All good things must come to an end

Yesterday, friend Wendy and I took down my pictures and removed them from the art gallery. Gallery’s walls looked so bare!

I sold four pictures and an unframed print at the gallery, then picked up another sale on Facebook. Friend John is buying Forsaken Ivories (shown at left) for his wife’s birthday.

I also donated one picture to a foundation that honors a friend’s daughter. It will be auctioned off to provide college scholarship funds. First scholarship will be given to a member of her class, the Class of 2017.

Our church recently completed the renovation of a downtown store into our meeting place. Budget is too tight for art, so some of my pictures will decorate the walls. I’m looking for somewhere else to show them, but haven’t found that place yet.

I asked if I could show again in 2011 and received a favorable response. Looking forward to it.

Attack of the killer rooster

Following is an excerpt from Marilyn’s book. We think (hope/pray) that we are nearly finished with it.

Dad’s dad had an ornery streak in him when it came to roosters and he set a bad example for me. Grandma always had lots of chickens and several roosters. I followed Grandpa around his farm, and one day he showed me how to make a rooster mad.

Grandpa picked up a large stick and jabbed it at the rooster until the bird’s feathers stood up on his back. As the rooster grew angrier with every jab, we stepped away from the fence and let the rooster’s rage fester.

Thank goodness, Grandma’s chickens were locked inside their fence.

Not so with Mom’s chickens. Our chickens were allowed to roam freely. They kept down the weeds and grasshoppers and grew pretty hefty on nature’s provisions.

Sometime later, I decided to tease one of Mom’s old roosters, just like I’d seen my grandpa do! Dad warned me that this would come back to bite me. He told me not to come crying to him when the rooster decided to attack me.

I ignored Dad’s wise words.

Every day, I picked on Mom’s old rooster, making him angrier each time. One day, the rooster showed me just how furious I’d made him. When I turned my back, he ruffled up his feathers, making him look twice as big as he really was. He spread out his wings, put his head down, and charged me as fast as he could! Just in time, I saw him coming towards me at full rooster speed, and ran as fast as I could to the gated yard! With him right behind me, I slammed the gate shut. He crashed full speed into it. That made him even madder!

I was terrified!

As I stared at that rooster, I remembered my dad’s strong words of caution about pestering the rooster and the price I’d have to pay.

Now what?

Even though Dad had warned me, I thought Mom and Dad would be sympathetic.

I went into the house crying and I told Mom what had just happened.

She didn’t act one bit surprised and had no sympathy on me whatsoever. She reminded me that I’d been warned!

I asked her how I was supposed to go outside and do my chores. She told me I’d have to figure that out myself. She didn’t relieve me of any of my chores.

I had to come up with a plan to protect myself from my stalker. I decided to carry a broom handle with me everywhere I went!

That rooster seemed to know when I gathered the eggs. He always heard or saw me coming and tried to ambush me seemingly every time. Immediately, his feathers ruffled and his head went down. He started strutting right towards me!

Even though I always carried the broom handle, he still scared me! As he got closer, I pounded the broom handle on the ground and he stopped. But instead of fleeing from me, he just stood there and glared me. I didn’t dare turn my back on him.

When I slowly walked away from him, he inched towards me, staying just out of the broom handle’s range. While I gathered the eggs from the chicken coop, he stood in the doorway. Every line of his body said, “Just try and get past me!”

So I didn’t try. I evaded him. I always went out the other door, slamming it behind me! I took the long way back to the house with the precious eggs and my broom handle. Most of the time, I fooled the rooster and he went back to being master of the hens.

Several times I forgot my trusty broom handle. He always seemed to know when I was defenseless. He appeared out of nowhere, feathers ruffled and head down, ready to charge! I ran as fast as I could across the yard to escape the rooster’s wrath!

One day, Dad needed my assistance to sort cattle in the corral. Dad was in a hurry and ordered me to not to waste any time meeting him in the barn.

Grabbing the trusty broom handle, I sprinted across the yard towards the barn. Out from behind the tractor came the rooster, eager to attack me. Since Dad’s wrath was to be feared much more than the rooster’s, I swung the broom handle as hard as I could at the rooster. BOOM! I whacked him squarely in the head. He keeled over right before my very eyes. I had killed Mom’s rooster! Oh, no! Now I’d have Mom’s wrath to deal with as well! Incurring my mother’s wrath was not to be taken lightly either.

I ran to the barn and told Dad what had happened. His expression told me he was not pleased with me at all.

As we started sorting the cattle, Mom entered the barn.

Oh, dear. I was in deep do-do now!

Looking straight at me, she asked what I’d done to the old rooster. She saw him wobbling across the yard like a drunk and knew I’d done something to him.

I quickly spilled my story. I told her that I had whacked him hard with the broom handle so he’d leave me alone.

She said that most likely this had done the trick, but that she’d better not see me teasing any more roosters.

I wasn’t about to tease any more roosters. Oh, no. Not after that. Lesson was not just learned; it was burned into my head. He was the first and last rooster I ever picked on!

That old rooster had learned his lesson too. He never came after me again. He still kept a wary eye on me, but from a distance.

We had called a truce.

The rooster lived to a ripe old age. When he died, he was so old that Mom feared he would be too tough to use in noodle soup!

Madam Ruth

The fax machine rang this morning. I told Hubby, “I just know it’s an offer for a trip to Cancun.”

Sure enough.

He said, “You were psychic. Are you going to set yourself up as Madam Roxie?”

“No, Madam Ruth, the black-haired gypsy with the gold-capped tooth!”

He asked, “Are you going to get a gold-capped tooth?’

“Uh, no.”

The lyric in Love Potion No. 9 is actually “Madam Rue, you know, that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth?”

Precious Memories

Precious memories, how they linger How they ever flood my soul In the stillness of the midnight Precious sacred scenes unfold Precious father, loving mother Fly across the lonely years And old home scenes of my childhood In fond memory appear
– Precious Memories	Mom, Dad, Kevin and me in August 1985.

I woke up at 10 p.m. Thursday night with intestinal flu. About 2 a.m., I moved to the bathroom floor. I was spending far more time in bathroom than in bed anyway.

Even under blankets, I shivered.

As I huddled under those covers, trying, with little success, for whatever comfort I could find, my mind flashed back to August 1986.

Dad’s boss had a cabin at Lake of the Ozarks, Mo. We were vacationing there before I went back to college. My bedroom and the master suite were connected by a bathroom. Even though master suite had its own bathroom, a door opened to this bathroom as well.

I woke up in the middle of the night with an intestinal flu bug, complete with high fever. I wanted to disturb no one, so tried to be very quiet. Worshiping the porcelain god is not a quiet activity, no matter how a person tries to muffle the sound. And my mother had acute hearing.

She found me sitting in the tub with sweat pouring off me. Tub was within leaning distance of the toilet, so was quite convenient. If I made a mess, I could just wash it down the drain. Besides, tub was the only place I could get cooler.

I tried to convince her to return to bed. I was a big girl and could take care of myself. But, about this time, I started shivering uncontrollably. What misery! So much for convincing her to leave me.

All night long, she was up with me, warming me when the shivers took control, cooling me when the heat returned, and cleaning up the inevitable mess.

Now on my own bathroom floor, I longed for my mother to come help me. Hubby was at work and knew nothing of my predicament. Mr. Kitty did his best to comfort Mistress, but no pet is the same as a loving hand on my forehead.

When Hubby came home, he cleaned up the mess I’d left. What a wonderful husband!

Still, I would have loved to feel my mother’s loving touch in the night.

March decorating

For years, I have bemoaned the lack of quality St. Patrick’s Day decorations. So many of them can only be described as tacky, items fit only for grade school display. I had been complaining about all our empty decorating slots when I picked up a book about planning theme parties. The book listed various centerpiece ideas. It recommended using items a person already had instead of newly-purchased items. The light licked on. We have items downstairs that we don’t often get to enjoy. Why not display them in March?

I brought up various small collections that have been gathering dust for some time. We have these three ViewMasters, the box and plastic circle full of various slides. The jars of marbles belonged to our grandparents. I treasure these items and I’m enjoying them.

	Hubby has had this treasure chest for years. We filled it with mini gold Hershey bars. This is probably the closest we’ll ever get to that mysterious leprechaun at rainbow’s end.
	I had gathered these geodes and the chunk of (low-grade) amethyst several years ago. I had displayed them a few times, then got out of the habit of bringing them up. It’s nice to enjoy them again.
	Since we spring forward in March now, why not enjoy our pocket watches and clocks? Watches belonged to Hubby’s grandfather.
	My great uncle Bill made both clocks. Uncle Bill loved working with exotic woods. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me which woods he used for these. Both clocks’s movements have broken. The stand clock’s movement, a wedding present, lasted just a few months. He apparently didn’t use a very good quality movement. The burl clock’s second hand greatly fascinated one of my cats. Tuxedo Kitty pawed at that second hand until it fell off. Burl clock was a college graduation present.

I am so pleased with our “new” March decorations. When it’s time to change to spring/Easter dècor, we’ll pack these items with St. Patrick’s Day items to ensure we see them annually. Something else to look forward to.

A weighty subject

Image borrowed from www.AmericanFitness.net.

I was called in to sub at 6:55 this morning. School starts at 7:45, so I had to hurry.

The football/track coach had been ill for several days, but kept on coming to work and practice. Finally, after morning track practice, he could go no more.

Hence my late summons to work. Coach mostly teaches weightlifting.

I haven’t lifted weights for a long time. The last time I did free weights was probably in 1993. I was told the kids would know what they were doing, but I would have preferred to know more about proper weightlifting form. I did not want to be present when someone was injured because they did something wrong. But I had little choice in the situation.

I facebooked my brother. He played college football and lifted a lot of heavy iron. I jokingly asked him if he’d come to help me. (Of course, that would be impossible.)

He said he wouldn’t because “…[T]hey’d hurt me or I’d hurt myself.”

Oh, well. I noted what I was doing on my own Facebook page.

Friend Sheri said simply, “Yikes!”

Friend Dennis, who was a champion body builder, had a rather different response:
“Sounds fun, Roxie. Go hard or go home.”

I watched the kids lift all day. Some of them had quite a bit of weight on their bars. I was impressed.

Once the students were gone, I could not resist the opportunity to test myself. I know better than to pump iron or use a machine while alone. But I just had to see what I could lift. I started going upwards from 20 lbs. I could lift up to 30 lbs. easily with my right arm. (I’m not to be lifting left-handed right now and I remembered that just in time!) Forty lbs. was hard. I could lift it above my elbow, but no farther. The 45-lb. weight came about six inches off the rack and would go no higher. The 50-lb. weight didn’t move at all.

I felt like a wuss.

I told Hubby about it when I came home. He said, “They are younger and have been doing this for awhile. You haven’t.“

True and yet another birthday is soon to arrive. Oh well. I can generally lift what I need to lift. Isn’t that what matters?

Hubby the German

We recently hosted a polka band concert for the local performing arts organization. When Hubby learned that this group was coming, he decided that he wanted a German getup for this show. After all, much of his heritage is German.

He already had a hat he had purchased in Switzerland when he was in high school. This hat has its own story. After he bought the hat and its buck and feathers decoration, his tour group went to a Schloss Hellbrunn, a Salzburg, Austria, palace with numerous trick fountains. Hat got wet. Day was hot and humid, so Hubby took off his hat. In consequence, it shrunk badly, becoming unwearable. It sat unworn in his European trip souvenirs for years. From our friends Kevin and Cheri, we learned about Hatman Jack’s in Wichita. Kevin had the hat stretched as a gift to us. It’s still a bit small, but wearable.

Around Christmastime, Hubby took hat and those embroidered green braces to the local embroiderer. (Note the buttons on his braces. They celebrate another big chunk of his heritage, Irish.) Embroider had the stock deer art and created his crosspiece. It attaches with Velcro. Hatband looked pretty shabby, so the staff wove this beautiful braid and attached his deer pin. We were delighted with results. One of the band members had purchased actual lederhosen. They were used and cost $200. New would have been $400. Our improvisation didn’t cost nearly so much. From the (partial) Irishman in the house: Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Sign of spring

Every year I look forward to this day, the day the weather is warm enough for us to enjoy our outdoor living room. Central to that living room is our outdoor fireplace. Sitting by that fire is a wonderful way to close the day, to relax and unwind before heading for bed. We are sad every fall when the nights grow too cold for us to enjoy our fire, even under multiple blankets. Stripping off the covers from our outdoor furniture takes awhile. The park bench is still (partially) covered. The fire tools are in that bag, but not for long. We’re using last year’s cornstalks for kindling. They burn hot and fast. I won this fireplace four years ago. I bought a bundle of wood for our first fire. We’ve never bought one since. We’ve always been able to find enough scraps and dead branches for fuel.

So tonight’s agenda is a cookout followed by a rest on the chaise lounges while enjoying our fire. Oh, yes, this event is one of the year’s best!

A startling resemblance

Marilyn asked me what I was wearing to her college’s endowment banquet. This year’s theme was a Hawai’ian luau.

I had planned to wear Hubby’s Hawai’ian shirt or my own flowered polo shirt.

She said, “I have a pair of flowered polo shirts. We could go as twins.”

I thought that would be fun. After all, we consider each other to be sisters. No other description seems to fit.

However, the only biological relatives in our five-girlfriend group are Patty and Marilyn, who are cousins. The rest of us don’t share the same ancestry. Donna and Kathy have been best friends for 20-plus years. They are often mistaken for blood sisters, but we didn’t see a resemblance between the rest of us.

That is, we didn’t until we saw this picture Tuesday. When Marilyn sent me this picture, I couldn’t believe what was in my inbox. Where did this resemblance originate?

I don’t know, but we agree that it’s there.

Guitar Hero wannabe

Well, we were just another band out of Boston
On the road to try to make ends meet
Playin’ all the bars, sleepin’ in our cars
And we practiced right on out in the street
No, we didn’t have much money
We barely made enough to survive
But when we got up on stage and got ready to play
People came alive.
- Rock and Roll Band by Boston

Playing guitar (or any instrument) for a genuine band is not in my future. But I play a mean air guitar, making an “instrument” from whatever object I can find to “strum”.

Such was the case at Saturday night’s Endowment Banquet for Marilyn’s employer.

The final event on the night’s schedule was a dance. I started to help clean up, but could not resist the lure of the music. I picked up the palm tree table topper and started to “play”.

I hadn’t touched an air guitar in public for years. I felt the years fall away as I picked and grinned, a grin of pure, exquisite happiness. Too bad the picture does not show that big grin. It was there.

Kodachrome

Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors.
They give us the greens of summers.
Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day, Oh, yeah!
I got a Nikon camera;
I love to take a photograph.
So, mama, don’t take my Kodachrome away!

School was out Friday, so decided to take a desperately needed Mental Health Day. My idea of an MHD is to get out my camera and shoot photos. Unlike the Celine Dion tune, I wanted to be all by myself. Peace and quiet and the ability to be absolutely silent beckoned me. I didn’t want to talk. I longed for the sound of silence.

I put the Nikon in the truck, grabbed some water bottles and left. I had a place in mind that I had glimpsed at 65 mph. Anything that looks interesting at 65 mph will probably be much more interesting at walking speed.

When I arrived at this location, an hour’s drive, I found that I had been right. It was spectacular. I sat on a rock to take a picture of the scenery with a yucca plant positioned strategically in the foreground.

I hit the shutter button and nothing happened.

I tried hitting the reset button. I checked the battery’s status. It was fully charged. I checked the card slot. I had a nearly empty memory card in it. I tried pulling and replacing the battery. I reset the camera in every way I could.

Still nothing happened. I felt sick. I’d made this long drive for nothing.

I walked around this beautiful terrain then headed home.

When I got home, I called our extended warranty company. Much to my relief, camera is still covered. But I have to ship it to some place in Illinois. Who knows when I’ll have my Nikon returned to me.

Note to self: Don’t take photo trips without the film cameras. When my Nikon goes awry, a roll of Kodachrome in my Olympus camera is still useful.

“Please don’t take my Kodachrome away!”

Move over to Kroger

Every time I see this picture, I think of an old Kroger grocery store commercial:

“Moooooove over to Kroger
Quality guaranteed …”

This commercial is so old that it doesn’t show up on YouTube. I found another one that I remember from c. 1988, but not the one with the singing cows.

My roommate Irene and I laughed every time we saw those silly cows. Whoever created that ad has set a permanent hook into my memory.

The power of a jingle. Scary, isn’t it?

new profile picture

Since I look rather different than I did this summer, I decided to put up a new profile picture. Here’s the full picture with my handsome husband.

People are saying that I look younger now. That does not hurt my feelings. I certainly don’t feel 10 years younger, but don’t mind looking it.

I have sold yet another picture, but The Red Door remains unsold. So, Teresa, it may be yours!

Thanks a million

My sisters in every way but biology (from left): Donna, Patty, me, Marilyn, Kathy.

My reception went very well yesterday. I was delighted that so many people came out. Gallery Director Kay had told me that these receptions were not well attended, but mine was. Many friends and family came to see my work and I sold a couple pictures. I think more will sell.

I didn’t do this show alone. I could not have accomplished it by myself.

I was born with a photographic eye. I cannot take credit for that at all. It’s a God-given gift. My responsibility is to use my gift and hone it for God’s glory. So, first, I thank the Lord for the gift and the tools He has granted me.

Thanks, Dad, for helping me cut glass and thanks, Jeff, for cutting my mats. I could not have finished without you.

Thanks, Hubby, for your love and support. I love you.

To my sisters, thanks for your loving support and assistance and for pushing me to package myself rather better, in spite of my great dubiousness about such things. Thanks go to Martha for that as well, plus for encouragement and good advice.

Patty said that I looked “like a successful businesswoman” yesterday. I sure hope that’s a prophecy. While I like to look nice, I seldom can be troubled to do so. Thanks, Donna, for some new clothes and a new haircut and to my unknown friend for the same.

I am truly grateful.

How I wish my mother and my grandparents could have joined me for this day, but I know they were joyfully looking down from Heaven. I wish my brother and his family could have been with us, but Louisiana is a long way from here.