Fort Wallace

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”?

The Murphy's Law wedding

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!

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

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.

Be prepared

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.

A startling resemblance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Queen of Mardi Gras

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

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.

Getting supplies

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!

Piano Man

We stopped at an old schoolhouse Saturday. This building was solid, made from poured cement. Interior looked pretty sad, but the exterior, other than broken windows, was still in good shape. Jacqui crawled halfway into a basement window to see what was down there. I nearly had heart failure. What if she fell in? Then what would we do? Cell service was poor to nonexistent.

“I see a piano,” she said.

A piano?

“Yes, a broken piano.”

That was interesting.

I have safety rules for junking. Rule No. 1: DO NOT walk down stairs. Who knows what might be in the basement/cellar/crawl space. I might find some dead creature or live ones that I’d prefer not to encounter. And who knows what condition those steps are in? I have no desire to take a bad fall.

But our nightly lows have fallen well below freezing. Snakes and skunks should be hibernating. She shined the flashlight around the room and saw nothing other than broken chairs and plaster. And the rest of building was in amazingly-good condition. Perhaps steps would be safe?

Staircase was partially covered by a wooden door, which looked intact. Steps were covered with fallen plaster, but maybe they were passable. When I pushed up the door, I saw a dead creature on top of it, mostly noticing a set of bared teeth. Jacqui followed me. I told her to push the door tightly against the rail unless she wanted to see the set of teeth.

Piano was in horrible condition. Keyboard was entirely gone. Hammers were broken. Front of piano had disappeared. But it still maintained a certain dignity. Someone had pride in its construction, even the places that would normally be invisible.

Apparently, the local people had used this basement for entertainment. Piano sat on a little platform. Remnants of theater seating were scattered around the rest of room.

I started singing, “…Son, can you play me a memory; I’m not really sure how it goes. But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes … Sing us a song; you’re the Piano Man. Sing us a song tonight! ‘Cause we’re all in the mood for a melody and you’ve got us feeling all right.…”

Singing in that forlorn basement was bittersweet. Acoustics were great, but seeing the remnants of what had been a vibrant community was very sad.

Carrot Spice Cake

Kathy and friend Dallynn get ready to taste a bit of the cake.

Kathy turned 57 Tuesday, so we celebrated with a cookout.

When I think of the number 57, I think of Heinz’s 57 varieties. I suggested that we all give Kathy a bottle of some Heinz product and asked about what cake to make. I inadvertently sent the email to her, too.

She said, “Personally, I prefer 57 on my steak and not on my cake!”

That was the end of making Heinz 57 frosting. Sigh. I still carried out the Heinz 57 idea, though. The cake topper reads “Kathy, est’d 1951: 57 years and in a pickle. Happy birthday!”

Donna suggested I make a carrot or spice cake for Kathy’s cake. So I made a combination:

Carrot Spice Cake

This recipe comes from Kitchen Klatter Cookbook, which is unfortunately now out of print. The batter is very thick, more like brownie batter than cake batter.

Printer-friendly PDF

Ingredients:
5 oz. matchstick carrots broken in half, 5 oz. grated baby carrots or 3 large carrots
2/3 C. sugar
2/3 C. Splenda/Alterna
1/3 C. shortening
¼ t. butter flavoring
1 C. raisins
1 t. cinnamon
½ t. nutmeg
½ t. cloves
½ t. salt
1 t. vanilla flavoring
1 1/3 C. cool water
2 C. sifted flour
1/2 t. soda
1 C. chopped nuts

Method:
Combine all ingredients except flour, soda and nuts in saucepan and cook over low heat for 20 minutes. Cool 10-15 minutes and add flour and soda which have been sifted together. Stir in the nuts and pour into 9X13 inch pan which has been greased and floured. Bake for 1 hour in 325º oven.

Top with spicy whipped cream or cream cheese frosting.

New profile picture

Normally, I dislike pictures of myself, but this one is an exception. I usually think that I look stiff or uncomfortable when posing for a picture, but here I actually look like I’m having a good time, which I was.

Marilyn’s cousin took this one of birthday girl Marilyn and me with her camera and another one with mine. I don’t like the one she took with mine. I look stiff, which I guess is better than looking like a stiff. She hit the jackpot with her camera, though.

I also like this picture because we are wearing shirts that our dear friends Kathy and Donna had given us. If I had been more with it, we all four would have been wearing the shirts for a picture, but I forgot to send email asking them to wear theirs. I guess that’s a future project.

So, instead of hiding behind my camera, my features will actually appear in my profile. Amazing.

All worthwhile

We, Marilyn’s friends, schemed for a long time to give her a very memorable milestone birthday. Celebrations Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, plus a couple extra touches on Monday, have worn me out.

This grin makes it all worth the effort.

Happy Half a Century, Marilyn!

Adventures in camping

We camped at a lake last weekend with people from our church.

We enjoyed a moonlight boat ride, viewing both human and divine pyrotechnics.

Later, those pyrotechnics rolled right over top of us. Camping generally equals rain, so we weren’t surprised.

We were sleeping in the back of our little pickup, which had just enough room between cab and tailgate for us. We watched and listened to the rainstorm, but kept nice and dry in our little overnight home.

We woke up early Saturday morning and took a walk. When we left, the boat was in our cove and the play tent was on the ground.

The boat when we left for walk.
When we returned, the tent had tried to commit suicide and the boat had run away. Maybe boat couldn’t stand the sight of the suicidal tent?

The tent had jumped onto the fire pit, which melted much of its floor. (Well, OK, the same gust of wind that took away the boat probably threw tent into fire.) I grabbed tent and threw it in the lake to halt the burning.

The boat runs away.

Boat Owner Steve came out of his tent camper shortly thereafter to retrieve his boat. He got in an unscheduled early-morning swim to rescue it from drifting.

Steve returns with his boat. Suicidal tent is in foreground. I had taken it out of the water after it had cooled.
Once he left, we watched that tent camper briefly turn into a see-saw. Steve’s wife Amy walked around in there, unbalancing it. Occupants must have gotten a bit of a ride, but all were OK.

What would camping be without some adventure?

The pond garden

Pond Garden looking northeast. Coral bells and pepper plants are in foreground.

Pond Garden looking southwest. Blue spruce, pampas grass and volunteer green beans are in foreground.

The Frugal Gardener and her hubby have two main vegetable gardens. The narrow rectangles south of our house are the vegetable garden, currently planted with the Three Sisters on one side of the sidewalk and tomatoes and herbs on the other side of the walk. The other, an irregularly-shaped chunk of our backyard, is “The Pond Garden”.

The only water in that garden fills the bird bath. Hubby named it “The Pond Garden” because it’s shaped like a pond.

Our friend Kevin had shown us how to lay out natural-looking landscaping by using a garden hose. The hose marks sinuous curves for a relaxing, free-flowing appearance.

At that time, we had a large, ugly weed patch in our backyard. I hated it. I tried to avoid looking at it because I didn’t know what to do with it.

Then the mental light bulb turned on. I would turn that nasty patch into a garden, using the outlines of the weed patch to create natural-looking curves.

Instead of using a hose, I bought the cheapest can of orange spray paint I could find. I outlined the awful weed patch with the spray paint. Hubby tilled within the lines. I laid down salvaged red bricks for the border.

Previous owners had planted cedar trees and I had received a blue spruce from my brother and sister-in-love for my 40th birthday. We planted pampas grass in the gap between spruce and cedars for privacy, then scattered flowers in various parts of that garden. Flowers include coral bells and irises from my mother's garden. We have purple bee balm and lilies from Hubby's aunt's garden and coral hollyhocks from his parents' garden.

In the spaces that are left, we plant various vegetables each year. Volunteer buttercrunch lettuce returns every year.

An eyesore became something beautiful and productive for almost no money.

Friends are like butterflies

My friend Marilyn will be contributing guest posts from time to time. This is her first contribution.

Forrest Gump says, “Life is like a box of chocolates.” I like to think of my friendships as a "garden of butterflies.”

Butterflies thrive on a nice, warm stone. They warm their wings before flying off to hover over some waiting flower petal for refreshment and sustenance. They also need little sips of clean, fresh water in order to refresh their little bodies after they have flown hither and yon all day long.

And each butterfly is its own unique creation. Each one has a spot that is different from the others. Butterflies come in 28,000 different species and each butterfly has slightly different markings, the mark of our loving Creator’s hands.

Friends are like butterflies. As a friend, you flutter from this friend to that one, doing fun activities with this one, then sitting and drinking from your friends’ refreshing, encouraging words at the end of a long day. Or maybe you just sit on the deck and watch the sun set together, basking in the last glows of the warm sunshine and in the joy of each other’s presence.

When the weather has beaten you down, the chill in the air has spread to your heart, what better place to get warmed up than in front of a friend’s fireplace with a warm cup of hot cocoa?

Or how about those times when life has hit you behind the knees and knocked you down? Maybe one of your butterfly friends drops by and takes you out for a yummy piece of homemade apple pie a la mode! When you get home after spending time with a good friend, you feel refreshed and much safer.

So, Forrest, I love your chocolate saying, but I also like my butterfly saying! When I look at each of my four closest friends in the entire world, I see a lovely butterfly in each one of them. I see them each ministering to others who are in need of love and comfort at just the right moment. I see them spreading beauty in the world. I see each of them in need of such things in their own lives at times, and I watch as each butterfly in the group stops and ministers to one another.

Dear Lord, I love the way You made butterflies for our enjoyment and for us to learn from. We can learn a lot from the life of the beautiful butterfly. Thank You!