Walking the Red Brick Road

Just so frustrating

2009-06-29T18:31:00.002-06:00

Blogger has some kind of issue with FTP publishing. Since I don’t use a Blogspot web site, I must upload pictures via File Transfer Protocol. Blogger is uploading them just fine, but refuses to link them, even with every workaround I can devise. And I am a very creative sort!

I’ve looked at every Google search suggestion that seemed relevant to my problem. Blogger said they had an issue about the 16th, but it’s resolved now. Hmpf.

This blog is just not the same without pictures and I have some fun ones to share. Sigh.

So, I’m not blogging because I have nothing to say; I’m not blogging because Blogger is uncooperative.

Maybe it’s time to move to WordPress?

Anticipation

2009-06-24T05:00:00.004-06:00

Marilyn is out standing in her field.

With wheat harvest quickly sneaking up on us, I (Marilyn) thought it was time to go have a look-see at my small plot of grain!

So Roxie and I took a country drive last night.

Each field of wheat we passed gave us hope and encouragement! Upcoming harvest is an exciting time, even for those who don’t actually own land or run the combine! The buzz of excitement is contagious and, in farm country, even the city folk are excited to see what the results of the crops will be!

The fields of wheat are starting to show great signs of those famous “amber waves of grain” blowing and bowing as the wind tosses them to and fro.

As we walked into my little plot of land, Roxie was as excited as I was! She took pictures of the wheat heads and of me, as I surveyed the heads of grain blowing across my field.

It had been a long time since I’d been to the wheat field. I’ve become more and more of a “city girl” and just don’t get out to the country as often as I once did. Standing in the midst of the wheat, though, I felt right at home once again. Sounds and smells of the country took me back to my country roots.

Meadowlarks were fluttering and singing as a soft south breeze blew the warm evening air. Thunderheads were building up towards the south, lending themselves as a lovely backdrop for the pictures Roxie was taking of the nearly-golden heads of grain. A heavy wheat smell wafted through the air as the kernels of grain are ripening.

Roxie and I both thought my crop looked good, with heads full of grain still in a milky stage. But I wanted my farmer-brother’s more knowledgeable opinion about my wheat stand, so we drove a little further to the farm. After all, he’s outstanding in his field! (Yes, that pun’s intended!)

Brother agreed: “The crop looks good, Sis!”

As Roxie and I made our way back to town, we passed several lagoons full of water from our recent much-needed rains. As we drove over hills, we looked across fields of wheat and green pastures, and we truly felt as if we were Country Girls once again. The white elevators stood straight and tall in the distance, framed by deep blue rain clouds and lush fields.

As the country roads soon gave way to city streets, I realized that my life is so different from how it once was. My heart still holds the country life dear, but not being involved in it on a daily basis any longer, makes me miss it.

For those of you who are country folk, I know your hearts will understand my ramblings! If you’re one of the folks who get your hands and faces dirty during wheat harvest, ENJOY it! It only comes around once a year!

Wall Street

2009-06-23T05:00:00.001-06:00

I found this sign highly amusing. First of all, for the repetition of “Street St”; secondly, because “Wall Street” conjures up visions of a great banking center. One long-defunct bank does not a great banking center make.

I have no clue about this bank’s history, but, if it’s like many others on the High Plains, it went belly up in the Great Depression/Dust Bowl years. Farmers had no crops, so no one spent money with the merchants. Neither deposited anything in their local bank because they didn’t have money to deposit. As their dreams died, people fled. Grass grew on the sidewalks as communities shrank.

But some of us are still here. This is our home and our choice.

Faded glory

2009-06-22T05:00:00.004-06:00

At one time, this was the most luxurious house in our area, but neglect was about to bring it down.
Blessedly, a couple has purchased the house and is in the long process of renewing its once-considerable glory. If they had not stepped in a few years ago, the house would be in the state the motor vehicles in the foreground have reached. The abandoned vehicles make an ironic counterpoint to the house. They are probably beyond restoration, good only for parts, while the house is undergoing a resurrection of sorts.

The house shows what love can do; the vehicles show what neglect does.

A new closet

2009-06-21T05:00:00.002-06:00

Storage is at a premium in our house, so when Hubby discovered a small unused space by our spiral staircase, we had to cut a door into it so we’d gain a closet.

Dad removes the mop board before cutting the door hole.

Hubby cuts the door hole with his uncle’s saws-all. The dust was awful. We had a lot of cutting to do since our house was plastered, not sheet rocked. Plaster chunks were everywhere!

Hubby installs part of the door framing. We did this project as cheaply as possible. Framing boards were all recycled lumber.

The sheet rock was a damaged piece the lumber yard wanted to get rid of. The leftover sheet rock went into a hole in our driveway. It has worked wonderfully. No more awful hole at driveway’s end!

Dad cuts the trim. Fortunately, the house’s original door frames were simply trimmed without elaborate, hard-to-match embellishments.

While the men were hammering and sawing, I was sanding and staining. December 2007 was warm enough to stain, although I added the final coats in temperatures just barely above the minimum required. They took forever to dry.

Dad and Hubby nail up the trim. Aren’t power tools wonderful?

I love my men. Happy Father’s Day!

Yucca

2009-06-20T05:00:00.001-06:00

The yucca plant is quite unfortunately named. The word “yucca”sounds far too close to “yucky” and the plant is far from that. Since this year has been unusually wet on the High Plains, we’ve gotten to enjoy a profusion of yucca flowers. This field is just one of many loaded with beautiful yucca flowers.

These yuccas on this road cut are helping to reduce erosion.

Yucca, also known as “soapweed”, is a very useful plant. Uses include fiber, baskets, rope/twine, paper, food, soap and medicine.

Cattle and wildlife have somehow not found this particular field. They love the flower stalks. The top blossom makes me think of some Aztec god’s tongue sticking out, just like the one at center right of below picture.

OK, so I have an active imagination, but, if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you already knew that, didn’t you?

Milk and cookies

2009-06-19T11:07:00.006-06:00

I’m very used to seeing white-faced Angus-Hereford crosses in the countryside, but these Oreo cookie cattle (actually Belted Galloways) are not a usual sight. These two are prime examples of the breed. True “belties” have a band all the way around their midsections with no white markings anywhere else. Those who have other markings are considered undesirable by purists.

No matter what the purists think, those other markings are cute and fun, like this one’s heart-shaped mark. Is its name Valentine?

The calf at picture’s upper center lacks only cookies to complete this picture.

Glasses of cold milk with a bag of Oreos would have been a great way to enjoy our visit to the pasture, but we did not have this calf’s privileged access to milk. I doubt we could have caught up with Mama to get a share of her milk. Even if we did manage to get fresh milk, it would not have been cold. And we were a long way from any Oreos.

The cattle were pretty jittery with us staying at a distance. Getting into the pasture certainly would have stampeded them. I prefer to remain at a respectful distance.

Holey radiator

2009-06-17T05:00:00.000-06:00

This old radiator reminds me of several things:

1) An overgrown wasps’ nest with several breaches in the cells. Visitors beware!

2) What I’ve considered doing to several rather lemony cars I’ve owned — not to put them out of their misery, but to put me out of mine!

3) Jon BonJovi’s song Shot through the Heart, covered by Demi Lovato. My lyrics reflect No. 2:

“An angel’s smile is what you sell;
You promised me heaven, but we’ve been through hell.
Tow truck’s coming to drag you away.
I’m sick of walking; you are going to pay!

I’ve got a loaded gun;
You’ve got nowhere to run.
No one can save you,
The damage is done.

(You’ve been)
Shot through the heart
And you’re to blame.
You give cars a bad name (bad name)
(Since) You won’t start,
I’m gonna end your game.
You give cars a bad name;
You give cars a bad name!

A labor of love

2009-06-16T09:36:00.004-06:00

This was not my planned topic for today. The wonderful rains we’ve been having have saturated the ground and water seeped into a storage area in our basement. Among other things, I store some heirloom garments in there, thankfully all in Rubbermaid containers. I am blessed to own my aunt’s, my mother’s and my own wedding dresses, among other items. Of the three dresses, mine is by far the most spectacular. I opened all those boxes yesterday to ensure that no dampness had entered to encourage mold and mildew growth on these priceless textiles.

I have documented the dress in my wedding scrapbook in a section called My Mother’s Masterpiece. I do not exaggerate. However, I had never thought to take close-ups of the details until yesterday.

Hubby, me, my parents, my sister-in-love, bridesmaid; and my brother, the head usher. The gore-shaped decoration on my skirt front is unfortunately mostly hidden in a fold.

Mother made my dress, the bridesmaid’s, flower girl’s and one candelighter’s dresses, plus arranged all the bouquets and boutonnieres. I called her my one-woman wedding shop.

Close-up of the bridal couple.

My dress was a combination of three different patterns, so Mother had to engineer its construction from a mishmash of instructions.

Since I had removed my dress from its box, I had to try it on. I’ve slimmed down quite a bit and wanted to see if I’d fit into it again. No problem. In fact, it’s a bit loose around the waist. I may be a bit thinner than I was then, but I certainly looked far more glamorous on my big day. Obviously, snapping my own photo in the bathroom mirror was not an easy task. Neither was trying to walk around our house with that long train. I had to gather up quite a bit of fabric in my hands to prevent dress from dragging on the floor.

When I began returning dress to its box, I realized that I had never truly examined the dress and its details. I was blown away at the hours upon hours of meticulous, painstaking labor involved. My mother modeled excellence in her work. Looking at the dress forced me to choke back tears. I didn’t want them to fall on the dress.

This shows the bodice neckline, cross hatching and beading. Mother ordered a special sewing machine foot to do the cording, but it did not arrive until she had completed most of it. Until foot arrived, she had to sew one side of the cording, then another. I cannot imagine how tedious this must have been. This dress has LOTS of cording. (Mother tended to keep every shred of fabric she had left, so I found some of the leftover corded fabric in her fabric stash after she passed. I have preserved a piece of it in my wedding scrapbook.)

I know that Grandma helped her daughter quite a bit in this project. Since Mother disliked hand sewing, Grandma probably sewed on many of the beads. They must have spent many companionable hours with Mother at her machines and Grandma with needle and thread.

This is the lace on the hem. Every scallop had to be stitched, a lot of rotating the fabric.

Skirt and train featured several of these corded, gore-shaped appliques trimmed with lace. Ribbons and fabric roses were the last embellishments added to the dress. These ribbons and roses tied my dress to the other ladies’s dresses, which were made from a fabric woven with a ribbons-and-roses motif. Until last evening, I had never noticed the lace leaf. Those were added just before the wedding. Grandma and my aunts sewed them on while we were decorating church and reception hall.

These roses are on bottom of the sleeve cap decoration.

This is the sleeve cap, covered with cording and beading.

Here are the sleeve roses close up. Note the lace surrounding that applique.

I’d love to know just how many yards of cording and lace she used on this dress!

What I do know is that this dress was designed and constructed from love. The materials and workmanship are just its expression. Saying thank you — even if I could — seems so inadequate.

Bonnie and Clyde

2009-06-15T05:00:00.001-06:00

This shot-out window makes me think of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, whose lives of crime ended in a hail of bullets 75 years ago, May 23, 1934.

I am no student of automobile history, so have no idea whether this junked truck is even the same vintage as the famous bullet-ridden automobile.

Bonnie Parker is said to have been bored with her life in Dallas when she met Clyde Barrow. She certainly got the excitement she wanted. Their crime spree lasted 21 months. They traveled through at least five states, often crossing state lines because law officers could not travel across jurisdictional boundaries in those days.

The country had fallen into the Great Depression. Unemployment in 1932, when their spree began, was at record highs, nearly 25 percent. At first, the Barrow Gang were often seen as people striking back at an uncaring government, latter-day Robin Hoods. They were hoods all right, attacking small-town restaurants, grocery stores and gas stations, as well as small banks. Barrow Gang murdered 12 victims, nine of them law officers.
,
After Clyde engineered a breakout from Texas Department of Corrections’ Eastham Prison Farm, Texas officers and the FBI began a massive manhunt. They induced one of the gang members to betray Bonnie and Clyde and set up a trap just over the Louisiana line. The couple died in a hail of 167 bullets.

After years as a sideshow attraction, the bullet-ridden Ford ended up in the rotunda of a Las Vegas casino. The car got off easier than Bonnie and Clyde’s bodies. Souvenir hunters tried to lop off Clyde’s finger and left ear, clipped locks of Bonnie’s hair and pieces of her dress.

Why anyone would want such gruesome articles totally mystifies me, but the car in the casino testifies to their appeal. Funny how two bungling crooks’ lives — one burglary netted them only $1.75 — can be as glamorized as Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow’s were.

Fort Wallace

2009-06-14T14:23:00.006-06:00

Saturday, Marilyn, Wendy and I took a day trip to Fort Wallace Museum, Wallace, Kan.

Hubby and I had visited the museum last year, when I took the picture above. I was pleasantly surprised on Saturday when I saw that Pond Creek Station, a stage stop, the red building left of the museum, and Weskan Railroad Depot, the yellow building, were open and had been refurbished. That is such an improvement.

This license plate is very appropriate for its owner, who had made the buffalo sculpture and numerous others at the museum out of recycled barbed wire. Barbed wire is pronounced “bob wire”.

Marilyn takes a closer look at Bob Wire Buff. Fence around it is constructed from post rock (limestone) posts and, of course, barbed wire. These posts are constructed by drilling holes in native limestone.

Marilyn (left) and Wendy try to take a ride on a railroad repair cart, but it refused to take them anywhere. After all, it’s chained to the railroad tracks. Now, how not fun is that? We wanted a joyride!

The museum added a new addition last year for Floris and Viola Weiser’s collection of military, pioneer and Native American artifacts he discovered with his metal detector. The addition holds a diorama of the fort. Nothing exists of it today other than the post cemetery. Building materials were scarce in the area and the abandoned post was shortly turned into other buildings. These soldiers were on the parade ground.

When I took their picture, I thought of Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian. George Armstrong Custer, who would later die with all his men at the Battle of the Bighorn, was court-martialed for his efforts to relieve a siege of Fort Wallace. After being suspended from rank and pay for a year, Custer returned to the Indian Wars. Custer’s rashness and disregard for his soldiers in this instance presaged the mistakes that cost him and his immediate command their lives in his Last Stand.

In the movie, Custer laments the loss of his command, but redeems himself by fighting off the evil Pharaoh.

If these soldiers came to life after sundown, what would they say about “The Boy General”?

Celebrating milestones

2009-06-11T15:43:00.003-06:00

Getting from Easter to Flag Day takes a long time. We get sick of cute little chicks and baby bunnies, no matter how carefully we avoid tackiness. Our house is not allowed to look like a grade school classroom. Until last year, I didn’t know how to bridge that gap. Since we got married and graduated high school and college in May, why not get out the stuff from those milestone events in May? So I did.

This is our cake topper. My aunt and uncle used it, then my parents. When it came my turn, the couple was a little battered. I cleaned the topper and touched up its paint. I enjoyed using this precious connection to my heritage. The rose on lace is one of our pew decorations and the candles — but not the candlesticks — are from our wedding also. The silver tray, which is out all the time, was a wedding gift from our jeweler.

This table decoration is our unity candle set.

I was required to buy my first college graduation regalia — mortarboard, gown, hood and tassel — and I kept them. My hood hangs behind its degree. I used a half hitch to tie the associated tassel onto the diploma frame’s hangar. Unfortunately, Hubby has lost his college graduation tassel. He hung it on his rear view mirror and it disintegrated. Hubby’s picture with his parents at his graduation stands on the shelf. The back of his high school diploma is shown on the room divider above his college degree.

Dad graduated from college the same weekend I graduated kindergarten. He had gotten a three-year diploma the year before. My mother preserved his tassels and honor cords, while I kept my tassel, which she had made. She made my graduation gown and mortarboard, but those have long since been lost. I printed a copy of our picture together and matted it for the center of the shadowbox, then arranged the cords and tassels around the picture, using straight pins to hold them. I wish I could have made the picture an 8X10, but the slide was too degraded for that.

My high school diploma, tassel and senior picture stand on the room divider opposite Hubby’s. Unfortunately, we do not have his senior picture. I hung each tassel on the pillar next to the diploma. Each girl in my senior class received a real and crocheted rose at graduation. My crocheted rose sits next to my senior picture.

My mortarboards sit atop our china cabinet. Displaying an even number of objects is not good design, but I could not think what I should place between the mortarboards. I had to buy both high school and college mortarboards, but Hubby never had to buy any. Lucky him! Too bad we didn’t preserve my handmade kindergarten mortarboard, but one can’t have everything in this life!

Many hands make light work

2009-06-10T05:00:00.001-06:00

Wendy and I went Dumpster diving today, the annual hunt for garden cardboard. I love to cardboard my garden. Weeds are executed by being buried alive (aren’t I a sinister person!), moisture is preserved and the soil enriched when the cardboard decays. We burn any cardboard remnants in our outdoor fireplace. And I get to feel virtuous because I’ve kept trash out of the landfill. A good deal all the way around.

After coming up nearly empty on Main Street, we hit paydirt at the farm and home store. Dumpster was full of very good large pieces of cardboard. We filled up Marilyn’s truck bed.

Here’s Wendy unloading the boxes. Last year, I ended up paving garden with cardboard all by myself. That is out of the question this year. My shoulder is still far from healed.

It’s a rather strenuous process, lots of bending and twisting. All I did was to pull staples and peel off tape. They did all the hard work, for which I am very grateful. Looking at those weeds was driving me mad!

Boo says sitting on cardboard is nicer than sitting on bare ground. Enjoy it now, kitty, because cardboard will be covered with grass soon!

No go juice

2009-06-09T05:00:00.002-06:00

Two things are absolutely necessary for a successful photographic adventure: 1) Vehicle filled with gasoline; 2) Camera with empty memory card and charged battery.

The camera was not the problem this time, but the go juice nearly was.

We drove the back roads on our way home from our bed and breakfast. No good way exists to reach Garden of God from the B&B. We took state highways through some very small towns, then took off on a gravel road.

We forgot one very elementary rule. Check your gas gauge before leaving!

We could have filled up at least once, but never thought about it.

We were in the middle of nowhere when Hubby looked at the gauge. Needle was hugging the E line. I could see the tops of a grain elevator on the horizon to the north, totally out of the way of our intended destination. We weren’t going to arrive without gasoline, so northward we went.

I’ve heard that 12 miles is the longest distance visible on level ground. Those elevators were all of that.

Twelve miles is a long, long way in a truck running on a bit more than fumes.

Hubby asked me to pray. As if I needed a reminder?

We had forgotten our cell phone, leaving it in the van, and no farmhouses were in evidence. If we ran out of gas, we faced a very long walk.

Surely, any place with an elevator would have a gas station.

Not this time.

These elevators were in a tiny, unincorporated town that lacked any gas station. The elevator sold us one gallon of gasoline, enough to get us the five miles to the gas station in the next tiny, unincorporated town.

I kept on praying. What a relief when we pulled into the station! (Yes, God does answer prayer, even when we behave foolishly.)

Hubby gave me a $20 bill to pay for fuel. I went in the only visible door, which entered a storage area stacked with motor vehicle parts. I asked the attendant to start the pump. He said he would, then disappeared. I saw no other door and expected him to return.

I sat in a chair next to the gasoline truck driver and chatted with him, all the while wondering where I was supposed to pay for this.

Hubby finished pumping gas and started staring at me, as if to say, “Will you get out here already? We need to leave!”

I was not about to run off without paying, but still had no idea where I’d find a cashier. Finally, I looked behind some of the shelves. A passageway with a door was hidden back there.

The cashier was startled when I appeared. Since the main entrance was on the other side of the building, opposite the gas pumps, she didn’t expect a customer to materialize out of the storage room. I gave cashier the $20, picked up a nice co-op cap and left.

“What took you so long?” Hubby asked.

“I couldn’t find the cashier!”

He just shook his head.

What’s a road trip without a little adventure?

Rock critter

2009-06-08T05:00:00.000-06:00

Even my imagination cannot decipher what kind of creature this might be. Is it a bird? Is it a guy in a helmet? Maybe a mythical beast of some sort?

Whatever this hunk of limestone might be, it’s truly amazing what a little imagination can invent.

Dead Car Rover

2009-06-07T05:00:00.002-06:00

I’m looking over this dead car, Rover,
With its parts scattered all over the yard
It’s hood is missing, the chassis is gone,

The pickup bed is somewhere else on the lawn.

No need explaining that there’s no seat remaining
And the steering wheel will turn no more

I’m looking over my old car, Rover,
Which is deader than any door!

The red box

2009-06-06T05:00:00.000-06:00

We rarely can resist stopping at these native stone houses. Next to sod houses, they are the ultimate in make-do building materials, but I had never seen one with a red metal box outside. I was hoping it was a Coke machine of some type.

Instead, it was a Hamilton automatic clothes dryer, billed as “The World’s First Automatic Clothes Dryer”.

In this 1950 ad, women were advised that they could "“Shed the Badge of a Drudge” by buying a new Hamilton dryer.

This machine would have been the latest gadget in 1950, but even the Hamilton name has been put out to pasture now. All that’s left of Hamilton dryers are sheet metal and memories.

Grass is always greener…

2009-06-05T05:00:00.002-06:00

This steer got out of his pasture and strolled across the road to visit the neighboring bull. After awhile, Steer decided it was time to return home.

Bull did not seem to care for being left alone. He turned around and let out a loud bellow, seemingly in protest of his loneliness.

Steer strolled back across the road toward his pasture,

only to find that he can’t go home again!

Shell Beach

2009-06-04T05:00:00.000-06:00

When we walked along Duck Flats at Cedar Bluff Reservoir, we noticed all kinds of shells on the beach. I’ve never gotten such a haul at any ocean beach as we did at this lake mud flat.

We ended up with a dozen of them. We hope to use them as bowls for seafood dip or other related foods. From what little I can find online, they seem to be food safe. One site mentioned covering them with resin, but I have no clue what to use. Does anyone else know?

Figments of my imagination

2009-06-03T10:45:00.003-06:00

I have never lacked imagination. Presented with an image, I often see things in it that other people do not. Tell me whether you see what I see in these pictures of driftwood at Cedar Bluff Reservoir/State Park. This one must be a pop-eyed shorthorn cow.

Who says God is not a Denver Bronco fan? After all, He created this Power Horse, although it must represent Thunder as a colt.

I suppose this could prove God is a Chicago Bear fan, but the Bears logo this most closely resembles was used from 1940-1953. The bear’s left eye must have gotten knocked out of place in a collision with a tackler.

I’m not sure whether this is a paw or a flipper. Teenage Mutant Ninja Bear, anyone?

Trego County rock formations

2009-05-31T18:29:00.003-06:00

Limestone rock formations may be found all along the Smoky Hill River in Kansas. They are so plentiful that many, like this one in Trego County, remain unnamed. This one is near our bed and breakfast.

Hubby is examining the rocks. The shovel is protection against snakes. Donna said she hadn’t seen snakes, but if any were present, they’d be in these rocks.

Trees and flowers grew in this very unpromising terrain. Don’t get too near the edge; these rocks are anything but solid.

I’ve often heard that the blue stratum contains fossils such as this one, but I’d never seen one before this one. We left this one intact, but took home another that had fallen on the ground. I just love little surprises like that, like a little present from God.

Kansas alligator

2009-05-30T13:32:00.005-06:00

Some years ago, golfers in Ulysses, Kan., discovered an alligator in a water hazard. Someone apparently had gotten a baby gator as a pet. When it got too big, its owners dumped it on the golf course. Leaving aside the dubious morality of abandoning a dangerous predator, what sort of fools would want one as a pet? Cue up the Jaws theme!

(This particular gator is sunning itself in a Louisiana swamp.)

Fortunately, this Kansas “alligator” is not a predatory reptile.

It’s just a log with a “head and eyes.” Amazing what a little imagination can conjure up from an innocent object.

Garden of God

2009-05-29T05:00:00.000-06:00

Garden of God is one of Kansas’ unknown treasures. It’s not even listed on the state’s official tourism site. Many of these strange rock formations along the Smoky Hill River are unnamed, but the docent at Butterfield Trail Museum said it was called Garden of God. The wind- and water-carved formations are a bit south of Russell Springs in a pasture right beside Kansas Highway 25.

Hubby was surprised when we arrived. He hadn’t expected something quite this interesting. He didn’t walk into the formations with me, but stayed on the ridge above them. He’s just visible above the rounded formation to the right. He called those bumps “glorified cow pies.” I think the gunmetal rocks are a kind of shale. Fossils are often found in that strata of rock.

The yellow limestone cracks and spalls easily, as does the shale. Explorers in this terrain need to be careful of their footing. When I walked in the narrow valleys between the formations, I hoped no downpour had been unleashed upstream. A flash flood would be hard to escape.

Erosional forces had carved crevices and small caves into the rocks, but I did not investigate them closely. Those would be prime places for rattlesnake nests. I have no desire to meet a viper.

To reach Garden of God from Interstate 70, take Highway 25 south out of Colby (Exit 53) or Highway 40 west out of Oakley (Exit 76). West of Oakley, Highways 25 and 40 run together for awhile until 25 turns south toward Leoti.

Fallen on hard times

2009-05-28T05:00:00.001-06:00

Not all Ness City’s buildings are as well preserved as the bank and courthouse. This pair of buildings across the street from the court house is sadly deteriorating.

This lion on the roof of the building on the right has decayed so much that it is hardly possible to discern what it once was. How sad.

The building features beautiful decorations in its native limestone masonry. Most of it is in good condition.

These beautiful wrought iron embellishments surround the entrance.

The iron was wrought by Capitol Iron Works of Topeka, which is still in business today. This building is a pretty good advertisement for their workmanship.

I hope someone has taken an interest in preserving at least the building on the right. If it is too far gone for preservation, I hope someone will be allowed to salvage the beautiful stonework and ironwork.

Note: I have since learned that the Lion Block Building is on Kansas Preservation Alliance’s 2009 list of Endangered Historic Places.

Ness County Courthouse

2009-05-27T05:00:00.002-06:00

Ness County Courthouse’s architecture is far simpler in design than its near neighbor Ness County Bank Building. (One of its turrets is visible to the right of the courthouse.)

Building began in 1917 and was finished in 1918. I am not conversant enough in architectural history to tell what style this is and the Internet is frustratingly silent. Understandably, the Ness County web pages focus more on the bank building than the courthouse, but their silence on their courthouse is aggravating. I can find only that the decorative wall around the courthouse was a Depression-era Works Progress Administration (WPA) project and that J.C. Holland was the architect.

Courthouse has one unusual feature, little paintings on each side of the building.

The Kansas state seal is depicted above the main entrance.

Windmills, as in this painting, dot the plains. They were the main way to bring water to the parched land. Thank God for the Ogallala Aquifer!

The western meadowlark and the wild sunflower are the Kansas state bird and flower.

The American buffalo is the state animal. Since we now have a state insect (honeybee), a state reptile (ornate box turtle), as well as a state bird, perhaps the buffalo should be reclassified as the state mammal. The Legislature has plenty to do these days, so I hope they don’t bother which such a triviality.

The courthouse has other interesting details also. This is on the railing for one of the stairways.

This is the roof line. I like these.

Not every interesting building in Ness City is as well preserved as the two I’ve already discussed, but that topic belongs to my next post.

Cpl. Noah Van Buren Ness

2009-05-26T14:58:00.006-06:00

Ness County, Kan., is named for Cpl. Noah Van Buren Ness, the only corporal to be so honored. His statue was unveiled in 2000, the first Civil War statue in Kansas for 60 years. Ness, who served with the Seventh Kansas Cavalry, died in 1864 of battle wounds received in Mississippi.

I could find no actual photograph or other contemporary image of Cpl. Ness in my Google image search, so have no way of comparing his sculpted face to his actual face. I often wonder how artists determine someone’s face with no evidence. I’d love to see any contemporary image of him if anyone has one.

Ness County Courthouse’s signature architectural feature is shown through the statue’s sword handle.

More about that tomorrow.

Decoration Day

2009-05-25T14:21:00.002-06:00

My grandmother always called Memorial Day “Decoration Day”, the original name for the holiday. Decorating graves was always our family tradition. We cut flowers, put them in water-filled buckets and spent the morning in various cemeteries.

My brother and I always wondered off and looked at the old tombstones. We were especially interested in the veterans’ stones, what wars they had served in, what rank they had obtained. What combat had they seen? What terrible memories did they carry?

What sacrifices had they and their families made for our current freedoms? What would they think of what we had done with those freedoms?

That is not something I can answer, but I hope they would feel that the sacrifice was worth it.

May God bless and keep every veteran and comfort those who have lost the ones they loved for our protection.

Photo is of a cemetery in Parsons, Kan., and comes from Flickr.

Moorish attorney's office

2009-05-21T12:23:00.002-06:00

This hand-carved door is beautiful in its own right, but looking at it through the wrought iron adds to its charm.

An attorney’s office is immediately adjacent to Ness County Bank Building. Even though the architectural styles differ, they complement each other.

Here is the sunburst in greater detail.

The bottom of the door features panels showing six of the 12 zodiac signs. The libra panel is very appropriate for an attorney’s office.

This tile fountain was on the west side of the entrance. Unfortunately, it was not running at the time of our visit. It must sound very refreshing in the scorching dry heat of a High Plains summer.

A narrow courtyard separates the attorney from the bank building. It looked so inviting, but we didn’t enter.

Here is a slightly different view. I’d love to have an oasis like this next to my office, wouldn’t you?

Ness City Bank

2009-05-20T14:00:00.006-06:00

I love architecture, especially architectural detail. We had read about Ness County Bank Building, a/k/a “The Skyscraper of the Plains”. Since we were just a few miles away this weekend, we decided to look at it. It is beautiful and looks as pristine as a 120-year-old building can be.

Since we were there on Sunday, the building was closed to the public. Someone was hosting a graduation reception there, which this lady was apparently attending.

The carvings are incredible. These are acanthus leaves on the front entrance. Note the gorgeous rounded corner detail just above the main entrance column.

The beautiful front door reflects the entrance and some of the Ness City business district. The balloon is inside.

All those years of use have rubbed the front door latch to a beautiful finish.

This carving is on the front of the stairway to the main entrance.

This carving is on the landing.

Merrill Trust Company’s logo is above the south — or Chamber of Commerce — entrance.

This supports a column at the Chamber entrance.

This is the back door handle.

This is detail from the Chamber entrance’s archway.

This is the corner of the building above the Chamber entrance.

I highly commend this community for rescuing and preserving their great treasure.

Butterfield Trail Bunkhouse

2009-05-19T10:08:00.005-06:00

For our 15th anniversary getaway, we stayed at the Butterfield Trail Bunkhouse. It’s quite a rustic place. This is the bunkhouse.

These are the his and hers outhouses.

I’m just kidding. I don’t do outhouses. Yuck! I like a break from civilization, but not that much of one! The box on the left is actually a place for newborn calves to be kept out of the cold.

This is where we stayed, a three-room concrete block home that was a very comfortable getaway location. It stands in a valley in the middle of a pasture surrounded by trees in three directions. Neighbors are far enough away that their lights cannot be seen. The stars overhead were incredible.

Donna, our hostess, brought us this pretty bouquet for our anniversary. At first I thought it was made of lilacs, to which I am very allergic. I was relieved to see otherwise. She also gave us slices of a lemon poppy seed layer cake with strawberry slices between the layers. Delicious!

Bunkhouse’s previous owner was a lifelong bachelor, so the house was definitely devoid of frou-frou touches. In honor of her husband’s uncle, Donna has kept the dècor simple. The curtain rods, kitchen drawer and door pulls are all made of branches.

The hooks holding up the kitchen curtain rod are old spoons. Even with the simplicity, she said the dècor would probably be too much for Uncle. I was amused to find that the bathroom had no power outlets. That definitely shows a bachelor inhabited the house. A woman would have wanted to plug in her blow dryer or curling iron.

When Donna and William wanted to put in a new kitchen at their house, they had to tear out their porch. They rented a jackhammer, thinking that the concrete would be fairly simple to remove. Instead, they discovered that it was full of rebar. Rather than get rid of the rebar, she used it for curtain rods in their house. Now that’s creativity!

The breakfasts were great as well. We recommend this bed and breakfast highly.

Before and after

2009-05-15T05:00:00.000-06:00

I saw the orthopedist Monday for my first postoperative appointment. He was very pleased with my progress so far. He tested my range of motion and strength and said it was very good for this point in recovery.

He also gave me the pictures from the arthroscope during the operation. If you are exceptionally squeamish, go no further. I promise that you will see no blood, just tissue.

Even though my shoulder aches and doesn’t work the best right now, I am very pleased that I had this done. Instead of continuing to get worse, I am getting better. WOO HOO!


Rotator cuff before debridment
This is my rotator cuff before anything was done to it. Notice how fuzzy it is. Hubby compared it to a teased-out cotton ball. The body’s interior surfaces are supposed to be smooth, but this certainly is not.

Here the machine is debrideing my shoulder. It’s combing the frayed tendons so the stray strands may be removed. I thought this picture was absolutely fascinating.

Here is the tendon after debridement or, as I think of it, defuzzing. See how smooth it is?

This is my AC joint. Note the brown areas toward the bottom of the picture. This area has been injured so badly that it bled. I don’t know when or how many times that would have happened. I have injured this shoulder numerous times. I have no clue which one(s) were bad enough to make it bleed that far inside my arm. Also, this cartilage is very rough. Rough is bad; smooth is good.
Notice that most of the brown stuff is gone. The steak bone looking thing is just that. Bone. He shaved off about half an inch of arthritic bone that was rubbing on bone. My shoulder made horrible noises in that area and now they are gone.

This shows fraying under my scapula. I had often felt that I had something grinding back there, something stuck between my shoulder blade and ribs. I was right. I had experienced much pain in my left mid-back. I no longer have that uncomfortable feeling that something is stuck in my back. Here’s why.

I went from fuzzy to smooth in that area. A bit of fuzz is still showing, but that was removed in another picture.

Get me to the church on time!

2009-05-14T11:01:00.004-06:00

In my wedding op order, I told everyone to be at the church by 11:32. Someone had told me that people pay more attention to odd times than they do to times like 11:30.

The bride did not follow her own instructions. I didn’t arrive the church until shortly before noon. This was not due to my choice! Bridesmaid Kelly and I were eating breakfast when suddenly everyone else vanished. They even took my car. We had no way to get to the church. And they did not return.

This was not a good thing. I had set this deadline and I should obey it! What kind of example was I setting? Oh my.

I paced up and down the dining room, fretting and complaining all the while. I was not a happy camper. How dare they take my car and strand me here? Had they forgotten me?

Kelly kept trying to calm me down, to soothe my uptight nerves, but I was having none of that.

I wanted to be at the church and I wanted to be there right this minute!

Dad got a rather angry welcome when he finally showed up in my Oldsmobile. Once we arrived the church, all was well. Even though Kelly and I were late, the wedding still started right on time. Whew!

Marking 15 years together

2009-05-14T05:00:00.001-06:00

Fifteen years ago today, I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm toward the handsomest man I had ever seen.

I was so decked out that he hardly recognized me!

Pastor Steve insisted that we compose our own vows. I regret that because I cannot remember what we said. They are in my huge wedding scrapbook, so I can look them up when I want to.

The traditional ones are hard to improve on: “For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

We’ve had all those and we are still happily married. I am grateful every day that I married my wonderful, funny, handsome, charming, precious husband!

Most weddings have funny little bloopers. I didn’t want bloopers; I’d seen enough of those! So I made a 15-page operations order (“op order”) and sent it to everyone who had anything to do with the wedding. In consequence, all went well — except for one detail.

After the giving away portion of the ceremony, we were supposed to step forward so my train was not blocking the pew where my parents were seated. We forgot. Dad knew better than to step on my mother’s masterpiece of a wedding gown. He had to jump over the train. How I wish I had a picture of that!

I had told no one that I intended to kiss my daddy after he gave me away, but the photographer got that picture, for which I am very grateful.

The Murphy's Law wedding

2009-05-13T05:00:00.001-06:00

George and Irene after their wedding.
She’s holding the infamous throwing
bouquet instead of the one she had
planned to carry.

Going to a wedding, as we did Saturday, brings back memories of weddings past, our own and others.

All weddings are memorable occasions, but some are more memorable than others. In May 1989, I was the maid of honor in the most nightmare wedding of all I’ve had anything to do with. Murphy and his law disrupted the festivities repeatedly. I wondered if the mess would ever end.

It all started with the dresses. Irene’s roommate Julie was supposed to make them. She procrastinated and procrastinated. Finally, Irene and I agreed to confiscate the material and send it to my mother, who had agreed to make them for her. But Julie had taken the material somewhere else, foiling our plan.

She was still making them on the night of the rehearsal. The fit was atrocious. While Julie was fitting the gowns, Irene and I were in another room tossing her throwing bouquet back and forth between us.

Irene intended to sing to George, but the church had no way to play an accompaniment tape. So my stereo system was pressed into service. During rehearsal, all went well with my stereo.

Irene had asked the florist to put all the flowers into the refrigerator in the church’s basement. When we arrived that morning, we found the boutonnieres in the fridge, but nothing else. No corsages, no bride’s bouquet. (Bridesmaids’s bouquets were silk.) I asked the best man and groomsmen to search for the missing flowers while I started getting dressed. I helped Irene dress as well.

God bless the best man! He was a career Army sergeant in George’s ROTC cadre and was unflappable. He finally found the corsages in a Sunday school room at the back of the church. That was a relief, but Irene still did not have her bouquet. She was getting very stressed by all this. So was I, but I told her, “We will get through this and all will be well!”

What did I know?

With all these distractions, I had not finished dressing when the photographer started pounding on our door. He was demanding that we pose for pictures. He said that we were behind schedule. “She can’t be late for her own wedding!”

She was near tears at this. “I’ll deal with him,” I said.

I told him that the wedding could not start without the bride. When we were ready, we’d come out for whatever we could get done before the ceremony.

He was still persistent. I told him to leave us alone so we could finish dressing. He was mad, but I did not care.

Irene had to walk up the aisle with her throwing bouquet. Then disaster struck again. When we hit the stereo’s start button, nothing happened. I fiddled with the machine, but could not make anything work. The silence was deafening and I was mortally embarrassed. I tried everything I could think of to make it work, but nothing helped. Finally, it was apparent that the stereo was not going to work. We scratched the song and George went ahead with the poem he had written for his bride.

The rest of the ceremony continued without incident.

Once the wedding was over and the bride and groom had left for the reception, I threw everything we had left at the church into the back of my Escort. It had a hatchback and I had put down the back seats for maximum room. While we were gathering up our stuff, someone saw Irene’s bouquet. It had been placed on top of a cupboard in the same Sunday school room where the corsages had been. What was that florist thinking?

At least she got to carry it during the reception.

As planned, I caught the throwing bouquet. Julie was disappointed and angry. “You planned this! You wanted her to catch it and not me!” Well, she was right, but I did not see what was such a big deal. After all, I didn’t marry my Mr. Right until five years (and at least one more bouquet catch) later.

After George and Irene left for their wedding night, more stuff went into the back of my Escort. I went to their house, fell on the couch and could not move. Irene’s mom showed up, looking for her purse. I dragged myself off that couch and we looked in the back of my car. We had a hard time seeing anything in the dark. The porch light and car dome light weren’t bright enough to illuminate every detail.

She said she’d attend that church the next morning and look for her purse after the service.

I fell back onto the couch. I could not muster up enough energy even to remove my bridesmaid’s gown. I slept fully dressed for several hours.

George and Irene came home about 11 the next morning. They unwrapped their gifts, then left. I crashed again. About 45 minutes later, they called. Their car had broken down. Could I come get them so they could catch their train to their final honeymoon destination?

Of course I could. I picked them up at the repair place, then I drove them the hour to the train station.

When I arrived home again, I figured the wedding had finally ended.

Not so.

A few minutes later, Irene’s mom showed up again. She still could not find her purse! We looked in my car again, but saw no purse. I promised I’d mail it to her when/if I found it.

I went back in the house, thinking that surely I had to be finished with this wedding!

A few minutes later, she showed up again! “I just had to look one more time before I leave,” she said.

Finally we saw that blasted purse. It had fallen down between the seats and was just barely visible. She drove away satisfied. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and took a long nap.

Even with all those difficulties, I count this as a successful wedding. They are still married 20 years later. Happy 20th anniversary, George and Irene! I cannot believe that it has been that long.

He's got her, babe!

2009-05-12T05:00:00.000-06:00

I have attended and been a part of so many weddings, but I doubt I’ve ever been to one that was so sweet and fun. (Well, our own excepted.)

In the “Who gives this woman” part of the wedding, Pastor Mike told Jake to say “I will” if he assented to the questions. Jake got rather ahead of schedule and said “I will!”

Pastor: “Not now, Jake!”

Pastor Mike also had to remind Leslie to hug her dad as he gave her away.

Once through the giving away part, the couple, pastor and attendants stepped up onto the platform, then the couple addressed the crowd. They asked us to honor the chief invited guest, Jesus Christ. Jake cited Matt. 18:20, “For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them” and we applauded the unseen Honored Guest.

The recessional was decidedly nontraditional: Sonny and Cher singing I Got You, Babe, a song that hit the charts before they were even born. They danced their way out of the church. It was so fun and so them!

Because Leslie is a sheriff’s deputy, she and Jake received a police escort to their reception, with a detour down Main Street. What a fun beginning to their married life!

Only Fools Rush In

2009-05-11T12:55:00.004-06:00

We attended Leslie and Jake’s wedding Saturday. At the Bible study we all attend, I sang Going to the Chapel and Marilyn joined in, harmonizing around me. Leslie said she wanted us to sing that at her reception, so I printed off two copies of the lyrics. I like being prepared!

As Marilyn, Wendy and I were visiting, I told them that I had Only Fools Rush In stuck in my head and I could not push it out! So we started to sing the Elvis classic.

The wedding party was seated close enough to us that they could hear us singing, but not what we were singing.

“Are you singing?” Leslie asked. When told we were, she told us to get up and share! We first sang Going to the Chapel, then segued into Only Fools Rush In. I couldn’t believe that I was singing classic oldies with two of my friends in front of a crowd with almost no practice, but we apparently sounded pretty good. Whether we did or not, it surely was fun and a dream come true!

The pastor that married Jake and Leslie is leaving, so their church held a going-away party for him last night. They were there and we learned the rest of the story.

They liked Only Fools Rush In so much that they had considered using it in their ceremony. When we sang that, Jake asked Leslie, “Did you ask them to sing that?

”No,” she replied.

They were totally delighted. She told us, “[Your song] was truly a blessing and a God thing!”

God is truly interested in the details.

I thank Amy Fenner Photography for taking the picture and allowing me to use it. Amy is truly gifted. Check her out.

Spring flowers -- and less pleasant plants

2009-05-08T05:00:00.000-06:00

All winter, I look forward to spring. Spring has been delayed this year. January, February and early March were unseasonably warm. We even celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with an evening picnic.

On March 19, winter returned and has held us in his grip, to varying degrees, nearly ever since. Our tulips came up very late, but here they are at last.I so enjoy watching for my perennials’ return each year. Watching my plantings, like these hostas, come back is like opening a birthday present.Our ash tree is sprouting leaves again, which gives promise of shade from the future heat of summer. This tree shades Hubby when he’s grilling. Trees are a delight.However, some growing things are not a delight. Bindweed is high on the list of hateful plants. I had to spray Roundup on this stuff two or three times last year to knock it down and here the nasty stuff is growing again. How I hate it! I’ve hated it since I was a little kid. I had to pull it out only to have it grow again. It has such wickedly long roots that it’s nearly impossible to eradicate.Until earlier this spring, I never knew what this wicked weed was named. It’s henbit and I hate it, too. Our local Extension agent said that this wicked thing must be sprayed in the fall. Spraying it in the spring is a waste of money, time and effort, he said. This nasty stuff had nearly taken over one of my flower beds. When I ripped it out Wednesday afternoon, a couple of my tulip bulbs came up, too. I was none too pleased at that, but it couldn’t be helped. I pushed the bulbs into the ground again and hope they’ll recover from their uprooting.

The incident reminded me of one of Jesus’ parables: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared. The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn't you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’

‘An enemy did this,’ he replied.

The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’

‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may root up the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.’ (Matt. 13:24-29 NIV)

I’m grateful that I’ll be one of the wheat sheaves gathered into the Lord’s barn. I sure would hate to be considered a noxious weed!

"Meaner than Billy the Kid"

2009-05-07T05:00:00.001-06:00

Hubby and I went on a trip in August 2007 that I had won in 2006. We stayed in Vail and Keystone, Colo., and we spent one evening of that trip at 4 Eagle Ranch above Wolcott, Colo. I finished that scrapbook Friday night. I’m not behind at all! HA!

As part of our visit to 4 Eagle, we received four coupons for old-fashioned looking pictures. Of course, we had to dress up as Pa and Ma Barker. Hubby asked for the Jim Beam bottle as a prop. Photographer had never thought of using that, so the liquid in that bottle is actually JB whiskey. Proprietors said they would save that bottle after it was emptied for photo props.

Hubby says I look “meaner than Billy the Kid” in this picture! You be the judge.
When I was working on the 4 Eagle pages in my book, I used Western embellishments that I had gotten for another project. One of those embellishment packets had a rope (well, OK, a string) with a loop tied on one end. I just could not resist tying this rope around Billy’s neck.

Since I am a confirmed recycler, I did my best not to buy lots of embellishments. Instead, I cannibalized many magazines and brochures we had picked up on our trip. Cutting information and embellishments from them saved me much money. I cut everything on this page from magazines — except the postcard. Recycling publications makes me feel so virtuous! I save money, make my page look good and diminish (a little bit) what goes into the landfill.

Mostly, I’m glad to have this project finished!

Billy the Kid’s picture comes from ChronicleoftheOldWest.com

Be prepared

2009-05-06T05:00:00.000-06:00

While we were wandering around this abandoned homestead, some large bird flew out at Wendy, giving her quite a start.

I laughed, but the tables soon turned. When I entered another outbuilding, a large whitish raptor flew out of a hole in the wall. I jumped, too. I wish I had been more prepared so I could have gotten a picture of that magnificent bird. The only picture I have is in my mind. The bird flew away so quickly that I was unable to ascertain its species. I only know that it was big and beautiful.

Darn. I hate missed opportunities. Hopefully, I’ll be more on the ball next time.

Isn't technology amazing?

2009-05-05T05:00:00.000-06:00

With a little encouragement, my last bandage fell off yesterday morning. I am amazed at how small these incisions are! Even though I know precisely where they are in this picture, I still had to magnify it a great deal. Otherwise, I could not see them well enough to circle them for your viewing.

I’ve seen the scars on people who had shoulder surgery before arthroscopy. They are nasty, long marks. I am so grateful that I was able to hold out on surgery long enough to receive these little bitty incisions. Oh, thank You, Lord!

Pam and Janna, the PTs, were again pleased with my progress when I went in for my appointment Monday afternoon. I lack some strength and range of motion, especially on my side, but they say that I am doing well. I can’t do yard work yet, but I will be patient and follow what they tell me to do. I want this surgery to take!

I am so looking forward to a quiet, fully operational shoulder for the first time in 20 years. If I must endure looking at a less-than-optimal yard for awhile, then I must. The healing is worth that — and a lot more.

What a view!

2009-05-04T10:17:00.002-06:00

Friend Wendy and I drove around the country on Saturday, a beautifully overcast day with intermittent sprinkles. Our weather has been rainy for the past few days, which is a great blessing in our semiarid climate. In consequence, wheat fields are a carpet of green, a wonderful change from their state after our very dry winter.

This particular abandoned homestead stood on top of a hill that dominated the landscape. The hill fell off quickly to the south, giving the occupants a beautiful view of the surrounding countryside. I always wonder why people have left their homes. What was their story? Were they chased away by one of the successive farm crises that made working the land untenable for greater numbers of people? Or was there simply no one who wanted to take up the land when the previous generation could no longer farm it? I’ll probably never know the answer.

No matter the cause for this homestead’s abandonment, the view is still spectacular.

So many options

2009-04-30T08:49:00.004-06:00

My camera has returned from the shop at last. I felt such relief when I picked up my camera again! I don’t want to go through D40 withdrawal again.

I’ve been in such misery for the last six weeks or so that I could hardly function. I dragged myself through my daily routine with ever-increasing difficulty. I felt as if I were going through life in a fog. I made so many mistakes. Details eluded me.

Even if I had had my camera, I’m not sure how good my work would have been.

The shoulder still hurts, but it’s a different sort of pain. I no longer feel in a fog. Yes, I tire easily, but I can THINK again! Today I’ve had more focus, more purpose in what I’m doing than I’ve had for some time. What a relief!

I’ve been researching online photo sales options today. That’s overwhelming. The options are so numerous that my mind boggles. I am hoping to begin uploading stock photos as well as better market the site I already have.

At the same time, I want to find some kind of display space for the actual pictures now that my show has closed.

I’ll still continue to dabble in other crafts, but I’d like to integrate them with my pictures as well.

This should be an interesting journey. I’m hoping you’ll take it with me.

Successful surgery

2009-04-29T08:08:00.002-06:00

Shoulder surgery was successful. Orthopedist cleaned out a lot of junk. Hubby said I had so many bone spurs that he was reminded of a cave full of stalactites and stalagmites. No wonder my shoulder has grated and popped for so many years, even though I tried to avoid making those noises. The rotator cuff was damaged, which the MRI had not shown. Arthroscope pictures showed a lot of fuzz on those tendons. Orthopedist told me he snipped off the fuzz, comparing that part of the operation to snipping hangnails. The pictures looked like my rotator cuff was a teased-out cotton ball, or so Hubby said. I haven’t seen those pictures myself. I hope to see them during my post-op appointment May 11.

Yesterday I started physical therapy. The therapists were surprised and pleased with how much range of motion I already have. I was pleased not to feel/hear that unpleasant grating at various places in my shoulder. PT did not feel too bad yesterday during my session, but when I did the exercises at home last night and this morning, they hurt.

I wish I knew the line between pushing through the pain and avoiding further injury.

About to get my camera back

2009-04-28T08:44:00.002-06:00

I’ve been without my precious Nikon since mid-March. I had to pester the warranty company for a month before I received the paperwork to send in my broken camera. I sent in just the camera body since the problem was only with the body, not the lens.

(I tried uploading a picture of a D40, but Blogger is in an uncooperative mood today!)

When I thought the camera was about to be fixed and sent to me, I found out that I needed to ship the lens to them. I’ve been forgetting necessary details in this fog of pain I’m in all the time. When I shipped off the lens, I stupidly didn’t put my label on it nor the job number nor write down the serial number before I shipped it. Thankfully, my friend Martha, who ships items all the time for her puppet business, had persuaded me to pay extra to the post office for a tracking number.

I called the repair place. The first lady I talked to was incredulous. “You did WHAT?”

She forwarded me to someone else, who was much nicer. This lady took my tracking number and said all would be well. I was grateful to her. This was right before my surgery and worrying about my camera wasn’t what I needed to be doing.

I called camera repair company again yesterday. They gave me a UPS tracking number. I should have my camera again Wednesday. I can hardly wait. Blogging without a digital camera is just too difficult. Working with a film camera when I’m used to the instant feedback of a digital isn’t nearly as much fun. I’m definitely spoiled.

I like being spoiled. My shutter finger is itching already … and I’m not even certain my left arm can reach high enough to hold the camera in front of my face. Oh, well. Just holding it in my hands again will be such sweet relief.

Once it comes, I hope to be posting a lot more than I have been doing in the last months.

Flannelgraph stories

2009-04-18T13:32:00.004-06:00

I made the PowerPoint presentation for Sunday morning’s service. When I asked our pastor about PowerPoint for the sermon, he explained that he didn’t have one this week.

Since our screen looks awfully strange with nothing projected on it, I asked him if he had anything I could use. He said that he was starting a series in the Old Testament and that he wanted to give a survey of that part of the Bible before getting into the series.

If I could find anything, he said the sermon title would be “Piecing Together the Flannelgraph.” Those of us who grew up in evangelical/fundamentalist churches saw our Sunday school lessons displayed as flannelgraph pictures each week.

My mother was an avid supporter of Child Evangelism Fellowship and bought about every flannelgraph book they had. I got to cut out the figures. I loved doing that. The smell of the fresh paper and the flocking on the back (CEF in fuzzy block letters stepped and repeated like wallpaper). I was extremely meticulous about my cutting, although I did draw the line at cutting out the eyelashes. That was a bit much to ask.

She had wonderful flannel backgrounds, too. She had painted most of them and they were pretty good. Oddly enough, although she was an expert at every craft she had ever tried, I never saw my mother paint any other pictures than those on the flannelgraph board.

I was secretly amused at her flannelgraph presentations. Of course, by the time I saw the live presentation, I’d sat through or at least heard numerous practices. My mother did not leave anything to chance. And, as a very avid reader, I’d already read the entire story and stage directions in her book. So, instead of listening to the story, I paid attention how my mother told the story.

She was a good presenter and her presentations were polished. But the voice she used was very different from her normal speaking voice. I never could pinpoint the difference, even to myself, but it was definitely different. I called it her “Flannelgraph Voice.” And it amused me.

Until today, I hadn’t thought about cutting out flannelgraph books for years, but thinking about it makes me nostalgic. Looking back, I see that cutting out my mother’s flannelgraph figures was my introduction to paper crafts. I still find cutting paper to be a very relaxing activity. I just wish I could hear my mother’s voice again, even if it was her “Flannelgraph Voice.”

Picture comes from the blog Stuff Fundies Like.

Shoulder surgery

2009-04-14T10:25:00.002-06:00

I have endured arm pain for at least six weeks. I finally saw the orthopedist Monday. As I expected, he said that I need surgery. I’ve torn one of my bicep tendons, arthritis has greatly narrowed the space between my clavicle and acromion (part of the scapula) and I have a spur sticking down from clavicle into bursa between clavicle and scapula. Orthopedist will clean all of that up, plus anything else the MRI does not show.

Surgery is scheduled for 8:45 a.m. Thursday, April 23. I’m looking forward to getting this over with.

Shoulder drawing came from OurHealthNetwork.com.

RedBrickRoad.com

2009-04-09T11:12:00.002-06:00

I have been quite remiss in sharing my photo website with you. All the pictures from my show are available for order on RedBrickRoad.com.

Self-promotion is not the easiest thing for me to do, but it is necessary, especially in the overcrowded online world. So, please go check out my online photo gallery.

All orders are greatly appreciated!

Grandma's house never looked so good

2009-04-08T18:42:00.005-06:00

Add darkness to this scene plus less visibility and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what we were driving in.

Hubby is today’s guest blogger.

Over the icy highway and through a blinding blizzard to Grandmother’s house we went…

For the first 38 years of my 42-year life, Grandma's farmhouse, located in the center of my home county, was associated with great food and good times. My paternal grandmother lived on the farm from 1946 until her death in March 1991. Then in 1994 — the year of our marriage — my Aunt Eloyce returned to the farm from Portland, Ore.

Both women were excellent bakers and cooks. Grandma Lila specialized in oatmeal cookies, while Aunt Eloyce ran a commercial baked good company and later a bakery in the county seat town just five highway miles west. Eloyce, Roxie and I often enjoyed cooking bistro-style dishes. After Eloyce’s death from cancer almost five years ago, her husband, Uncle Rick, spent another 18 months on the farm, until moving to his son’s farm. He also died too young in his middle 50s.

Since late 2005, no one has lived in the once-glorious, two-story farmhouse with four gables built circa 1908 that features a couple stained or frosted glass windows. The house is in need of exterior paint and a tremendous amount of interior work.

Uncle Gary, a wheat, corn, sunflower and feed grain farmer and cattle rancher, uses the house daily to prepare lunches, conduct farm business or take an occassional nap. Guests are rare. The house occasionally serves as a weekend shelter for the family members.

Let’s say that “Farmer Gary’s Bed and Breakfast” just ain’t frou-frou.

Last Saturday Roxie and I joined our friend Tonya for supper and concert in a town located 60 miles to our northeast. For two days the weather service had forecasted a winter storm. Even so, Tonya and I decided mid-afternoon to keep our supper plans.

Roxie and I drove though some light snow and heavy winds to our intermediate destination, Tonya’s house.

Roxie said, “You are nuts to be traveling today. Tonight is supposed to be worse.”

Perhaps I should have listened to her wisdom. About a third of the way back from the concert, we hit the snowstorm, marked by light-to-moderate snow and 35 to 55 mph northwesterly winds.

We dropped Tonya off at her hometown nine miles east of the farmhouse. Those nine miles to the highway junction and farm were some of the longest nine miles I’ve ever driven. Increasing snow accumulation blinded us. The snow was falling horizontally, whipped by the strong winds.

In the first two miles we decided we would not travel the 27 miles south at the junction, but instead take refuge at the farm or my parents’ house in the county seat town another five miles west. Often, I had to slow to a crawl in the zero visibility. Once we finally arrived at the corner where the farm’s driveway is, we could barely make out the driveway’s entrance.

Even though we could hardly see a thing, Grandma’s house had never looked so good! I believe the spirits of Grandma Lila and Aunt Eloyce and the heavenly angels were watching over us, guiding us to a shelter in a time of storm! When we entered the enclosed back porch, we found the house locked.

We called Uncle Gary at 11:30 p.m. on our cell and he came out into the storm to let us in. He had a difficult time finding the farm driveway, even though he makes the short drive every day from his current home to the only other home in which he’s ever lived.

Uncle Gary told us we were nuts to be traveling and weather conditions weren’t fit for man or beast.

After a decent night’s sleep our host returned to assist us in making scrambled farm eggs, ring sausage, toast and grapes. I asked him if he was going to open the farm house full-time as a bed and breakfast and also teach city folks how to farm and ranch. He said no with an expletive. We told him we’d even give him free advertising on this blog. Why, in our master suite we even found a Glamour and a Cosmopolitan magazine (likely left by Eloyce’s daughter who now lives in North Carolina). I asked if they belonged to him. His response: another expletive. Glamour and Cosmopolitan for the guests; now that’s what I call borderline frou-frou!

After breakfast, we left farm to come home. Snowplow had passed through, but we could plainly see that the sections of the road had been impassable.

Grandma’s house had truly never looked so good. A warm bed is much better than a cold pickup stuck in a snowbank.

Picture comes from blog Olla Podrida.

No alibi

2009-04-04T05:00:00.001-06:00

My college friend Mila Marie reminded me that we shared many “fun times” when we were in school together.

We went to a very strict conservative Christian college, but we still managed to have lots of fun.

One year, my dorm room looked out to the street. Mila came over one day and we devised a fun pastime. When we saw someone we knew, we yelled out the window “U G L Y: You ain’t got no alibi. You’re ugly, ugly, absolutely ugly!” Once we finished this “cheer” we ducked down as far as we could and still see the person’s reaction.

This went on for awhile. We were hooting with laughter as we watched people craning and turning their necks to see who had yelled at them.

Then disaster hit.

We cheered at someone else we knew, but we didn’t see that the Dean of Women and a friend were right behind that person. The dean was not known for her sense of humor.

She roared, “Who yelled that?”

Of course, we weren’t about to confess. If we had, our hides would likely have adorned her office wall. We valued our skin.

She ordered her minions to discover who had yelled that wicked phrase in her direction. They searched, but when they came to my room, Mila and I were the picture of innocent students hard at work on our studies.

If the searcher had only known us, she would have known much better. Mila and I were rarely innocent. Cooking up pranks was way too much fun!

Graphic borrowed from JunkMailGreetings.com.

Lost her marbles

2009-04-03T05:00:00.002-06:00

When I was in high school German, our teacher (Lehrerin) often assigned us skits.

When we reached the unit on medical terms, Mike was a neurologist (ein Neurologe), I was his receptionist-nurse (Arzthelferin- Krankenschwester) and Jackie was our patient (Patientin). When Jackie entered our office, we diagnosed a brain tumor (Gehirntumor) and told her she needed an immediate operation (einer unverzüglich Operation).

She lay down on the operating table (Operationtisch) and we cut an incision (Inzision) in her head. Of course, all this activity was discreetly hidden behind a stage curtain (Theatervorhang).

Then Mike tipped over a box of white marbles. As the marbles poured all over the floor, I exclaimed, “Ach, nein! Sie hatte ihre Marbeln verloren!” (Oh, no! She has lost her marbles!)

The class and teacher howled with laughter and we got an A+.

However, maybe we shouldn’t have gotten graded quite so highly. According to my favorite German-English language dictionary (Wörterbuch), the idiomatic translation would be Sie nicht (mehr) alle Tassen im Schrank haben or “She has no (more) cups in the cupboard!”

Oh, well. I’ll never complain about a perfect grade! Danke, Frau Kreiger!

Photo is borrowed from AntiqueTrader.com.

You know you live on the High Plains when...

2009-04-02T05:00:00.001-06:00

The first thing you think upon seeing this view is, “Man, what a perfect wind tunnel! I’ll bet the wind howls through that break in the hills all winter long! Where’s their windbreak?”

When we visited 4 Eagle Ranch in late August 2007, the wind was not howling. In fact, the evening was very pleasant, a wonderful escape from the burning heat of the plains. Only the lightest breeze caressed us.

But I’m sure winter would be a different story. Or even this time of year when we are all plagued by early spring gales.

I’m sick of these gales. Breeze is great. Howling wind isn’t.

PS: Happy Birthday, Deborah Lynn. Prayers are going up for your hubby’s successful recovery.

Dragonflies are free

2009-04-01T09:01:00.003-06:00

	Last summer, this dragonfly landed on the wind screen beside our back door. It stayed just long enough for me to snap three pictures, two of which are shown here. I am fascinated by the detail God lavishes on His creatures. This little dragonfly is beautifully designed. I love the honeycomb wings, engineering at its finest.
	I wonder why the dragonfly’s eye has a white spot in this picture. Is it reflecting me and my camera? I wonder what the dragonfly thought of the huge human leaning over it with a machine attached to her face. It must not have appreciated a camera being pointed at it, because it flew away just after I shot this picture. I hope I see more of these insects soon.

All good things must come to an end

2009-03-31T14:25:00.003-06:00

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

2009-03-28T05:00:00.000-06:00

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

2009-03-27T09:19:00.004-06:00

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

2009-03-21T08:37:00.003-06:00

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

2009-03-20T05:00:00.000-06:00

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

2009-03-18T20:10:00.003-06:00

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

2009-03-16T19:22:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-16T19:04:00.004-06:00

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

2009-03-10T12:55:00.006-06:00

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

2009-03-10T12:11:00.007-06:00

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

2009-03-09T08:29:00.006-06:00

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

2009-03-05T10:45:00.005-07:00

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

2009-03-04T07:49:00.003-07:00

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

2009-03-02T09:00:00.003-07:00

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.

Queen of Mardi Gras

2009-02-27T05:00:00.000-07:00

Mardi Gras dinners traditionally end with King Cake. Ours is no exception. Last year I made a traditional King Cake, using a pecan half as the charm to determine who was King/Queen of Mardi Gras. That person inherits the responsibility of providing King Cake for next year’s party.

Marilyn’s piece contained the pecan half, making her Queen.

We weren’t overly impressed with King Cake and decided to make something different. My mother used to make Swedish Tea Rings, but Marilyn and I both dislike kneading. I found recipe using bread machine. We made a deal. Since I’m the one who owns the bread machine, I would make the dough and shape it. She would bake and decorate it.

Jacqui gets a good laugh as she watches Marilyn crown herself.

A brainstorm (or was it a brain cramp?) struck me early Saturday morning. Wouldn’t a tiara be a fun accessory for our Mardi Gras Queen? So I bought one. It even came with a bling-bling ring!

Queen Marilyn demonstrates her mastery of the “royal wave”.

Queen Marilyn didn’t wear the tiara for long. She said wearing it hurt her head. As Shakespeare said, “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

This year, Ava (left) got the cake piece with the die symbolizing the Queen of Mardi Gras. The die is cast and she’s the Queen!

Bisque to die for

2009-02-26T05:00:00.005-07:00

Our sister-in-love served us her Crab and Corn Bisque in December 2007. We loved it. She gave us the recipe, writing it in the cookbook she had given Hubby for Christmas.

The next March, we hosted a Mardi Gras dinner using that cookbook. Our guests ate so much of the bisque that they hardly had room for the rest of the meal. A tradition was born. All our guests said they wanted to return in 2009 for Mardi Gras and that delicious bisque.

Mardi Gras isn’t a state holiday in this part of the world, so we held our party last Saturday night. And, yes, we served that wonderful bisque. Recipe follows. It’s surprisingly simple.

Stefaney’s Crab and Corn Bisque

Printer-friendly PDF

Ingredients:
1 lb. lump crab meat (do not use imitation crab)
1 pt. heavy cream
1 can evaporated milk
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can whole kernel corn, drained
1 stick butter
1 bunch green onions, chopped
1 t. liquid crab/shrimp boil
salt and pepper to taste

Method:
Sauté onions in butter, then add remaining ingredients. Cook on medium heat for 45 minutes. Stir as necessary to prevent scorching.

Profound relief

2009-02-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, Hubby and I took all the pictures I’m showing to the gallery. I feel such relief to have them all done and gone. No more weight of responsibility.

I still have things to do, boring things like finishing pricing and developing an order form for the pictures in the electronic frames, but the main project is out of my hair.

Thank you, Lord! I can breathe a lot easier now.

Color theory

2009-02-24T07:32:00.003-07:00

When I took this picture, I knew it was destined to be shown.

But this picture had issues, power lines and power poles. Ugly things. I had intended to eliminate most of the sky to dump the power lines. I showed it to Art Teacher Jeff. Jeff said I shouldn’t crop it so severely, that the power lines actually helped the picture. That was unusual! I did need to remove one of the power poles, though. That took some doing. Removing pole wasn’t that bad, but lining up the power lines to the remaining pole took a long time. Jeff showed me some tricks in Photoshop, otherwise, I doubt I could have accomplished it.

When we got the matboards, we chose orange for this picture’s mat. While Jeff was cutting other mats for me, I looked at the picture and frame on the mat. That orange was garish, a horrible combination. I tried yellow, but that wasn’t a good color, either. Much of the background washed out. I shuffled through my matboards, but nothing I tried seemed to work.

He looked at what I was doing. I showed him the various colors I had tried. “Try the purple. It’s yellow’s complementary color.“ I put the photo on the purple paper. Wow!

What a difference a mat makes

2009-02-19T07:52:00.003-07:00

I should have known not to figure mat cutting dimensions when my brain was mush, but I tried anyway. I cut it just big enough to allow the picture to fall through on the sides. I must have forgotten to subtract the half inch required to keep picture inside the hole.

I had no pieces large enough to redo the mat, so I tried patching it with an under mat of the same color. That looked terrible. I could not show it in that condition.

I bit the bullet and took it to the local framing shop.

I had intended to replace the original brown mat with another one, but Teri showed me a rust-colored mat. She said she could trim brown mat and put the rust one underneath, next to the picture. I loved the idea. The rust color brought out highlights that hadn’t shown before.

She adores this picture and wants to hang it in her shop as an example of her work. We traded my picture for her framing. I’m excited to see my work hanging on someone else’s wall. She also wants me to produce a book of my work for sale in her shop.

Is that cool or what?

Details and decisions

2009-02-17T18:07:00.003-07:00

I thought that the grind of framing would be the worst part of preparing for my show. It is, but I keep finding more nagging details to take care of.

I entered all my inputs into a spreadsheet for Hubby. He’ll be figuring the total cost of goods sold so we can price these photos at last.

I’ve written my press release and had it proofed. I plan to send it out tomorrow.

Hubby bought an electronic picture frame and I’m loading 30 more pictures onto it. Gallery manager loved the idea. This picture of Louisiana cypress trees is one of those. I’ll have to add a number to each picture and produce a pricing sheet. I’d like to see which standard photo sizes work best for each one and recommend what would look best.

Do I hand sign these photos or just add a digital copy of my signature?

Tomorrow I’m attending a free web design class. I could use the help. I have homework to do before I arrive, planning what I want to do. I’m not sure what I want, except a photo gallery and shopping cart.

I had a productive visit with framing shop owner today. She’d like to display some of my work and offer it for prints. Best way to show them off is to produce a book, which isn’t cheap. A sale would pay for it, though.

My head is spinning.

A problem to solve

2009-02-16T08:20:00.002-07:00

At some point, the matting on this picture has shifted. When I attached it to the door, it was correctly placed. Friday night I noticed that the mat has become somewhat skewed.

I don’t know how to fix this. I’m afraid to try removing frame from door. What if I break it? I don’t have another one ready, nor do I want to cut glass again any time soon. My experiences with lacquer were not positive, so I’ve decided to glass my photos from now on.

I stood the door on its side, hoping gravity will help me. I’m not optimistic.

Does anyone have ideas how I can repair this problem?

The red door

2009-02-12T08:21:00.004-07:00

I finished the red door this morning. Door had a screw loose, so I glued it back in. I just want those old, rusty screws to remain where they are. They are no longer load bearing, just decoration. I glued the bottom boards together overnight. When I clamped those boards together last night, I received a bit of a surprise. The shim under the rightmost clamp shattered. When I loosened the clamp, I found that the clamp had gone through the back board into a rotten place. I wonder how much of this door is truly sound. Apparently the part I nailed the frame onto is still OK. Frame already had two holes in it, so I used them to attach frame. Worked great.

Dad had given me a Dremel tool kit for Christmas. Teresa from Maggie Grace Creates had commented on my silverware wind chimes post about using a Dremel to grind off edges. Right then I decided I wanted Dremel for Christmas.

I hadn’t had a chance to use it until yesterday. As you can see, the nails I had used to reaffix portions of the door were rather too long. These were the only rusty nails I had and I wanted to stay with the rustic feel as much as possible.

The last thing I wanted to do was saw them off, so I got out my Dremel and its grinding wheel. A web forum said to wear safety glasses since the wheels fragment so quickly. Whoever posted that knew what they were talking about. I used an average of two grinding wheels per nail/screw. They just disintegrated. Those little pie-shaped pieces in picture are broken wheels. Dremel was a dream, much better than hacksaw. I was frustrated when I had to buy another collet for a tool that was included in my kit. Dremel welfare.

Here’s the finished project.

I love it. I think it’s unique.

I found this door on the ground. Hopefully soon it will be decorating someone’s wall. I love creating something beautiful and fun from other people’s castoffs.

Coming down the home stretch

2009-02-10T20:32:00.004-07:00

I have just a few more items to take care of before I’ll be completely finished with framing. Thank God!

I framed Hanging Lake last night. I normally loathe the mat colors I used. That green and orange remind me of my least favorite vegetables (other than cabbage). I cannot stand cooked carrots and peas. Those mats are those colors. Ugh. But I was amazed how they made the picture pop. Wow. As soon as I saw what those colors did for this picture, I ditched my original plan. Plans only last until they meet reality.

I thought I might be able to finish framing, until I placed the glass in the keyboard photo. It was too short. Drat! I had been quite concerned about how I’d frame this picture. Plan A failed and I was very dubious about Plan B. Then I remembered a window frame I’d fished out of a house last fall. I tried it and it was perfect. I’ll take that frame, mat, photo and backer board to glass company after school today. They can put it together for me. Handling that big 40X29-inch sheet of glass scares me. I’d rather let the professionals handle it. All I want to do is cover the back with paper and add the wire.

I framed the red door last night as well, then nailed it to an old barn door. The nails were too long, so I’ll have to cut them off. I got out my new Dremel tool kit, but discovered that I didn’t have the cutting accessory. I’ll have to buy that this afternoon. Thankfully, I’m subbing for the teacher who has planning period right after lunch.

I had to glue a piece of that door back together overnight. Once I trim the nails and add the hanging wire to the back, that package will be finished.

I lost the vertical picture of Hanging Lake last night when the lacquer spray stained it. I wish I would have bought glass for that picture frame. I don’t like lacquer; it’s too risky. I’ve now ruined a mat and a photo with lacquer. Disgusting. I won’t bother replacing the photo. I’m sure no one will miss it. The gallery will be pretty full with my photos as it is.

I am deeply grateful to Jeff, the high school art teacher, for his help matting my pictures.

Measure twice, cut once

2009-02-03T13:04:00.006-07:00

Today I started matting.

First I cut down a couple mats that fit the picture but not the frame. I wasn’t thinking on the first one and just chopped all the excess off one side. When I turned it over, I was horrified. I thought about dropping the photo from my show, but found one matboard that will work in a double frame. I was relieved. I like my turtles.

We toured a Louisiana swamp on New Year’s Eve 2007 with my brother and his family. Guide pointed out turtles. I was using my film camera. I focused on the branch and shot away, not knowing what I was taking. I was quite surprised when I saw this image. I’m calling it “Happy Together” after The Turtles’ 1967 chart-topper.

The next mat-cutting went better. Somehow the original pink mat for this photo had gotten a stain on it. I cannot understand how. None of my mat stash or matboards went with the picture.

When I went to thrift store for more frames to cannibalize, I found one with a large double mat, one medium blue and the other cream. It went perfectly with that picture and enabled me to use a black frame that I was recycling.

After my experience with the turtles, I was much more careful to properly align the frame on the mat. Because of the mysterious stain, the picture is not dead center within the mat, but I rather like its appearance. As you can see, I drew several cut lines before I got everything centered.

When I finished framing this, I had recycled frame, glass, backer board, hanger and one mat.

I went to high school this afternoon and began cutting. What a pleasure!

However, “Measure twice, cut once” saved me this time, too. We kept confusing the horizontal and vertical cut dimensions. I laid the picture I was matting on the matboard before cutting and that saved me. We changed measurements on one mat several times with various colored pencils. By the time we cut it, matboard back looked like a Scottish tartan.

Whatever works.

Something missing?

2009-02-02T10:32:00.002-07:00

Patty said this morning that she sees no bricks on the sides of the blog.

Bricks should appear on both sides of the yellow background to the posts.

Does anyone see the bricks on the sides?

Please let me know.

Making progress

2009-01-30T16:34:00.004-07:00

Dad was here Sunday-Thursday to help me. We cut all kinds of old glass from frames I am either recycling or obtained at thrift shop. Old glass is notoriously hard to cut. Dad said he had never done such a nerve-wracking job.

I had intended to take some pictures of him working on the glass, but didn’t do it. I was too wrapped up in what we were doing to remember to take pictures.

This whole process has been nerve-wracking.

I had thought the cedar picture would be a fairly simple process. It fit so well in the old pie safe door that is it’s frame that I had no need to mat it. Just cut the glass, cut the backer board, put spacers on glass to keep separate it from picture, place picture between them and clamp them to back of frame.

I should have known better.

I was using glass from a frame I had bought at a garage sale sometime ago. I have never had such difficulty cleaning glass in my life. I estimate I spent two hours cleaning it. By the time I put the “picture sandwich” onto the frame, I had had enough. I went upstairs and figured we would be able to quickly finish framing it in the morning.

I should have known better.

When I awakened the next morning, I realized I had forgotten to sign the photo. Sigh. I undid the sandwich, signed it and put it back together. Dad and I clamped it down. When I turned it over, he said, “The glass has cracked.”

I shrieked.

We searched for the source that caused the crack and found that the door was warped.

We didn't know what to do. Door matched the picture so perfectly. No other alternative was acceptable.

After some discussion, Dad said, “Do you have any silicone caulk?“

No.

But that gave me an idea. I got my glue gun and filled the spaces with hot silicone glue. Problem solved.

We put the sandwich back together. Whew.

I should have known better.

Dad said, “The picture has a fold in it.”

I wanted to cry. After all that trouble, the picture dares to have a crinkle?

I Googled the problem, but got no definitive answer. In a similar situation to mine, the person was jokingly advised to iron the photo.

What have I got to lose?

With my heart in my throat, I turned the iron to the lowest setting, covered the ironing board with a press cloth and the picture with another press cloth. Both these press cloths were more of a screen than a cloth.

I put water on my fingertip and dabbed it onto the offending crack, then gently, ever so gently, pressed it.

When I turned it over with shaking hands, I found the fold much diminished, but the screen had left a slight imprint. I tried to remove it with the same process, less the bottom press cloth, and got some of it to smooth out. But not all.

Dad said, “Let’s just put this back together and hope no one notices the slight imperfection!“

So we did. I put it in bags to protect it and put it on the table with the rest of the finished pictures.

I wondered why God had sent me through this awful process. Then I realized what a valuable experience it had been. I had learned how to correct warping and folded pictures.

But I’d rather not go through such an ordeal again.

Signing day

2009-01-23T07:52:00.003-07:00

Framing pictures requires many steps, most of which I’ve done over and over. But one is very new to me and I find it hard to remember. Previously, I framed my pictures for display in our house or for gifts to friends and family. I don’t generally sign these; I just note on the back that I had taken it and the occasion for the gift.

Since this batch of pictures is for show and sell, I’m signing them. I feel rather strange each time I put pen to picture, but that action also makes this whole idea of being an artist a bit more real to me.

I’m still pinching myself, though. Sometimes dreams really do come true.

Getting supplies

2009-01-22T05:00:00.002-07:00

Patty shows Steve the pictures I will be showing.

Hubby and I went to the Front Range Monday and Tuesday to buy framing supplies for my show. Matboard and foam core and frames! Oh my! I felt rather overwhelmed.

We spread out our stuff all over the store’s counter, pretty much taking it over. People walked around the counter looking at the pictures. They paid me numerous compliments. How I wish I would have brought business cards, but I had never thought of that. I was blown away.

Stores were having sales on many of the items we needed and we found coupons for others. I had asked for God’s provision and He is granting it.

I check a frame Patty gave me for stray glazier’s points.

I had hoped to avoid cutting mats. I have never cut mats before, but I know it’s not a job to undertake lightly. I hope to cut mine in the high school’s art room. They have a professional-grade cutter. Matting with an Xacto knife does not bring good results.

Feb. 27, my deadline for getting these to the art gallery, doesn’t seem far enough away for all the work I have to do. Dad will be here Sunday to help me for a few days. Without my team, I’d be sunk.

But, by God’s grace, we’ll get ’er done!

Fork twister

2009-01-21T09:11:00.004-07:00

For Christmas, I crafted photo holders from forks. I picked forks out of a large bin of silverware at local antique mall. Every one came from a different place setting.

Every one of them bent differently. Most difficult part was curling the tines in front. I wrapped duct tape around my Vise-Grip’s jaws to avoid scratching, but I still left scratches. I wish I could figure out how to totally eliminate those annoying scratches.

Hubby said he likes the tortured silverware projects I’ve been doing, but I shouldn’t start torturing toys. He doesn’t have to worry. I lack an inner Sid the Toy Torturer. Silverware, however, is entirely another story.

January tree

2009-01-16T09:36:00.003-07:00

Di at Mamma B’s Attic bemoaned the dreariness of January after the beauty of the Christmas season.

Hubby and I resolved that problem a few years ago. We were tired of a dull, dreary home after our gorgeous Christmas decorations were put away. The bare house was depressing.

Then Hubby brought home a lighted snowman and woman he’d purchased at a post-Christmas sale. We knew what to do in January.
January’s dècor is all about snow. Snowmen and snowflakes bedeck the house.

When we began doing this, we transferred any Christmas decoration that was a straight winter theme into the winter boxes. We even decorate our little tree with snow-themed ornaments. Our Christmas village goes onto a coffee table and an end table. I place it on towels my sister-in-love embroidered for me.

Our snow theme and the “January tree” have one large disadvantage: People visiting us for the first time often think we haven’t gotten around to taking down Christmas decorations.

Oh well. Maybe we’ll inspire someone else to decorate for January.

Rub-a-dub-dub, I want to grab this tub!

2009-01-15T05:00:00.002-07:00

I found a tub like I was looking for in this post. But how I’m going to pull it out of this basement is a mystery.

I want a fountain like this one, which has been shut off to overwinter. It’s an outstanding example of repurposing, which I love to do. Keeping objects away from the landfill makes me feel virtuous.

This is a closer view of the entire fountain piping.

Here are a pair of views of the piping outside the tub.

This pump and tubing recycles the water back through the fountain.

I can envision this fountain in my yard. I want it near our lawn chairs so we can listen to that peaceful sound while we’re sitting by our outdoor fireplace.

Someday my tub will come…

A rare sight

2009-01-14T08:34:00.006-07:00

Usually, my workbench is covered with projects in various stages of completion. But since my show outweighs all other projects, I completely cleaned off my workbench last night. I threw out some projects that I realize I’ll never do and put more things in designated places. Since I am interested in a wide variety of projects, keeping track of all those various pieces is difficult. I may never see this workbench this clean again.

This chest of drawers I saved from destruction years ago looks more like usual, a project in progress sitting on it. This door I’m gluing came off an old pie safe. I have two of them. I intend to frame an old church in one and the steeple from that same church in the other.

I can hardly wait for these pictures to show up! Once they do, workbench and chest will return to their usual cluttered state. And I will be in Heaven. Or as close to Heaven as I can get on earth.

I've been framed

2009-01-13T08:27:00.002-07:00

Frames, frames everywhere

Frames are stacking up in my basement. I’ve placed my biggest order of pictures ever. Since I have to do this show on the most minimal budget, I’m recycling frames of pictures we no longer use and have purchased quite a few at the thrift store for rock-bottom prices. I will throw away the picture and reuse the frame and whatever glass, mat and backer board come with it.

I have also collected old barn boards and hope to frame photos with them — if they don’t split and splinter. For one picture, a picnic bench, I intend to chop up a broken “early dorm room” couch that’s been clogging up our storage area for years.

I could not do this without help. Donna, Kathy, Marilyn and Martha helped me choose the final pictures and gave me ideas for matching frames with picture and mat. Patty will help me choose the mats once all the prints have arrived. To cut frames, Kathy has loaned me her miter saw and Dad will bring his router. I’ve never touched a router and don’t want to practice on this project. I don’t have time — or the boards — for that.

You’ll be hearing a lot about my progress in the next few weeks. My nose will be firmly to the grindstone. I hope I still have a nose left when I reach Feb. 27, my deadline to take pictures to the gallery.

"No cat is sleeping with me!"

2009-01-11T05:00:00.001-07:00

No, I am not the Bearded Lady. I took Boo’s picture with my new webcam on the day after Christmas 2007.

I could not have my cat with me in the months before Hubby and I got married. My parents kept Midnight. When we returned from our honeymoon, we brought Midnight home.

Hubby said that he did not want to sleep with a cat. He thought he was allergic to kitties and didn’t want one in bed with him. I said nothing. Midnight had slept with me ever since the day I got her as a tiny kitten. She wouldn’t agree with Hubby’s idea of the way things ought to be. And I knew very well that she was not going to be kept away from her mistress without stating her opinion.

When we crawled into bed the night we returned from our honeymoon, Hubby shut the bedroom door in Midnight’s face. She was not amused. She started the most pathetic, piercing howl I’d ever heard her emit. And it went on and on and on. I buried my face in my pillow and bit it to keep from laughing.

Hubby mumbled and grumbled about the awful wailing that came from the other side of our bedroom door. Finally, after about 20 minutes of this ghastly noise, he jumped out of bed and said, “That’s it! She can sleep with us; I can’t stand this noise for one more second!”

He threw open the door.

Midnight immediately ceased her horrendous caterwauling and strutted into the bedroom. Her body was stiff as if she were in a full-dress parade. Her tail was straight up in the air and every step was precise and deliberate. ”I showed you!” She jumped onto my side of the bed and made her bed in my pillow. She looked at Hubby with what can only be described as a triumphant glare, as if to say, “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing in my bed, but you WILL NOT separate me from my mistress!”

Sadly, we lost our Midnight 10 years ago and Boo came to us.

Hubby again announced that we would have a catless bed. Boo had never slept with me, so he thought he could keep out the new kitty.

Boo also had a different opinion. He sat outside the door making a horrible racket. This time, Hubby didn’t last 20 minutes. After about five minutes, he sighed and opened the door. Boo didn’t act as if he were on parade; he just jumped into bed and curled up between us. He looked positively smug. “I knew no human soft-hearted enough to adopt a stray kitty could resist my caterwauling!”

Does the howling cat always get the bed?

Hay field under moon

2009-01-10T05:00:00.000-07:00

I love to look at the moon. It’s beautiful. But usually the sunset outshines moonrise. Not this night. Sunset was beautiful, but there was something about the moon in those clouds over the hay field. To me, it has the feeling of a painting.

I tried it in black and white, but unlike the pictures in yesterday’s post, the color seems to be the better picture. Tell me what you think.

Wheat stubble at sunset

2009-01-09T09:55:00.002-07:00

Last night, I went looking for some boards to frame pictures for my upcoming show at the local arts center. I nearly didn’t take my camera, but, at the last second, grabbed it. I’m so glad I did. The light was beautiful. And I got my boards, too.

I have always wondered how I could photograph the beauty of the light playing on fields. I don’t have a wide-angle lens. But last night was so beautiful that I had to try. I felt as if God had painted a beautiful light show just for me and I wanted to capture the beauty.

This morning I started playing with this image in Photoshop. I thought it might be a good black-and-white photo. As I slid around the sliders in the black-and-white adjustment panel, the clouds became more ominous as if a storm were approaching. Our storms usually come from the west or southwest. I was facing east for this picture. Any storm that comes uphill from the east is usually a severe one, so the ominousness fits.

Amazing what Photoshop can do.

Midnight the middle hitter

2009-01-08T12:48:00.003-07:00

I looked through Marilyn’s previous book Bits of Splashes of Rainbows and Feathers to see if she had stories that should also be told in the one we’re working on, Splashes of Rainbows and Feathers.

In previous book, she said that her son’s kitty Scooter liked to chase images on the TV screen.

Our previous cat Midnight was a very sedate, rather prim cat. Her main source of exercise was to flee to the top of the refrigerator any time I touched the vacuum. I had caught her tail in it once when she was hiding underneath the couch. She wanted to be well clear of that wicked, cat-sucking machine. I lived in a tiny house at this time and the vacuum was stored in the bathroom. Nearly every time I went into the bathroom, I touched the vacuum’s handle. Midnight instantly ran for the fridge top.

My TV was perched on an old two-drawer file cabinet on one end of my battered couch. I propped up my head on the couch arm on the other end to watch my little $35 black-and-white TV.

I was hardly ever home, so the TV was rarely on. When I did watch the tube, Midnight usually sat right on my chest, just below my chin. That night, I was very tired and had only enough energy to flop onto the couch to watch the tube. Nebraska volleyball came on. As we watched the action, Midnight’s tail started twitching. She crept toward the TV. I realized that she was stalking it. She inched her way down toward my feet and the TV screen until she was right in front of it. Every time the ball was set, Midnight swatted at the ball. She had a near-perfect hitting percentage. I couldn’t see the game, but I didn’t care. What was happening live was much funnier than what was on screen.

I wanted to roll off the couch with laughter, but I didn’t dare. If I laughed, I feared I’d break the spell. After a hard day, I needed all the entertainment I could find. I was choking on laughter. When I did expel a laugh, I had suppressed it so hard that it sounded more like a sob. Midnight kept turning to see what was wrong with Mistress. Was Mistress distressed? I smiled at her and she turned back to stalking volleyballs.

Finally, I could suppress the guffaws no longer. I started howling with laughter, rolling onto my side and doubling up. Midnight looked back at me reproachfully. I had disturbed her stalking pattern! At this, I laughed so hard I fell off the couch and started rolling on the floor.

Midnight walked over to me, stuck her nose in my face and mewed loudly, as if to say, “Mistress, how am I supposed to catch anything when you make such a commotion!” I howled even louder and she stalked away in disgust. I could just hear her thoughts: “Humans are SO WEIRD!”

Chili

2009-01-07T11:41:00.008-07:00

When buying a used cookbook, I always like to try recipes that are covered with notes on well-used pages. Those are tested and proven recipes. Such is my chili recipe.

Hubby is the chef in this household. But he won’t make two dishes: chili and beef stew. Those dishes are my specialties, or so he says.

Original recipe came from my old standby, Kitchen-Klatter Cookbook, but my recipe adds quite a few ingredients. Perfecting this recipe has required years of tinkering, so I hope you enjoy it. This is not a fire-alarm chili, but it is very thick.

Chili

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Ingredients:
2 lbs. lean ground beef
1 medium white onion, chopped fine
1 Bell pepper, chopped fine
2 t. salt
1 t. paprika
1 t. chili powder
2 bay leaves
1 t. turmeric
2 cloves garlic
6 stalks celery
1 small can tomato paste
1 qt. canned tomatoes
2 15 oz. cans chili beans (we prefer Kuner’s)
½ C. fresh mushrooms, thinly sliced
1 C. shredded cheese

Method:
Sauté meat, onion and pepper until vegetables are cooked. Add spices while meat finishes browning. When meat is cooked through, add the remaining ingredients. Stir together. Let simmer for 1 hour, stirring occasionally, then refrigerate overnight for best flavor. If necessary, add water while reheating for desired consistency. Serve with cornbread.

I'm not Lisa

2009-01-06T09:26:00.005-07:00

Albert Speer

Both as a student and now as a teacher, I’ve seen many group projects assigned. But I’d never heard of taking tests together until just recently. My friend Cali has to take tests with a partner. She’s a diligent student; others in her class aren’t so diligent. It’s not fair to couple her grade with someone who hasn’t done the work she has done.

But my daddy always told me that life isn’t fair.

When I was assigned a group project, I usually figured much of the work would fall on me. Whenever I had a project to do, whether alone or in a group, I always intended to outshine anyone else’s project, no matter how hard I had to work. My friends in our major always tried to work together. Together we outshone any competition. We could trust each other to jointly carry the load.

In one class, we had to reenact the Nuremberg Trials that convicted top Nazis after World War II. Knowing well that no other combination could compete with Eric, George, Kelly and Roxie on the same team, he split us.

Kelly and I were assigned to defend Albert Speer, Hitler’s architect and later munitions minister. Prof named me Chief Defense Counsel. Kelly was Chief of Staff. Three other girls were assigned to our team. One played the defendant and the other two were to be co-counsels. One was named Lisa. The third girl was her best friend.

Fortunately for us, George and Eric were assigned to separate teams on a different case.

I was familiar with Speer’s actions during the war. The evidence of war crimes was so massive and indisputable that we seemed to have no choice but to admit these things had happened. I knew that our only hope of avoiding the death sentence was to pin the blame for the concentration camps and slave labor on Speer’s underling, Fritz Sauckel, the head of Nazi Germany’s “Labor Deployment Program”; and on the heads of German industry, such as major armaments manufacturer Alfried Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach. I carefully explained this strategy to my team. They all said they understood.

I pored over every book I could find on the topic, including Speer’s memoirs, and I carefully examined all Speer’s and Sauckel’s trial transcripts and supporting documents.

As I was required to do, I assigned various aspects of the case to my team members. Lisa and friend were assigned to research conditions at the Krupp factory. I had already read William Manchester’s The Arms of Krupp and knew how appalling those conditions were. I told Lisa and friend to research Krupp and even gave her my annotated book.

Our night class met once a week. Two weeks later, Lisa returned with a paper I would have been ashamed of. It was full of typos, grammatical and syntax errors. But, worst of all, it was not at all what I wanted. She said conditions at Krupp were wonderful. They even had maid service. Yeah, right. I asked if she had even opened my book. She admitted that she had not done so. I asked if she had understood our strategy. She told me accurately what it was. “Then why did you write this?” She had no answer for that. I told her to rewrite it using proper English. She was not pleased, but I didn’t care.

The night of our presentation, Kelly, “Albert” and I were sitting in a lounge area outside our classroom doing last-minute preparation when Lisa and friend appeared. “We’re not going to participate tonight,” Friend said. Lisa nodded.

The three of us were livid, but had no choice but to go on with the show.

We were well enough prepared that the opposition could not answer some of our points. They hadn’t heard of some of the information we had.

Speer went to jail for 30 years, 20 more than his actual sentence, but I felt we’d pulled out a great victory.

Eighty percent of our grade came from this presentation and I was not about to let Lisa and her friend piggyback on our success. I told the prof the sad story and let him decide.

The rest of our team aced the class. I don’t know what the prof gave them, but at least we had received what we had earned.

After that, I always tried to pick my own team. The life lesson here: Work with those you can trust.

Lighting the night

2009-01-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

But, much as I enjoy the neighbors’ lights, I enjoy this house even more. I love that star on their chimney and all those decked-out trees.

I’m just grateful I don’t have to go to all that work. But these lights pale compared to some people’s light shows. Most of us don’t have the cash to pay for thousands of lights and the sound/sequencing equipment necessary to do Griswold lights bumped up numerous notches. So we just enjoy looking at them on YouTube:

Our neighbors’ Christmas lights put ours in the shade. I so enjoy looking out the window at theirs, especially since we won’t have to pay the light bill. Neighbors decorate for most holidays, but they pull out the stops for Christmas.

Header coat rack

2008-12-31T05:00:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, we bought an old baseboard at an architectural salvage firm. That was our planned purchase. We also bought two old headers, some drawer pulls and a couple wooden door knobs. I had seen a coat rack made from those materials and wanted one for our house. When we returned home, I found that the place I had intended to hang them wasn’t suitable.

We put everything into storage until I could decide what to do with them.

Finally, the light came on. My sister-in-love loves architecture as much as I do. And my dad could sure use a coat rack. So I made one for each of them.

Since I was making two coat racks instead of one, I needed two more knobs. Marilyn and I had salvaged a bunch of brass doorknobs from a trash pile. I had intended to use them on a door, but they didn’t work. I threw them into my father-in-law’s recycle bin and he had taken them away. But I had inadvertently kept one of the knobs. (Apparently, I should never throw anything away!) I disassembled the doorknob set, retaining only the exterior parts. The interior went into the recycling bin.

My woodworking friend Darrell suggested that I drill holes 18 inches apart so the rack could be attached to the studs. I did that first.

Then I arranged the knobs to suit me. I drilled holes for them and screwed them on. I had to use dowels to attach the brass doorknobs. These holes required a spade bit. I had never used a spade bit before, so was rather intimidated. All went well. The dowel I inserted into the doorknobs was too big to insert into the exterior lock parts. I cut the big dowel a bit short of the full length of the doorknobs' hole and glued it to the handle of an old foam paintbrush cut to size. I topped the paintbrush handle with the exterior lock parts.

Project took a couple hours and was fun to do. Hopefully I can salvage the next boards and knobs myself.

Santa Claus wore brown

2008-12-29T17:47:00.002-07:00

Our tree was nearly bare of presents during the run-up to Christmas. I wrapped and shipped our packages without ever putting them underneath the tree. Even though our tree is covered in ornaments and its base is surrounded by our Christmas village, it looked barren.

Then, what to my wondering eyes did appear but a big brown truck, without the eight tiny reindeer. “Santa” was dressed in brown, not in red. Up to my porch and back down he sped. I hardly could catch him in time to say “Happy New Year” as into the truck he did climb.

I placed the packages under the tree, until Hubby woke up and opened packages with me. To open gifts we were so excited and with the gifts we were so delighted.

Obviously, poetry is not my strong suit, but Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

A very redneck Christmas

2008-12-23T12:13:00.007-07:00

Marilyn writes about her boss’s Christmas gift in her best imitation of redneck style.

As our admissions team considered a nice (or not-so-nice) Christmas present for our Director of Admissions, ideas flew through our office like reindeer on a mission!

The result was the Ultimate Redneck Survival Kit, a gift we knew Gary would be so happy to receive. Not only did this gift have its hilarious aspects, most of the items were very practical, and they may become a lifesaver!

As Tiffini and I put together this lovely gift set, our excitement grew. On the day we packaged the items, we were laughing so hard, we could hardly contain ourselves! (Yes, some people are easily entertained!)

Of course, one needs the Ultimate Gift Box in which to place the lovely items. An old cardboard box with duck-taped edges came to our rescue! In Tiff’s best Redneck style, she wrote, “Redneck Survival Kit” on the side.

Inside the box were some unusual gifts, each wrapped in their own special gift bag: a lovely brown paper lunch bag! Each gift came with a set of instructions, so that Gary could figure out how they were to be used.

Hopefully, those in Redneck Land will appreciate Redneck Survival Kit instructions:

A man who is outside in every kind of weather needs a Redneck Weather 4-Caster. We made it from a large block of wood with a twig duck taped to the side of it. We found some bright red yarn from Grandma’s sewing basket to hang from the twig. In our best Redneck handwriting, we listed possible 4-casts:
*If yarn is swinging side to side, it’s WINDY.
*If yarn is wet, it’s RAINING.
*If yarn is white, it’s SNOWING.
*If yarn is still, it’s STILL.
*If yarn is gone, TAKE SHELTER!

Yes ma’am, every Redneck needs one of those!

Then you have the Redneck Wynd Chyme. Find an old board about 3 feet long, and gather those darn beer cans left in the yard from the last party there. Yessirree, then take some good ol’ wire and wrap three strands of it around the ol’ board. Then take those dirty ol’ beer cans and wrap the wire through the tabs. HEY, NOW, THAT’S ONE NICE WYND CHYME!

Gary is quite the outdoorsman. He goes motorcycling in the summer and snowmobiling in the winter. We wanted to make sure that he was cared for on his outings.

Every snowmobiler needs his own set of munchies. We found some Rodent Roughage that sure looked and tasted like those salted peanuts at the local farm stores. We came across some Reindeer Turdz that sure did look like chocolate-covered raisins. Then there was the all-important Fish Bate. That sure did look slimy, but it tasted just fine, kinda like those gummy worms the kids like to eat.

Now Tiff is quite the city gal. So she found Gary some good ol’ sushi! Yessirree, she sure did! That was the best-tasting sushi I’d ever had. Kinda reminded me of sugarcoated gummy worms! I could eat quite a few of those myself!

That Tiff was really a-thinkin’ about Gary’s safety out there in them bitter-cold mountains on that snowmobile, yessir. In case his brakes went out, she made an Emergency Snowmobile Brake. She found this red brick in her backyard, and tied some of that there bright red yarn around it. If Gary throws it out in the snow, hopefully the brick will catch something in a short time, maybe a tree root, and snowmobile will come to a screeching halt!

Of course, a man could get lost in them there mountains on a snowy day. A Redneck GPS system sure could come in handy. This little bag contained what could be mistaken for sunflower seeds. The instructions said, “Leave a trail of these behind you so that you can find your way home. If the seeds are gone, hunt down that darn rodent who ate ’em and KILL him!”

Oh there ya go! Sure ’nuff, no one should be without a good ol’ GPS.

Of course, we all know Gary’s quite a b.s.-er. What snowmobiler isn’t?

We made him his very own B.S. Bag. The instructions on the little brown bag said, “When the B.S. starts to flow, blow into this bag. The B.S. makes good fertilizer. Spread it on your yard. Can be used around lawyers offices and political scenes as well.”

Then we made B.S. Filters. They are to be used when the B.S. Bag just isn’t enough. This bag had little black pieces of what tasted like licorice. The idea is to blow through the little holes and then eat it. Oh my, that was one nice little gift.

One day when we were looking around the office, we came upon a bunch of what appeared to be a stack of old wedding rings. As we wondered where on earth those came from, we realized that this Slinky-like gadget must be all Gary’s old wedding bands. Yessiree! So being the nice pals that we are, we put them in this box right where they belong!

We also found some Lady Hookers. Yeesirree, you take a box of them there cute little candy canes and use ’em to hook you a gal!

And then we made up a document that Gary might need again one day. Yep, some Day-Vorce papers for ol’ Gary.

Now that was quite the document. Instead of copying it all here, ask Gary to show you. You will enjoy it much more that way!

So as I sign off from Redneck Land, I wish each of you a very Merry Christmas! As you work in your back yards this summer, keep in mind that many of the little things out there can be put to good use next Christmas! Everyone has a Redneck pal somewhere!

Adventures in sewing

2008-12-22T12:48:00.001-07:00

Sewing, especially sewing garments, makes me nervous. So much can go wrong. Will it fit when I’m finished? I’m always jittery throughout the process.

A friend wanted a snuglet/slanket/snuggie for Christmas. When I saw the commercial, I was shocked at the price. Some days later, I hit my StumbleUpon button. Website showed how to make a snuglet. Free pattern seemed simple enough, so I bought three yards of 60-inch wide fleece.

Instructions said to cut 9X6-inch armholes and 12X30-inch sleeve tubes. I obeyed. I thought my first sleeve tube was awfully narrow, so I tried to pull it on. I couldn’t pull it past my elbow. I tried, but ripped the sleeve tube. When I inserted this tube into armhole, I couldn’t figure out how I would fit them together. The size discrepancy was too great.

I’m inches taller than my friend, but her arms aren’t smaller than mine. Besides, aren’t these garments supposed to be loose-fitting?

I bought more fabric and cut a 14-inch sleeve tube, not bothering to measure the length. I could always trim that later. When I tried on that tube, it fit great on my arm and much better in the armhole. Hallelujah!

I haven’t set in a sleeve for probably 30 years. I looked for instructions. Everyone said to sew basting stitches on the sleeve. Pulling the basting stitches would fit the sleeve into the armhole. And I was supposed to match the notches. What notches?

Besides, I had the opposite problem. Armhole was bigger than sleeve. So I pinned them together, placing pins wherever I saw the fabric bulge. Then I sewed them together.

All went well on the first sleeve. Sleeve seam was at bottom of armhole and armhole seam was right side out.

Second sleeve wasn’t so cooperative. First the armhole seam was showing. I ripped it out and resewed it. Then I turned the sleeve inside out, so the sleeve seam was showing. I ripped it out and resewed it. I carefully checked my pinning the third time and thought all was well. What was I looking at? The armhole seam was showing again! I ripped it out and resewed it.

Finally, on Attempt No. 4, sleeve went in correctly. Whew. A girl can only take so much frustration and I was nearing my limit.

After topstitching all edges but the sleeve ends, I tried on snuglet again.

My wingspan is about 6 feet. The sleeves dangled 8 inches below my wrists. My friend’s wingspan is certainly not that long. I folded the sleeves to fit me and pinned them. I wanted to remove the excess 8 inches. Since the serger cuts fabric at the stitching, I decided to serge the sleeve ends. That would get rid of the excess fabric. Or so I thought.

My poor serger couldn’t handle two layers of polarfleece. The stitching looked terrible. I was embarrassed. And I had another problem. Yes, I was cutting the cuffs, but I was stitching them together at the same time.

Hello rotary cutter. I removed both cuffs, then topstitched them with serger. Whew. Now I could stop being a nervous wreck.

By this time, I was sick of the entire project and abandoned it in my sewing chair.

I sure hope she likes this thing.

Stuffing a sock in it

2008-12-21T12:33:00.003-07:00

A few mornings ago, I felt cold air pouring into the entryway. I couldn’t figure out where it originated. I had pushed a towel in front of front door to cover gaps between door sweep and threshold, but my feet still felt a horrendous cold spot. I searched for the source and found that the door frame had slightly warped next to the north sidelight. The warping had left about an 1/8-inch gap between bottom of door frame and sidelight frame. Gap narrowed as it went up before closing about a foot above the floor.

I cut up some of my old socks and shoved them into this gap with a metal ruler. I could feel the cold retreat as I plugged the hole. I was determined to stuff enough socks into the hole to completely plug it. This process took about half an hour. Oh, the perils of owning an old house!

As I shoved the socks into this hole, I thought of Ezekiel 22:30: “I [God] looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none.”

What a sad verse! “… but I found none.” What an indictment!

As I considered this verse, I thought about my gap-plugging tools. Is anything less glamorous than old socks from the rag bin? They appeared to be at the end of their useful life, only to be used in a very critical role, keeping subzero temperatures outside instead of inside. Their role is no longer as public as covering my feet, but still very useful to keep us warm.

Do we ever think that we are too worn out for God’s service, languishing in the rag bin, one step from the landfill? Maybe we’re on the shelf and maybe feel that we’ve been forgotten. Then our new role opens and we are used again. God plugs us into the gap and uses us again for His glory. What a privilege!

Whose gap do you stand in?

My favorite cookies

2008-12-16T20:18:00.004-07:00

Hubby asked me to bake cookies for a meeting tonight. I was pressed for time and intended to buy some.

Except for fig newtons, I don’t much care for store-bought cookies. And I do love to bake. So instead of buying cookies, I baked a double batch of Oatmeal Gingersnaps.

Mother bought me a set of Better Homes and Gardens cookbooks when I was still in high school, including their Homemade Cookies Cook Book. (Book is apparently now out of print.) When I baked the first batch of this recipe, I knew I had found a winner. I immediately decided that I had a new favorite cookie and I have yet to change my mind. My brother loved them also and often asked me to make them.

I usually double the recipe. I love to eat the dough, so doubling the recipe enables me to both eat dough and the final product.

Below is the recipe as it appears in the book, with a few adjustments:

Oatmeal Gingersnaps

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Ingredients:
1½ C. all-purpose flour
½ C. sugar
½ C. Splenda
¾ quick-cooking rolled oats
1 t. baking soda
1 t. ground ginger
¼ t. ground cloves
¼ t. salt
½ C. shortening
½ C. molasses
1 egg

Method:
Stir together dry ingredients. Blend in shortening, molasses and egg. Beat well with electric mixer for 2 minutes. Form into 1-inch balls. Place 2 inches apart on greased cookie sheet. Bake on top rack at 375° for 8-10 minutes. Let stand for at least 1 minute; cool on rack.

Yield: Allegedly 3½ dozen. Even without eating the cookie dough (what a sacrifice!), I have never gotten 3½ dozen cookies from this recipe.

Recycling decorations

2008-12-15T05:00:00.000-07:00

Some years ago, we received this basket as part of a holiday food package. I loved the basket, but wasn’t sure what to do with it. It was too pretty to throw out, so I kept it in storage, waiting for inspiration.

A couple years later, someone gave us a rosemary plant as a hostess gift. It was decorated with these fun picks. I kept them as being too pretty to throw out, but didn’t know what to do with them, either. They, too waited for inspiration.

Last year, the light dawned at last.

The basket even had gold-wrapped florist’s foam in the bottom. All I had to do was cut apart silk poinsettia and holly bushes and shove them and the pics into the foam. Voila! Instant flower arrangement!

And I got to enjoy the virtuous feeling of having recycled something beautiful, and we get to look at something beautiful.

12 Days of Christmas plates

2008-12-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, I ordered a set of miniature plates featuring the Twelve Days of Christmas. When they arrived, I got out hammer and finishing nails and was about to pound 12 nails into the woodwork above the arch separating dining room from living room.

My mother was appalled. “You are not going to put all those nails in your beautiful woodwork, are you?”

“Why? Do you have a better idea?”

“No, but I bet I can think of one.”

So off we went to the craft store.

She bought four little fences, some silk holly, red ribbon and a glue gun.

In about 15 minutes, she had made these decorations. I was impressed.

Every year, I unpack them gingerly and carefully check each plate before hanging each fence. Each year, at least one must be reglued. Once the plates are all secure, I check the string, fluff up the ribbons and hang them. I always breathe a sigh of relief when all is back together and on the wall.