all this apparent do-gooding is going to push food production out of our country, thus driving the price of food up to Red Russia levels, where we'll all stand in lines to buy beef or eggs, and no one will be able or willing to put even a single can of beans in the Feed Our Homeless bins.
Oh well, above all else we must do what's good for the animals. To hell with first considering the PEOPLE in this country.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Public Service Announcement
Dear friends,
Avoid Columbia, Missouri.
No joke. Simply don't go there. I certainly will not be crossing the city lines unless my life depends on it, or I otherwise cannot physically avoid doing so. Here's why. Remember the time I totaled my car in that lovely city? Well, I was immediately issued a traffic citation. In these months that have followed, the city of Columbia has effectively thrown all manner of 'the book' at me. The only two options given me were to pay an exhorbitantly huge fine (in the hundreds of dollars), or pay a considerably smaller fine AND DO COMMUNITY SERVICE.
For a traffic violation. In which the ONLY vehicle that was even remotely harmed was MY OWN.
Realizing that my 'monetary contribution' would go directly into the pockets of the very city that is exploiting me, and my 'service contribution' would go toward my own town, I chose the service option. Mind you, this was, in effect, an admission of guilt. But even then, I was informed that my lawyer and I would both have to APPEAR IN COURT!
And now that the city has put itself on the top of both mine and my attorney's 'List of Cities that I Would Divest the World of, Had I the Means', if the city is demanding that we appear and idiotically use up taxpayers' money for me and my horrifyingly awful breakage of sacred traffic law, we will in turn very respectfully demand the presence of the Grand Jury, the Issuing Officer, the Judge, the Bailiff, the Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker - we might even issue an invitation to a Columbia newspaper journalist with whom I am friends. I can see the headline now: City Spends Thousands to Convict Violator Who Already Admitted Guilt.
Thank you, Columbia, for convincing me to explore Des Moines - the city I will now patronize when I want something from the mall, or a new car, or just want to go to a nice restaurant. And I will strongly encourage everyone else I know to do the same.
Columbia, MO: The city that invented Martial Traffic Law.
or
Columbia, MO: Death to traffic violators.
or how about
Columbia, MO: We STRONGLY encourage public transportation.
Avoid Columbia, Missouri.
No joke. Simply don't go there. I certainly will not be crossing the city lines unless my life depends on it, or I otherwise cannot physically avoid doing so. Here's why. Remember the time I totaled my car in that lovely city? Well, I was immediately issued a traffic citation. In these months that have followed, the city of Columbia has effectively thrown all manner of 'the book' at me. The only two options given me were to pay an exhorbitantly huge fine (in the hundreds of dollars), or pay a considerably smaller fine AND DO COMMUNITY SERVICE.
For a traffic violation. In which the ONLY vehicle that was even remotely harmed was MY OWN.
Realizing that my 'monetary contribution' would go directly into the pockets of the very city that is exploiting me, and my 'service contribution' would go toward my own town, I chose the service option. Mind you, this was, in effect, an admission of guilt. But even then, I was informed that my lawyer and I would both have to APPEAR IN COURT!
And now that the city has put itself on the top of both mine and my attorney's 'List of Cities that I Would Divest the World of, Had I the Means', if the city is demanding that we appear and idiotically use up taxpayers' money for me and my horrifyingly awful breakage of sacred traffic law, we will in turn very respectfully demand the presence of the Grand Jury, the Issuing Officer, the Judge, the Bailiff, the Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker - we might even issue an invitation to a Columbia newspaper journalist with whom I am friends. I can see the headline now: City Spends Thousands to Convict Violator Who Already Admitted Guilt.
Thank you, Columbia, for convincing me to explore Des Moines - the city I will now patronize when I want something from the mall, or a new car, or just want to go to a nice restaurant. And I will strongly encourage everyone else I know to do the same.
Columbia, MO: The city that invented Martial Traffic Law.
or
Columbia, MO: Death to traffic violators.
or how about
Columbia, MO: We STRONGLY encourage public transportation.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
The world is losing its mind.
Take a look at legislation passed earlier this year in Switzerland.
LINK
It seems the Swiss are taking animal rights to a whole new, beyond-ridiculous level. Some of the notable inclusions of the new law are things like:
- You must not have totally clear fish bowls anymore, and you must not have lights in the fish tank, because you must give your fish the same day/night routine that you have. (Translation: Maybe too many fish were overdosing on caffeine in an attempt to stay awake and entertain their owners, so the Guppy Guild rebelled until government listened.)
- Special chemicals are required when you decide to off your goldfish. (Translation: No more funerals at sea. If you attempt to do so, YOU will be flushed down the toilet. And listen up, fraternities that have those goldfish swallowing parties, 'cause if you're caught, you ain't seen hazing yet!)
- Social animals like guinea pigs or horses must be either sold in pairs, or the owner must already have others for it to cohabit with. (Translation: the government is deciding that you can't just buy your kid ONE of the stupid little rodents or the expensive, temperamental equine. You must buy TWO. And stay tuned for the NEXT round of government intervention when they figure out that PEOPLE are social animals too, and dictate that people wanting to have children must sign a blood oath to have at least TWO, or suffer the consequences.)
- If you want to buy a dog, you won't find one with any of what they call 'cosmetic' procedures done to it (even though some of those things are done in the name of HYGIENE!), and when you do buy your pooch, YOU have to attend and PAY for doggie owner lessons. You'll get five lessons of canine theory, and five field lessons.(Translation: We're sorry, but you can't just get a dog and learn to love its personality all willy-nilly!! What're you thinking?! You must pay for this class and learn to read its mind, do doggie sign language, practice picking up its park poop, and do regular tarot and horoscope readings to figure out when is the best time to book your dog's spa dates.)
On the one hand, this is hilarious!! What in the holy hell are they thinking over there?! On the other hand, this is absolutely, blood-freezingly terrifying, because it makes me wonder how long it's going to take for our country to do the same sort of thing (and the cattle industry will be one of the first on their list, I've no doubt in my mind).
LINK
It seems the Swiss are taking animal rights to a whole new, beyond-ridiculous level. Some of the notable inclusions of the new law are things like:
- You must not have totally clear fish bowls anymore, and you must not have lights in the fish tank, because you must give your fish the same day/night routine that you have. (Translation: Maybe too many fish were overdosing on caffeine in an attempt to stay awake and entertain their owners, so the Guppy Guild rebelled until government listened.)
- Special chemicals are required when you decide to off your goldfish. (Translation: No more funerals at sea. If you attempt to do so, YOU will be flushed down the toilet. And listen up, fraternities that have those goldfish swallowing parties, 'cause if you're caught, you ain't seen hazing yet!)
- Social animals like guinea pigs or horses must be either sold in pairs, or the owner must already have others for it to cohabit with. (Translation: the government is deciding that you can't just buy your kid ONE of the stupid little rodents or the expensive, temperamental equine. You must buy TWO. And stay tuned for the NEXT round of government intervention when they figure out that PEOPLE are social animals too, and dictate that people wanting to have children must sign a blood oath to have at least TWO, or suffer the consequences.)
- If you want to buy a dog, you won't find one with any of what they call 'cosmetic' procedures done to it (even though some of those things are done in the name of HYGIENE!), and when you do buy your pooch, YOU have to attend and PAY for doggie owner lessons. You'll get five lessons of canine theory, and five field lessons.(Translation: We're sorry, but you can't just get a dog and learn to love its personality all willy-nilly!! What're you thinking?! You must pay for this class and learn to read its mind, do doggie sign language, practice picking up its park poop, and do regular tarot and horoscope readings to figure out when is the best time to book your dog's spa dates.)
On the one hand, this is hilarious!! What in the holy hell are they thinking over there?! On the other hand, this is absolutely, blood-freezingly terrifying, because it makes me wonder how long it's going to take for our country to do the same sort of thing (and the cattle industry will be one of the first on their list, I've no doubt in my mind).
Friday, October 24, 2008
The Amazing Name.
Thank the heavens for satellite TV programming. Last night, while enjoying Game 2 of the World Series, the local station ran a ... GASP! ... political ad. I think this is the first one in this whole melee that I have actually enjoyed. I didn't hear a word of its content, because I was so awestruck by the magnificence of the candidate's name, however. Brothers and sisters, I give you:
Saxby Chambliss
I can only hope that he is an astounding and wondrous person, worthy of this fabulous moniker. I can't stop saying it: Saxby Chambliss. Saxby Chambliss. I mean, he could've been Saxby Smith or Harold Chambliss, but NO. His parents had to get greedy and bestow TWO names with pizzazz. I'm dying to know what his middle name is.
Saxby Chambliss
I can only hope that he is an astounding and wondrous person, worthy of this fabulous moniker. I can't stop saying it: Saxby Chambliss. Saxby Chambliss. I mean, he could've been Saxby Smith or Harold Chambliss, but NO. His parents had to get greedy and bestow TWO names with pizzazz. I'm dying to know what his middle name is.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Spam.
We all know it ain't just for sammiches anymore. I got one from a presumably unfortunate Russian (I say unfortunate because his mother was most likely illiterate) named Dmitriy (wow.) this morning, with the subject line:
It will be useful to keep your relations in good state day and nights.
Hm. You know, I'd never thought of it that way before, Dmitriy. Your mom may not have been very cleverusky, but you! You sure gots it all figured out. Props.
It will be useful to keep your relations in good state day and nights.
Hm. You know, I'd never thought of it that way before, Dmitriy. Your mom may not have been very cleverusky, but you! You sure gots it all figured out. Props.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Camp Tastic
'Twas a couple of weeks before the Big Day, and I decides it's a good time to head to StL with a fabulous friend, check out an art festival, and camp!
Neither one of us had really camped in the Loo area before, but we found a nice site online that was pretty close to where we wanted to be. Excitement ensues, plans shape, vehicles fill, driving happens, maps direct, arrival ... and we are greeted by a 'No Vacancy' sign. Huh? It's the END OF SEPTEMBER! No one should be camping now! Let's drive around the park anyway.
As we drive around, we could see the pitying faces of the old folks sitting by their ensconsed RVs, and every time we reach a turnaround, our spirits inch closer to diving off a cliff. We drove the whole park, and indeed, not a single site was available. The day is getting darker, literally and figuratively, so we both get on our cell phones, madly trying to avoid having to (egad, no!) stay at a hotel.
On our way to Plan B, still trying to be positive but having been seriously emotionally damaged by the DNR, we started discussing our Plan C options: pitching a tent in a church lot, squatting on land that was for sale, setting up camp in the entrance to the park ... but luckily Plan C wasn't necessary. We found a sweet spot, and the camping was ON!!
Over the course of the weekend, there were many highlights:
- Beth exercised her awesome punkin carving skills and created Cap'n Slappypants-McPie (or something?), and his 'X that marks the spot'.
- I earned my campfire-making badge, and my campfire burrito-making badge.
- We discovered the Strange Folk Festival. And decided it was a one-time event.
- We made friends with Shifty the Walking Stick. Well, as good a friends as we suspect you can be with such an aloof character.
- No matter how many times either one of us tried (oh, did we TRY) to yank the tree root out of the ground to chuck it onto the fire, it simply would not budge. Truly, the thing was right in the center of the campsite, just sticking out of the ground. I think the tree had a good laugh over that one.
- We had the absolute most perfect camping weather ever created.
- We both asked a number of 'dang, wish we had the Internet' kind of questions that neither one of us could answer, but would be awesome for a trivia night.
- I got the chance to reconnect with my camping equipment, which was lovely.
- Because of our camping detour, we ended up driving back through a part of Missouri neither one of us had ever been through before - Washington and Hermann - and it was GORGEOUS! If you've never been, I strongly suggest motoring down around there, and do your best to make it through in the fall. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. It'll be hard to keep your eyes on the road, though, so be sure to bring a co-pilot. Those drop offs would definitely leave a mark.
Thank you, Beth, for making the trip a reality. Thank you, Katie & Clint & Boo, for the firewood. Thank you, Adam & Indiana "Where is that, anyway?" Lady for your supporting roles in Plan B.
Neither one of us had really camped in the Loo area before, but we found a nice site online that was pretty close to where we wanted to be. Excitement ensues, plans shape, vehicles fill, driving happens, maps direct, arrival ... and we are greeted by a 'No Vacancy' sign. Huh? It's the END OF SEPTEMBER! No one should be camping now! Let's drive around the park anyway.
As we drive around, we could see the pitying faces of the old folks sitting by their ensconsed RVs, and every time we reach a turnaround, our spirits inch closer to diving off a cliff. We drove the whole park, and indeed, not a single site was available. The day is getting darker, literally and figuratively, so we both get on our cell phones, madly trying to avoid having to (egad, no!) stay at a hotel.
On our way to Plan B, still trying to be positive but having been seriously emotionally damaged by the DNR, we started discussing our Plan C options: pitching a tent in a church lot, squatting on land that was for sale, setting up camp in the entrance to the park ... but luckily Plan C wasn't necessary. We found a sweet spot, and the camping was ON!!
Over the course of the weekend, there were many highlights:
- Beth exercised her awesome punkin carving skills and created Cap'n Slappypants-McPie (or something?), and his 'X that marks the spot'.
- I earned my campfire-making badge, and my campfire burrito-making badge.
- We discovered the Strange Folk Festival. And decided it was a one-time event.
- We made friends with Shifty the Walking Stick. Well, as good a friends as we suspect you can be with such an aloof character.
- No matter how many times either one of us tried (oh, did we TRY) to yank the tree root out of the ground to chuck it onto the fire, it simply would not budge. Truly, the thing was right in the center of the campsite, just sticking out of the ground. I think the tree had a good laugh over that one.
- We had the absolute most perfect camping weather ever created.
- We both asked a number of 'dang, wish we had the Internet' kind of questions that neither one of us could answer, but would be awesome for a trivia night.
- I got the chance to reconnect with my camping equipment, which was lovely.
- Because of our camping detour, we ended up driving back through a part of Missouri neither one of us had ever been through before - Washington and Hermann - and it was GORGEOUS! If you've never been, I strongly suggest motoring down around there, and do your best to make it through in the fall. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. It'll be hard to keep your eyes on the road, though, so be sure to bring a co-pilot. Those drop offs would definitely leave a mark.
Thank you, Beth, for making the trip a reality. Thank you, Katie & Clint & Boo, for the firewood. Thank you, Adam & Indiana "Where is that, anyway?" Lady for your supporting roles in Plan B.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Remember the rake!
I think that's going to be my battle cry to begin every hay season from now on. It's got significant historical value, plus it has a nice ring to it. Just yesterday, the rake was FINALLY fixed. The company that made it had to actually manufacture a unique part just for li'l ol' me and my botch job. I feel so special, knowing that somewhere in Iowa, a machinist is cursing my name. Witness:
And, after the efforts of two equipment experts, over the course of about 2 1/2 hours, ta-da!
Thank goodness. The rake will live to rake another day ... on someone else's farm!
And, after the efforts of two equipment experts, over the course of about 2 1/2 hours, ta-da!
Thank goodness. The rake will live to rake another day ... on someone else's farm!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Not like the other ...
So I’m kind of wearing two different shades of fingernail polish today. Well not really ‘kind of’ … I am. And it’s not really a ‘Wow, I’m such a rebel. I shall wear two different colors of polish and you shall be awestruck by my individuality.’ It’s more of a ‘Whee, this color is pretty, I like it. Crap! It’s not really THAT late is it? I gotta go to bed.’ Yeah, I’m such a rebel. :)
See, I got this new shade last night, and I was thinking that if it worked out, I’d paint my nails that color for the wedding. Started painting one hand, then realized that it was waaay past my bedtime, so I just decided I’d try and avoid society (that, or keep one hand in my pocket at all times) until I could fix it. And so far, I’m getting away with it! It almost makes me want to do this often, just to see who’s paying attention …
See, I got this new shade last night, and I was thinking that if it worked out, I’d paint my nails that color for the wedding. Started painting one hand, then realized that it was waaay past my bedtime, so I just decided I’d try and avoid society (that, or keep one hand in my pocket at all times) until I could fix it. And so far, I’m getting away with it! It almost makes me want to do this often, just to see who’s paying attention …
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
In a Grammar Fury.
Recently, THIS was published in the local newspaper:
Go ahead, click through the image and check it out. These articles are written by high school students - and apparentely, they even have a HS faculty advisor (who is obviously asleep at the wheel). If you care at all about English, grammar, and education, you'll be infuriated. And I do, so I was ... which prompted me to write this letter to the editor. I have sent it, signed, and am inclined to believe it will be printed. I'll keep this updated if anyone has the gumption to tell me I'm wrong or otherwise engage in a debate on the subject.
Letter to the Editor:
I don’t remember the last time I was this ferociously angry. Let me explain.
A little over a year ago, I made the decision to move back to this area. I was excited to get back to the place I loved so much. I have very fond memories of growing up in this community, and I have always had visions of returning here to raise a family.
Aside from my parents and my church, the next biggest influence on my formative years was the Milan school district. True, I had a blast in school, but I also gained a good, foundational education. My classmates and I challenged each other, comparing grades, jockeying for class rank, even bragging on our ACT scores. Of course, our teachers encouraged our behavior. They were demanding and difficult, giving out homework and assignments that we sometimes loathed. But we begrudgingly did what they asked, and became better and smarter because of it.
Recently, I picked up the Standard and read the MHS page. It didn’t take long for my proud remembrances to be crushed. These articles were the stuff of drafts, not the final printed pieces. I understand the articles weren’t written by Hemingway, but I wasn’t expecting brilliant content – just Basic English. Who is responsible for the egregious spelling errors, grammatical mistakes, punctuation omissions, incorrect verb tenses – heavens, even the wrong word altogether? This was allowed, even approved by someone?? Did anyone even bother to read them before sending them to the paper, or are we just counting on our word processing programs to teach English nowadays? Were we hoping our newspaper editors would correct them, so the authors learn nothing from the experience? If our educators don’t have enough pride in their students’ published work to help them get it right, then don’t waste the newspaper space.
Why are we setting our kids up to fail, by hiring teachers who casually say that it’s “really easy to get an A” in their class? With such mottos, the only thing that’s ‘easy’ is how easy it is to see why the articles were so disastrously edited – or disastrously not edited. It will be ‘easy’ to see why students’ English scores will be so pitiful on the ACT. It will be ‘easy’ to see why they won’t even get interviewed for good jobs.
I sincerely hope our school board read the articles, and is as infuriated as I. Perhaps it’s not a new building we need, but teachers who actually teach our students. We certainly didn’t have ideal facilities in my era, but that was completely irrelevant to the teachers who wouldn’t let us squeak by with a mediocre effort. It didn’t matter to them if the paint was peeling off the wall, a D effort earned a D grade (and any extra help you needed to get a better grade).
What a sad disservice we are doing to our young community members. It makes me furious that our kids are graduating without such basic knowledge. It’s pathetic, and breaks my heart to say that unless an acutely drastic change occurs, no child of mine will ever walk the halls of my alma mater.
Most sincerely,
Laura Booth
Go ahead, click through the image and check it out. These articles are written by high school students - and apparentely, they even have a HS faculty advisor (who is obviously asleep at the wheel). If you care at all about English, grammar, and education, you'll be infuriated. And I do, so I was ... which prompted me to write this letter to the editor. I have sent it, signed, and am inclined to believe it will be printed. I'll keep this updated if anyone has the gumption to tell me I'm wrong or otherwise engage in a debate on the subject.
Letter to the Editor:
I don’t remember the last time I was this ferociously angry. Let me explain.
A little over a year ago, I made the decision to move back to this area. I was excited to get back to the place I loved so much. I have very fond memories of growing up in this community, and I have always had visions of returning here to raise a family.
Aside from my parents and my church, the next biggest influence on my formative years was the Milan school district. True, I had a blast in school, but I also gained a good, foundational education. My classmates and I challenged each other, comparing grades, jockeying for class rank, even bragging on our ACT scores. Of course, our teachers encouraged our behavior. They were demanding and difficult, giving out homework and assignments that we sometimes loathed. But we begrudgingly did what they asked, and became better and smarter because of it.
Recently, I picked up the Standard and read the MHS page. It didn’t take long for my proud remembrances to be crushed. These articles were the stuff of drafts, not the final printed pieces. I understand the articles weren’t written by Hemingway, but I wasn’t expecting brilliant content – just Basic English. Who is responsible for the egregious spelling errors, grammatical mistakes, punctuation omissions, incorrect verb tenses – heavens, even the wrong word altogether? This was allowed, even approved by someone?? Did anyone even bother to read them before sending them to the paper, or are we just counting on our word processing programs to teach English nowadays? Were we hoping our newspaper editors would correct them, so the authors learn nothing from the experience? If our educators don’t have enough pride in their students’ published work to help them get it right, then don’t waste the newspaper space.
Why are we setting our kids up to fail, by hiring teachers who casually say that it’s “really easy to get an A” in their class? With such mottos, the only thing that’s ‘easy’ is how easy it is to see why the articles were so disastrously edited – or disastrously not edited. It will be ‘easy’ to see why students’ English scores will be so pitiful on the ACT. It will be ‘easy’ to see why they won’t even get interviewed for good jobs.
I sincerely hope our school board read the articles, and is as infuriated as I. Perhaps it’s not a new building we need, but teachers who actually teach our students. We certainly didn’t have ideal facilities in my era, but that was completely irrelevant to the teachers who wouldn’t let us squeak by with a mediocre effort. It didn’t matter to them if the paint was peeling off the wall, a D effort earned a D grade (and any extra help you needed to get a better grade).
What a sad disservice we are doing to our young community members. It makes me furious that our kids are graduating without such basic knowledge. It’s pathetic, and breaks my heart to say that unless an acutely drastic change occurs, no child of mine will ever walk the halls of my alma mater.
Most sincerely,
Laura Booth
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Good, Better, Worst.
My summer was floating along. Not a cloud in the sky, happy days, starry nights, crickets chirping, tra-la-la!
-record scratch-
Then the planets aligned (literally. DOWN WITH MARS I say!), and all hail broke loose. First, picture this: a beautiful, warm August day. Sunshine, hayfield, tractors motoring along rolling up big sweet-smelling bales. And then, without even the satisfaction of that horrible screeching sound you'd expect and even hope for, I BENT THE FRAME ON THE RAKE. The huge, square, STEEL frame. Didn't hit a tree, didn't dump it into a ditch ... just tried to use the hydraulics to perform an action that the rake should have easily, normally done, and was even DESIGNED TO DO! In doing this, I have rendered the rake completely unuseable, and I believe I have also totally baffled even the Vermeer folk who created said piece of e-crap-ment. What can I say? If you're gonna screw something up, do it well.
Then, follow me if you will, to the very next day. Another beauty, just waiting to be curdled. There I am, in the tractor with the mower. Mowing away over hill and dale, I manage to encounter the harrow (a small piece of metal equipment that you occasionally see being drug behind tractors on high school baseball fields, to spread out the rocks and dirt and even it up a bit. Farmers use them in fields too). Yep, mowed over that. Two new mower blades? Check.
I don't know how long this planetary alignment/stellar screw-up is supposed to continue, but it is still affecting my world. Stay with me, citizens.
Last week:
- my work computer stopped turning on. I have taken it to IT twice, with the response: we can't get it to replicate the problem, it works just fine for us. Now, I may be a little computer handicapped, but come on, I can't even get a computer to TURN ON?!?!
- my home computer ceased all operations. Three times. Guess where the nearest Mac fixer-person is? 1 1/2 hours away. Got some good driving time in last week.
- in the midst of all the driving, I totaled my car. Had just gotten it paid off three months ago. Managed to get a new/used one. Welcome back, Car Payments.
- had a freelance client ask for a total, complete rewrite. Which, I have to say, is well within their perogative. But with everything else that has happened, this news did not make my day.
- plus, I have not had a good hair day in weeks. It seems that Mars is emitting a terrifyingly high level of static electricity - concentrated directly at my head.
I hope Planet Mars gets sucked into a very large, lonely, powerful black hole, never to return again. I think I'm gonna go back to bed. Someone let me know when it's safe to come out and live again.
-record scratch-
Then the planets aligned (literally. DOWN WITH MARS I say!), and all hail broke loose. First, picture this: a beautiful, warm August day. Sunshine, hayfield, tractors motoring along rolling up big sweet-smelling bales. And then, without even the satisfaction of that horrible screeching sound you'd expect and even hope for, I BENT THE FRAME ON THE RAKE. The huge, square, STEEL frame. Didn't hit a tree, didn't dump it into a ditch ... just tried to use the hydraulics to perform an action that the rake should have easily, normally done, and was even DESIGNED TO DO! In doing this, I have rendered the rake completely unuseable, and I believe I have also totally baffled even the Vermeer folk who created said piece of e-crap-ment. What can I say? If you're gonna screw something up, do it well.
Then, follow me if you will, to the very next day. Another beauty, just waiting to be curdled. There I am, in the tractor with the mower. Mowing away over hill and dale, I manage to encounter the harrow (a small piece of metal equipment that you occasionally see being drug behind tractors on high school baseball fields, to spread out the rocks and dirt and even it up a bit. Farmers use them in fields too). Yep, mowed over that. Two new mower blades? Check.
I don't know how long this planetary alignment/stellar screw-up is supposed to continue, but it is still affecting my world. Stay with me, citizens.
Last week:
- my work computer stopped turning on. I have taken it to IT twice, with the response: we can't get it to replicate the problem, it works just fine for us. Now, I may be a little computer handicapped, but come on, I can't even get a computer to TURN ON?!?!
- my home computer ceased all operations. Three times. Guess where the nearest Mac fixer-person is? 1 1/2 hours away. Got some good driving time in last week.
- in the midst of all the driving, I totaled my car. Had just gotten it paid off three months ago. Managed to get a new/used one. Welcome back, Car Payments.
- had a freelance client ask for a total, complete rewrite. Which, I have to say, is well within their perogative. But with everything else that has happened, this news did not make my day.
- plus, I have not had a good hair day in weeks. It seems that Mars is emitting a terrifyingly high level of static electricity - concentrated directly at my head.
I hope Planet Mars gets sucked into a very large, lonely, powerful black hole, never to return again. I think I'm gonna go back to bed. Someone let me know when it's safe to come out and live again.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
My 'Garden'
Look! one whole tomato!
I know, I probably shouldn't be as excited as I am, but I can't help it. This year, for some reason, I get the feeling that my brown thumb (okay, brown arm. brown aura, even) is turning green. I've managed to keep several, yeah SEVERAL, plants alive and green, both indoors and out!
And one of them is even bearing fruit! Well, vegetable. you know what I mean. This tomato is gonna be the tastiest I've ever eaten.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Musical? Check.
Ladies and gentlemen, Jack's Mother has left the building.
ha!
I did it! I survived a real, honest-to-pete musical! I didn't forget any words, I didn't miss any entrances/exits, AND, I even managed to pull an 'on with the show!' as well. Here's how it happened:
Opening night. Opening Act. Opening Scene. (Yeah, no lie.) The music we're using is recorded, and the first Scene is TWELVE MINUTES LONG. So, if you screw it up, good luck to ya, better find out where you are and hop to it. Wellll ... we're moving along, Cinderella sings her part, then lights go up on me and Jack and I start singing ... but the music is WRONG. The director had accidentally double-clicked her mouse on her computer, so the music plays for a couple of seconds, then the director stopped it. I didn't know what else to do, so I finished my solo acapella, said my lines and froze. (not like 'froze in fear' but actually I was supposed to 'freeze' at the end of my lines. So I did. I can't say that there wasn't a tiny little bit of fear in my 'freeze' though. There was.) The director then found the right spot in the music for Little Red Riding Hood to do her part, and we went onward. No harm, no foul!
I don't even think the audience noticed.
But, that's really the only hiccup that happened! So the next person who asks me, 'Hey L, you ever been in a musical?' I can go, 'Well yeah! Who hasn't?!'
Because you know I get asked that question ALL THE TIME. I do. Really.
ha!
I did it! I survived a real, honest-to-pete musical! I didn't forget any words, I didn't miss any entrances/exits, AND, I even managed to pull an 'on with the show!' as well. Here's how it happened:
Opening night. Opening Act. Opening Scene. (Yeah, no lie.) The music we're using is recorded, and the first Scene is TWELVE MINUTES LONG. So, if you screw it up, good luck to ya, better find out where you are and hop to it. Wellll ... we're moving along, Cinderella sings her part, then lights go up on me and Jack and I start singing ... but the music is WRONG. The director had accidentally double-clicked her mouse on her computer, so the music plays for a couple of seconds, then the director stopped it. I didn't know what else to do, so I finished my solo acapella, said my lines and froze. (not like 'froze in fear' but actually I was supposed to 'freeze' at the end of my lines. So I did. I can't say that there wasn't a tiny little bit of fear in my 'freeze' though. There was.) The director then found the right spot in the music for Little Red Riding Hood to do her part, and we went onward. No harm, no foul!
I don't even think the audience noticed.
But, that's really the only hiccup that happened! So the next person who asks me, 'Hey L, you ever been in a musical?' I can go, 'Well yeah! Who hasn't?!'
Because you know I get asked that question ALL THE TIME. I do. Really.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Rebels: Morning people?
This morning, I sprung out of bed at 6:30 and decided to go for a run. It was one of those lovely sort of mornings that you see on commercials for General Foods International Coffee, feminine hygiene products, and sleep medications - sunny, but filmed as if through slightly tinted sunglasses so it wasn't TOO bright; just enough of a breeze to ruffle the scents of flowers and wet earth; and cool, but the sort of cool where you still break a sweat when you're workin. It was the precise morning that you'd expect to see a couple of old folks sitting out on their porch, enjoying their morning coffee - which I did. They waved and said good morning, too. Nice.
It was NOT the sort of morning you'd expect to see ... a dude out in his front yard, essentially 'dancing' with a frisbee. No, don't read it again, you've got it right. That's the only way I can describe what this guy was up to. He was out in his front yard, with just a normal old fluorescent yellow frisbee, spinning it on his finger, throwing it up in the air and catching it on his other hand, spinning it in the air and catching it under his leg, rolling it on edge from one outstretched hand and down his arm to his other arm and catching it in his other hand, flipping and twirling - it was fantastic!!! I mean running in the morning is one thing, but that level of coordination and grace and skill at 7 AM? Incredible. I was so entertained and enthralled, I think I forgot I was running for a while. What a unique sort of sport! It was cooler to watch (and his stunts were much more athletic) than ribbon twirlers doing a floor exercise! Who is this guy? Does he have a dog for his act too? Why was he out so early? Ah, the swirling questions surrounding the crazy Frisbee Ballet guy.
It's funny that most of the world thinks the cool people, the freaks, and the rebels only come out at night. Maybe that's because most of the world doesn't get up early enough to see them out in the morning!? :)
It was NOT the sort of morning you'd expect to see ... a dude out in his front yard, essentially 'dancing' with a frisbee. No, don't read it again, you've got it right. That's the only way I can describe what this guy was up to. He was out in his front yard, with just a normal old fluorescent yellow frisbee, spinning it on his finger, throwing it up in the air and catching it on his other hand, spinning it in the air and catching it under his leg, rolling it on edge from one outstretched hand and down his arm to his other arm and catching it in his other hand, flipping and twirling - it was fantastic!!! I mean running in the morning is one thing, but that level of coordination and grace and skill at 7 AM? Incredible. I was so entertained and enthralled, I think I forgot I was running for a while. What a unique sort of sport! It was cooler to watch (and his stunts were much more athletic) than ribbon twirlers doing a floor exercise! Who is this guy? Does he have a dog for his act too? Why was he out so early? Ah, the swirling questions surrounding the crazy Frisbee Ballet guy.
It's funny that most of the world thinks the cool people, the freaks, and the rebels only come out at night. Maybe that's because most of the world doesn't get up early enough to see them out in the morning!? :)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Like Grandma used to say
I love old people. I love hanging out with old people and listening to their amazing stories of how they grew up, and where they went to school, and what they did for fun, and what they did to get in trouble - those bits of history are so precious. And in those conversations, one thing you can ALWAYS count on, is hearing at least one (sometimes more like three or four) sentence that starts with: 'Well, my Grandpa/Grandma/etc. used to say ...'
And almost every single one of those 'usedtosays' belongs in a Bartlett's Famous Quotes book. They're quippy, and shrewd, and poignant, and generally make you nod your head and smile. (On the occasion, though, there are those that just don't make any sense to me at all ... there's a good chance Grandma said those things after her marbles had escaped.)
**Even an old barn looks good with a coat of red paint. (regarding bright red lipstick on a vintage visage)
**It ain't a sin to be poor.
**First of July, wet or dry; First of October, drunk or sober. (regarding turnip planting and harvesting)
**Arbeiten, arbeiten, immer arbeiten.
**You just gotta keep on keepin' on.
**When you hear an owl in the middle of the day, someone you know has passed away. (this one is sadly, eerily true)
**Let's see if this dog'll hunt.
**A little dirt never hurt nobody.
**Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have, sleep all you want, or tell everything you know.
**The worm has turned.
**Pretty is as pretty does.
**If you can't stand the heat, get out of the oven.
**It's better to be poor than stupid.
And I know there are tons more ... any additions are VERY welcome.
And almost every single one of those 'usedtosays' belongs in a Bartlett's Famous Quotes book. They're quippy, and shrewd, and poignant, and generally make you nod your head and smile. (On the occasion, though, there are those that just don't make any sense to me at all ... there's a good chance Grandma said those things after her marbles had escaped.)
**Even an old barn looks good with a coat of red paint. (regarding bright red lipstick on a vintage visage)
**It ain't a sin to be poor.
**First of July, wet or dry; First of October, drunk or sober. (regarding turnip planting and harvesting)
**Arbeiten, arbeiten, immer arbeiten.
**You just gotta keep on keepin' on.
**When you hear an owl in the middle of the day, someone you know has passed away. (this one is sadly, eerily true)
**Let's see if this dog'll hunt.
**A little dirt never hurt nobody.
**Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have, sleep all you want, or tell everything you know.
**The worm has turned.
**Pretty is as pretty does.
**If you can't stand the heat, get out of the oven.
**It's better to be poor than stupid.
And I know there are tons more ... any additions are VERY welcome.
Monday, June 9, 2008
A(n?) Eulogy
Sometimes I think I've been doing this farming thing for a long time. And then I think about you. You were there, in all your green glory, before I was even born. Your heavy, thick metal and sturdy wooden floors are not the stuff of today's vainglorious, shiny, aluminum luxury liners. You were built to LAST. And last you did. For many, many moons.
You've seen more family feuds than a divorce court. You've waded through more bull ... oney ... than a Sprint cell phone customer. You've put up with more pressure than an egg in a microwave.
You've been mended, fixed, greased, lubed, wired, re-wired, re-wired, re-wired, welded, re-floored, bent, bent-back, jack-knifed, stuck, rusted, patched. No one can say you didn't do your best. You served us well, for a long, long time. But now, old friend ...
It's time for shiny newness! Ain't this a Cattle-ac? (say it out loud, it makes more sense.) WHEEEE-HOOO!!! Hey maw, let's take 'er for a SPIN!!!!
You've seen more family feuds than a divorce court. You've waded through more bull ... oney ... than a Sprint cell phone customer. You've put up with more pressure than an egg in a microwave.
You've been mended, fixed, greased, lubed, wired, re-wired, re-wired, re-wired, welded, re-floored, bent, bent-back, jack-knifed, stuck, rusted, patched. No one can say you didn't do your best. You served us well, for a long, long time. But now, old friend ...
It's time for shiny newness! Ain't this a Cattle-ac? (say it out loud, it makes more sense.) WHEEEE-HOOO!!! Hey maw, let's take 'er for a SPIN!!!!
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Jack's Mother
So I heard about this community musical being put on in, well, my community, this summer. And I had no good reason to NOT go to the auditions. Plus, if I didn't go to the auditions, but I went to the production and sat there all disappointed-like and huffy that I could've done that, I'd probably kick myself. So.
What the hay. The only thing they can do is tell me to leave immediately, never again subject the world to such noise pollution, make me want to drive off a bridge, no big whoop, right?
So I go. And it's kinda like my first Trap Shooting experience: the uber-obvious Amateur surrounded by Professionals. And not just the regular sort of professionals, I mean the ones that enunciate, pronunciate, and accentuate ev-er-y con-so-nant, ev-er-y syll-a-ble, and blink point-ed-ly when they say things, kind of pro-fes-sion-als.
My internal conversation at this point:
- I should just leave.
- Nah. Why? Even if you do make yourself look stupid, it'll be good for the blog.
- Good point. What am I singing again?
- Who knows. Make something up.
- Sweet John Denver, why am I here?
I should've hit 'em with a rousing rendition of Old McDonald. But I didn't think of that at the time, I was too terrified. I sang an old timey Southerny gospel song. Sang some 'never-before-released' lyrics too, 'cause I forgot the official ones. But, it must've gone well, because I got a part! (oooh, now that I think about it, either it DID go pretty well, or they didn't have enough people audition ... not gonna think about it.)
Whee!! A part in a musical!! An actual singing part!! I have something like 20 seconds' worth of a solo, plus some speaking parts, some funny lines, AND: an overly dramatic death scene. What more could a first-timer possibly wish for??!! I can't wait. Off I go, Into the Woods, to be Jack's Mother!!! Wish me luck!!
What the hay. The only thing they can do is tell me to leave immediately, never again subject the world to such noise pollution, make me want to drive off a bridge, no big whoop, right?
So I go. And it's kinda like my first Trap Shooting experience: the uber-obvious Amateur surrounded by Professionals. And not just the regular sort of professionals, I mean the ones that enunciate, pronunciate, and accentuate ev-er-y con-so-nant, ev-er-y syll-a-ble, and blink point-ed-ly when they say things, kind of pro-fes-sion-als.
My internal conversation at this point:
- I should just leave.
- Nah. Why? Even if you do make yourself look stupid, it'll be good for the blog.
- Good point. What am I singing again?
- Who knows. Make something up.
- Sweet John Denver, why am I here?
I should've hit 'em with a rousing rendition of Old McDonald. But I didn't think of that at the time, I was too terrified. I sang an old timey Southerny gospel song. Sang some 'never-before-released' lyrics too, 'cause I forgot the official ones. But, it must've gone well, because I got a part! (oooh, now that I think about it, either it DID go pretty well, or they didn't have enough people audition ... not gonna think about it.)
Whee!! A part in a musical!! An actual singing part!! I have something like 20 seconds' worth of a solo, plus some speaking parts, some funny lines, AND: an overly dramatic death scene. What more could a first-timer possibly wish for??!! I can't wait. Off I go, Into the Woods, to be Jack's Mother!!! Wish me luck!!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
That's when I noticed the dent.
I recently decided to take up a little bit of swimming, for a couple of reasons:
1) to see if I would drown (I haven't been swimming in AGES)
2) just to mix up my fitness routine a little
3) to either wash that Triathlon idea right outta my head, or GO FOR IT.
And so I got myself a membership and started going (in the mornings, so all the really truly swimmy-type people wouldn't point and laugh). And it was laughable. At first, anyway. It's AMAZING how much more lung capacity it takes me to swim than run. Yikes. But anyway ...
I'm getting better and better, and so to reward myself, I get a couple of small pieces of equipment: goggles and a swim cap. I try the goggles first.
They're snug, but work great! No fog, no running into the wall, all is well. Next, try the cap. This one, I needed a little help with, so I ask the 'experts' at the front desk just how exactly do I go about putting this silicone condom on my head. Armed with instructions, I do precisely as directed. Goggles on top of that, and I'm thinking I might just fool strangers into thinking I'm a real swimmer (until I get into the water, that is)!
Swimmy, swimmy, lap board, kicks and whatnot ... an hour later, I exit the chlorine pond and head for the lockerroom. Where, upon doffing my goggles and cap and heading over to the mirror to ponytail it for the drive home, I discover ... a dent.
In my head.
No lie. This deep line where my cap had cut across my forehead, and two half ovals where the eye pieces of my goggles had perched - essentially EMBOSSED on my noggin. Honestly, the way it was designed, if it hadn't been RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FOREHEAD, it might've been cool. But, as it were, it was decidedly NOT cool. It was the anti-cool. So I ducked out of there and rushed home, thinking it would diminish in time for work.
Fast forward to 7:17 PM, the first instance that day where I touched my head and couldn't feel the remnants of my morning workout.
I think I'm good with running.
1) to see if I would drown (I haven't been swimming in AGES)
2) just to mix up my fitness routine a little
3) to either wash that Triathlon idea right outta my head, or GO FOR IT.
And so I got myself a membership and started going (in the mornings, so all the really truly swimmy-type people wouldn't point and laugh). And it was laughable. At first, anyway. It's AMAZING how much more lung capacity it takes me to swim than run. Yikes. But anyway ...
I'm getting better and better, and so to reward myself, I get a couple of small pieces of equipment: goggles and a swim cap. I try the goggles first.
They're snug, but work great! No fog, no running into the wall, all is well. Next, try the cap. This one, I needed a little help with, so I ask the 'experts' at the front desk just how exactly do I go about putting this silicone condom on my head. Armed with instructions, I do precisely as directed. Goggles on top of that, and I'm thinking I might just fool strangers into thinking I'm a real swimmer (until I get into the water, that is)!
Swimmy, swimmy, lap board, kicks and whatnot ... an hour later, I exit the chlorine pond and head for the lockerroom. Where, upon doffing my goggles and cap and heading over to the mirror to ponytail it for the drive home, I discover ... a dent.
In my head.
No lie. This deep line where my cap had cut across my forehead, and two half ovals where the eye pieces of my goggles had perched - essentially EMBOSSED on my noggin. Honestly, the way it was designed, if it hadn't been RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FOREHEAD, it might've been cool. But, as it were, it was decidedly NOT cool. It was the anti-cool. So I ducked out of there and rushed home, thinking it would diminish in time for work.
Fast forward to 7:17 PM, the first instance that day where I touched my head and couldn't feel the remnants of my morning workout.
I think I'm good with running.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Because butts aren't kosher.
I recently saw a TV spot for Hebrew National brand hot dogs, where they were bragging about only putting in the 'front' half of a beef into their hot dogs. At the end of the spot, they show a drawing of a side of beef and they X out the back half while saying, 'No ifs, ands or butts.'
Oy, now, I may be just a goyeh, but, hang onto your yarmulke, yo! The butts ain't all bad - in fact, the back end of a beef is where the delicious, juicy, marbley, sizzling STEAKS come from! They're classified off limits in HN products because it is difficult and time consuming to process the back half of a beef according to kosher practices. IT CAN BE DONE, but HN doesn't have the patience to screw with it. (Wait, though, wouldn't that be an even BETTER way to market their hot dogs? If they actually DID go through the process, exercising Godly patience and disregard for astronomical amounts of shekels? Hmmm...)
I am CERTAINLY not jabbing at HN's product, cause me and their hot dogs are good friends. I saw that spot, though, and thought, 'What? That ain't right. Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis...stein?' I just think it's a tiny bit misleading ... and I wish they'd simply stick to their primary tagline: We answer to a higher authority. Nice work there.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Shameless self-promotion.
Wouldn't it be nice to think, 'Man, I want pork chops for dinner.' Then you open your freezer ... and there are PORK CHOPS there?!
Well, I want to help you make that scenario a reality. Broken B Farms has naturally-raised, cruelty-free, corn-fed hogs that are ready to go to market. Our pork is healthy, delicious, and costs less than buying it at a chain grocery store - plus, you'd be supporting local small farmers. If you'd like a whole or half to put in your freezer, you can choose how you would like it processed and packaged, and we will personally deliver it right to your freezer (within 180 miles of our farm). Just shoot me an email at brokenbbrands@hotmail.com and we'll talk.
Have pork chops tonight, bacon for breakfast, and a ham for Sunday dinner! Compliments of your family at Broken B Farms.
Well, I want to help you make that scenario a reality. Broken B Farms has naturally-raised, cruelty-free, corn-fed hogs that are ready to go to market. Our pork is healthy, delicious, and costs less than buying it at a chain grocery store - plus, you'd be supporting local small farmers. If you'd like a whole or half to put in your freezer, you can choose how you would like it processed and packaged, and we will personally deliver it right to your freezer (within 180 miles of our farm). Just shoot me an email at brokenbbrands@hotmail.com and we'll talk.
Have pork chops tonight, bacon for breakfast, and a ham for Sunday dinner! Compliments of your family at Broken B Farms.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
A cool trip to KS. Yes, really!
I can't believe I'm going to put this out there, but I am:
I road tripped into Western Kansas, and it was actually cool.
Skeptical? Yeah, I don't blame you. The last time I went on a drive across the sunflower state, I was entertained by the panoramic views and Flint Hills ... for roughly 24 minutes. Then, as the state drug by, I got a case of Monotonous Infinitessimus and wasn't my normal self for days.
So, what made this particular trip so cool? Well, for one, we drove most of it in the dark.
Ha! No lie, we got into the state at about dusk, and about the time we went through Lawrence, it was totally dark. And thus, got to see a phenomenon I've never witnessed before: the burning of the Flint Hills. I could not believe it - they just light these fires and walk away! They start burning, and it consumes THOUSANDS of acres of grassland, burning right up to the edges of the highways. Absolutely incredible.
My dad, (who has spent years earning his nickname "Chief Cut 'Em Down, Burn 'Em Up" cause he do like him a good brush fire) of course, was completely enthralled. That particular annual method of cleaning the brush out of the acreages and rejuvenating the grass creates several differences in the way they farm compared to our operation, just one state away. For instance, their fence posts have to be able to withstand the burning. I wouldn't even know how to start building a fence made entirely out of metal posts.
So that was pretty awesome to see, even the next day, of course they were still burning so the sky was just filled with smoke. And we'd be driving along and all of a sudden see hundreds and hundreds of smouldering, black acres. It's so neat, though, cause I bet now those same hills are green as Ireland. Cool.
We drove right past a windmill farm, too. I hadn't seen one actually spinning in the wind - WOW. It's a little weird, actually, driving through a state filled with farmland and old tradition, and then seeing these huge beacons of technology standing on the hills. On accident, I snapped a cool picture of the dichotomy. Check it.
So, I can't say that I'd be in the mood to traipse across Kansas again any time soon, but at least now I have a couple of nice things to say about the erstwhile Ocean of Maddening Sameness. :)
I road tripped into Western Kansas, and it was actually cool.
Skeptical? Yeah, I don't blame you. The last time I went on a drive across the sunflower state, I was entertained by the panoramic views and Flint Hills ... for roughly 24 minutes. Then, as the state drug by, I got a case of Monotonous Infinitessimus and wasn't my normal self for days.
So, what made this particular trip so cool? Well, for one, we drove most of it in the dark.
Ha! No lie, we got into the state at about dusk, and about the time we went through Lawrence, it was totally dark. And thus, got to see a phenomenon I've never witnessed before: the burning of the Flint Hills. I could not believe it - they just light these fires and walk away! They start burning, and it consumes THOUSANDS of acres of grassland, burning right up to the edges of the highways. Absolutely incredible.
My dad, (who has spent years earning his nickname "Chief Cut 'Em Down, Burn 'Em Up" cause he do like him a good brush fire) of course, was completely enthralled. That particular annual method of cleaning the brush out of the acreages and rejuvenating the grass creates several differences in the way they farm compared to our operation, just one state away. For instance, their fence posts have to be able to withstand the burning. I wouldn't even know how to start building a fence made entirely out of metal posts.
So that was pretty awesome to see, even the next day, of course they were still burning so the sky was just filled with smoke. And we'd be driving along and all of a sudden see hundreds and hundreds of smouldering, black acres. It's so neat, though, cause I bet now those same hills are green as Ireland. Cool.
We drove right past a windmill farm, too. I hadn't seen one actually spinning in the wind - WOW. It's a little weird, actually, driving through a state filled with farmland and old tradition, and then seeing these huge beacons of technology standing on the hills. On accident, I snapped a cool picture of the dichotomy. Check it.
So, I can't say that I'd be in the mood to traipse across Kansas again any time soon, but at least now I have a couple of nice things to say about the erstwhile Ocean of Maddening Sameness. :)
Thursday, April 17, 2008
But it wasn't funny back then!
Everyone is familiar with the email forward. Randomly, they can be awesome, hilarious, weird, revolting ... one I got today, though, sent me packing down Repressed Memory Lane. The email was a Larry the Cable Guy commentary on folks from Missouri (which I'm sure has been packaged and re-packaged to fit whatever state it's being routed through). Here's part of it:
*****
If you have gone from "heat" to "A/C" in the same day and back again you
live in Missouri.
If you can drive 75 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard
without flinching, you live in Missouri.
If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both
unlocked, you live in Missouri.
If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit, you
live in Missouri.
*****
ALL of which are uncannily true. But wow, that last one, talk about hitting a nerve. It's not a joke, people! Picture this: a 7-year-old blonde girl all set to go out as beautiful, pristine Snow White. Store-bought costume, full-face plastic molded mask with raven black hair and red bow included. How lovely!
Oh wait, it's FRIGID outside. Wind blowing, snow on the ground, stupid-cold.
Now picture a lumpy, and therefore frumpy, Snow White.
Yep, when I had to put my costume on OVER my snowsuit, I instantly became the ugly stepsister- at least I thought so. Oh, miserable! If I could've had my way, I know 100% that I would've risked freezing to death to NOT wear that lumpy snowsuit out trick-or-treating.
But I wanted one of Tara's grandma's famous caramel popcorn balls real bad. So although I was decidedly unhappy about it, lumpy Snow White went to town with her plastic pumpkin treat basket. :) The popcorn ball was well worth it.
Thanks for that trip, Mr. the Cable Guy.
*****
If you have gone from "heat" to "A/C" in the same day and back again you
live in Missouri.
If you can drive 75 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard
without flinching, you live in Missouri.
If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both
unlocked, you live in Missouri.
If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit, you
live in Missouri.
*****
ALL of which are uncannily true. But wow, that last one, talk about hitting a nerve. It's not a joke, people! Picture this: a 7-year-old blonde girl all set to go out as beautiful, pristine Snow White. Store-bought costume, full-face plastic molded mask with raven black hair and red bow included. How lovely!
Oh wait, it's FRIGID outside. Wind blowing, snow on the ground, stupid-cold.
Now picture a lumpy, and therefore frumpy, Snow White.
Yep, when I had to put my costume on OVER my snowsuit, I instantly became the ugly stepsister- at least I thought so. Oh, miserable! If I could've had my way, I know 100% that I would've risked freezing to death to NOT wear that lumpy snowsuit out trick-or-treating.
But I wanted one of Tara's grandma's famous caramel popcorn balls real bad. So although I was decidedly unhappy about it, lumpy Snow White went to town with her plastic pumpkin treat basket. :) The popcorn ball was well worth it.
Thanks for that trip, Mr. the Cable Guy.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Thirteen point One
For the last couple of months, I've been training for the longest distance race I've ever done - a half marathon. I'm not even sure what it was that made me think that was something I needed to do (It probably had something to do with my friend Jiff), but I decided to try it. So, at 6 am most mornings, I was out skipping around town. My 'long' runs kept getting longer, and longer. I can't lie, some of them were the most miserable experiences I've had in a long while. But most of them were actually way less torture that I thought they'd be. And then, this past Sunday was D-Day.
And I was utterly terrified. I kept trying to just not think about anything, cause it was better than the "What the @#!*#?" and "I ain't NEVER gonna finish this!" and "WHY did I think this was a good idea?" thoughts in my head. But, I tied on my trusty do-rag, and got in line.
In what seemed like no time, I was running past the 7 mile marker. Piece o' cake, I tell ya! Of course, then we got into these long, slow, grades and the next few miles were kinda rough (who am I kidding? The next few miles sucked real bad.). The marching band at mile 10 sure helped, though! Sweet! One semi-quick trip to the port-a-potties (dammit. blew a good 5 minutes there.), up and over a couple more hills, and EUREKA! THE FINISH LINE! I hope they got a good picture of me throwing up the rock fist. 02:09:21
Went to brunch at First Watch, where I rewarded myself heartily. Mmmmm ... then promptly spent the next two days freezing and medicating the pain away. And now that I'm back to almost-normal, I find myself looking online for the NEXT 1/2 marathon. Gotta beat that time, you know?
And I was utterly terrified. I kept trying to just not think about anything, cause it was better than the "What the @#!*#?" and "I ain't NEVER gonna finish this!" and "WHY did I think this was a good idea?" thoughts in my head. But, I tied on my trusty do-rag, and got in line.
In what seemed like no time, I was running past the 7 mile marker. Piece o' cake, I tell ya! Of course, then we got into these long, slow, grades and the next few miles were kinda rough (who am I kidding? The next few miles sucked real bad.). The marching band at mile 10 sure helped, though! Sweet! One semi-quick trip to the port-a-potties (dammit. blew a good 5 minutes there.), up and over a couple more hills, and EUREKA! THE FINISH LINE! I hope they got a good picture of me throwing up the rock fist. 02:09:21
Went to brunch at First Watch, where I rewarded myself heartily. Mmmmm ... then promptly spent the next two days freezing and medicating the pain away. And now that I'm back to almost-normal, I find myself looking online for the NEXT 1/2 marathon. Gotta beat that time, you know?
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Ewe Gotta Love Spring
I hear the birds singing,
I see the baby calves playing in the field,
I feel the sun on my face,
I see the grass getting green again,
I feel the cool breeze blowing through my wool ...
WAIT A MINUTE!
Nekkid sheep. Another sure sign it's spring! The girls get their hair cut at least once a year. It makes lambing a lot cleaner, which they're scheduled to do in the next couple of weeks. Plus, just because it's attached to them, doesn't mean they LIKE having to wear the same wool sweater all year long!
I see the baby calves playing in the field,
I feel the sun on my face,
I see the grass getting green again,
I feel the cool breeze blowing through my wool ...
WAIT A MINUTE!
Nekkid sheep. Another sure sign it's spring! The girls get their hair cut at least once a year. It makes lambing a lot cleaner, which they're scheduled to do in the next couple of weeks. Plus, just because it's attached to them, doesn't mean they LIKE having to wear the same wool sweater all year long!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Six Words or Less ...
Ran across this book on the Women’s Health magazine site ... (wait, that sounds weird. Ran across a book on a magazine site. Hm. Words.)
Thought it was a cool idea and wanted to share. These people put together six-word memoirs - there are some listed here. What would yours be? I don’t think I could settle on just one ... I’m much too wordy to put it all down in six. But, they’re kinda like haikus and I love me some haikus, so here are a couple of submissions:
Happy, disappointed, happy, stationary, determined, happy.
(looking at that makes me laugh at how funny the word ’happy’ looks)
Put down roots. Grow, live, return.
She never answers her damn phone.
Yes, this is my natural color.
Work very hard, sleep very well.
Can't ... sit ... still. Must ... rock ... out.
Try it yourself - it’s good times!
Thought it was a cool idea and wanted to share. These people put together six-word memoirs - there are some listed here. What would yours be? I don’t think I could settle on just one ... I’m much too wordy to put it all down in six. But, they’re kinda like haikus and I love me some haikus, so here are a couple of submissions:
Happy, disappointed, happy, stationary, determined, happy.
(looking at that makes me laugh at how funny the word ’happy’ looks)
Put down roots. Grow, live, return.
She never answers her damn phone.
Yes, this is my natural color.
Work very hard, sleep very well.
Can't ... sit ... still. Must ... rock ... out.
Try it yourself - it’s good times!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Second Opinions
I'm sure this sounded like a great idea to the person putting up this sign: "Yeah, this'll be a great way to get the word out on the drawings we're having for discounts! How cute and clever of me!"
Um. Problem is, this is a tanning and hair salon.
Whoops.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Spring is here!
On Broken B, springtime is announced by the return of red-winged blackbirds gurgling in the trees, buds on the lilac bush, the first sprigs of green in the fields ... and this!
This particular little shaver is this mama's first calf ever (very oddly, we call them 'first-calf heifers'. Ha.) and, extra-exciting for me, is that you might say I was the fertility doctor for this heifer and about 6 others. Let's say you were a woman who wanted to have a child via a sperm donor. You might go to a clinic and sort through hundreds of eligible donors to pick the one most suited to you. That's basically what we did with these heifers. We sorted through many, many books and EPDs (expected progeny differentials) to find the perfect donor bull. Then we artificially inseminated (A.I.) the heifers last summer, and this is one of the progeny - about 30 minutes old! Welcome to the world, kiddo!
Happy Spring!!!
This particular little shaver is this mama's first calf ever (very oddly, we call them 'first-calf heifers'. Ha.) and, extra-exciting for me, is that you might say I was the fertility doctor for this heifer and about 6 others. Let's say you were a woman who wanted to have a child via a sperm donor. You might go to a clinic and sort through hundreds of eligible donors to pick the one most suited to you. That's basically what we did with these heifers. We sorted through many, many books and EPDs (expected progeny differentials) to find the perfect donor bull. Then we artificially inseminated (A.I.) the heifers last summer, and this is one of the progeny - about 30 minutes old! Welcome to the world, kiddo!
Happy Spring!!!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
New Men on the Farm
Yeah, I brought home not one but TWO men this past Saturday evening. :) Not only are they pretty to look at, but they're excellent on paper too. (Now, if I could only find one of the homo sapien variety ...!)
Monday, March 10, 2008
Church Karaoke
For the past few weeks (four actually, I think), I've been playing the piano at my church. It's definitely had its goods and bads, but overall, they haven't replaced me with recordings so I feel like I'm doing well!
This past Sunday, though, not only did I play, but I sang too. BIG step! Just a couple of months ago, I couldn't play an entire song without approximately 5,283 missed notes. But our usual song leader couldn't be there, so I decided to give it a shot. Hey, church karaoke ... could be easier than I think ... right?! In the words of one of my friends: "Thank God for God." There is no way I pulled that off without divine intervention, for real. He must've been thinking very good thoughts and sending them all in my general direction. :)
I even got compliments from the congregation - and they wouldn't lie, would they? Especially while they're in church?! I hope? I kept looking for the lightning, but it didn't happen, so maybe they were truthing.
Hey, I did it, and it didn't suck real bad. In my book, that's a successful gig.
This past Sunday, though, not only did I play, but I sang too. BIG step! Just a couple of months ago, I couldn't play an entire song without approximately 5,283 missed notes. But our usual song leader couldn't be there, so I decided to give it a shot. Hey, church karaoke ... could be easier than I think ... right?! In the words of one of my friends: "Thank God for God." There is no way I pulled that off without divine intervention, for real. He must've been thinking very good thoughts and sending them all in my general direction. :)
I even got compliments from the congregation - and they wouldn't lie, would they? Especially while they're in church?! I hope? I kept looking for the lightning, but it didn't happen, so maybe they were truthing.
Hey, I did it, and it didn't suck real bad. In my book, that's a successful gig.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Well, at least we'll all be thin.
There are frightening things a'brewin in the global commodities markets. These global markets are exponentially smaller than stock and bond markets in terms of money and investors, so they're not getting as much media face time. But several factors are working together to create a perfect scenario for worldwide ... famine.
I wish I were kidding. Here are just a small smattering of the predicaments we're getting ourselves into:
- Americans are fanatic in our attempts to find alternative, sustainable fuel sources. The 'alternative' we've come up with (corn) is raiding our food supply.
- Because demand is so high, which makes prices sky high, farmers are planting corn, corn, CORN! But guess what? That means their acres are all in CORN - even the acres they used to devote to wheat and soybeans. Which leads us to ...
- a shortage not only of corn (because besides eating it, now we're burning it for fuel too, and farmers can't keep up with demand), but of wheat and soybeans as well! So, due to a supply shortage, prices for THOSE commodities go up.
- Now. Because cattle, hog, and other animal farmers use corn, wheat and soybeans to feed their animals to get them ready for the consumer to eat, those farmers have to pay MUCH higher prices to continue to do that. Therefore, U.S. meat producers aren't going to be able to make any money, so they'll sell everything and get out of the business. But guess who are the only ones right now who can afford the skyrocketing price of land? Crop farmers. So, who's going to raise meat for Americans to eat? Not America.
- Add to these things the plummeting dollar. Which means that OTHER countries are able to buy our exports, but it's becoming increasingly difficult for US to buy our OWN commodities.
- Heap onto that a growing global population.
- Heap onto that a number of weather problems in typically agriculturally productive areas of the world.
It's terrifying, really, where all this is leading. Honestly, I see a renewed interest in gardening. Ye gods, with my black thumb, I'll never survive.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Snap, CRACK, and Pop?
I haven't been to the grocery store in eons. Well, what seems like eons anyway. It's probably more like days. Irrelevant. Onward. Every morning, I've gotten used to havin' myself a little bowl of crunchies and milk - usually of the twigs and gravel variety, very grown-up of me - before I jet off to work.
This morning, upon opening the cereal cabinet door, I of course instantly: 1) remember that I ran out of cereal yesterday, and 2) remember that I had told myself not to forget to pick up some more on my way home. Well, I didn't FORGET, I just didn't remember that I had told myself not to forget until just then. Gah! Anyway! All was not lost, as I had done some Betty Crockering here a week ago and had bought some cheap-o, knock-off Rice Krispies to make cookies with. Eh well, I'll just eat a bowl of that.
Minutes later, happily munching away on my noisy breakfast, I happen to casually glance at the cereal box. La-dee-da, just checkin' things out, of course the box looks mostly like the branded version of the stuff, with WAIT, WHAT?! one ... little ... exception.
Notice anything suspicious?! Maybe that the Hy-Vee crispy kids are CRACKED OUT??!! Look at the sugar-induced high they're on! They have that trippy grin, and their eyes are all wonky like they've been to see the Magic Man. They look like they've spent a little too much time partying in H-town with LiLo and Britney. Somebody get those Hy-Vee kids to rehab. Snap, CRACKle, Pop indeed.
This morning, upon opening the cereal cabinet door, I of course instantly: 1) remember that I ran out of cereal yesterday, and 2) remember that I had told myself not to forget to pick up some more on my way home. Well, I didn't FORGET, I just didn't remember that I had told myself not to forget until just then. Gah! Anyway! All was not lost, as I had done some Betty Crockering here a week ago and had bought some cheap-o, knock-off Rice Krispies to make cookies with. Eh well, I'll just eat a bowl of that.
Minutes later, happily munching away on my noisy breakfast, I happen to casually glance at the cereal box. La-dee-da, just checkin' things out, of course the box looks mostly like the branded version of the stuff, with WAIT, WHAT?! one ... little ... exception.
Notice anything suspicious?! Maybe that the Hy-Vee crispy kids are CRACKED OUT??!! Look at the sugar-induced high they're on! They have that trippy grin, and their eyes are all wonky like they've been to see the Magic Man. They look like they've spent a little too much time partying in H-town with LiLo and Britney. Somebody get those Hy-Vee kids to rehab. Snap, CRACKle, Pop indeed.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Some days are diamonds.
And the day THIS happened was NOT a diamond sort of day.
That is, unless you know the story. Which truly IS a gem.
It is almost time for our spring cows to start calving. And when that happens, you typically want to have them in a smaller field that's close to home (so you can monitor them), with little to no access to ditches (so they don't have their calves in them). So, we were bringing a group of pregnant ('bred') cows home from an acreage that's about 12 miles away.
How exactly do we do that? Well, with this bitty trailer, circa 1976-ish. One of my dad's favorite phrases is, 'You can't HAVE any money if you SPEND all your money.' Or any number of variations thereof, all meaning: Read my lips, no new trailer. So it's almost like this trailer is an elderly relative in our family. We've had it longer than I've been around. It's seen quite a few things in its lifetime, including many, many State Fairs. Which makes me glad that it's a non-speaking member of the family. :) Anywho, it doesn't hold many cows, so it takes us a few trips back and forth to get all the girls moved.
We had gotten the cows in, and made one trip home already, getting along fairly well - no escapees from the lot, no human injuries (physical or emotional) - however, one cow had jostled around and put her butt through a panel in the back of the trailer. Eh, no biggie, we'll just take the gate out from the inside of the trailer, and wire it to the outside! Voila! All better. We'll have to weld the panel back on when we get time. Now for Trip #2.
Dad was on his cell phone with his boss. Not unusual, he was providing a DEFCON 3 Situation Update on all things pertaining to meat. Or something. We were going about 40 miles per hour on blacktop, heading into some hills, when I heard a dull 'snap', and dad slows the truck to a halt at the top of a hill. I had no idea what had just happened, so I was looking around to see. Then dad jumps out of the truck, and chases a WHEEL that's rolling across the road, halfway down the hill, and into the ditch on the other side. I followed suit, grabbed the wheel from him (which he had just scorched his hand on, 'cause it was SUPER HOT), careful not to touch the hot part, duh, :) and carried it back to the truck, dad gesturing to me to put it in the back. The wheel had come off the trailer, but upon further inspection, the wheel in front of it was still fine and was holding the trailer about 2 inches off the road.
We leaped back into the truck, started slowly limping home, and prayed. Well, at least I did.
Dad was still on his cell phone. THROUGH THIS WHOLE ORDEAL!!! Wheel coming off the trailer, chasing it down the hill, burning his hand, getting back in the truck and starting off again ... his voice did not change one single bit. This, the man who gets red-faced and worked up watching football games between Nobody State and I Don't Care U!! But not this time. Cool as a cucumber. In-cred-ible.
Thank the Lord, we did manage to get home with the cows. Phew. The only injury was to our egos, having to drive on a fairly major road with our ghetto trailer in tow. Dad's initial response: Well, I'll be darned. Looks like we'll finally have to get a new trailer.
Dad's response three hours later: Hey, this can be fixed.
:) We'll probably be taking my grandchildrens' animals to the State Fair with that trailer.
That is, unless you know the story. Which truly IS a gem.
It is almost time for our spring cows to start calving. And when that happens, you typically want to have them in a smaller field that's close to home (so you can monitor them), with little to no access to ditches (so they don't have their calves in them). So, we were bringing a group of pregnant ('bred') cows home from an acreage that's about 12 miles away.
How exactly do we do that? Well, with this bitty trailer, circa 1976-ish. One of my dad's favorite phrases is, 'You can't HAVE any money if you SPEND all your money.' Or any number of variations thereof, all meaning: Read my lips, no new trailer. So it's almost like this trailer is an elderly relative in our family. We've had it longer than I've been around. It's seen quite a few things in its lifetime, including many, many State Fairs. Which makes me glad that it's a non-speaking member of the family. :) Anywho, it doesn't hold many cows, so it takes us a few trips back and forth to get all the girls moved.
We had gotten the cows in, and made one trip home already, getting along fairly well - no escapees from the lot, no human injuries (physical or emotional) - however, one cow had jostled around and put her butt through a panel in the back of the trailer. Eh, no biggie, we'll just take the gate out from the inside of the trailer, and wire it to the outside! Voila! All better. We'll have to weld the panel back on when we get time. Now for Trip #2.
Dad was on his cell phone with his boss. Not unusual, he was providing a DEFCON 3 Situation Update on all things pertaining to meat. Or something. We were going about 40 miles per hour on blacktop, heading into some hills, when I heard a dull 'snap', and dad slows the truck to a halt at the top of a hill. I had no idea what had just happened, so I was looking around to see. Then dad jumps out of the truck, and chases a WHEEL that's rolling across the road, halfway down the hill, and into the ditch on the other side. I followed suit, grabbed the wheel from him (which he had just scorched his hand on, 'cause it was SUPER HOT), careful not to touch the hot part, duh, :) and carried it back to the truck, dad gesturing to me to put it in the back. The wheel had come off the trailer, but upon further inspection, the wheel in front of it was still fine and was holding the trailer about 2 inches off the road.
We leaped back into the truck, started slowly limping home, and prayed. Well, at least I did.
Dad was still on his cell phone. THROUGH THIS WHOLE ORDEAL!!! Wheel coming off the trailer, chasing it down the hill, burning his hand, getting back in the truck and starting off again ... his voice did not change one single bit. This, the man who gets red-faced and worked up watching football games between Nobody State and I Don't Care U!! But not this time. Cool as a cucumber. In-cred-ible.
Thank the Lord, we did manage to get home with the cows. Phew. The only injury was to our egos, having to drive on a fairly major road with our ghetto trailer in tow. Dad's initial response: Well, I'll be darned. Looks like we'll finally have to get a new trailer.
Dad's response three hours later: Hey, this can be fixed.
:) We'll probably be taking my grandchildrens' animals to the State Fair with that trailer.
'Happy cows' huh?
Man, I wouldn't want to be one of California's 'happy cows'. Apparently when they can't make good cheese anymore, they forklift 'em off to the Great Beyond. Of course, I make you a bet that those guys working there were paid close to minimum wage, and told to get as many cows into that plant as possible, as quickly as possible. I'm sure they were just thinking they were being resourceful. You get what you pay for, though, I suppose.
When things like this happen, though, I couldn't be prouder of the way we do things on Broken B. I know EXACTLY how our cattle are treated, because I'M the one doing it (and by 'I', what I mean is 'my family and I'). In fact, when we have to hire extra hands to help, the first consideration we have is how that person will work with our cows. Hey consumers, when you get tired of buying beef that's had God-only-knows-what done to it, let me know. There's no better looking, healthier, happier cows, and no better tasting, more humanely raised beef than what comes off the rolling hills of Broken B Farms.
When things like this happen, though, I couldn't be prouder of the way we do things on Broken B. I know EXACTLY how our cattle are treated, because I'M the one doing it (and by 'I', what I mean is 'my family and I'). In fact, when we have to hire extra hands to help, the first consideration we have is how that person will work with our cows. Hey consumers, when you get tired of buying beef that's had God-only-knows-what done to it, let me know. There's no better looking, healthier, happier cows, and no better tasting, more humanely raised beef than what comes off the rolling hills of Broken B Farms.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
It's art! Mostly.
Tax. The word inspires sweaty brows, twisted stomachs, and general panic in most folks I know. But you put a fancy little suffix on it, and it brings a whole new sort of frenzy ... yeah, I'm talkin'bout taxidermy. Dried, stuffed medals of honor on display.
I can't lie, I personally (and sadly) don't have any such trophies to call my own. Maybe someday. But I do know many, many, ... many people who have them adorning their walls. And I have to think that the addictive quality of having things taxidermied must be similar to getting a tattoo. Once you get your first tattoo, all you can think about is your NEXT tattoo, right? Well, taxidermy must be similar, because most times when you're in a house and you see one beast, fowl or fish glued to a board, there is a great possibility you'll see more.
And honestly, most times, I do believe that good taxidermy is truly an art. I don't know all that has to go into it, but I know the artist has to have the ability and talent to paint, has to have an eye for form, and has to have some creativity to do it well. (TRUE STATEMENT: There IS such a thing as BAD taxidermy. Don't worry, you know it when you see it.)
But today, through an ENTIRELY unrelated search, I stumbled upon this site. If anyone is looking for a one-of-a-kind Valentine's Day gift for their sweetheart, be sure to check out the muskrat feet earrings. Good or bad, this girl has definitely found a niche.
A weird one.
I can't lie, I personally (and sadly) don't have any such trophies to call my own.
And honestly, most times, I do believe that good taxidermy is truly an art. I don't know all that has to go into it, but I know the artist has to have the ability and talent to paint, has to have an eye for form, and has to have some creativity to do it well. (TRUE STATEMENT: There IS such a thing as BAD taxidermy. Don't worry, you know it when you see it.)
But today, through an ENTIRELY unrelated search, I stumbled upon this site. If anyone is looking for a one-of-a-kind Valentine's Day gift for their sweetheart, be sure to check out the muskrat feet earrings. Good or bad, this girl has definitely found a niche.
A weird one.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Joe Arpaio for President!!
I betcha nobody rides in to Phoenix thinking they're gonna be the new sherriff in town! You've got to love a creative hard-nose like this guy.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
There Was Blood
But not much of it, unfortunately.
A few days ago, I heard an announcement on the radio about a Red Cross blood drive. I hadn't ever given blood before, because of an incident a relative had many, many years ago. And you know, I say that that was the reason I hadn't ever done it, but I think the more Honest Abe reason is because I was terrified of passing out. In front of a bunch of people I didn't know.
So, I heard this announcement on the radio, and somehow remembered to get on the website and schedule an appointment.
eek. locked in. no pansying out now.
I read all the articles and tips and how-tos, and when I got there I told every single person I came across that this was the first time I'd voluntarily opened a vein. (You know, just in case these people saw me pass out, then they'd be understanding. As if they wouldn't be understanding if it were my 27th time and I passed out. Duh.) Turns out, I successfully passed all the screening questions - kinda hard not to, as I haven't been infected with West Nile or bird flu, haven't had sex with a prostitute, haven't been abducted by aliens, and haven't ingested any green glowing objects. (Are these things standard experiences for people my age? Have I been living my life to the fullest?? What OTHER things have I missed??? ha.)
So, having dodged that bullet, I hopped up onto a comfy chaise lounge, and in no time at all was being pumped for a donation. All went well for about 5 minutes, when apparently the guy in charge of me noticed that my sack was filling awfully slowly. Two other technicians joined him in jimmying with the connecting tube and sack, then a couple of brief moments of jimmying with the (eek) needle (eek). By the time they decided to call it at a half pint, I had three technicians working on one side of me, and the director of the area Red Cross and their PR person talking to me on the other side. I love a good commotion when I'm trying to bleed. ha. I guess I hadn't ingested enough fluids that morning, and my blood was flowing so slowly that it clotted in the bag and closed it up. (this truly worries me, as I wonder what ELSE is happening because I have a slow current. Is THAT maybe why I forget to close kitchen cabinet doors?! Is that why I can't remember what I was thinking about two seconds ago?! it's terrifying!!)
Anyhow, I did somehow manage to NOT pass out (victory!) and they still gave me a t-shirt for my measly half pint ... not that I have measles. or ever have. So, barring any run-ins with prostitutes, aliens, sick turkeys, or kryptonite, I think I will do it again when I can.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Diversify!
Just like a personal financial portfolio, sometimes farms that have 'all their eggs in one basket' so to speak, decide to include other endeavors in their farming operation - for the same reasons as a portfolio - for financial protection. Take, for instance, the current agriculture market: a farmer who's got cattle AND grain would be balanced out between the sky-high prices of corn and the falling prices of cattle.
When I was growing up, we had mostly cattle, some sheep, and some hogs. Our hog operation has been slowly declining over the years, to the point that last fall, we got rid of the last of them. Or, what we THOUGHT were the last of them. This past weekend, dad decided to go ahead and do some more dabbling in hog production. The ruddy little mud maggots (a term of endearment, I ASSURE you) arrive this weekend, so preparations commenced in anticipation of their arrival. We set about doing things like making sure the pen was still secure enough to keep them in, putting bedding down, and getting their food and water situation lined out.
Check, check, check, check. All is well, right up to the 'food' point. Drat. We didn't anticipate having any more hogs, so when the last of 'em left, we didn't do anything with the feeder (gotta love foreshadowing. Cue the dramatic music). Of course, when I went to clean it Monday morning so the corn in it could flow freely to the trough, at least four inches of gunk in the bottom of it was FROZEN SOLID. And I mean solid. Like concrete. Like bedrock. ... Did I mention that it was SOLID??
So I go's to hammerin' and chiselin' on the frozen gunk. And it doesn't give. At all. For an hour and a half. By this time, I'm cold, p!ssed off, and running out of good ideas. I had surmised that the only way to get all this crap out of the feeder would be to get ALL the corn out of it and go at it from the inside. Ugh. NOT at all the easiest scenario imaginable. But, the feeder's gotta be ready, and the weather ain't gonna warm up much between now and next weekend.
Fine. But how in Missouri's frozen wasteland am I gonna get this done? I decide to get the tractor, put the bucket on the front of it, put that next to the feeder and shovel the corn out of the feeder into the bucket. But, just running willy-nilly into an untried-and-untrue plan isn't really how things are done on Broken B. So, I ran the plan past management (aka Dad and Mom) and got executive approval to carry on.
Dad, on surveying the situation, quoth: Why, this sh!t's frozen down! and vacated to warmer environs indoors. He was the smart one. Mom, on seeing an opportunity to prove Dad wrong (heh heh), stayed and mined for corn with me.
We did finally triumph, albeit at the expense of our backs and hands. But, by gawd, them pigs haveta have sustenance to grow, and now they shall! So they can git in my belly! Mmmmm, pork chops. Hey, if you think about it, in a very distant way, it's like the commercial goes: "It's Shake-n-Bake! An' I helped!"
When I was growing up, we had mostly cattle, some sheep, and some hogs. Our hog operation has been slowly declining over the years, to the point that last fall, we got rid of the last of them. Or, what we THOUGHT were the last of them. This past weekend, dad decided to go ahead and do some more dabbling in hog production. The ruddy little mud maggots (a term of endearment, I ASSURE you) arrive this weekend, so preparations commenced in anticipation of their arrival. We set about doing things like making sure the pen was still secure enough to keep them in, putting bedding down, and getting their food and water situation lined out.
Check, check, check, check. All is well, right up to the 'food' point. Drat. We didn't anticipate having any more hogs, so when the last of 'em left, we didn't do anything with the feeder (gotta love foreshadowing. Cue the dramatic music). Of course, when I went to clean it Monday morning so the corn in it could flow freely to the trough, at least four inches of gunk in the bottom of it was FROZEN SOLID. And I mean solid. Like concrete. Like bedrock. ... Did I mention that it was SOLID??
So I go's to hammerin' and chiselin' on the frozen gunk. And it doesn't give. At all. For an hour and a half. By this time, I'm cold, p!ssed off, and running out of good ideas. I had surmised that the only way to get all this crap out of the feeder would be to get ALL the corn out of it and go at it from the inside. Ugh. NOT at all the easiest scenario imaginable. But, the feeder's gotta be ready, and the weather ain't gonna warm up much between now and next weekend.
Fine. But how in Missouri's frozen wasteland am I gonna get this done? I decide to get the tractor, put the bucket on the front of it, put that next to the feeder and shovel the corn out of the feeder into the bucket. But, just running willy-nilly into an untried-and-untrue plan isn't really how things are done on Broken B. So, I ran the plan past management (aka Dad and Mom) and got executive approval to carry on.
Dad, on surveying the situation, quoth: Why, this sh!t's frozen down! and vacated to warmer environs indoors. He was the smart one. Mom, on seeing an opportunity to prove Dad wrong (heh heh), stayed and mined for corn with me.
We did finally triumph, albeit at the expense of our backs and hands. But, by gawd, them pigs haveta have sustenance to grow, and now they shall! So they can git in my belly! Mmmmm, pork chops. Hey, if you think about it, in a very distant way, it's like the commercial goes: "It's Shake-n-Bake! An' I helped!"
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
With friends like me ...
This story starts last Friday night when I went out on the town with a few friends of mine. Well, as the night wore down, the two of us remaining decided to call it a night - for conversation and safety's sake, let's code name this friend Albuquerque. So me and Al were walking to his truck, when I happened to notice that it's FILTHY dirty. Of course, I can't let this opportunity pass by, so I start ribbing Albuquerque about 'pride of ownership' and 'taking care of your stuff' and 'driving around lookin like some WT' and whatnot. And during this roast, I decide to write 'PRIDE' in the dirt on the tailgate. Because Al is cool, he thinks this is funny too.
Flash forward to Monday night. Albuquerque is driving his (still dirty) truck. A highway patrolman drives up next to him, stays there for a minute, then gets back behind him and pulls him over. Being the law-abiding citizen he is, Al is a little perturbed at this action. Very intuitively, Mr. HP tells Al his truck is awfully dirty. Al agrees, taking care to include a fair amount of sarcasm. HP says that he can't even read his license plate, and the word 'PRIDE' is written on his tailgate. Al nods. As it turns out, apparently, a lot of DRUGS have been transported around this area, by cars and trucks with obstructed license plates ... and WORDS ON THE VEHICLES!!!! (are you KIDDING ME?! How'd I get so lucky?!) Yeah. So the HP thought my friend, Albuquerque, looked like a miscreant up to some illegal-ness, which I don't blame him for, cause my friend is a scruffy dude for sure. After the HP ran Al's license and made sure he wasn't carrying his South American Drug Ring membership card, he told Al to go ahead and go ... to the car wash.
Wow. You can't say I'm not livening things up around here, I guess. Ha!
Flash forward to Monday night. Albuquerque is driving his (still dirty) truck. A highway patrolman drives up next to him, stays there for a minute, then gets back behind him and pulls him over. Being the law-abiding citizen he is, Al is a little perturbed at this action. Very intuitively, Mr. HP tells Al his truck is awfully dirty. Al agrees, taking care to include a fair amount of sarcasm. HP says that he can't even read his license plate, and the word 'PRIDE' is written on his tailgate. Al nods. As it turns out, apparently, a lot of DRUGS have been transported around this area, by cars and trucks with obstructed license plates ... and WORDS ON THE VEHICLES!!!! (are you KIDDING ME?! How'd I get so lucky?!) Yeah. So the HP thought my friend, Albuquerque, looked like a miscreant up to some illegal-ness, which I don't blame him for, cause my friend is a scruffy dude for sure. After the HP ran Al's license and made sure he wasn't carrying his South American Drug Ring membership card, he told Al to go ahead and go ... to the car wash.
Wow. You can't say I'm not livening things up around here, I guess. Ha!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Pickin' out paint
Oooh, boy, while the cat's away, the mice will play! Or, in this particular case, the mice will ... remodel the house.
Around the homestead, home improvements have always been lighter on the priority scales than farm maintenance/improvements/other farm stuff. But in the last couple of days, my dad has been gone on a business trip, and mom's been using that time to shift priorities slightly in favor of her house. There are some things she's wanted to do for a while, like paint the kitchen/dining room, and put new flooring down in the kitchen. And while these kinds of decisions are big for everyone, there are a couple of 'items of special consideration' when purchasing them for a farm house. They're interesting, so I thought I'd share. First, when picking out paint colors for high-traffic areas like the kitchen and dining room, one must consider that shotguns and the like are probably going to be leaning here and there, so scuff marks should be fixable, or at least tolerable with your paint color.
Next, considering flooring. Farm houses are not the place for white carpeting. Or semi-white. or even khaki. Our kitchen floor has served as a surgery for dogs and cats; a nursery for piglets, goats, calves, lambs, and puppies; and as a cafeteria for hungry, muddy-boot-wearing work crews. I don't think Pine Sol makes enough ... Sol ... to get all that out of a light colored floor. I remember actually telling the flooring person all that happens in our kitchen the last time we picked out linoleum. At first she thought we were joking, then she told us to just put concrete down. We went somewhere else to get our flooring.
So, we've been going like gangbusters on the house for the past week and a half, and boy is the 'cat' gonna be surprised when he gets back! That'll teach him to leave me and mom home alone with the checkbook. heh.
Around the homestead, home improvements have always been lighter on the priority scales than farm maintenance/improvements/other farm stuff. But in the last couple of days, my dad has been gone on a business trip, and mom's been using that time to shift priorities slightly in favor of her house. There are some things she's wanted to do for a while, like paint the kitchen/dining room, and put new flooring down in the kitchen. And while these kinds of decisions are big for everyone, there are a couple of 'items of special consideration' when purchasing them for a farm house. They're interesting, so I thought I'd share. First, when picking out paint colors for high-traffic areas like the kitchen and dining room, one must consider that shotguns and the like are probably going to be leaning here and there, so scuff marks should be fixable, or at least tolerable with your paint color.
Next, considering flooring. Farm houses are not the place for white carpeting. Or semi-white. or even khaki. Our kitchen floor has served as a surgery for dogs and cats; a nursery for piglets, goats, calves, lambs, and puppies; and as a cafeteria for hungry, muddy-boot-wearing work crews. I don't think Pine Sol makes enough ... Sol ... to get all that out of a light colored floor. I remember actually telling the flooring person all that happens in our kitchen the last time we picked out linoleum. At first she thought we were joking, then she told us to just put concrete down. We went somewhere else to get our flooring.
So, we've been going like gangbusters on the house for the past week and a half, and boy is the 'cat' gonna be surprised when he gets back! That'll teach him to leave me and mom home alone with the checkbook. heh.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Resolution Motivation
Back in the day, I took piano lessons. And, like most of my other skills (welding, sewing, tap dancing, calligraphy, etc.), I was far from a child prodigy, but I liked doing it and was decent at it. In the last four years or so, though, I haven't even touched a piano. So this year, I decided to make one of my New Year's Resolutions be to see if I still have any piano knowledge left, and bring it back. (heh: I'm bringing piano back.)
So you can imagine my terror at church the next week, when the lady who has played piano for our church for EONS announced to me that in the short span of 4 weeks, she and her husband are going to be hookin' up the RV and heading to Arizona for the winter. But that wasn't the terrifying part. That comes next. She says to me: 'So you're going to take over here at church while I'm gone, aren't ya?'
First thought: Panic. Sputter. Stammer. Panicpanic. RUN AWAY!!
Second thought: Well, I'd better dig out the old sheet music and find a practice piano, PRONTO.
Nothing like a little outside motivation to make you stick to your resolutions, huh? I, therefore, have hounded the music department at my alma mater to request the use of their piano practice rooms. I'm positive I won't be rockin' Carnegie Hall anytime in the next ... well, uh ... anytime. But great grand pianos, I can't even describe how sweet it is to play again. (Even with all the sour notes!)
So you can imagine my terror at church the next week, when the lady who has played piano for our church for EONS announced to me that in the short span of 4 weeks, she and her husband are going to be hookin' up the RV and heading to Arizona for the winter. But that wasn't the terrifying part. That comes next. She says to me: 'So you're going to take over here at church while I'm gone, aren't ya?'
First thought: Panic. Sputter. Stammer. Panicpanic. RUN AWAY!!
Second thought: Well, I'd better dig out the old sheet music and find a practice piano, PRONTO.
Nothing like a little outside motivation to make you stick to your resolutions, huh? I, therefore, have hounded the music department at my alma mater to request the use of their piano practice rooms. I'm positive I won't be rockin' Carnegie Hall anytime in the next ... well, uh ... anytime. But great grand pianos, I can't even describe how sweet it is to play again. (Even with all the sour notes!)
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The Cookie Project
Let me start by saying that I am not a baker. (nor am I a candlestick maker or a butcher. But that's beside the point.)
However, I usually don't let a little lack of practice deter me from trying things, so, last night, I decided to make some cookies. Not just any cookies, I wanted to make cut-out sugar cookies. I got me a fine recipe from the 'net, purchased necessary ingredients, and was in business.
Sorta. I moved into The Penthouse in August, and of course, put errthing in the kitchen where I could IMMEDIATELY find it when needed. Right. That's why I spent 20 minutes just trying to locate my mixer. Aaaaaand then spent another 15 trying to find the beaters.
Having finally pieced said appliance together, I had my butter and sugar all in the bowl ready to be beaten into a creamy goo. All went well for approximately 4 seconds. In seconds 5-8, however, I learned a valuable lesson: do not pair a super-overly-excited mixer with a bowl possessing gently curved sides. It results in a gleeful flinging of sugared butter in a manner I'm sure America's Funniest Videos would appreciate.
Having recovered from that slight trauma by getting out one of my grandmother's tried-and-true mixing bowls, and feeling like I probably would've been better off making microwave popcorn, the next few steps went exactly as planned. That is, until I got to the part where you cut out the cookies. Now, I'll have you know, that I did EVERYTHING the recipe said. EVERYTHING. I floured my surface. I rolled out the dough. I did NOT chill the dough, because the recipe specifically said NOT to. And yet, when I went to gently peel up the carefully cut-out candycanes and stockings, they were flimsy and stuck to the counter!!!!
DAMMIT! So I made circles.
Hey, cookies is cookies, man.
However, I usually don't let a little lack of practice deter me from trying things, so, last night, I decided to make some cookies. Not just any cookies, I wanted to make cut-out sugar cookies. I got me a fine recipe from the 'net, purchased necessary ingredients, and was in business.
Sorta. I moved into The Penthouse in August, and of course, put errthing in the kitchen where I could IMMEDIATELY find it when needed. Right. That's why I spent 20 minutes just trying to locate my mixer. Aaaaaand then spent another 15 trying to find the beaters.
Having finally pieced said appliance together, I had my butter and sugar all in the bowl ready to be beaten into a creamy goo. All went well for approximately 4 seconds. In seconds 5-8, however, I learned a valuable lesson: do not pair a super-overly-excited mixer with a bowl possessing gently curved sides. It results in a gleeful flinging of sugared butter in a manner I'm sure America's Funniest Videos would appreciate.
Having recovered from that slight trauma by getting out one of my grandmother's tried-and-true mixing bowls, and feeling like I probably would've been better off making microwave popcorn, the next few steps went exactly as planned. That is, until I got to the part where you cut out the cookies. Now, I'll have you know, that I did EVERYTHING the recipe said. EVERYTHING. I floured my surface. I rolled out the dough. I did NOT chill the dough, because the recipe specifically said NOT to. And yet, when I went to gently peel up the carefully cut-out candycanes and stockings, they were flimsy and stuck to the counter!!!!
DAMMIT! So I made circles.
Hey, cookies is cookies, man.
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