Here, There, and Everywhere!

The days are flying by right now.  How did it already become Saturday again?  We've been busy sorting through treasures and trash, realizing at times one becomes the other.  With our next trip to the Lone Star State, ownership of a home there will become reality.  Decisions about things worth taking and other things better left behind are constant.  Friendships are recognized as particularly valuable and as much of every day as possible is spent enjoying the people that make living here so wonderful.  We will keep this house and plan several return trips to the mountain each year.  Still, it's a bit disconcerting to envision a footprint in each state.

Ol' Abner has been gathering all the parts and pieces of his projects so they can be moved en mass for future completion.  I've been furiously working to complete several things in progress. Planned projects are being stored in totes for another time.  Insurance agents in each state must be maintained.  Household maintenance must be arranged in advance instead of attending when necessary.  Plants will have to be the kind of independent sprouts that require little care, and furniture will thinned to provide comfort in two homes instead of one.

Worked into the migration schedule are Ol' Abner's medical needs.  Tests are scheduled, completion of his dental work, cardiology follow-up, and repeat attempt of the Intra-trachial oxygen port will be part of the travel for the next few months.

Special birthdays must be celebrated and important reunions will be attended.  Decisions for traveling with the dog or letting her enjoy her busy social life on the mountain will be considered with each journey.

The prospect of all that's on my plate seems overwhelming at times, but life goes on and we'll just live through the transition day by day.

Not Just Any Hill Will Do!

Last week we made another journey to the Texas Hill Country to resume our search for a home in the Lone Star State.  Timing for wildflower views could not have been better.  As we left our home on the Ozark "hill", I stressed about leaving with the dogwoods in full bloom.  Since we had to stop in the Arkansas capitol for a visit with one of Ol' Abner's doctors, it was dark thirty when we crossed into Texas.  Awakening the following morning and exiting the hotel parking lot brought a a breathless gasp, the kind that makes Ol' Abner think he needs to swerve or slam on his brakes. Sorry about that, but I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the bluebonnets draping the side of the freeway.  After a prolonged drought, blooming wildflowers are a welcome sight in Texas.  Traveling down the interstate highway revealed roadside vistas of colorful bluebonnets, buttercups, Indian paintbrush, Indian blanket and bits of lovely yellow flowers of unknown name.  It was a joyful ride for me.

Our realtor was waiting to assist us in our quest for a place to live in this hill country.  If you haven't heard the recent history, let me update you quickly.  Two home offers accepted, and two contracts revoked when additional information was disclosed.  Our plan had been to be settled into our "second" home by this time.  I am a believer that a higher power intercedes at times when we are on the path not proper for us...and always pray for guidance when making major decisions.  Several homes in three different communities were slated for tours.  We wrote another offer, it was accepted, inspection completed, returned to the Ozarks in the space of five days.  I won't talk too much about this house...but it does have a beautiful view from the hilltop.

Returning to the Ozarks, we were delighted that the blooms we left behind were still evident in the landscape.  The oaks had finished dropping all the little brown squiggles that are so offensive and our home again seems ever so private.  Dogwoods still display perky white flowers beneath the oaks and the redbuds have delicate buds among the leaves beginning to mingle with them.  Oh yes!  This is a lovely hill, but we may have found another equally satisfying.

Orphaned?

A custody battle rages in Dogpatch.  Fightin' over younguns tends to bring out the wickedness as well as maternal (or lack thereof) instincts of the female species.  A few weeks ago Flower Girl's mother innocently brought a very old baby doll to Gabriele's shop in order to better display the tiny knitted baby clothes and hats being generated by the "Dam Knitters".  Woodcarver (touting her lack of maternal longing) made a point of moving the baby around the shop to startle Flower Girl frequently.  A few days of this, and Flower Girl found sweet retribution.

A small baby doll was adorned with a tattoo, scars from recent battles on her scalp and eye, and evidence of "open heart surgery".  She was delivered by messenger without a return address to Woodcarver at her shop.  Baby was "bedded" in a small box with a noose on her neck and mousetrap on her little hand.  I should mention that Woodcarver teaches knitting classes at Gabriele's Flowers and Fibers.  The day of the baby's delivery resulted in a note sent to the shop that future knitting classes must be cancelled.  Woodcarver asserted the weighty responsibility of her new baby's need for ongoing time consuming care as cause for her inability to continue teaching anxious knitters.  Only days later, the baby doll appeared at the flower shop wearing a multicolored mohawk hairdo and missing the arm previously waving with the mousetrap.

Sometime in the ensuing passing around of the baby, she was named "Chuckie" and acquired a new stroller, a scepter, later adorned with a serpent, as additional injuries became apparent. She turned up perched in a large Easter wreath being admired by visitors to the flower shop with a note stating "I'm back".  If I failed to mention Flower Girls aversion, or downright fear, of clowns; it would have been clearly apparent when "Chuckie" appeared sitting in her office chair one day last week.

Strange happenings are attributed to Chuckie now.  When Woodcarver's just finished sweater seemed to disappear at the end of a knitting class, we were certain this wicked child had something to do with the mischief.  Tiny dolls stalked Flower girl from the windshield of her car to the water in the cooler with flowers. When the clownface version of the baby was discovered in her office, Flower Girl capitulated.  She declared Woodcarver the winner and promised no more sending the little demon back.

I've been away for a week or so now, and can  hardly wait to see if Chuckie the clown has truly found a permanent home among the blooms and fibers...or if her destiny is to be orphaned again!

Progression

This week has passed slowly and painfully.  Ol' Abner had a procedure on Tuesday to insert a port for receiving oxygen directly into his airway.  Although we were sent home with more pain medication than we anticipated EVER needing, the ensuing pain was worse than expected.  As a result I have spent these alternating rainy and beautifully sunny days staying vigilantly indoors. Most of that time is spent watching him sleep or suggesting things that might make him more comfortable.  

I did venture out one evening to a knitting class.  My skills are still not yet formed to independent interpretation of a pattern, but with a bit of coaching I have enjoyed a modicum of success.  Simple one stitch scarves completed and incorporating additional stitches to make them more interesting gave me confidence.  Project progression to include felted oven mitts, a felted hat, cable cowl and socks, oh yes SOCKS, encouraged me to enroll in the class to make a simple sweater.  

As I viewed the finished product made as an example by our instructor, excitement welled up in my heart.  I was ready to actually make a garment for myself.  The week of enforced indoor solitude has been tolerable because I am on a mission to grow the front section of my sweater to approximately sixteen inches in preparation for next Wednesday's class.  The photo above shows ten inches of progress and in the next couple of days the additional six inches will be produced.  Today's dreary weather accompanied by Ol' Abners need for rest will be the perfect opportunity.

Patch it Up

It's been a busy month at our house and doesn't appear to be slowing anytime soon.  This new month holds several birthdays surrounded by medical visits with spring clearing and cleaning.  Life goes on in Dogpatch.
A few nights ago Digger Dude and Ol' Taxidermist were trading tales at Digger Dude's house when OT walked out across the dark yard and fell flat on his face in a pile of rocks.  Shedding light on the subject, these fellows were aghast at the huge bleeding gash on OT's right palm.  That much of the story, I heard from Digger Dude the following morning as he stopped to talk and share his hope that our friend had followed through and sought stitches in the morning light.  As Belle and I returned from our walk, we alerted Ol' Abner that his friend might be in need of some assistance.  He promptly hopped in the truck and headed over to the taxidermy shop where he heard a first hand account of pain, suffering, quick thinking and follow up medical care.  Meanwhile, Mountain Girl dropped by and explained that tough guy was in some pretty serious pain and was much relieved that she had arrived in time to take him to the doctor for stitches.  Apparently super glue was used just after the injury and only a couple of stitches were required.  A healthy dose of antibiotics and they were assured he would recover fully.  Good use of his paintin' hand is critical for the success of a taxidermist.  Old men in pain can revert back to childhood quite easily.  As I said, this whole tale has come to me through second or third accounts, but all stories contain the element that both men were stone cold sober.  Given the time of evening for the mishap, that is most unusual.  Perhaps the only explanation is a return to little boy clumsiness.

Little Dramas...don't make them Traumas

I'm sitting in an almost empty hotel room killing time.  Most of my travel stuff is well organized and placed in the truck ready to travel.  We brought the dog with us and she is really sure we should be with all our stuff.  She gets a bit dramatic when she thinks we might be in danger of being left behind.

Ol' Abner is having seriously extreme dental work this week.  Half the work was done yesterday and he had to return to the prosthodontist's chair for another marathon of poking and grinding and insertion of more temporary teeth.  This process of repairing damage from years of smoking, grinding teeth while sleeping and an aversion to dental floss has taken a little over a year.  Deep scaling and surgical repair of his gums was completed by the periodontist and he's had good reports on his upkeep since.  He's learned to love the floss.  Preceding this set of appointments, prep work involved measuring and molding.  We thought he would come away with caps and crowns and implants that would last for the rest of his life.  He has temporary caps on his top teeth now and will have temporary caps on his lower teeth at the end of today.

Guess that means we'll have to make another trip to replace the temporaries.  Let's hope that can be accomplished in a one day trip.

Meanwhile, I think the dog and I may just go for a walk.  There is a lovely walking path with ponds and bridges nearby.  When we are there, she doesn't seem to care if our stuff is with us or not.

Metamorphosis

A phone call from daughter and middle grandchild in the midst of irrational exuberance resulted in a short trip down memory lane last week.  They were in a store contemplating the purchase of pre-cut 5" squares of cloth.  Daughter called to asked how many squares they would need to make a quilt.  Just like that, with no reference to said quilt size or choice of pattern, the question was asked.  Of course I inquired whether the intent was to complete a pillowtop, lap quilt, table runner, place mat, or small wall hanging.  NO, NOT a dinky little thing like that, (they set me straight quickly) but a full size quilt worthy of gracing their respective beds.  Notice I use the "bed" word in the plural.  The plan called for each to make a quilt for her very own bed.  Furthermore, this ambitious exercise would be accomplished totally by hand.  A vague mental calculation of the cost of one square times several hundred required to construct just one quilt and I tactfully suggested they might want to cut their own squares.  That led to types of cutters best suited with realization that I owned multiples of the things they would need to begin.  

I offered to prepare a small care package with some starter supplies for them and trotted down to the basement to gather extra cutters, mats, patterns and instruction books.  Of course I couldn't resist sharing a few choice pieces of scrap fabrics.  As I sorted through my "glorious collection" of fabrics (as Ol' Abner calls my "stinkin' stash"), memories surfaced of projects completed years earlier.  I couldn't resist including the remaining five or six yards of a fabric older than my marriage.  It is an olive green with bright orange tropical design from which I made a full length halter top culotte, oh so many decades ago.  It was one of those purchases made when the price was so right that all the remaining fabric on the bolt was bought for a pittance.  That's one swatch of cloth we won't have to move again.  Now I can just wonder what it might become!