Endings

As we monitor the final bits of 2009, it is as usual, a time for reflection and planning. This has been a difficult year, ending with many trials unresolved. I stopped posting to this blog midyear as many of the little anecdotes of Dogpatch seemed trivial and brought no joy as they erupted from my fumbling fingers on the keyboard. A laptop that inserts text into the space after a previously typed letter created a level of frustration just not worth the coping mechanism required. I found it much easier to mindlessly harvest crops and whack the mafioso on the social networking sites.

With the new year, I may decide to become responsible again. Always believing that I am responsible for my own destiny with a serious helping from above (Philippians4:13 I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me). That's the KJV, even though the NIV is much simpler, something about that "strengtheneth" verbage has always touched me. It is the only place I have ever seen that word and I seldom hear it used. My father once told me, and a cousin reminded me recently, that there are no contradictions in the King James Bible. I know that, yet reading that same scripture in simpler translations sometimes appeals to my lazy mind. Still I find myself referring to the tried and true for affirmation.

So let the new year begin, and with it I am committed to finding the daily joy so often missed as I fret about the trivia (or sometimes trauma) of life moving on.

Virtual Crops

Despite several less than successful attempts, I have always loved gardening. Discovery of a new type of "farming" has me quite enthralled. Who would have guessed that a virtual farm that runs as an application on Face Book would become my newest addition? Not such a surprise, actually. Gratification from seed planting to harvest in as little as four hours is so satisfying. Ability to hire others to help with the work and realizing increased profits is an entrepreneural experience, a perfect example of capitalism at work. Moreover the rewards of teamwork generate increased success. This silly little game is quite addicting...but somehow I find a bit of a lesson here. One must be responsible and careful to return to harvest crops before they go to waste. Planting frequently earns coins and allows for expansion of the farm, addition of buildings, animals and trees. Intermittent goals can be reached, then extended. Oh if only the reality version were as easy as the virtual.

Celebrations

Our travels last month included two birthday celebrations. Son aged into his third decade and middle grandchild is just one year away from being a "teen". Each celebration was unique and appropriate for the celebrant.

As a member of a family motorcycle club, Son was surprised by a party during a weekend charity event on the banks of a river in Texas. While he was busy serving crawfish to the multitudes, friends and family decorated his area of the campsite, complete with balloons to fill his tent long before sleep time. Balloons and streamers hung from trees and goody bags included toy dump trucks, mini candy bars and of course...water guns. A toy hardhat was later autographed by all present, thanks to a friend with a pink permanant marker. On a 90 plus degree day, the water gun fight as we dug into the loot bags was welcomed by adults and continued by the children, until all were wet and cool. A couple of days later, most of those same friends joined in to wish him well on his actual day of birth. Mexican food is a Texas staple and his favorite local cocina seated the large group and fed us well, then finished with the complimentary sopapillas, accompanied by singing waiters. Well it was fun anyway,and he knew it was coming.

Middle grandchild lamented that we had missed several of her preceding birthdays and she was correct. For the last three years trips to the north of the metroplex seemed to flank her birthday, but not include it. Birthday wishes were sent from afar, and she was feeling a bit slighted. Recognizing that remedy was required, we made plans many months ago to be in her hometown on her birthday. Simple plan, but somehow the trip kept expanding until it was a ten day mission. The trip ended with a birthday dinner of her choosing on the night before the big day. She loves an oversized burger joint a little too far from home for a daily visit. Grandad happens to love the food there too, so her choice was no surprise. On the day of her birth, school attendance was required (cannot understand why this wasn't at least a state holiday). She is at the age where $$ are the most welcome gift. Her birthday wish list includes items of a quality that make them beyond the means of one set of grandparents. She was allowed to open her family cards in advance of the arrival of her friends, and I won't discuss the "time cram" that followed. Her friends arrived right on time, a cake was cut and served with requisite ice cream, required gang photos taken in and around the ever larger crepe myrtle in the front yard. Siblings were picked up and delivered and Middle Grandchild was off to the ice rink for skating with her friends.

We left at dawn the following morning, ever anxious to see the homeplace in the hills. It's fun to watch the young ones age and celebrate their milestones, but home is definitely where the heart remains.

Snort

I wonder if the old adage is true. "See a doctor & get meds for a cold and you will recover in about a week or let it run it's course and you'll be over it in seven days or so". Whether I use the term "Allergic Reaction" or "Cold" (which I've read is actually allergic rhinitis), this misery has lasted roughly five to six days. If counting began with the first sneeze, I'm almost well. Do OTC meds count as the doctor alternative or running the course? Diligently washing my hands, plenty of fluids, extra sleep, chicken soup and jello, have me feeling on the road to recovery. Impatience leaves little tolerance for the need to stop and blow my nose frequently, then allow the coughing urge to catapult me off for the bathroom before the bladder does it's version of a sneeze. It's spring and I have better things to do!

Dog Talk

Our Dog is always spelled with a capital D. She is a member of the family and joyful companion. Returning from a ten day trip thru several cities, we were greeted happily by our favorite four legged creature. As she exited the kennel where she slept for over a week, her enthusiasm on seeing us did not prevent her from touching noses with her newfound friends in neighboring kennels. She always turns to the kennel keepers and offers a big sloppy kiss as she leaves. This Dog knows and appreciates the loving care she receives while staying with them. She always gets the spa treatment (bath and her nails) on the day before we are coming home, and she recognizes that marker. We are told she becomes overly vigilant after that time, so care is taken to be sure we are enroute before beginning that level of care. They are aware Belle is truly a people lover and craves human companionship. She is also very social with her canine counterparts. She participates in all the doggie group activities, earning the tag of "social director", but often comes into the grooming area to keep the owners, groomers, and their children company. They tell us she has a calming influence on some of the rowdier critters...hmm. That surprised us. Her enthusiasm when first meeting someone new often scares the recipient and I was concerned that she might jump on the young toddler there. Nope, she is ever congnizant of the little one and usually places herself between the child and the half door when a stranger approaches. They tell me she never barks from the salon area...strange, in that anyone approaching our house or even walking by generates a loud bark alarm from her.

Multiple budding plant species certainly stirred my allergies as we traveled. By the time we arrived at home, I was sniffling, sneezing, hacking and coughing. Miserable would be a bit of an understatement. After collecting Belle, we came home and I just collapsed with a pile of tissues, decongestants and expectorants. She took Ol' Abner on his late afternoon walk, then settled in beside my chair. With each round of snorting and coughing, she would rise up and put her head on the arm of my chair, with no verbal disturbance, her eyes said it all. If you have never looked into the eyes of a concerned Laborador Retriever, the nurturing effect of same will be lost. I was constantly reassured that it would get better and she would be here for the duration.

Monday Ol' Abner had to make a trip to the capital city for a dental appointment. I usually accompany him on those treks and Belle stays to "watch the house". She gladly accepts her "cookie" as we leave and and offers an enthusiastic welcome as we return. Sometimes we are away as much as nine or ten hours, and she has never had an accident or destroyed anything in the house in our absence. After all, it's HER house too. Since I was in no condition to be exposed to the outside world, he gave a treat and told her to "watch the house and take care of Mom". She did just that. All day long, she either lay in his chair, on the sofa where she could look out the window, or by my chair. Not one word out of her until Ol' Abner called to let me know he was headed for home. She barked at a walking neighbor during that call. Every day she expects to walk in the morning and in the afternoon, makes several treks outside to inspect her yard, and campaigns loudly for a ride in the morning and afternoon. This is her routine. I fully expected to have an argument with her about such. Not one time did she demand I come out of my cozy place to attend to her. While aware of my presence, she made no requests. When she saw Ol' Abner driving up, she welcomed him loudly and ran downstairs to greet him. It was a little after "walk time" and she expected him to deliver. They walked, she loudly demanded her ride, then asked for dinner right at her usual time. Amazingly intuitive, she seems to know when to ask and when to refrain. I was grateful for her company all day, but amazed at her ability to put aside her needs to just be with me.

Working Out the Kinks

After a weekend of sleeping in a tent, walking a quarter mile to the facilities (oh yes, it was a very modern campground with real flushing toilets) I probably deserved to be a little stiff and sore. A good night's sleep in a real bed should have been the remedy. I thought so anyway.

First thing yesterday morning, Ol' Abner & I set out for the Swedish Big Box with a specific piece in mind, properly researched on-line and through reconnaisance by Daughter and Middle Grandchild. We know the hazards of that particular jungle and planned to avoid wandering the wilderness of furniture, gadgets, cabinets and cookware. Plans for two stops prior to the arrival were changed and we ended up in the parking lot sans breakfast. Of course breakfast is one of those things that can be purchased in the Swedish Big Box. No problem. A marathon trek to the farthest corner of the store from the entrance allowed the curbing of hunger along with a wonderful cup of coffee. Unfortunately, Ol' Abner refused to claim the joy of relaxation over a second cup...food swallowed...time to continue our quest. We made our way bin by bin through the maze of rooms filled with racks of stuff we didn't even know we needed. Finally asking one of the fellows in yellow for assistance, we were directed to the appropriate rack containing our planned purchase. He kindly loaded it on our cart and we heaped a few more "necessities" on top and headed for the check-out with our treasure. Good work...uh...maybe not!

I was reminded that the first part of our lap enroute to the restaurant was at a faster clip than he would have enjoyed. He didn't have a chance to stop and look as we breezed through at warp speed. Huh?!? My simple solution...now that we have unloaded the weighty loot, we can stroll through and just look. What was I thinking? That's a long long stroll, and naturally additional necessities were discovered and added to the treasure bag. Two hours later we finally escaped via the check-out, hauled our cargo through the parking lot and marveled at the summer like heat. What ever happened to spring?

It was just after noon and already we were needing another good night's sleep.

The usual flurry of activity that precedes a trip is not without it's pitfalls, especially when the deadline for filing income taxes (federal and two states) looms just ahead of departure. Poor Ol' Abner made his plans to have taxes all done early this year. He actually thought we might get a little of our hard earned tax dollars back, but that didn't happen. Nevertheless, he hit one hurdle after another and the aformentioned documents were just completed today, just one day ahead of the drop dead, it's all over date. They are in the mail and his desktop looks cleaner than it has in this entire year...yeah, he started in January to "get ahead of the game on taxes for a change".

The next ten days will be spent either out of place or enroute to another destination. A trip to South Texas where the bluebonnets should be in bloom will give him a chance to finally do a little motorcycle riding with Son. Ol' Abner bought it last year and loaded it on a trailer, traveled 12 hours only to pull something in his elbow that made it impossible to manipulate the clutch safely. We loaded the bike back on the trailer and pulled it to Corpus Christi, back through Austin to the suburb on the northside, then on to Arkansas with a net mileage of less than 50 miles turned on the motorcycle odometer. The bike wintered under the deck here with only a couple of start ups of the engine to ride fifteen or so feet to relocate it for sweeping purposes. Now he's preparing the trailer for a reload and restart for the twelve hour drive to the northside suburb of the Texas capital.

Son will celebrate a milestone birthday later this month, so of course we will want to be there to remind him what it looks like to be double his age with an up close and personal view of the combined genes he inherited. Maybe he will vow to take better care of the body that will have to serve him through all those later years. Probably not, but a mother can always hope.

Oh the anticipation of it all! I know we will have fun once we arrive. A motorcycle ride is planned to a Central Texas rally point for and overnight campout and crawfish boil. Daughter-In-Law will have all details planned and perfectly organized (she takes much better care of Son than his mother ever did). We enjoy their circle of friends and always feel welcomed and included in the fun.

After the weekend, our journey will lead us North to the Metroplex, a couple of days on the Fort Worth side then over to the northside of Dallas. We will see a Brother in Law through a surgery, attend to Mother-in-Law's prepaid funeral plans (now that she has finally accepted that some day she might, in fact, die), then celebrate middle grandchild's birthday as the grande finale. Actually that was the original purpose of this trip. Seems we have missed her last three birthdays while we were off to other parts unknown. As we made sure a trip was planned for her special day, it just somehow became convenient to include the rest of these activities out in front of her occasion.

Now the dog must be boarded, refrigerator cleaned out, laundry finished and freshly cleaned clothes packed, sundries sorted and reloaded, mail held, newspaper stopped and neighbors notified. Ahh, but Uncle Sam has been duely reconciled and paid...Ouch! Now if we can just find the keys to the motorcycle!

Special Times

A couple of days ago, I traveled North to spend an evening with some close friends and former co-workers. Isn't it great that working and traveling with people of the same occupation can plant and nurture lifelong friendships? Most of my longtime friends were met in the course of working. Maybe that is why it has always been difficult for me to imagine never working again. Volunteer activities can be fun in a retirement community, but the pecking order of the existing hens cannot be challenged without serious pain to a newcomer. When one works, the distraction of the job to be done encourages personal interaction and friendships are formed almost without effort. We seem to just fall into the natural order of things and something special happens within those relationships generated through common goals and hurdles.

Our work was tiring, with constant deadlines, pressures for stronger performance, and exacerbated by many months of out of town travel. As we enjoyed distractions from the stress of work, our group became more of a second family than workgroup. Spouses and children of co-workers became a part of that extended family and the friendships deepened as a result. Leaving that fold was more difficult than I could have imagined. I love being home on my mountain and do not miss the long hours of driving to various cities, but I do yearn for the day to day interaction with that particular group of friends. I miss the work without really regretting it's end.

Being included in plans for future events made me feel wonderful and still part of the group. My life is so full with extended family activities, but this unique "family of friends" is something to cherish always.

From This Day Forward

I read somewhere (or maybe I heard it) that the older we get the harder it is to drop unwanted pounds. Why must I exhibit the verification of that theory???? After several weeks of careful eating with a little exercise (I know ten minutes every few days is NOT enough) no pounds are gone. Mind you I avoid the scale like the plaque since the set upstairs never ever agrees with the one downstairs and if you move either of them just a hair, the number varies even more. Thinking small changes might have the desired effect and yet observing not even a tiny affect on the fit of my jeans, my fears were confirmed at the obligatory stand on the scales at the doc's office last week. Yup..I gained two pounds in just over six weeks since the visit to my primary doc. Probably cannot blame it on the different scales...my mismatched gadgets at home comparitively are reaching the same conclusion.

Yesterday was spent in a flurry of activity to find homes for various clutter in my house...climbing and bending is exercise...right. Searched multiple cookbooks and the internet looking for a "steak oscar" recipe worthy of my effort, then veared off to the weight loss plans and reduced calorie recipes. Eventually decided to just steam the asparagus and serve it alongside a chicken dish with tortellini. Bernaise sauce seemed like a lot of trouble and I didn't have any tarragon vinegar or time to infuse any. Frustrated, I went to bed last night with a new resolution. I will right this gluttonous ship by writing down every bite in my mouth and keeping a diary of my daily exercise...three minuts of ladder climbing followed by two minutes burrowing to the back of the linen closet does not equal five minutes of exercise. Not sure who made that rule, but I am destined to follow it. Only bonifide stretch prefaced and steady movement exercise will reach the catalog. Cooking and recipe searches do not count either.

Roots

Last week I journeyed down my mountain and up another to find my ancestral ties.  Two cousins agreed to join me in the search.  We share a common pair of great grandparents, our parents were first cousins.  Does that make us cousins twice removed or thrice? No matter, we each grew up in very different circumstances with paths that bear little similarity, still a thread of commonality remains.  Actually I would call it more of a strong rope or steel cable.  Childhood memories are always fun to dredge up when one reaches a certain age.  Locating the landscape where the events occurred is sometimes a little more difficult.  Cousin 1 has remained in the county of our roots all her life, married a hometown boy and raised her children there. Cousin 2 stayed in state, married a boy from the capital city and raised their children in the central river country.  As you may know, I left the hills and grew up on the plains of Texas marrying a native and raising my native Texan children in several parts of that state. A favorite spot from all our childhood days included a cliffside cave with a strange green growth around it.  We loved climbing around the cliffs and following the trail down to the overhang to eat a picnic lunch or make up wild tales about outlaws and renegades.  Back then, the cliff overlooked a pretty little valley with a winding river running through the bottom.  Trucks traveling along the roads below looked like tiny matchbox vehicles and we made up stories about what they might be transporting...like chocolate bunnies for Easter or straw hats for summer.

We set out certain of our destination.  A short way up the mountain each of us at one time muttered the phrase "this just doesn't look quite right", but continued on in spite of confusion.  After several false turns on roads that should not have been, we finally called 1's son for help.  His instruction was to turn left on the first road after somewhere and go down to a road that had a gate that could not be opened, but could be driven around.  Follow that road down to a fork and take the one that isn't all washed out.  Sounded like a good plan, except we had just been down that road.  We started looking for another road that went around a gate and alas only that one met the description. After following a cowpath named like a road down the mountain and taking advantage of the only wide spot to turn around, we grudgingly returned to infamous road that went around the gate. Previously noting that the road appeared to go down at the fork at a steeper grade, we were sure this couldn't be it. The cave was at one of the highest points on the mountain in our memories...we just couldn't go down to get to it. 2 and I followed one road and 1 followed the other and Viola!..they met about a hundred yards down the hill and we could clearly see our destination ahead.

A lake covers the valley below now and the view is still absolutely beautiful. Not one of us had the nerve to take the trail down through "fat man's squeeze" as the narrow place on the trail to the cave under the cliff was called. Still we took photos of one another atop the cliff just to prove we found it and shared happy tales of childhood. Later we shared lunch without sand or bugs in a sandwich shop up the road. It was a wonderful day! (more to follow)
 

Above it All

One afternoon last week we were down near the river and spotted an eagle's nest in a tree on the cliff. Little eaglet heads were peeking out from the nest and we couldn't resist the urge to stop and spy on them through binoculars. I had my camera with me and attempted to get a photo...alas, my telephoto lens has serious limitations (really need a stronger camera). The area around the lake and river are known nesting areas for our national bird, and we host an "eagle awareness" event each year in January. These magnificent birds of prey are fascinating. The population seems to be increasing in the area and we celebrate the fact. As we watched, a parent flew to the nest and brought nourishment to the young ones, then spread those huge wings and took flight. What a sight! If only I could have captured it on film...it is beautifully etched in my memory for the moment. Photos allow the memory to purge any time, yet return to the forefront on command.

Loss

A call last night brought the dreaded news I had expected for several years. My cousin, Pat died quickly yesterday. Her struggle to live had been long and painful and nothing any of us would have wanted for her. She was a beautiful young girl nine years my senior and oh so cool in my childhood memories. When I was in elementary school, she was loving all the in-crowd activities of high school. She wore poodle skirts, danced the bop and went boat riding on the lake with her friends and no parents. She transitioned into a glamorous young mother with the cutest, sweetest little girl. They would drive up in the little white corvair with Ka-Ka (daughter Karen) exiting in her little red coat and cap, and again I was so proud to claim a familial relationship. We never lived in the same city again after those few years, but occasional visits and phone calls allowed the connection to continue. Our parents were siblings and each died much too young. In later years we would remember them and laugh about their quirks. She was my link to that bit of nostalgia. Now that link has passed on and I will miss her so.

Pig Dreams

I slept well last night. Dreams were very vivid. The lead character in my dream was in a storybook I was reading to some unknown children (wonder if the "unknown" is significant"). He was a crusty looking warthog wearing little round reading glasses. Can't really remember much more detail from the dream...they are elusive like that. No doubt though about the inspiration for my character. A day or two ago a neighbor and I were discussing one of the trophies in her husband's "Africa Room". He's a studious looking warthog (the trophy, not the husband) and I asked her if he had a name, to which she replied "No, but he probably should...I name everything else". Must've bothered me that the poor fellow didn't have a name because all that was particularly clear in my dream was Sir Wugsly Warthog as a daringly studious pig in the midst of other creatures without a care for knowledge. Miss Piggy, I am certain would be impressed with his clear insight into the pigish condition. I really must go find out if my neighbor has named her pig on the wall yet.

Age Defying

A good friend only slightly younger but much more agile than me had the nerve to forward a video today. I love to watch the YouTube videos. Often they provide thought provoking information, and some are clever performances by pets. Today's offering made my jaw drop and my hips hurt. An 87 year old woman Salsa dancing, and I don't mean a few little steps. I watched as she spun and shook around the dance floor in full rhythm and spunky speed to the Latin rhythms. The performance was just over 4 minutes, longer than I can walk in place, let alone spin and swirl and click my high heels. I would need CPR. Despite the fact that I have bought new walking shoes and secumbed to the four legged critter's demands for multiple outings, I was totally mortified by the woman claiming to be older than my own dear Mammy acting perkier than I have felt in twenty years. Friend titled the missive "Me in a few years-haha". Does that mean she was kidding...or being facetious? I prefer to think she was laughing with delightful anticipation of her advancing years...You Go Girl!

New Shoes

Anticipation has been building for weeks around here. A new shoe store has had it's shingle out along with big banners in the window promising to "Open Soon" for several weeks. Yesterday's paper included a coupon and partial list of special prices along with a "Now Open" banner on the page. At breakfast yesterday I managed to one up the sis-in-law with news she didn't have yet. Uptown Shoe Store is open for business. Her surprise was only trumped by my delight in giving her news as yet unknown to her. We have a bit of that friendly competition in our family here on the mountain. It's always best to know the latest first. Brother and Ol' Abner were both unimpressed with the news, but what do they know with that limited male perspective.

Today, Sis-in-Law called to see if I wanted to ride over to the big town for a little shoe shopping. Actually, it was more a matter of "how soon 'til you can be ready??. We left old Abner adding to the back deck and Brother camped in front of the TV. Now as a girl true to Dogpatch, my Daisy Mae size feet aren't so easy to fit. I always need the largest size in the ladies department and sometimes larger than anything in the ladies department. It is often a source of great irritation when shopping for athletic shoes and the sales person suggests I buy a MAN's shoe. Beyond me why anyone would think my feet would even want to walk like a man. I may be tall, but I'm just not equipped like the male species and my feet don't walk the same. If you can't understand that...there's no point trying to explain. Uptown shoe store is known for it's wide selection of hard to find sizes and my mission was successful. Almost every shoe I liked was available in my size. Oh decisions, decisions...! I cleaned out my closet and bagged eleven pair of barely worn shoes last week. Old Abner saw no reason to replace them, thus exhibiting his manly lack of knowledge regarding shoes. I returned home with fantastic tales of sandals, slides, loafers, peep toe pumps, casual flats, strappy wedges and dancing shoes. There were flip-flops, vans, jumping shoes, running shoes and walking shoes of every color and style...oh let my feet sing!! He was unimpressed with my details and rather relieved that only two pair made their way home with me. I will have to make another trip soon, the manager told me additional stock arriving next week will double the selection currently on display. Better clean out some more old shoes.

Inevitable

Death and taxes are the only certainty in our mortal lives. We all know that...I would add dust to the list, it's always there again and again. Alas, returning to the subject of today's musing, death should be the end of taxes. NOPE, not necessarily. Ol' Abner's uncle died last fall. He was the executor of the estate. Previous discussions with living Uncle and review of the will left them both comfortable that clear directions for Uncle's wishes were in place and properly communicated in the will. Of course nuances of parts of the will and purposes therof were shared verbally by Uncle with Ol' Abner through the years prior to the inevitable death. Should have been fairly simple to just arrange for supporting documentation of death, accumumulation of all assets and writing out the checks to the heirs. TAXES! That was the kink in the works.

Try getting the same answer to the same question more than once from the IRS! Whatever you do, don't attempt to find the answer in the current pages of the tax code. A huge "Caution, Do not attempt to search for answers without weeks and weeks of your time available" should be posted on their website. The estate was small enough to be exempt from inheritance taxes. The funds, however, were in IRA accounts at a large investment firm. To further complicate matters, those pre-tax funds were moved to the estate during two different tax years. Now we all know that $$ in an Individual Retirement Account are taxable at the current rate of the taxpayer at the time of withdrawel. Great system for maximizing savings for growth and deferring taxes until after our high wage years.

Abner's delimma...how much tax is due and when should it be paid. Answers ranged from $0 to 49% of the total. Now that's a pretty wide range. Tax professionals interviewed all offered variations on the amounts with only limited facts supplied by Ol' Abner. Finally he bit into the proverbial bullet and hired a CPA to advise and assist in distribution of the checks to the heirs. Today he just mailed checks to nine heirs with no taxes deducted. The CPA is sending a form K to the IRS and to each recipient showing the IRA distribution. Some of them are on small fixed incomes and will owe little or no taxes on the money. Each will pay taxes at his current taxable rate.

A bit of nostalgia stings as we talk about Uncle and Aunt. He was the oldest of four siblings and the first to pass on. Memories of his kindness are bubbling over along with his stubborn streak and sense of authority that seems to be inate in oldest children. He took responsibility for his siblings whenever they were in need, always standing back and saying little, but supportive none the less. Aunt died a few years ago. She watched as both of her sons died from progressive deseases while she herself suffered deteriorating health. Uncle's stoic efforts to make each of their final days better is at the forefront of our mind. Now this bit of inheritance may make the lives of siblings and grandchildren a little easier for a time. I do hope they will be thankful that these two wonderful people were in their lives.

Bulldozer

Ol' Abner shares an occasional (well actually most days) late afternoon visit with other old codgers in the area. They mosey in one by one to the back porch of Ol' Excavator to discuss the highlights of the day. Most days it's just a notch below the gossip session attributed to the female counterpart. Lately though, the discussion, as relayed to me, has taken a rather gloomy turn. Government corruption, crime and inability to hire adequate personnel dominate concerns previously allocated to which widow woman was after Ol' Taxidermist or which point to fish for walleye. Ol' Pharmacist suffered a break-in during the power outage of the recent ice storm, the city can't seem to get it's share of the $$ needed for storm clean up in place, but Ol' Excavator is truly the most underwater in this downturn. He sent his truck wrecker, tractor breaker employee down around the bend and behind the mountain with his bulldozer on a trailer. Now if you haven't ever had occasion to purchase a bulldozer...just take my word for it...it is a valuable piece of equipment. A new home being built near the river required some serious lot leveling before construction could begin. Equipment wrangler was instructed to take it to the backside of the lot and off load it so the work could begin the following day. Now mind you this guy is not a newcomer to the area. Signs are posted all along the river cautioning that water can rise rapidly. Said lot was many feet above the river even when the water released rose to it's maximum level...or so Ol' Excavator thought. The next morning he arrived at the construction site to begin his work. Not seeing his dozer, he feared the worst (that someone had stolen this tool for his livelyhood). As he walked the property looking for tracks, he looked over the cliff at the back of the property, there sat his bulldozer on a rock ledge now underwater. Now mind you, this was not the "top this" tale any of the ol' boys really wanted to win. In the spirit of dogpatch though, they sipped their beer, wine, diet coke, scotch and branch water. Not one of them could really remember any employee quite that dumb in recent history. It was worth a pretty good laugh. Ol' Realtor says the builder will wait for the dozer to be repaired, cause Ol' Excavator is the best at what HE does, just not too good at picking employees.

Details

My dear Mammy used the phrase "devil is in the details" frequently during my teen years, most often when I was evading the more detailed answer. As I whined about the need to keep multiple "unnecessary" doctor's appointments yesterday, a bit of guilt crept into my empty brain. A friend died yesterday. She was only five years my senior and appeared perfectly healthy just a few months ago. In fact, we were all praying for her spouse's recovery from serious illness late last summer, and offering her supportive euphemisms as we asked for daily updates on his condition. Now she is gone after a sudden but brief illness. Maybe my doctor is on to something and I should be grateful for his diligence. I promise to quit complaining as he insists on monitoring details of my health I'd rather not address. I will no longer evade his advice to seek my own comfort level. Observing details brings hope. I hope that grabbing a handful of raw veggies instead of the cinnamon roll will keep another detail (pound) from expanding. I hope that by spending a few dollars wisely will help our flagging economy. Better yet, I can see details of hope spring up already. The "naked ladies" are peeking up through the soil. In a few weeks they will provide beautiful foilage under the trees. In a few months, the flowers they will display will take my breath away with their beauty. Right now they are tiny details...but I know they are just the beginning of something beautiful.

Uphill

I do like to find ways to improve my circumstance. My biggest issue lately has evolved into a daily struggle to determine which part of my happy place will I tackle today. Good health is something I have always taken for granted. I would like to continue to do so. My doctor seems determined to find something wrong with me just because I am of a certain age. All the tests he insists I undergo "just as a screening" continue to be unremarkable. OK, so what is the obsession for testing away the remaining good days of my life? I am overweight and he seems totally unconcerned about that. My theory is that his strategy is totally in reverse. If he could just find some disease plagueing me, then he could blame excessive weight as the cause of the ailment. Since nothing has turned up in the many wasted days of my life, he just "hmmmm"s when I complain about my aching knees and allergies. A baby aspirin daily he thinks would prevent possible stroke or heart attack, calcium at night wouldn't hurt...but my bone density is fine, fish oil with each meal might keep my HDL cholesterol from moving uphill and he will be in touch when additional tests have been scheduled. Seems like we did all this a year ago..and oh yeh, he wants to see me in six months. Maybe today I will start a weight loss plan of better food choices and exercise. Don't know if he will notice...but I am sure he will find a new diagnostic test to ascertain the cause of anything he doesn't see.

Normal

Here on the mountain things are starting to look fit for human habitation again. Illustrious Mayor came by yesterday to give Belle the Swell a treat and update us after comments made at the Town Hall meeting the previous night. Ol' Abner stood up near the end of the gathering and suggested that those moving here from elsewhere shouldn't change our little town to resemble the old hometown...just go back to the old hometown. His comment drew applause from one side of the crowd and horrified Illustrious Mayor since he hails from same old hometown as the target of Ol' Abner's disdain. IM wanted us to know that "Tin Can Telephone Co" was still cruising the streets to see if repairs should be attempted yet. Meanwhile Ol' Abner had pulled the dangling telephone lines out of the trees and raised them high enough to allow us to exit the driveway. Bare wires were still showing, but the missing dialtone was restored. Just minutes later, said telephone company called to see if we had a working phone...duh...did I lose them at "hello". I asked that the service order not be cancelled because of bare threads of wires transmitting our voices. She promised to keep it open but advised that we would be dropped to the lower priority. Ol' Abner had plenty to say about that. Herein lies the paradox. The "old hometown" we came from was served by a "real telephone company"...maybe we will just enjoy the (almost) service provided by Tin Can Telephone Co. The truck drove slowly by several times today, didn't stop, but the driver looked our house over really well. I waved, he waved back. Maybe we won't have to follow our own advice.

Lost

Freezing rain, sleet, and icicles hanging from trees and rooftops were the norm for over a week. I may have aged an extra decade during that week...maybe not. Chilling or freezing are methods of preservation, Yeah that's better. Let's put a positive spin on wearing a hood and gloves with scarf wrapped around the face with four layers of clothing under my heaviest coat. Still I was cold...COLD! Somehow I do not feel younger...maybe a little naive (as opposed to just plain dumb). Living in the beautiful tree covered mountains with never waivering electricity, phone lines and clean running water, we were blissfully ignorant. Neighbors accumulated enormous stacks of firewood covered by awful blue tarps. Many have those ugly propane tanks located somewhere on the back of their property near their all-electric homes. About a cord of wood stacked neatly at the edge of the holler seemed totally adequate to us and we absolutely would not cover the natural beauty of the woodstack with a (shudder)plastic tarp. Then..ice covered trees dropped bombs of ice. Power lines were no match for the awesome weight as giant limbs and whole trees fell. Tuesday night we recalled descriptions of London air raid survivors from World War II. Constant popping and huge thunks followed whooshing just outside the windows in the total darkness. Suddenly those tales of woe came to life for us. Dry wood burns more easily in a fireplace and a cord of wood can disappear quickly when fueling the only source of warmth in a household. We survived but lessons have been learned. Alternate heat sources are being researched and downed wood is being cut and stacked for next year's use when it will be covered with a shiny tarp of any color to keep it dry. A battery powered radio is on the shopping list and we'll beef up the outdoor cooking utensils to better utilize the gas grill and fish fryer...just in case the propane powered generator(yep, we are shopping for that) cannot handle the necessary load. The sun is shining again on the mountain and these happy grasshoppers have now become worker ants preparing the mound for disaster.

Storage

How can little plastic cups and boxes be so heavy? While we arranged contents of shelves in the basement yesterday various "tupperware" devices tumbled out bombing us about the head and shoulders. By today, Ol Abner's patience was at it's limit as he tripped over the ever-growing pile of plastic. I refrained from reminding him that same had been unpacked by himself during the last couple of years, then stashed in places unknown...'til now. Years of home parties, fundraisers and hope for solutions (envisioned in a new gadget or place to keep miscellaneous stuff, snacks, and staples) have culminated in a formidable mountain blocking the door to the basement bathroom. Many of the items haven't been seen since "Top Gun" was showing in theaters. That would be about eight moves ago. A very wise friend told me that any box that was still packed two years after a move should just be given to charity (maybe I SHOULD have tested that theory) Strange how lids and bowls just never get packed together. Many of the pieces will have to move to a new residence soon. Today, we went to the big box store and bought two big plastic storage bins so the pile can be contained for matching, evaluating and discarding. The basement shrinks again.

Home Improvement

We closed in part of the screened porch to convert to a dining room last fall. A successful conversion in that the problem of congestion while entering through the kitchen door or the staircase from the downstairs entrances was solved. Other issues are still being handled gradually...until yesterday. The unpainted siding purchased to match the current has been allowed to age throughout the winter. It had to be caulked and trimmed, both projects that required a tall ladder or scaffold from our 2-story back side. Ol Abner took advantage of the good weather and completed the prep work during two beautiful days earlier this week. Then the painting could begin. I'm talking about two short walls meeting at a corner with one 3.0 window on the one side and two 6.0 windows on the other. Frugal man that I married was reusing plastic dropcloths as window covers to avoid overspray. Small tears and holes in the plastic were easily covered with the painters tape. When the windows were taped for painting the image of a digital TV screen with large blurred areas and only a smattering of blue pixels arranged in a random pattern of clusters. I was so proud. Progress was in sight. My two tone house was about to match again. I expected him to pull out the roller and start painting, but gadgets purchased must be used. He has one of those airless paint sprayers (in fact I think he has successfully painted the rest of this house and another with it) and planned to make quick work of the small area to be painted. The gadget didn't co-operate. Paint drooled all over the ladder, dripped on his jeans, shoes and elbows and generally went anywhere unintended. As Belle and I walked around the neighborhood his expletives (though unintelligible) could be heard between bangs and engine flutters from the air compressor. Understanding friends and neighbors wisely refrained from offering to come help him. He was just finishing as we returned from our stroll and we complemented the new look. (not his, the house) The squirrels and birds were all in hiding and I took a cue from them when he grunted and told me the airless paint sprayer had malfunctioned (paraphrased). This morning after a shower and hand scrubbing of body parts, most of the paint has faded from his body, two pair of jeans will sport green embellishments forever and he's stiff and sore all over. He told me last night that he will have to invest in more exterior paint because that siding "really soaked it up". I wonder if he will try using a roller and brush this time.

How Things Work

A surge of energy this morning hoping to make everything shiny and clean just uncovered new issues. After moving furniture out from the wall and getting every last bit of dog hair out of the crevices, we discovered the lamp between our chairs no longer produced a light. Logical solutions like changing the bulb and plugging it back in had no effect. After ruling out a blown circuit or a worn out plug, a trip to the local big box or home improvement store was required. Belle the Swell, the chocolate labrador retriever was sorely disappointed as we left just before her usual walk or ride time. She works very hard to keep us on a schedule. She eats at 5AM and 5PM, walks Ol' Abner whether he needs it or not at least twice daily, and campaigns for a ride within the city limits of our tiny town on the lake. Leaving the confines of "Dogpatch" causes howling and wailing along with loud sighs and fidgeting from the back seat. We left her standing crestfallen at the door. She accepted her treat and settled to wait. ("Stay" in her language) She will just have to understand that reading the newspaper and tv guide are higher on the urgency scale at this moment. Returning home with miscellaneous parts for lamp repair, we were met with such good cheer and delight that a stroll around the circle seemed like the natural thing to do. However, now that all the new parts have been added to the ailing lamp, it still won't produce the proper glow for reading. It might have been cheaper just to replace it. Meanwhile, Belle is already campaigning for her afternoon ride. Gadgets may not work as expected, but one Labrador Retriever consistently guides us through our day. She will be ready to eat when we return whether the lamp lights or not.

Whrrrrr......

Who would have thought the sound of a shop vac would bring such joy? After many dreary days with gray skies, bitter cold winds and temperatures in the teens and twenties, I was thrilled to hear Ol' Abner out on the screened deck clearing the winter dust from the boards. We opened the sliding door from the dining room and allowed the fresh air to dare us to hope that spring might be coming. I refuse to allow any other speculation to surface.

Patchwork

The sum of my experiences leading to this day could best be described as a sort of crazy quilt. Events planned often lead to unexpected consequences or rewards. My very last paycheck arrived in the mail today. Probably the last one I will ever receive. From this time on, my endeavers will either be volunteer or non-productive. This last round of employment was actually one I didn't plan to even begin. Ol' Abner had a bout with cancer and began circulating rumors of his impending demise. Strangely enough, I had a call from my most recent employer the day after his diagnosis. Insurance, good health insurance, was my new unexpected need. Should he die sooner than later, I would be left bereft of his company sponsored insurance plan. Mind you, it isn't the best of coverage with its huge deductible and relatively high premiums, but without a living retiree to sponsor me, I would even lose that. He is a disabled veteran with service connected disablity so all his ailments are treated by the big healthcare system from the government. Having resigned from my job in Amarillo, TX because it was just too far to commute to the house in the Ozarks, the call to let me know about an opening in the Springfield, MO office (only a two hour commute) had unexpectedly moved that last paycheck out from sometime back in 2005 until today. I planned to be a teacher, majored in elementary education and never taught a day. Discovered that parents had less than reasonable expectations for those being paid to educate their children...that was in the early seventies...today's teachers deserve combat pay. It just seemed better to follow my nose and work where the jobs appeared and somehow they always came, whether I was looking or not. Volunteer work with children was much better suited to my somewhat free spirit. If they weren't nice, I sent them home. If their parents aggravated me, they weren't invited to return. Before giving birth to my own children, I could generally count on one of my friends to loan me a couple of theirs if I wanted to see a Disney movie or play in the park or some other less than grown up activity (I loved climbing trees back then). When my own urchins came along the best way to keep a view of them was through ongoing interaction with their peers. Meanwhile I sometimes needed to supplement the family income. I always enjoyed the job interview process. It was a fun way to learn about a company and just what they produced. Usually after couple of those and I had a job offer. I really would like to have just been a professional applicant, but there seemed to be little demand for that. Healthcare billing and collection was the paying work I followed for many years as Ol' Abners career moved us from city to city. Daughter and Son had needs that often influenced my choice to work for pay or not. Moving to Midland TX in the oil boom of the late eighties funneled me into a sales job and I found that to be a good fit for my curious nature. Eventually, sales experience landed me in a job for a major telecom company selling yellow page advertising. Now how is all this relevant? The realization that no more paychecks will be forthcoming means I will need free entertainment. Having observed blogging from a distance, I enlisted the aid of Daughter to set up a sort of diary/blog. She took me an extra step into Facebook and I don't have to explain that several adults who should still be carefree children are turning up on my wall. Wow...stich another section of the crazy quilt!

Just as I Feared

After setting up my first post and signing out, I wrote the post for this morning last night. When I previewed it a couple of typos and misspellings "glared" at me, but I couldn't find a way to correct them. I somehow posted anyway, and lost all ability to edit. I understand my youngest granddaughter had no problem blogging so I WILL master this. Just a little later. As Mammy used to say "Aging ain't for sissies".

We must travel to the state capital today to get hearing aids and new glasses for Ol' Abner. That would be his mythical name. As a child I spent early years in the Arkansas hills before the financial blessings of the Lone Star State lured us to the Texas panhandle. The Sunday comics featured the ongoing antics of Li'l Abner and Daisy Mae and I followed them closely through the pages, then a movie and a high school stage play. While my other half was a little more industrious in his professional life than the "mattress tester" career of Li'l Abner, I relate to Daisy (same name as my favorite flower) as his strongest advocate and protector of his sanity. These days he could qualify as a "sleepin' chair tester" though. Age tends to slow us down in every way and it's actually rather nice. My very own "Mammy" (dubbed so by her first granddaughter) wore a painted shirt with something to the effect that it is okay not to be able to see, hear, or chew, but "I sure do miss my mind!" I do wonder what it will be like for him to always hear what I say the first time. At times I am sure he ignores me, and other conversations end with the appearance of complete agreement from him only to be met by total denial of any knowledge when the time comes for action. Glasses, however are another story altogether. No less than two dozen pair have just gone away in the last year. Some are in his pocket, then they are not. Others fall out as he leans out of the boat to retrieve something from the lake or river, some may have been burned with leaves in the "holler" behind our home here in "Dogpatch". Every trip involves at least one pair lost and some just cannot be discribed other than missing.

What was I thinking?

Thought it might be fun to capture my momentary wisps of conscious thought where they could be reviewed after departure. The only problem with that bit of genius lies in the nature of said thoughts. Whether I am very old or very young lies in the mind of my audience, and most days I can argue either direction. A blog requires a certain ability to recall such silly things like passwords and pathways, items I usually view as unnecessary obstacles. Inability to recall the thoughts generated less than a moment ago could be the beginning of dementia...or the sign of mind that is growing. The jury is still out. Posting today may be the only time I will find my way in.