My Extraordinary Ordinary

Table for one

2011-06-22T10:20:00.005-05:00

A friend found this on her friend's blog (thebigpieceofcake), and shared it with me this morning. I like.

A clean fan and a pretty doll

2010-09-06T21:15:00.018-05:00

The voice in my head was so loud: "You need to dust your fan."

Resigned to ignore it, I continued on the regular cleaning sweep of my bedroom: make the bed, Swiffer the dressers, vacuum the carpet, move to the next room.

"Amanda, it's COVERED in dust; really, it's gross."

I Swiffer-ed the front cover, the base and the chair it sat on. There, good enough.

"The blades are still dirty. You need to dust the fan, Amanda."

FINE!

I could tell the goal of getting my entire apartment cleaned in one day was quickly diminishing. My inner voice - or WHOSE EVER voice it was - had clearly made it's point: the fan in my bedroom (which I use only to save me from an eerily silent bedroom) was filthy. I'd been hearing the voice for months, every time I walked through my bedroom; I supposed it was time I stopped ignoring it.

As I sat on the floor struggling to dismantle my "Living Accents" air twirler, I knew I was in trouble. The word CLEAN was plainly written on my to-do list, and that meant the whole apartment. But the perfectionist in me was taking control; this one act of concentrated deep-cleaning would surely lead to another, and there are not enough hours in the day to scour an entire apartment.

So before I turned into a crazed, caffeinated Merry Maid, I bargained with myself - I would spend two hours maximum dusting, wiping, scraping and tidying my bedroom. The next day I would purify the bathroom, the next day, the living room; by the end of the week, I would have maximized the anti-bacterial quality of my entire apartment while having minimized my stress. Perfection!

Now comfortable with my new goal, I made my way around the room, seeking out the normally overlooked crooks and crannies. It was during this careful expedition that I decided to vacuum underneath the porcelain doll seated in a small wicker chair in the corner of my room. When I moved into this apartment, she came with boxes of items from one of the guest rooms in my old house, where I had put keepsakes from my childhood. When I unpacked her, I couldn't bring myself to stuff her in a closet.

As I transported her and her chair to my bed, I swept away the dust that had gathered on her face. Looking at her, I remember the Christmas my mother gave her to me - I had never seen anything so perfect. Plump baby's cheeks, striking blue eyes, flawless skin. Her fragile porcelain frame was adorned with an equally delicate pale beige lace gown. I adored her so much I placed her in the center of my just-made bed everyday, careful to fluff her dress in a manner that would properly display its beauty.

My childhood daydream was interrupted at the sound of something crinkling beneath my fingers. Confused, I lifted the long layers of skirt, and was shocked to find bubble wrap tightly secured around her tiny legs by rubber bands. Somehow, after at least 20 years, this imperfection had gone unnoticed.

I couldn't believe it. Had I really never peeked under her skirt, just to make sure she had a whole body? Or had I been so taken with her perfect face and perfect gown that I never even wondered if she HAD legs?

Whatever the reason, I decided it was certainly time to finish unwrapping this poor girl. As I popped the plastic air bubbles between my fingers, I marveled at the detail the artist had taken with legs and feet that, up until now, had never even been viewed. Her knees were just slightly bent; the bottoms of her feet had creases in them; and her toes, all curled in microscopically different directions, were accented by perfectly painted toenails to match her perfectly painted fingernails.

Hardly hesitating, I scooped her up, propped her on the pillows in the middle of my just-made bed, and fluffed her dress. It was at that moment a musical note squeaked from somewhere inside her. I had forgotten she played music! I turned the silver knob in her back, and sweet nostalgia washed over me as Braham's "Lullaby" filled my room.

As I gathered my cleaning items, I glanced at my now sparkling white fan, the sole reason my beautiful doll had been restored to her original glory, 20 years later.

With that thought, I fetched the day’s to-do list and made a slight adjustment:

* CLEAN - Bedroom (FAN!). Then I crossed it out.

Turning to my long-term to-do list, I added:

*Remove Bubble Wrap

*Fluff Dress

*Listen for Inner Music

Sometimes, it pays to stop ignoring the voice – and clean your fan.

"The day...."

2010-09-01T20:27:00.004-05:00

As most of you, the first major news story I heard today was of a gunman taking hostages at the Discovery Channel Headquarters in Silver Spring, Maryland. I kept CNN on all day, watching the progress and marveling at how, on any given day, something tragic like this can happen. No longer will September 1, 2010, just be the beginning of another month, but it will now be "the day the police killed that gunman at the Discovery Channel building."

But wait - there were a few other news events today that, while not as tragic as the No. 1 story, certainly could have taken that title. Allow me to share with you what this day could also have been known as:

"The day a dangerous sex offender escaped by simply walking out the front doors of a courthouse."

"The day a doctor who graduated with honors was found dead in her boyfriend's chimney."
(You may want to hold off on the details of this one if you're eating.)

"The day we learned about a woman who breastfeeds a calf."
(Um...same warning as before...times ten.)

When I first started writing this post I thought it might be a bit of comedic relief after a dire day, but I think maybe it should be more incredulous relief. Yeah, I'll go with that.

Let the rain come down

2010-08-24T02:38:00.004-05:00

The rain has been coming down for hours now. It's the type of rain that tells you the season of sweltering heat is transforming into one of cool breezes and fun-filled tailgates. It's the type of rain that brings a much needed temperature change. It's the type of rain that coats the air with the promise of change.

As I listen to the droplets of change, it occurs to me that the birth of a new season is one that nature thrives on: the trees, grass, birds, plants and flowers don't seem to fight the change. They've had their four or five months of sumptuous growth, innocent newborns and glorious colors, and now they are happily leaning towards their dormant periods, knowing next year will be a reproduction of a cycle that spans eternity.

It makes me wonder if nature's beautiful acceptance of change is our cue to not fear the same?

So there's this bird....

2010-05-26T18:29:00.004-05:00

I'm not sure what species she is, but everyday, she demonstrates a powerful illustration to the commitment of motherhood.

From my third floor apartment deck, I watch her. In the eaves just above the rain spout, she has made a hole, a nest, in the wood beam that holds together the overhang I share with the residents to my left. Throughout the day, she dutifully squeezes her adult body in and out of the pine cone-sized opening. Where she goes on her outgoing journey I do not know; but upon her return, she greets a tiny beak poking out of its home, joining in its siblings with chirps of joy as she brings them something to eat. I can only imagine how many there are, for her trips are many. She clearly has a treasure trove of food somewhere, because she is never gone for more than a few minutes.

I marvel at her intelligence. The typical treetop aviary nest is never safe from spring weather that might hurl it to the ground, or climbing predators who might invade it - but not this nest. This mother, whether acting as a result of tragic experience or simple instinct, has created a particularly innovative, safe haven for her children.

Soon they will need to be pushed out of their warm home, and the distance of their fall will be further than most chicks endure. So maybe this mother's efforts will fail her. Or maybe they will take flight as opposed to falling to the ground, because she has instilled in them the bravery it takes to survive.

After all, is that not what all mothers do?

Adventures in Recovery

2009-12-08T16:34:00.015-06:00

**(This is a follow-up to the two previous posts)**

The day I came home from the hospital, all I wanted was a cup of hot tea. From my perch on the couch, I estimated whether I could manage this feat: 30 seconds to walk to the kitchen, two minutes to heat up the water, 30 seconds to steep the tea bag and 30 seconds to shuffle back to the living room. Surely I could handle three minutes and 30 seconds on my feet!

What I didn't calculate for was the time it took me to reach my favorite, brightly colored coffee mug from the top shelf of the cupboard. I could not reach my right arm over my head without hunching over in pain. My left arm came to the rescue, but not without me having to raise my left leg in hopes of boosting my hand to the mug's handle. This extra minute was exhausting.

Two weeks later, the healing has started. I finally resumed exercising today (walking - jogging isn't quite agreeing with me yet), and this morning I almost crawled out of bed before noticing any pain.

However, if you had asked me last week about my thoughts on this healing process, I wouldn't have been quite so optimistic. On Monday, I was still having intense pain that was keeping me from spending more than 15 minutes on any activity that involved standing; the irrational side of me was sure the surgeon had missed something and I was going to have to go back to that dreadful land of one-eyed nurses and post-surgery panic attacks.

Thankfully, at my follow-up appointment that same day, my doctor assured me the pain was to be expected, as recovery for this type of surgery is normally two to four weeks. I was thankful there was nothing else wrong; I was NOT so thankful to know I could be laid up for a month.

I obviously did not hide my shock very well, as my doc's next words were: "I'm sorry Amanda, I'm pretty good at what I do, but one thing I can't control is recovery time."

It wouldn't have been such a big deal except that no one told me this. (Although I pause here to ponder if I asked about this issue, as a good patient should. I reason with the fact that I was pretty drugged up at the hospital, so they should have offered the information, right? Right.) Having to pretty much estimate my recovery time, I had taken it upon myself to decide it would take no more than one week. I'm not sure why one week was the magic time frame, but it was. And I was not pleased to find out my time frame had been expanded.

But rather than dwell on it, I decided there was nothing to do but refill my pain medication and try to enjoy a little R&R while I could. It's hard to complain when the laundry and dishes were magically getting done by someone other than me!

I used my recovery time to focus on listening to my body and respecting what it could and could not do. I know it's a bit cliche, but it really is amazing how we take for granted an able body, once it is crippled by something we cannot control. As my physical body nears its healing peak, my less-than-pleasant surgical experience becomes a small price to pay for the return of my health. I'm particularly thankful to have found a treatment option that will not terribly disrupt my life.

And so I move on with my life, a little more thankful for being able to painlessly reach my favorite mug from the top shelf...

Surgery for Dummies

2009-11-30T16:55:00.010-06:00

(**This post is a follow-up to the previous one**)

"I think we might need a vomit receptacle," I uttered to mom as we got into her car to go to the hospital.

The combination of pain medication, no food, no drink and nerves had taken its toll on my insides. I knew riding in a moving vehicle could only add to my body's urge to rid itself of what little was in my stomach.

And I was right. Luckily, the paper-towel lined bowl did its job and the three sips of Diet Squirt I had secretly taken earlier left little mess. Ok! I thought, let's get this party started - the sooner my gall bladder is out the sooner I can eat!

*******

Imagine my surprise when the surgeon informed me that no, he would not necessarily be taking out my gall bladder; in fact, he was pretty sure the problem was endometriosis, but there was no way of knowing for sure until he took a look inside me. If there was no endometriosis, then he would maybe take out my gall bladder, maybe even my appendix, depending on how everything looked.

The nurse I had spoken with earlier had obviously gotten her messages mixed. I knew I should have been more aghast at not knowing what exactly would occur in the operating room. But at this point, all I wanted was for the pain to stop, so I signed the papers, donned my beautiful backless gown and hoped for the best.

*******

The worst part about being wheeled into surgery was the fact that I couldn't really see - I had to take out my contacts and had forgotten my glasses. The nurses, in their periwinkle masks, had the frightening appearance of being one-eyed, and the giant lights above the operating table looked like mushy globes of orange jello. This was an unnecessary addition to the unsettling experience of being strapped onto the operating table. I hadn't signed up for electro-shock therapy, had I?!

Surely sensing my uneasiness, the anesthesiologist asked me if I could feel the "jolly juice" he had just begun administering.

Quite pleased with his concoction, I happily answered, "Yes, sir!" The last thing I remember is everyone in the room chuckling behind their periwinkle masks...

******

The next thing I remember is everyone in the room trying to calm me down as I came thrashing out of my induced sleep, unable to take a deep breath and in toe-curling pain.

Nurse: "Amanda, you have to calm down, we're going to transfer you onto another bed."

My inner voice: "But I can't breathe!"

Nurse: "We're going to put this oxygen mask on you."

My inner voice: "I still can't breathe! My side hurts! I'm thirsty! I'm dying!"

Ok, so I was a bit dramatic in my post-anesthetic state. But in my defense, I had forgotten I didn't have my contacts in and thought, at the very least, I was losing my eye sight. Damn jolly juice.

I spent the next few hours trying to keep my eyes open and form understandable words so that my husband and mom didn't think I was permanently brain damaged. I think I accomplished that when I solved a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune before either of them. They will probably deny that.

My post-surgery meal wasn't as glorious as I had hoped, for two reasons. One, I was again incredibly nauseous, and two, the liquid platter of broth, jello and sprite wasn't particularly pleasing to the eye. Although in fairness to the hospital staff, I don't think anything would have been at that point.

I did manage enough of an alert state to remember the surgeon coming in to tell us he had removed endometrium cells from an ovary, a fallopian tube and my outer uterus. The good news: my gall bladder and appendix were in top form. The bad news: I had endometriosis.

After my husband and mom left me to nod off in pure exhaustion, I took inventory of my emotions. I was struggling not to feel sorry for myself. My research had told me endometriosis is incurable, and can sometimes cause infertility. I knew there were worse things to have in life, but my physical pain and irrational mental state left me unable to summon what optimism I had at the beginning of the day.

It was at that time one of nurses (who I was already convinced was wearing angel wings as she filled my IV with morphine), relayed to me her struggle with the disease.

She was barely 20, and doctors could not figure out what was causing her pain. By the time they took her in for surgery, she had two cysts on her ovaries, one the size of a grapefruit, the other the size of a lemon. After a painful recovery, they told her she'd never conceive.

Two years later, she had the first of what would be four children. Her endometriosis has never returned.

As she left my darkened room, I was sure I saw a halo shimmering above her head. Or maybe it was just the morphine....

I know I promised hunting tales....

2009-11-29T17:58:00.002-06:00

...but something unpredictable, and often taken for granted, took center stage this week: my health.

During my recovery, I've been debating whether to write about this particular experience. A lot of people consider health matters to be private and share such information with close family and friends only; I have not been so different in this respect.

But I wonder: why is it when our health is less than perfect, we keep it to ourselves as though there is some fault in being sick or having a physical abnormality? I suspect it is an inherent fear of being different that drives this behavior, although I can also understand the desire to keep some things private in an effort to maintain one's personal identity.

I have decided that for me, sharing will outweigh the benefits of keeping mum. My decision is seasoned by an ingredient essential to the diet of some writers: the hope of reaching others and maybe having a positive influence on their life. So I will share. I'll break down my medical journey into a couple of blogs - partly because you didn't come here to read a book, mostly because my pain medication only allows me to be alert for a few hours at a time....

By noon on Monday (November 23rd), the dull ache in my upper right abdomen had turned into a sharp pinch. This sharp pinch was turning into a painful barrier between me and my ability to take a deep breath or get up out of a chair. A month earlier, I had the very same experience, and I promised myself that if in 30 days this particular pain reemerged at this particular time - the second day of my menstrual cycle - I would go to the doctor. By noon on Monday, I knew I needed to keep my promise.

Four hours later, I struggled not to cry as my doctor pushed on the spot just under my ribcage that, in retrospect, I should have protected with some sort of armor. Puzzled, he asked a second time if there was any pain in my lower pelvic region.

"No," I repeated; his response was a wrinkled brow.

"And you only feel it during the beginning of your period?" he queried.

"Yes, and for the last four months," I dutifully answered (I had practiced on the way to the clinic).

But my answers didn't seem to be what he wanted to hear. Urine and blood tests had cleared me of liver disease or a bacterial infection. We were down to gall bladder malfunction or endometriosis. I wasn't surprised by either suggestion, as I had done online research during my second encounter with the strange pain. I was prepared - kind of.

After consulting with another doctor, mine decided I should do the same with a surgeon the following day. (In our small community, the surgeon comes to the hospital once a week, so if you have a reason to see him, it's best to try and catch him as soon as possible.) My doctor also sent me home with a prescription for pain medication - I think it was guilt therapy for almost making me cry.

Tuesday morning I received a phone call from a nurse at the hospital reminding me not to eat or drink because they weren't sure what kind of tests the surgeon would want to do on me. Mildly inconvenient, but ok, I could manage that. During the next call, she told me the doctors were consulting about my "case" and that I should plan to come in at 3:30 that day. No eating or drinking until 3:30?! Fine. I was already thirsty and nauseous from taking my pain medication without food, but I would tough it out until 3:30. This pro-active health stuff was starting to get annoying.

Then my phone rang again.

"Hi Amanda," came the now familiar nurse's voice, "your doctors and the surgeon have decided you will be coming in today to have your gall bladder removed!" (Yes, she said it as though it would be punctuated with an exclamation point.)

My thoughts raced: Wait! How did they know it was my gall bladder? I hadn't even come in for a consultation! Isn't there some sort of 24-hour-notification period before surgery?!

I'd never had surgery and I have to admit, the casual way in which my first under-the-knife experience was scheduled had me irrationally questioning the knowledge of three medical school graduates.

I mean, they could have at least softened the news by telling me I could have a cracker. Instead, I was quickly informed that anything ingested at this point would most certainly increase my sickness post-surgery. This day just kept getting better.

I can't even think of a clever title....sensing a theme, here

2009-11-20T10:38:00.009-06:00

Now that I'm officially jobless, you would think I would have nothing but time to sit and blog. Thing is, there's these issues of trying to find a new job and move into a new house that have kind of been consuming me.

Although, to be completely honest, I've been feeling less than creative and inspired lately. And I'm not one to sit and stare at the computer screen trying to force literary genius to fly out of my fingertips. Plus, that wouldn't be very fun for you. I guess this is what they call "writer's block"?

Bear with me. Your reward will be pictures of me in a hunting blind with camouflage paint all over my face. True story.

Change is good (?)

2009-10-28T22:16:00.006-05:00

A Google search will tell you that in the year 29, Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, and Livia Augustus (wife of Ceasar) passed away. I imagine Year 29 is fairly proud of the historical significance of its lifespan.

So what will be the significance of my 29th year, which I just entered last week? I know for sure it will be a timeline of many changes. I'm moving away, as I did at the tender age of 18, from the rural life that has blanketed me with such comfort and familiarity. With this move comes a search for a more fulfilling career, a more fulfilling life - this search is daunting, to say the least. But with this move also comes the familiar excitement of unknown possibilites; this excitement tells me, as it always has, that change is good. Scary, uncertain, and as unstable as the weather...but good.

I like to taste the many flavors of life, so I am not surprised that in this, my 29th year, I have tired of the experiences I've had thus far (although 'tired of' does not mean regret) and am hungry for shiny new ones I can add to the casserole of my life.

But sometimes I wonder: does too much change lead to too much disruption?

I've decided that change often means you have to disrupt something. Consider the four seasons: winter snows are disrupted by the warm spring sun; spring's newborn blooms are disrupted by summer's dehydrating temperatures; summer's long, lazy days are disrupted by fall's daylight savings time; and fall's canvas of orange, red and yellow is disrupted by winter's grey-soaked paintbrush.

But after the initial disruption, each season settles in and proves that change has also brought something beautiful, in the form of fresh spring rains, blazing summer sunsets, crisp fall breezes or magical winter snows.

So in this, my 29th year, I will embrace change and the disruption that comes with it. Yes, I will embrace the teeter-tottering between two homes as we wait for the completion of harvest; the sleepless nights wondering if I'm completely insane to think I'll ever be a published writer; and the small knot that ties itself up in my stomach when I think of leaving what is to some a vast, boring stretch of nothingness, but to me, is the heart of serenity and portrayer of mother earth's beauty.

I will embrace it, knowing that change will bring me my own beautiful transformation, as it always has...

A duck, a dog and my heart

2009-10-20T14:39:00.014-05:00

I've always considered witnessing my pet baby duck being devoured by a vicious tomcat as the worst thing I've ever had the misfortune of being present for. My nine-year-old heart nearly failed that day, just as I had failed my fuzzy companion.

Nineteen years later, I almost had to move that incident down to second place on the list...

Tyler and his brother Dan are harvesting in a field just adjacent to our houses. Tyler unloads the corn from the combine into Dan's grain cart; Dan hauls the picked crop to our grain bins for storage.

Today, after assembling Tyler's lunch, I walked out to the bins to deliver my culinary creation to Dan for him to relay to Tyler. As I made my way back towards to the house, Dan lurched the tractor into gear, beginning his trek to the field. I turned to see if I was out of his path - I was, but Bobbi Sue (our 12-year-old lab) was trotting from the other direction, directly into it.

In the next five seconds, the following occurred:

1. I realized Dan was fumbling with the controls and did not see Bobbi.

2. I realized Bobbi was at her highest rate of speed and would never make it if Dan didn't hit the brakes.

3. An image of Bobbi being squished like a bug under the enormous tractor tire flashed through my mind.

4. I began jumping and waving my hands, realizing that yelling was ineffective against the roar of the tractor.

5. Dan looked up, tapped his brakes, and by some miracle, Bobbi sped up. I honestly had no idea she had another gear.

6. Dan and I exchanged a relieved glance.

7. I stopped and placed my hands on my knees, recognizing that my ticker felt exactly as it had the day my duck fell victim to the food chain.

And so to thank her for not taking away my duck's title, Bobbi Sue is getting extra treats and scratches today. I think the ordeal might have affected her heart, too.......

Nauseating News

2009-10-08T15:19:00.004-05:00

Excuse me this once - I'm going to hop up onto my soapbox:

Upon reading that Michael Vick will be starring in his own TV show, I had to swallow to make sure my lunch stayed in place.

On most controversial issues, I can usually open my mind enough to at least objectively listen to what the other side has to say. But you bring torturing helpless animals to the table and I'm as good as deaf.

I do not care that he had a hard upbringing. He overcame that with flying colors by utilizing his athletic skill to grant him god-like status in the NFL. And don't tell me "he just didn't know better; he was used to seeing dogs treated in a certain manner." I absolutely CANNOT believe someone doesn't know ripping out a dog's teeth or killing it by electric shock is not only heartless, but illegal. And to make money off of these actions? How much more money does someone need when they're the quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons?!?!

So he served 18 months. Now his supporters are saying that because he did so, we should leave him alone and let him play football. I might be ok with that, except for the small fact that his job involves being a role model for kids. Sure, he's making appearances with the Humane Society - he has to if he wants to play! I am sickened by the idea that anyone believes someone capable of such intentional cruelty can be truly remorseful.

Now his "docu-series" is going to be all about his difficult upbringing, his struggle to succeed, and his demise after being found guilty and sent to prison. And rest assured, there will be the inevitable story of his comeback, his transformation and the lessons he's learned along the way.
I only hope that at the end of the last episode, they don't forget to show Vick and the producers at BET, arm in arm, skipping to the bank....(cue cheesy sob-story music; cue me vomiting.)

Trend-setting lawn care

2009-10-06T13:38:00.004-05:00

I feel it is time to broadcast my latest extraordinary adventure...

My husband I are moving....

Starting in about a month, I'll be electronically connecting with you from our new home in Lincoln. Tyler's going to be part owner of a construction company, and me, well...I'm considering applying at McDonald's because meditating has not brought me a new job. In fact, my future posts will most likely center around my search for a brilliant career as a columnist; if I'm still writing about it in a year, you will then most likely be reading about ulcers - mine, specifically.

So the last few months have been filled with weekly hour-and-a-half trips to the new place to move in a few things, mow the lawn, etc. It was actually kind of fun, until harvest arrived and Tyler became one with the combine. Now I've got the sole responsibility of hauling up boxes when I can and of course, mowing. This is not difficult, I realize, but because sometimes difficulty in simple situations is my specialty (hey - watch the blonde jokes!), last week's excursion left me deciding that having a manicured lawn isn't THAT big of deal...

After convincing myself that yard work in 40-mph wind and sub-50 degree weather would be good for me, I bundled up in two shirts, a sweatshirt, a coat, a hat and a pair of gloves. I wedged my RedBull into the cup holder and secured my iPod headphones into place. "Ok, Amanda, remember - turn key to first position, push throttle up, pull choke, turn key rest of way."

The sound that answered my efforts was such that I would not have been surprised to look up and see someone strangling a cat - a really, really big cat.

Crap, now I was going to have to seek help. I had already called Tyler earlier to inquire about the location of fuel for the mower, and he informed me that because the combine and field were on fire, he did not have time to help me. Pssh. Where are his priorities, anyway? So I did what any 28-year-old married woman would do: I called my mom.

But turns out, even moms can't fix mowers over the phone, so I reluctantly took her advice to try and find a mechanically-inclined neighbor. After a 10-minute door-knocking marathon, I returned, plopped down on the mower and asked the two neighbors who had come back with me what to do: my new canine friends were all out of options.

Luckily, a very nice man from the Mower Medic (yes, I picked it out of the YellowPages because I liked the name), talked me through a variety of options and we finally figured out there was an air bubble in the fuel line. A switch of a lever with just the right amount of choke and I was up and running!

Thirty minutes into my task, I felt upon my already numb nose a drop of cold water. That drop turned into enough rain that after fifteen more minutes, I hustled my Hustler right back into the garage.

Now our house has a reverse mullet. I bet the neighbors are jealous they didn't think of it first.

Just in case you ever need to....

2009-09-16T10:22:00.003-05:00

....you can stop a sneeze by lightly squeezing the tip of your tongue between your teeth. I tried it.

Having said that, halting a 95 mph particle release from your body might actually not be such a good idea. But my eyes didn't pop out of my head or anything, so I'm just saying, it might be beneficial when you're driving down the freeway or ice-skating.

Ya Don't Say!

2009-09-14T14:07:00.002-05:00

Over coffee and the serenity of a Sunday morning, Tyler and I engaged in a little war of words yesterday - we played Scrabble.

We've had the game for a while but have only played it once. I recently re-discovered it's old-fashioned charm during a weekend at the lake with my mom and mom-in-law. Blanketed by near-perfect weather during Labor Day weekend, we sat outside, hunched over the board, laughing and enjoying the rare, quiet afternoons. (I had correctly thought that the absence of our husbands would provide us with the perfect setting for female bonding over a game that requires patience!)

Yesterday's event was not quite as zen-like: we weren't outside and were frequently stalled when our Internet connection failed to allow us dictionary access. (No hard copy of a dictionary in this Gen-X home!) Nonetheless, it kept us from thinking we needed to do anything else but sit and relax.

A highlight of the battle ensued when I argued that 'ya' is a bona fide English language word. No, I didn't know this for sure, but I needed to get rid of that Y! Tyler was not convinced, so we consulted the expert. Waiting for our Internet to work turned out to be successful for me and surprising for both of us: http://www.dictionary.com/ will tell you that 'ya' is indeed a word.

Intrigued, I looked up a few other questionables today: 'eh', 'yo', 'yah', 'duh' 'wanna' and just for fun, 'lol' (the texting abbreviation for 'laughing out loud').

Yes, they all turned up with definitions and uses in a sentence. Now, as I tried to explain to Tyler yesterday in defense of my points earned with 'ya', a lot of people do use such terms. But I'm not sure I wanted to be right on this argument- I mean, doesn't classification of such utterances justify dumbing down our conversations to something like:

"Yo, ya wanna go catch a movie?"

"Duh! Ya asked me yesterday, remember, eh? I'm so lol-ing at you right now!"

Oh well, at least it makes for easier Scrabble play.

Tending the Crop

2009-08-31T21:22:00.033-05:00

Tomorrow is the first day of September. Today was the first day in months I didn't have to fight the breathtaking humidity on my jog. I have pumpkins on my front porch. The corn is turning, the nights are cooling and the farmers are preparing to reap the results of a summer spent toiling over their crop.

As a little ode to that hard work and the summer that is all but behind us, I'm posting some pictures from an almost chilly morning of irrigating with Tyler a couple of weeks ago. Not long after, the lawns of corn and soybeans began their transformation into golden maturity.

Tyler in action...or posing??

Golf clubs double as tools for opening and shutting the pipe gates -

just takes a little 'tap, tap, tap'!

Ok, so the golf clubs aren't JUST for irrigating.

Each little stream sustains an entire row.

Pivot road = mud showers!

Oil in the motor makes the pivot go 'round.

Two weeks from starting to drop (ie, the ear itself will hang towards the ground).

Soybeans awaiting their turn for a drink from the pivot

Getting Back in the Saddle

2009-08-25T21:23:00.005-05:00

Wow - it's really August 25th? But where did the 13th-24th go? It's kind of scary when you can hardly remember what you did the last week and a half. But I'm going to stop short of boring you with how busy I've been, because we're ALL busy, right? What I will do is remind myself, in writing, to s-l-o-o-o-w down.

The question becomes: how do you slow down when life is demanding that you sprint to the finish line, take a few short breaths, and then embark on a new race? For me, it's not that I mind being busy, what's troublesome is forgetting to experience each daily event without letting what I'm doing next cloud the scenery.

I don't have the answer, but there are a couple of things I like to do to help rein in my spirit when it starts to feel like a wild horse, bucking its way out of my reach:

1. Sip tea. I know, seems like a rather simple Rx, but think of it this way: tea is hot, so you can't rush drinking it! And it's kind of like chicken noodle soup - it's just good for the soul.

2. Watch the news. This might be backwards reasoning, but there are a slew of terrible things happening to people all over the world and that's enough to get me to stop and smell the roses - ok, I haven't smelled a rose in a while, but I did revel in a gorgeous sunset last week. Plus, when I'm informed, I feel connected, and when I feel connected, I feel like helping, and well, tell me the last time you helped someone and didn't instantly feel better. I'm pretty sure that's not a coincidence. ;)

3. I've already told you about my newfound interest in meditation. To be honest, though, I can't always find the time everyday (correction: I don't always MAKE the time). But on days when I can't, this incredible woman always helps me with my soul-searching. I had the chance to see her speak in person at the National CASA Conference, and I consider it one of the most uplifting speeches I've heard.

So there's my mini-self-help narrative. I've taken all of my advice and put it to use today - hopefully I'll have some saddle sores by the end of the week.

It's not summer until...

2009-08-13T14:45:00.020-05:00

...the corn is ready.

I live in the Cornhusker State, so you know it was only a matter of time before this blog arrived....

I present to you:

"Putting Up Sweet Corn at Mom's House"

No, I did not invent the terminology "putting up;" it's just what we call it - that time of year when in kitchens all over Nebraska, farm wives with visions of tasting sweet summertime in the dead of winter are slaving away in an effort to preserve our native, succulent veggie. And let me tell you, there is nothing quite like having home-grown corn-on-the-cob when it's five degrees below zero outside.

But this luxury comes with a price: for approximately two weeks every summer, the corn is at its peak of ripeness, and when it's ready, Dad announces this fact and starts bringing it in the house in bundles; Mom doesn't have much choice but to roll up her sleeves, break out the electric knife, and bury her kitchen in yellow kernels. (Since moving back after college, I am often called in for back-up - and I enjoy still getting to have a hand in the tradition.)

**I'm going to interrupt this train of thought just for a moment, as I realize I may need to clarify something: The vast cornfields one pictures when thinking of rural Nebraska are not actually full of the sweet corn that is two-handedly devoured by people each year - it's "field" corn, which means it is used for mass food production (think corn chips, corn tortillas, etc) and cow feed; it's what farmers sell to make their money. You can eat it, but it's nothing like its savory cousin - the stuff you have probably seen being sold alongside the road and at farmer's markets. We grow our sweet corn in small patches on the edges of the big fields - some people just put a few rows in their garden. I've had people ask me about that before, so I want to be sure we are all on the same page, here.**

Now, there is a process, a science, to putting up sweet corn. It begins with the actual harvest, done by walking the rows, hand-picking just firm-enough ears and hauling them back to the farm for husking. (Our horses were always a part of the tradition, too - we'd sit on tailgates, tossing the husks and cob-ends over the fence - a tasty snack! Sadly, this was the first year my parents had no horses waiting for the special treat.)

Post-husking, the ears are transported to the house for the beginning of the kitchen activities:

Step 1: Scrubbing. This ensures removal of any remaining husks or creepy crawlies - corn earworms are a common pest. Once squeaky clean, the ears are stacked in preparation for step #2.

Step 2: Blanching. This involves boiling the corn for about five or six minutes, then immediately submersing it in cold water to stop the cooking process. The goal here is to destroy the enzymes that cause food spoilage - an important step when you are trying to preserve food for months to come!

Step 3: Cutting. Once sufficiently chilled, the corn is built into another stack on towels beside the sink for drying.....

At this point in the operation, you've got to decide how much corn will be frozen off-the-cob, and how much will go in the freezer ear-and-all (which makes for a decidedly more summer-ish experience during that wintertime eating!)

Once the whole ears are divided out and put into their own bags, it's to the chopping block for the rest!

Step 4: Bagging. Not a technical term, but that's basically all that's happening here: scoop, measure, dump into ziploc bag. Close it up, load onto a tray and transport one final time - to the deep freeze.

(My mom also makes some of the cut corn into a savory mixture that's tough to beat: butter, sugar, cream...maybe a few other ingredients. At any rate, it has its own reputation: a family friend in Colorado who takes some home with her every year has grandchildren who affectionately call this treat "Darrel and Deb Corn" - an ode to my parents.)

Step 5: Upon having a craving for sweet goodness and 90-degree memories, remove from deep freeze, heat and escape the winter blues. Mmm.

Thanks for the great pics, Mom!

Transparent Advertising Stinks

2009-08-11T09:06:00.013-05:00

I don't know how to say this nicely, but I'll give it a go:

There might be, umm... fecal matter in that bottle of water you're drinking.

Yes, I believe that's about as close to being politically correct as I can get. You may choose to use a different noun when passing this information on to your friends....

http://www.care2.com/greenliving/scary-things-about-bottled-water.html

If I think it, will it come?

2009-08-06T16:36:00.006-05:00

Ok, I've been trying to meditate, or at least "quiet my mind," everyday since my post about the subject. I'm not going to say I've had a spiritual transformation, but I do find myself remembering to relax and let things happen. Although it's not like I'm just walking around in apathy; I'm starting to clear my mind of the unnecessary clutter - guilt, worry, self-loathing, fear (which is pretty darn difficult, might I add) - and stay focused on what I want: happiness, peace of mind and hey, why not throw NEW JOB in there?

I've had three job leads this week. Coincidence? Probably. But at the very least, a good excuse to validate me sitting on my rear in relaxed bliss for at least 10 minutes a day - maybe if I shoot for 20 minutes, I'll get one of those jobs! Yes, 20 minutes of sitting (or laying) in silence in order to ensure the path of my future. Yay, I like it.

Namaste, friends.

Purple Toad

2009-07-29T12:05:00.007-05:00

I do some occasional modeling. I don't take it too seriously - it's not like my phone is ringing off the hook, but it does provide some extra cash every once in a while. And really, models aren't striking poses for the money - they're simply indulging the little girl inside of them who still loves to play dress-up (or is that just me?). At any rate, getting paid to feel pretty isn't such a bad gig, so I always try to rearrange my schedule when I get a call in order to make every effort to get there. Sometimes living two hours from the shoot location and getting a call the day before makes that a little difficult, but I try to make it work because I enjoy it.

Enter last week's photoshoot: enjoyment took a backseat to embarrassment, which slid over into the passenger seat to make room for self-loathing.

The catalogue shoot was one I have done many times before. The clothes are "bargain-value:" aka, cheap fabric, slightly frumpy in nature. The models are to arrive "hair-and-makeup-ready:" aka, do it yourself because we can't afford professionals to do it for you. The advertisements appeal to the average consumer, so the models are normally what the business would call "average:" aka, pretty, not unattainably gorgeous; fit, not absurdly thin.

So imagine my surprise, when after slipping into my too-tight, belly-button-high jeans and oversized, bell-sleeved purple sweater, I arrive on the set to see that I am going to have a partner - a 5'10", size 0 woman with long, flowing brunette locks and a face that belongs on a runway in Milan.

What is SHE doing here?! I consider feigning illness but am swept onto the set and the photographer says, "Ok! Get close! Look friendly! You're out to lunch with your best friend!"

"Just a sec!" says Miss Runway as she bends over to adjust her boobs, "I've got to get the girls into position!" Then she turns to me and says with a wink, "They just aren't the same after three kids."

SHOOT. ME. NOW.

She puts her hand on my shoulder and gets her vogue on as if she was posing for the cover of.....VOGUE!

Meanwhile, I'm feeling like the chubby girl who always gets stuck standing beside her fasionable, beanpole cousin in the family reunion picture. Did I mention I'm wearing an oversized purple sweater with bell-sleeves? And that my jeans are too tight? Miss Runway's pants had to be pinned in the back because they were too BIG. They couldn't have been more than a size 2 - I know because I looked her up on our agency's website when I got home. That's right, I couldn't resist. But I was right about her stats, thank you very much!

As the shoot wears on, we periodically check out the shots on a computer screen to see how to adjust. My adjustments included turning more to the side to try and cut myself in half. Maybe I should have just asked them to photoshop that half out, it would have been much less physically challenging.

But, as with all things in life, there are lessons:

Lesson #1: Not everyone can look the same and some people were just born to make others look worse.

Lesson #2: Unless you are over 5'9" and under a size 6, do not wear light colored tight jeans and large purple sweaters with bell sleeves.

Lesson #3: Make sure you have people in your life to help you put things in perspective:
You're right Tyler, she's probably not as nice as me. And Mom, sure, I'll try and believe that they put me in those horrible clothes because they thought maybe I could pull them off.

I'm off to make a delicious garlic cheese spread for my weekend at the lake - and you can be sure this purple toad won't be counting her calories: skinny toads look weird, anyway.

Buddha in Training?

2009-07-21T08:50:00.006-05:00

I read an article this morning about the power of meditation in relation to getting what you want out of life. (Stick with me here - I know you're already picturing bald monks.) According to the author, Deepak Chopra, by taking some time to quiet your mind and visualize your aspirations, you are increasing your odds of accomplishing them. Hmmm.....

The concept of meditation first became interesting to me after reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert . Gilbert finds healing and hope through the practice of discovering and listening to her spiritual self. Now, I let the idea of trying this for myself slip away because Gilbert traversed to India and wrote a book about her spiritual journey - I don't have a few spare years to trek the globe in search of MY spiritual self! So I reluctantly finished the book (it's a fabulous read, I'm always sad when those are over) and failed a promise to myself to at least try and "quiet" my mind before sleep. I don't think taking Tylenol PM counts.

Enter Mr. Chopra. I'm rather fascinated with him right now and his outside-the-box- thinking - I'm reading his book Life After Death, The Burden of Proof. It's not that his ideas are wildly far-fetched, it's that they are completely foreign to the Western Hemisphere's idealogical teachings. To me, that's a good read; because really, who's to say who's right when it comes to religion and spirituality?

But I'm getting off track - back to this morning. I find this article on a favorite website of mine, one that Chopra happens to blog on a couple times a week. I'm especially intrigued to read the comments other readers wrote about how meditation has worked for them. That by clearing their minds, they have found the solution to any number of difficulties in life.

I'm reading this and thinking about how what I really want is to figure out how to find a new job. I know exactly what I want to do, I just don't know how to get there. Could it possibly be so simple as sitting still for a few minutes and thinking about it? I resist the urge to call myself crazy, remembering that in many parts of the world, meditation is as much a part of a normal day as eating.

So I sit. I close my eyes. All I can hear are the windchimes and the hum of the air conditioner. And it's nice, actually. Then my back starts to hurt and I wonder if meditation HAS to be done in a cross-legged, straight-backed position. So I lay. I stretch out and quiet my mind. I force myself to forget my to-do list. I'm really feeling relaxed and, well, focused.

Until I'm interrupted by the insanely obnoxious sound of Bobbi Sue licking her butt. This is followed with a chorus of barking as the road maintainer comes roaring past our house, prompting both dogs to warn the driver not to come IN the house.

Well, 4 minutes is a good start, right?

Farm Fresh

2009-07-17T14:57:00.003-05:00

Purple fingers and getting bitten by mosquitoes the size of small birds?

Totally worth having freshly-picked wild mulberries everyday (even though we had to go searching for a third tree because Tyler had been munching off the other two all week!)

Crabby pants

2009-07-16T16:12:00.001-05:00

Yea, it's been one of those days.

Canada Bound

2009-07-09T19:56:00.002-05:00

I'm off to Montreal!

My first trip to our northerly neighbor is taking place - all for the celebration of one of my best friend's bachelorette party. She and I met at the University of Maryland, and I have to say, it's one of the great things about my college experience. We haven't seen each other for over a year (our longest hiatus!), and I can't put into words how excited I am to see her! Not to mention a few other college friends I'll be reuniting with. AND, as an added bonus, we'll get to experience the Montreal International Jazz Festival....did I mention how excited I am?!
Good weekend-ing to you, and I'll be back next week....maybe with a few French words in my vocabulary!

Dear Mice: This is War

2009-07-02T21:46:00.010-05:00

Yes, that is my rear end with a mouse trap attached to it.

Last night, before vacuuming our guest bathroom, I took everything off the floor: trash can, scale, magazine basket, and mouse traps, and set them on the counter. We have a bit of a problem with the furry pests, and they visit the guest bathroom often, so we have three traps in there. Now, you have to realize how teeny tiny this bathroom is - so it makes for quite tight quarters while cleaning; more specifically, while vacuuming.

So I'm crammed in there, with my back to the counter, trying to manuever my hoover and WHACK!

That's right - I got my butt a little too close to one of the traps I had so carefully placed on the counter (so as not to set it off, ironically enough).

The funny thing is, much as it stung, the first thing I thought was "Get the camera! You've got to blog about this!" I'm pretty sure that's because Tyler wasn't home to share in the humor of my predicament - he would never have believed me.
So I waddled very carefully into the office to get the camera and proceeded to twist myself into a number of positions, trying to get the right angle. You know, I think this is the first time I've taken a picture of my butt. And probably the last - I almost backed out of the blogging idea once I realized what exactly I was doing: posting a picture of what I normally try NOT to draw attention to, for all of cyberspace to see. Not something I would have ever considered, lest it be for a lofty cause such as giving someone else a reason to smile. So you better be at least smiling. Please, don't allow my butt-posting to be in vain.

And yes, I had a teeny, tiny little welt where the sucker bit me. No, you don't get to see it.

Girl's gotta draw the line somwhere.

I love a rainy night

2009-06-29T12:29:00.007-05:00

It's storm season in these parts. And while I certainly do not condone the damage left by hail, wind and tornados, I do love the raw power of mother nature - there's something about it that makes you feel so small and able to believe in the hugeness of the universe.

Unlike my husband and and many in my family, I have yet to see a tornado. I've always wanted to; but then, if it means that we get to keep our roofs, I'll settle for pictures.

The seriousness of a tornado's destruction was coupled by just a bit of comic relief in this story from a few years back:

There was a tornado that all but demolished an entire town about 15 miles south of us. At the time, my brother and dad were in the field, each in their own tractor. After squinting across the horizon to be sure of what he saw, my brother called dad with the following observation: "Uh, dad...look to to the west. Do you see what I'm seeing?" My father's reply is not suitable for publishing here, but what followed was a race against time as dad and Dirk put their tractors into high gear, headed north towards home, and watched the twister swing south. To hear them tell the story and visualize these two cowboys counting on their machines to get them home safe always makes me giggle; what that tornado did to the poor citizens of Deshler certainly does not.

I took these pics a couple weeks ago, standing in my backyard. When I went outside, it was as still as the crowd at Wimbledon waiting for a serve. Within minutes, I could literally see and feel the bank sweeping in, bringing with it the roaring wind and a reminder that I best be getting my tush inside - and really, I was hoping to NOT see a tornado.

Why is it so hard to find the time?

2009-06-27T11:49:00.003-05:00

I couldn't have said it better, my friend.

Writing, I have missed thee

2009-06-15T22:59:00.010-05:00

I'm officially returning from a blogging hiatus. You know that saying - "Life just gets in the way"? Well, I'm not really a big fan of it, because life is what we humans are doing on this planet and if we keep using it as a reason for not doing something, well, some of those things just may never get done.

Nonetheless, sometimes life events, at the very least, do result in the postponing of other life events. For me, the last three weeks have included many such experiences, including two family reunions - one was four days of celebration, the other, a gathering of sadness. This blog will be about the happier of the two. And rest assured, there will be musings to come of my summertime experiences so far. So much to say, so little time. I keep hearing about people getting paid to blog: anybody out there want to show me how that works?

Ok, on to the main event:

For the last ten years, the Johnson family (my dad's side) has gathered here in Shickley, my hometown, to eat, play, reminisce, play some more and eat even more. We call our conjoining the Johnson Jamboree. There are a total of 52 of us now, I believe. Grandma Flossie is the matriarch. She has four children. Her four children have 11 children. Their 11 children each have a spouse and a total of 25 children. I think. It's hard to keep track. But Grandma knows each of their birthdays by heart. And me, I'm the last of the 11 grandchildren; also the last to have children. Well, at least the non-furry kind.

My cousin started this tradition because it became impossible for us to all gather at Christmas. And of course, it is still near impossible to get everyone here for the reunion, but we try. And each year, we brainstorm on new, fun ideas of what do to. Softball, swimming, scavenger hunts, pizza parties, bonfires and there's always the banner hanging in my uncle's yard for all the town to see; they all know when the Johnson Jamboree has landed!

We had a rather interesting new event this year: a Johnson family band reunion. That's right - a BAND event. The family is pretty musically inclined - I think most everyone played an instrument in high school, and some, like myself, went on to play in college. This year, we had special cause to bring music to our gathering: my uncle retired as the Shickley School Music Director. In fact, he was my teacher for three years in high school. So in honor of that retirement, we gathered with our dust-covered instruments in the Shickley band room and gave pep-band music our best. And I am going to say, it was fun! To have my aunt playing her alto sax right beside me, my dad and brother blaring their trombones behind me, and my husband nailing his drumming solo on "Wipeout," was pretty darn cool. (Sigh - it was just like high school, when I was the proud chick who got to say, "Yea, that's my man on the drums" :) What can I say, once a band geek, always a band geek!

As with any event of this size, there is always the planning and preparation that can cause a bit of stress. But at the end of each Johnson Jamboree, I find myself feeling mighty lucky to have an army of a family. There's just something about it that makes you feel proud - I suspect it is the being a part of something that many of us crave. And even if most of us Johnsons don't see each other but this once a year, we always seem to remember how to have a great time. And each year, the family structure continues to change, as the great-grandchildren grow and remind the rest of us just how distant our childhoods have become.

I leave you with a few pictoral memories:

My adorable cousin

Softball

Grandma Johnson with my nephew

Bonfire and S'mores!

Technology Bug

2009-05-27T19:38:00.003-05:00

I'm annoyed.

I told myself when I started this blog I was going to keep it positive; and normally I'm a pretty understanding person, but right now, not even the falls of the contestants on Wipeout can turn this frown upside down. (And there's not many things funnier to me than someone being catapulted into water and face-planting.)

My laptop broke last week. Not a major disaster, as I had a new one on the way, but I DID need the files off my hard drive. This matter was a bit urgent, as some of those files were (are) needed for a huge project I have to submit to National CASA by Monday. No on-time submission means no grant money.

I drove 30 minutes to the computer tech office today, very happy to have been told the hard drive was recovered and fit nicely on two disks....

I just sat down to retrieve the last files I need to finish this project, and both the disks are empty. EMPTY.

So now I'm going to turn off my computer, find something chocolate and pout. And you can imagine for yourselves how much it helped when my husband asked me if I put the disk in upside down.

Conventional Wisdom(?)

2009-05-20T20:24:00.004-05:00

My husband and I are watching the finale of American Idol and this is what I hear from his perch on the couch opposite me:

"I don't like Allison - her lips look funny when she sings."

"Megan's hot, but I absolutely can't stand her voice."

"Hey, it's Sandwich Speech Impediment - I mean Ruben Studdard!"

"Geez, honey," I say, "you sure are Mr. Judgemental tonight."

"WELL," comes the retort, "aren't I entitled? I'm America, and this is American Idol!"

Alright, point taken, Mr. SmartyPants.

Puppy Love

2009-05-11T22:43:00.018-05:00

Bobbi Sue (12) and Tobi Ann (4)

As any dog owner knows, canine family members are a never-ending source of entertainment and love. Tyler and I cannot imagine a morning without Tobi's snuggles and kisses punctuated by her puppy breath, or an evening without laughing at Bobbi's hacking and grunting. (At 12 years, her behaviors are humorously similar to those of a stereotypical old, wrinkled man we can imagine in our minds - the fact she's a female makes it all the more laughable!)

Hanging out in the backyard

Adding to the fun is getting to be a parent - in the simplest sense of the word, of course. The morning ritual with my girls includes an allergy pill and half of a banana for Bobbi (to keep her muscle spasms at bay), and then a Denta-bone for those beautiful teeth - which the vet commented on at our last visit, thank you very much! Working from home, I'm able to exercise Tobi on breaks with the ever-popular dog sport of fetch. After Bobbi's outdoor excursions, I wipe her down with a cold, wet washcloth to keep her itching to a minimum. And of course, there's the ear scratches, belly rubs and kisses that a loving doggie mama must give her children in abundance.

Tobi in action

For the love of our dogs, I have gotten over the constant presence of black hair on our bedroom comforter and our white kitchen floor. I have relinquished the cushy chair in our living room to a weathered blanket always occupied by one of our labs. (And sometimes, when I'm not looking, the couch somehow gets claimed, as well.)

For the love of our dogs, I have purchased two personalized dog beds - one resides in our patio room alongside our recliners, the other in our bedroom for Bobbi to sleep on at night (we've tried two dogs in our bed - Tyler ended up on the floor so we decided that wouldn't work). I have packed an overnight bag for Tobi upon weekend trips to grandma's. I have cleaned up puke, poop and urine from linoleum, carpet and bedding. I have sat, slumped and crying against our front door as Tyler was outside, forced to make Tobi drink hydrogen peroxide after she devoured a bowl of chocolates that I had absent-mindedly left in her reach. We had to induce vomiting; I could not stand to watch. Poor Tyler had to go through this process one other time when both our girls got into rat poison.

But any inconveniences or tears are so completely worth the soft bundle of love who won't leave my side when I am sick in bed. Worth the sight of my husband kneeling down to be greeted by the one who is always so excited to see him that everyday, she races across the yard, jumps into his arms, then back to the ground to bask in her belly rub, squealing with pure joy. Worth the unexplainable way they will quietly sit with me when I am sad, occasionally touching a tender paw to my leg in consolation. Worth the knowledge that between you and this animal, there exists one of the purest forms of love.

Poor Bob

2009-05-08T12:56:00.005-05:00

Saw this today while internet shopping for my cousin's new baby and I laughed out loud.

Really, Bob? Are you that happy to be stuffed into a miniature straight jacket?

Post Trip Flailing

2009-05-05T12:26:00.006-05:00

No, I did not get lost in the mountains. In fact, mom and I had us a swell time (even if the short-lived snow storm had to remind me why I packed closed-toe shoes "just in case").

No, I've been swinging around on all my different life branches the past few days just to get caught up. You know what I mean - an absence from work and everyday life always results in a mish-mash of trying to get one's crap back in order.

Stay tuned, blogging is quickly getting to the top of my list....

In the meantime, a sampling of pics from the trip....

Dr. Phil and wife Robin speaking at a luncheon at the National CASA Conference. They're the official spokespeople for the National CASA Program

View from my uncle's cabin outside Laramie, Wy.

More cabin views

The barren Wyoming countryside.

Business or Pleasure?

2009-04-23T21:52:00.005-05:00

A little of both.

I'm off to Colorado tomorrow for a fantastic voyage with my mom. The main event is the National CASA Conference in Denver, which starts Saturday. But mom and I tweaked this little road trip to include some fun with family and friends, as well.

First we head to Fort Collins to hang out with my mom's best friend from college. Then it's on to Denver, where I'll spend my days learning how to be a better CASA Director, while mama can get a little r&r. My cousin lives in Denver, so we've got a dinner date with her at some point. Then, on the way back to Nebraska on Tuesday, we'll swing by Laramie, Wyoming, to spend a day with my mom's brother and his wife.

Mom and I are seasoned road-trippers, going back to my college days at the University of Maryland. Back and forth we drove, at the end and begining of each year. We're lucky to have the kind of relationship where we don't want to kill each other at the end of such a journey - in fact, we always have fun together. And now, over 5 years since our last cross-country trip, we set out again, and I have to say, a better traveling partner I couldn't find. I'm looking forward to a trip of new experiences!

Happy weekend-ing!

Happy Huskers

2009-04-20T15:59:00.002-05:00

I'm going to exhibit some home-state pride today:

Nebraska has been named the Financially Happiest State!

It's based on a whole host of factors from not living beyond one's means to job availability. It's no secret that, usually, Midwesterners lead a substantially more simple, frugal life than people living in coastal metropolitan areas. So maybe it's that we put less pressure on ourselves, or maybe it's that we just don't feel the inevitable push to keep up in the "rat race." But then, who's to say some people aren't perfectly happy running that race? I guess the point is that sometimes, people who can't even afford the shoes to run the race are jumping in, anyway, and that's where the trouble starts.
So according to the study, Nebraskans are the tortoises, ever so steady in a country of hares. Maybe we're not the first to catch the latest technology craze, and maybe we're just now donning last fall's fashion trends, but in this particular race, slow and steady seems to be the winning combination.

Farm Wife Diaries

2009-04-17T11:10:00.018-05:00

It's planting season. This means earlier mornings and later evenings for our husbands, brothers and dads; it means the smell of freshly uprooted soil as it swallows the seeds it's fed; it means hoping the rain will hold off so we can get the crop in; it means hoping the rain will come so everyone can have a day off.

For me, it has meant periodically riding with Tyler on our Teryx (tee-rex) out to the yet-to-be planted fields and meticulously pushing little orange flags into the soil, every so many feet. This practice ensures Dan (who's operating the tractor and planter) will know if he's got everything lined up where it's supposed to be.

So this morning, we're tootling around the home section with Tobi right beside us, tongue hanging and tail swishing. Every so often, we stop, measure, place the flag - and so on.

During one of these stops, Tobi is particularly interested in a pile of corn husks left from last year's harvest. She nuzzles her nose into the mound, sniffing and snorting, but to no avail. Convinced her efforts are pointless, she moves on.

Then I see it.

A fat, cuddly, furry little ground squirrel popping out of that very pile of corn husks, triumphant at having skirted death in the jaws of the black beast. Nonetheless, his wide eyes convey caution.He hasn't seen me yet, so I decide to see how close I can get - maybe I can pick him up!

As I tip toe ever so close, Tyler whispers, "Honey, move!" He proceeds to throw a dirt clod at my almost-new-pet, which of course spurs it into action, which of course spurs Tobi into action and the next thing I know, Tobi's mouth is open as she closes in on it...

Before I can witness or hear anything that might make me cry, I spin around, slap my hands over my ears, close my eyes and cry anyway because I'm sure Tobi is ripping the little furball to shreds. I am expecting Tyler at this point to come and tell me it's ok, it got away - but nothing. So for about 2 minutes, there we are, in the middle of the field and in clear view of anyone who might pass by on the road: me holding gloved hands over my ears, face contorted with horror, while (little did I know) behind me, Tobi is chasing the ground squirrel and Tyler is chasing Tobi, in circles.

When I tentatively turn my head and peek through my gloves, I see a teeny little tail thrashing from underneath Tyler's boot - he's standing on it! Tyler tells me to call Tobi and I think "Oh, thank goodness, he's trying set it free!" But as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew better. Tyler hates ground squirrels. All farmers do. They dig in the corn and cause weeds. No, this little guy was about to meet his death at the boot of one Tyler Miller - but not if I could help it.

"TYLER!! NO-O-O-O-O-O!!!"

I run for the Teryx before I have to see this ghastly end. Huddled in my seat, I am now full on sobbing. My furry friend was being squashed all because I had to draw attention to him for my own selfish, animal-loving purposes.

Or was he??

(Ok, you have to learn something about me - I hate movies that don't have happy endings, so rest assured, I will rarely blog the same way.... )

Tyler returned and informed me I should be happy, I saved a ground squirrel's life. He was all set to pancake the critter but couldn't do it on account of my dramatic pleading. Hurray!

Nevermind the fact that in a few months, when the ground squirrels are causing havoc in the fields, Tyler will be forced to poison them. No, nevermind that - because MY ground squirrel will be long, long gone by then to continue on with his fat, happy little life.

THE END

Who knew?

2009-04-13T10:13:00.003-05:00

For your Monday-procrastinating-pleasure:

--Google's got an environmentally friendly sister site called blackle. Same search engine but with a black background, which uses less energy (I've been told). If you're a greenie, you can easily get your daily dose of enivornmental do-gooding by making the simple swap.

--I recently received an email about this memorial, a gift from Russia in honor of those who perished in the 9/11 and 1993 World Trade Center terrorist attacks. I hadn't heard about it until the email - anyone else? There is a controversy surrounding the lack of press coverage about the sculpture, which was dedicated in 2006. (LeAnn Rimes sang at the ceremony.) Now, it's more than possible I missed any mention of it, but unawareness of this is a recurring theme in both the online community and my circle of family and friends. A wee bit curious, no?

I Have To Admit.

2009-04-09T11:49:00.011-05:00

I'm going to go out on a limb here and reveal a couple of things you might find surprising:

1. A month and a half ago, I attended a Celine Dion concert in Omaha with my mom and sister-in-law, Tiya.

2. It was fabulous.

I know: for those of us under 40, Celine may not be the coolest singing sensation to have a liking for. But she's one of my mom's favorites, and I have to admit I might have coined "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" my and Tyler's "song" when we were in high school and getting back together after our 30th or so break up. So there's that.

Also, this particular event harbored a certain satisfaction because the original show was supposed to have happened in November. The three of us drove to Omaha, prepped for a night of entertainment to be followed by an overnight stay and a day of Christmas shopping. As we approached the Quest Center, my eyes were the first to catch the big sign flashing Celine's face - as I opened my mouth to share the excitement, the words "postponed until February 26th" popped up underneath that giant grin. I was bummed, but even more so for my mom - she was SO looking forward to it! To top it off, the alternative date was the night before my mom and dad were to fly out of Omaha to leave on a cruise - it truly was fate that she see this concert.

Let me add something here: one of my mom's favorite things to do is blare Celine in her car, and she knows most words to most songs. Just to give you some perspective. (Sorry mom - you know I love you! :)

Nonetheless, we ended up having ourselves a fun girls night out, but STILL. They said Celine was sick from her world tour. Psshh...what is she, a wimp?

Fast forward to February, we're ready for round two and I have to say, she delivered. It was classic entertainment: costume changes, a moving stage floor, athletic dancers AND she took a picture drawn by a young fan and had it displayed on the megatron - awww.

Omaha was the last stop on what was supposedly the last tour of her career. Her emotion and energy was contagious, as you can see here:

Yes, I think I might be crying. (keep in mind I've had some champagne and four huge beers at this point - do I get anything for that??) I realize I may just have revealed myself in a way that might frighten some of you, but as I've said before, I am a fan of all things cheese. And this wasn't necessarily just cheese - this chic has pure talent and a gift of performance - and come on, anyone her age with those legs is inspiring!

In a world where the likes of Lindsey Lohan and Heidi Montag can call themselves singers, it doesn't take much to appreciate pure talent when it's right in front of you (I refuse to link to those girls and perpetuate any more un-deserved publicity!) And after all, I got to spend a fun night out with two of my favorite women, so what can I say? Yay Celine!

Estrogen Overload

2009-04-02T14:01:00.005-05:00

I've got a bad case of Blogger's Block, and I'm blaming it on being a girl.

I'm telling you, every time I sit down to write, all I can imagine is three women entrenched in make-up cases, wine glasses, rejected outfits, cheesy dance music and the smell of hair being straightened....

Oh, yes, I'm going to New Jersey tomorrow to see my fabulous college girlfriends and I think there's some sort of female instinct going on inside me right now - I'm just a married chica who sometimes misses that precious ritual of being a girl with other girls.

I love my hubs, but he just can't get the hang of telling me whether to wear my boots inside or outside my dark or ripped jeans with the tank and cardigan or sleeveless turtleneck...(and oh, am I wearing too much bronzer??)

I am woman!

Conventional Wisdom (?)

2009-03-27T11:57:00.005-05:00

I do not even try to pretend that I have a working knowledge of the details of President Obama's stimulus package. I know what it is. I know what it is supposed to do. That's the end of it. I don't know if I agree with it, because wouldn't that mean knowing whether or not it's going to work? (I wonder if any of our Congressmen and women ever consider that same question???)

Ok, before I turn this into a political post, which I really don't want to subject you to, let me offer up Tyler's simple thoughts on the issue:

Yesterday morning, having just donned my plush robe and poured my first cup of Folgers (yes, quite possibly the best part of waking up), I meandered into the patio room where Tyler and I spend our first waking hour watching music videos and mapping out our day. He is almost always more talkative than me, being the morning person that he is. I always listen, struggling to understand the formation of words and sentences, being the ANTI-morning person that I am.

But yesterday, before I could even sit down, and BEFORE 7 a.m., Tyler says,

"You know what I think the goverment should have done about the economic stimulus?"

Wrinkling my forehead in a gesture I hoped would convey "Really? That's the first thing you want to talk about?", I plopped into my recliner, folded my hands around my steaming cup and said,

"Sure, honey - fire away."

He explained,

"Why didn't they make it a reward for submitting your taxes on time? If you meet the deadline, then you automatically deduct from what you owe the amount of what the stimulus check would have been."

Even in my groggy state, this simple suggestion made sense. It made me think of parenting (which I have yet to experience, but between aunt-ing and teaching, I like to think I have a bit of knowledge in this area): you don't give your children something as a reward for bad behavior for a very obvious reason - the bad behavior will continue. Why not give them an incentive by rewarding responsible behavior?

That's a concept even my economically limited mind can grasp. I know - this is all more complicated than that - but does it have to be???

My House is Creaking

2009-03-23T10:31:00.004-05:00

My newly installed windows are no match for the wind today - they are trembling and shifting with each 55 mp.h. gust. As I work from my home office, there is no other sound but the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard and the screeching of air as it pushes against everything in its path. Joining in the chorus is the occastional "smack!!" of a hurling gravel pebble bruising the side of the house, my protector.

Tobi is clearly a bit distraught by all the unsettling noise. She has spent most of her morning pacing from one window to the next.

What she is watching for, I'm not sure. But I think I understand - wind like this frenzies my soul as much as it does the blackbirds being tossed across the sky. Spring is blowing in and that means a whole host of changes - and, as they say, change is good. So Tobi and I peer through the glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of nature's magical wand once again transforming the frigid and bleak to a season that can be illustrated with more than just four colors from a crayon box.

Although, a glance down the road doesn't really give us such a glimpse - well, there's beauty in dirt storms, right?

Numbers + My Brain = Wait, what was the question?

2009-03-17T10:37:00.004-05:00

There are many things a person learns in their life that they just don't forget - drinking from a big kid cup, reading, riding a bike, adding and subtracting, tying shoes, dialing a telephone, operating a car, reading a map, etc. The common denominator is that these are things you usually have to do on a daily basis.

So I am convincing myself that because taxes are done just once a year, it is perfectly normal that each IRS-dominated season, I must be re-educated on the ways of W-2's, 1099's, K-1's, Capital Gains, and...ok, that's all I know. There is no better way to make me feel like an idiot than a simple visit to my accountant's office. Study the night before as I may, this stuff just doesn't stick. And the worst thing about it is that I NEED to understand it. It's one of those life lessons you really shouldn't forget.

I did, indeed, just return from my accountant's office. I dutifully gave him the papers I gathered over the year in my oh-so-professional "Taxes" file, then quietly prayed there would be no questions. When pressed for discussion, I gave it my best shot, then quickly turned to Tyler with a look of "Agree with me! Pretend I know what I'm talking about!"

We laughed about our "fake intelligence" on the way home - do we really think our accountant fell for it? Well, here's to hoping.

Now - I have some tax-education-forgetting to do.

Conventional Wisdom (?)

2009-03-04T09:17:00.003-06:00

Tyler's inquiry during a recent discussion of the goose migration:

"If the plural for goose is geese, is more than one mongoose mongeese or mongooses?"

The answer just might suprise you - that is, if you've ever wondered about the plural form of the cat-like creature known to "giggle" when it mates. (Maybe they're not so different from us humans? **giggle, giggle**)

One last interesting (or not) tidbit - when I googled "Mongoose" the first site that came up was http://www.mongoose.com/ - perfect! Not so much. It was a BMX biking site. Umm, ok, sure.

The Dream Team

2009-03-03T17:44:00.006-06:00

It was certainly a first - I awoke Sunday morning to not only a raging hangover (which was fully expected), but also a 103 degree fever, chills, and body aches so intense I had the notion that this would most likely be my last day on Earth (not expected).

As my first foggy moments of clarity came to me, around 12:00 p.m., I realized with panic this was the start of the week that would necessitate precise planning and to-do-ing in preparation for Tyler's and my California vacation, which begins Wednesday night when we trek to Omaha (two hours from the farm, folks), to spend the night before a 7 a.m. flight Thursday.

How was I supposed to get everything done for work, do the laundry, pack AND squeeze in a workout everyday when I couldn't even get out of bed?!

Let me introduce you to some of my new best friends, who unselfishly joined forces to prevent my demise:

True, the Z-Pac has been the miracle worker of the bunch, thus far. (Although that title could also go to Doctor Sangha, who promised me this bulked-up antiobiotic would have me ready to fly and imbibe in da vino in no time!) But each of them is a star in their own right, and I will forever be grateful.

I do feel compelled to note, however, there was no working out. My body forbade me. We talked about it - it won when I got tired after switching the laundry.

Migration Station

2009-02-25T22:51:00.010-06:00

Every year, they come. In flocks of hundreds, thousands. They sprint, float, dive and land. They are seeking water and substance on an instinctual journey that we mere humans can never fully experience.

The Canadian and Snow goose migration is a yearly occurrence here in the Rainwater Basin. And on their wings, these birds bring an influx of hunters from all over the country - they are seeking a big kill and the thrill that comes with it. For me, the event triggers a memory of standing on my parents' front step in the yolk of my life and witnessing nature in it's often forgotten glory.

As Tyler describes it, the goose migration can be drawn into an hourglass: in the fall, an overflowing cup of birds from northern Canada begin their descent to the warmth of the Southern Hemisphere. They are "wintering," like an aging, retired couple. They squeeze into middle America and spread themselves out once more to Mexico and beyond. In the late winter and early spring, they repeat their pattern, flying north on a primitive nesting journey. But this time, middle America becomes a rest stop, a mecca. Specifically, 21 counties in Nebraska become home to the millions of feathered creatures as they trek back north. I happen to live in one of those counties - Thayer.

Since 2004, Tyler and I have hosted goose hunting guides at our home. Tyler and his brother met these guys in 2003 while they were here on a goose hunt - as guides, they are paid by hunters for the experience of a lifetime: goose hunting in the palace of the gaggle. Chance has brought these talented men to my home each year. They are now our friends. And Kendall has frequently been on Outdoor Television - he's even met Miranda Lambert! (She went deer hunting at his Lyons, Kansas retreat).

Long live the goose hunt!

Blank Slate

2009-02-25T22:24:00.002-06:00

Like a perpetual late-to-work employee, a drunk friend who encourages "let's do this again tomorrow!", or a stock broker promising financial freedom....I have failed, you, my readers, this week.

Excuses? Yes, I have many. Work, a weekend away visiting family, exhaustion from a new dedication to exercise, too much dark gray brain matter inhibiting my creative juices...blah, blah, blah.

My daily calendar said today "If you didn't give your best today, what are you saving it for?" Cheesy, yes. But me, I love the cheese and all things motivational - calendars, quotes, dreams, memory-inspiring pictures.

So, just to let you know, I'm still here. I might delay again. But I'm committed, as much as my sensitive creativity allows for....

Conventional Wisdom(?)

2009-02-18T14:00:00.000-06:00

My husband acts a neverending source of what he considers useful knowledge. This "knowledge" acts as a neverending source of entertainment for me. In honor of this, I shall be frequently posting to a mini blog-series entitled: Conventional Wisdom (?) Not to be mistaken for the unconventional wisdom from my niece, Tyler's helpful hints are to be seriously pondered as the musings of an intelligent adult, used in abundance and considered a tool for overall well-being. (Ahem.)

A few weeks ago, upon enjoying a luxurious Saturday breakfast of leftover bratwurst coupled with scrambled eggs, Tyler explained to me the reason for the pure joy of ingesting such a meal:

If you've got to put mustard on it, you know it's going to be one of the best breakfasts you've ever had.

Rejoice, French's lovers.

Unconventional Wisdom

2009-02-18T12:49:00.001-06:00

As a result of my ailing computer and a sincere desire to procrastinate, I spent a good portion of my morning having some much needed girl chat - with my 4-year-old niece. Her father was busy having grown-up talk with his brother, so I was delighted to indulge in some not-so-grown-up talk of our own. My reward was remembering what it was like to spend my days innocently pondering everything from why dogs eat their own puke (come on, don't we all still wonder?!) to what I would buy with the dollar my uncle gave me.

My niece offered wisdom on these and many other topics; I offer this knowledge in her words:

Dogs eat their own puke because sometimes they want to, sometimes they don't.

A dollar should be spent on food - like a bag of tootsie rolls, M&M's, or cheeseballs from Dawg's cafe. But don't eat the whole bag if you buy candy - you'll throw up. Just like if you eat a whole bag of anything, you'll throw up (see, good advice, right?)

If it's windy outside, don't BOTHER brushing your hair!

If someone's snoring keeps you awake, just pull their eyes open and tell them to stop.

Always use a floaty in the big pool, otherwise you'll drown.

Uncle Tyler needs to eat more bananas before they get brown!

Cinderella is pretty, but Jasmine is cooler (that's Aladin, remember?)

And my personal favorite:

Try to take a nap, even if you don't want to. Otherwise you'll feel bad.

As I watched her hurriedly trot back home (across the street), struggling to keep up with her dad's lunging steps, I was left with a fresh, simple outlook on my day - minus having to later try to convince her that candy is bad for her, her hair needs brushed and Uncle Tyler doesn't appreciate having his eyes pulled open when he's snoozing on the couch. I love being an aunt!

In......Slow.....Motion.....

2009-02-18T12:27:00.000-06:00

Q. What do you get when you cross a 5-year-old, outdated laptop with a middle-of-nowhere internet connection and a wind that plucks the power lines like a bass cello?

A. A 10 to 20 second wait for every page to load. A test of patience. A lot of sighing and grumbling. A lot of staring into space. A lot of running to the kitchen for coffee. A lot of wishing my grant from work would come through so I could purchase my shiny new HP and join the rest of the world and their split-second web surfing, already! A lot of remembering this is part of my extraordinary ordinary - we do everything a bit slower here!

All We Need Is Love

2009-02-16T09:55:00.000-06:00

I know, this is late. My weekend rushed past me like the swirling snowflakes it rode in on, leaving me feeling cheated of the lazy S-days I so cherish. But the sun is shining and I am surprisingly eager to start my week off chipper. After all, a whole day dedicated to giving and receiving love can't leave a person feeling too down and out, can it?

My thoughtful husband was sure to purchase my two dozen roses early this year (one from him, one from Tobi), in anticipation of our Friday snow storm preventing his trek to the flower shop. I was pleasantly surprised Thursday to get a personal delivery at work! (Ok, so I work from home - allow me to indulge by replacing the ooh's and ahh's of my would-be co-workers by sharing here. Thank you. )

Our Valentine's Day celebration has always been simple - stay at home, grill steaks and lobster or shrimp, eat by candlelight and drink a fabulous bottle of wine (or two). Last year, we added on to our tradition the viewing of the video we showed at our wedding reception in 2004.

The V Day ritual (including ours) is to many people pretty cheesy and overrated. But the way I see it, while we shouldn't need a reason to remind those we love of that very fact, we often do. So I hope you took the time on Valentine's Day to say "I love you" to a partner, a friend, a grandma, a pet...and hopefully, the aura of the holiday of hearts will extend past February 14 and make a permanent residence within us.

What can I say? I'm a romantic at heart.

A Good Day to Be Alive

2009-02-13T09:29:00.000-06:00

I promise to post something lighter and brighter a bit later, but I can't get my mind there at the moment....

My heart is heavy this morning as I learned of the tragic crash of Continental Airlines Flight 3407 in Clarence, N.Y. And in a cruel irony, one of the victims was Beverly Eckert, whose husband Sean was killed in the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. She was traveling to their hometown high school (where they fell in love), to honor his birthday with the creation of a scholarship in his memory.

All I'm left with is a reminder to hold those dear even closer, to love and laugh a little more. I hope you will do the same.

Can We Say "HYPOCRITE?"

2009-02-12T09:54:00.000-06:00

A friend pointed out this very ironic situation to me yesterday.....

You may or may not remember this amusing story: in September 2007, a flight attendant on a Southewest Airlines flight decided to inform a 23-year-old college student that her outfit was inappropriate. The girl was almost kicked off her flight. Her attire may have been a bit trashy, a bit small, but I didn't know flight attendants were also paid be the fashion police. Here's the girl on a TODAY show appearance (oh yes, she made the press rounds)...

Southwest issued a public apology and even offered special "mini-skirt fares" in an effort to save their reputation.

But what, exactly, are they trying to do for their reputation by plastering a bikini-clad Bar Rafaeli, this year's Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue covergirl, on one of their planes? It gets even better - the plane has been named the"S. I. One". This is almost too ridiculous for words, so I leave you with the first ever flying model:

The View From Here

2009-02-10T20:18:00.000-06:00

Yes, we've all seen beautiful sunsets: whether a blanket of orange as it envelops a city's steel landscape, a mesh of pastels highlighting the settling sea, or, as in my case, a watercolor of soothing clouds and sky putting our backyard fields to sleep. For most of us, the event of our largest star setting into the darkness is one of many definitions of beauty; and something we can always count on. And really, isn't that also the definition of peace - something beautiful we can always count on?
I try to never take these moments for granted (especially because I am rarely awake to see the sunRISE). I can relate many a time in my life to looking to the sky in search of solace, understanding and maybe answers. As a curious youth, a dramatic teenager, a stressed college student, a tentative 20-something: the setting sun has been a loyal friend. I'm not religious, but the mystical occurence stirs a sense of spiritual wonder in my heart. Most of all, there is a feeling of belonging in thinking of how many others are witnessing the same incredible gift from nature. Some are readying themselves for the end of another day, while across the world, that day, with all its possibilities, is just beginning. A peaceful thought, indeed.

A Cow Dung Monday

2009-02-09T20:45:00.000-06:00

"O-O-O-OKLAHOMA! Where the wind comes sweeping down the plain!"

Ok, so I'm not in the Sooner state, but I guarantee there are days when the wind comes sweeping down the plain here in Huskerland. There's not much to stop it, so when Mother Wind gets out her broom, all sorts of things are swept across our lawns and fields: crunchy corn husks, lost leaves, hazy dust clouds, detached rain gutters, mangled twigs and of course, that stale, sour odor of livestock manure. This smell FOLLOWS you. HUNTS you. PERMEATES INTO YOUR CAR AND SETTLES ON YOUR NOISE HAIRS. Ever heard of Bitter Beer Face? Try Bitter Poop Face. It's a common sight around here on days like this. Yet, some people like my uncle, who is in the cattle business, will tell you this stench is "the smell of money!" Mmm, yummy. Don't worry, not all our money smells like cow dung.

But the dusty gusts always bring something less visible and thankfully less odorlicious - the promise of change. It may only be February, but today's warm, southwest gales had me sniffing the air like a canine - is that SPRING I smell?! I dare not hope yet - March winters have been known to shut down entire populations around here. Stay tuned.

Bloggers R Us

2009-02-08T13:14:00.000-06:00

A shout-out to my funny, witty, fashion-savvy friend:

what she has…

Check out the source of my blogging inspiration!

R.I.P.

2009-02-07T12:20:00.000-06:00

Today, we say goodbye to the Old Corn Crib. He once was a robust, sturdy, proud holder of cattle feed. A vision of productive farming operations. He served the Miller farmers well, but over 50 years of rain, wind, snow and sun has taken its toll. Today, we say goodbye.

The destruction of a sagging structure, once a staple of a landscape, always harbors a tinge of sadness for me. What is now being reduced to a pile of rubble and soon, a memory, has been around for many a life event. I always think, "How much has happened to those associated to this building while it stood?" How many births, how many deaths? How many marriages, how many anniversary parties? How many blizzards, how many dry summers? How many laughs, how many tears? Was the Old Corn Crib standing when the Beatles arrived in New York, this day, 1964?

For the Millers, 4 generations of life activity took place under the watch of the Old Corn Crib. Perhaps, when whatever replaces him is destroyed, the 8th generation will think:

"I wonder how many......?"