Angie's Chainsaw Massacre

Jack's traumatic ER experience was behind him.  He was now ready to be useful.  This entailed becoming a master instructor.  He was going to teach me to use my chainsaw.

I needed some trees cut down.  I phoned up my friend, Denny, to beg his help in this endeavor.  He agreed to come over and teach me to properly use my chain saw.  One sunny humid morning Denny and his wife, Amy, came riding to my rescue in their Ford truck.

Denny informed me he was going to cut down the trees then he would show me how to use the chainsaw.  This wasn't what I had envisioned, but okay.  Denny poured oil in his saw.  He cut.  He sweated.  Amy and I hauled limbs and trees to my burn pit.  I waited for my lesson.

And waited.  And waited.

Just when my patience was evaporating with the summer heat, Denny turned to me and calmly said, "I'm not going to teach you to use your chain saw."

What!  This was the deal!  What did he mean?

He went on, "You shouldn't be out here alone using a chain saw."

What a man!  "Don't you use your chainsaw when your alone?"  I shot back.

"No.  The dog is always with me."

"Well, the cat is always with me!"

I sensed I needed another teacher.  That's where Jack came in.

We grabbed the chainsaw out of the shed along with the bar oil and some special tool to open where the oil goes.  Oil was poured.  Jack proceeded to tell me about the black thingamajig on top of the saw that was an emergency shut off.  (Yes, he had a name for it.  I just can't remember.)

Time to hack away on a tree.  The saw was lighter than I anticipated.  It was deafening.  Jack had to holler instructions to me at the top of his lungs.  "Hold on tight!  Don't jerk, slow and steady!  Brace your legs!"

I did all this and in no time the tree was reduced to rubble.  Or large sections.

It was actually fun.  More cutting.  More noise.  We had Claudia picking up pieces to haul to the burn pit.  That was fun too!

A couple hours later, trees were downed and cut into pieces.  They were transported to the pit.  We were hot and sweaty.  (But still smelled like roses!)  It had been an enjoyable learning morning.

Jack went home confident in my ability to handle a chain saw.

I have not used it since he left.  There was one problem with working the saw.

I couldn't start the dumb thing.

I've been grabbing my barbells and doing upright rows to build up my lats.  Hopefully that will put more muscle in my pull.  In the meantime I will have to find some helpful soul to take pity on me and pull that chain saw to life. 

  

Where's the Birdseed?

I grew up in the south.  I lived in the south and west most of my adult life.  Recently I attended a classic Midwest wedding.  The next day I was asked if there were differences in this wedding compared to weddings of my past experiences.

 "You bet!"

A program was handed to us as we entered the church.  One side listed the complete wedding party right down to the personal attendants.  This was helpful.  I did not have to tap the stranger's shoulder in front of me to inquire if I was supposed to know all these people.  Sometimes my mind takes a flying leap out the window and doesn't return for days.

The other side was the Order of Ceremony.  This too was informative.  I have been to weddings and heard a moving wedding song but never learned the name.  The Order of Ceremony listed the songs names and musicians.   

After the "I do's" and the wedding party departed down the aisle, I grabbed my purse preparing to head for the door.  Suddenly I was the only one standing.  Everyone else had plopped back down in their seats.  I planted my rump quickly in the pew.  The new Mr. and Mrs. returned to the church.  They dismissed guests row by row with smiles and hugs.  We were able to offer our congratulations without having to fight for time at the reception.

It was then time for the reception.  Which was in another town about thirty minutes away.  I wondered how the bride and groom would get there.  Would there be a limo?  Would their car be decorated?  That's when I noticed a black psychedelic party bus.  Coolers were being loaded on to the bus by the wedding ushers.  The entire wedding party followed.  The bus sped off to parts unknown.

All the guests assembled at the reception.  Drinks and snacks were waiting for us.  Shortly ACDC took over the reception hall by the DJ.  "Back in Black" was blasted as the wedding party was introduced.  Bridesmaids and groomsmen made dancing entrances.  The bride and groom danced their way in also.  I can honestly say I have never seen such a Hollywood entrance.

There were games at this wedding.  The bride and groom sat back to back with one of their own shoe and one of their new spouse's shoe.  The point was to see how well they actually knew each other.  The DJ asked personal questions like, "Who is the better driver?"  (A loaded question if you ask me!)  A shoe was held up for the answer.  This couple knew each other fairly well.  Either that or the bride is wise and let her man think he is the better driver.

On the way to the buffet I spied the dessert table.  There was no elaborate tiered wedding cake.  The table was loaded with frosted cupcakes, creamy cheesecakes, mouth watering bars, and colorful candy.  There was a chocolate cake decorated with Iowa State and University of Iowa logos.  (The bride and groom are a house divided on this issue.)  I would call this a groom's cake.  Sadly there was no cake cutting ceremony with the new partners delicately feeding each other a slice of moist white cake.  Or shoving it in each others face.  Depends on the wedding, I suppose.


The DJ announced there would be no dollar dance.  Dollar dance?  Was someone going to strip?!

I was informed a dollar dance was where you pay a dollar to dance with the new bride or groom.  This money was used to help pay for the wedding.  Instead there would be two buckets coming around.  The buckets were decorated with Iowa State and University of Iowa's logo.  It was a competition.  The end result was neck and neck.  I can't remember who won.  I can't seem to get the two schools straight in my head.  I was actually searching in vain for the Florida bucket.

The rest of the evening was the typical wedding festivities.  Music, dancing, visiting with friends.

Except there was no bouquet tossing or garter scramble.  How do we know who gets married next?  I had people I was planning on shoving to the front line to catch these things.

The bride and groom didn't have the traditional send off.  There was no tossing rice on them.  Or saturating them with bubbles.  I think they missed out.  On my wedding we had guests throwing birdseed as we ran to our waiting horse and carriage.  Beer was popped open in the carriage as birdseed continued to fly through the air.  Doug must have been excited.  He forgot to cover his bottle.  His beer was chunky.  I wondered if he was going to have grass growing in his stomach.

This Midwest wedding was fun!  Nice ceremony.  Tasty food. Good music.  And everyone looked great all fancied up!  The groom's father was decked out in a sophisticated gray tuxedo.  He is a school bus driver by day.  He informed me he was wearing the tux for driving the bus this school year.  Maybe he will trade in his standard bus for a yellow limo.

My daughter is getting married in a year.  This Midwest wedding has given me some ideas.  I wonder if for the favorite mother in law and favorite son in law dance we could do the hokey pokey?

Congratulations to Sean and Ashlyn!  Here's to many exciting years to come.  Don't be afraid to let the birdseed in life rain over you.  

Jungle Rot?

My  sister, Claudia, and her husband, Jack, had arrived for a visit.  I noticed Jack was scratching here and there.  My first thought was "He's brought fleas with him!"  Then I noticed his arm.  It was rashy.  I ran to Claudia to inquire if Jack had jungle rot!

Claudia, the nurse, patiently explained Jack had a bad case of poison ivy.  He was clearing some fence line and tangled with the stuff.  It was obvious Jack lost that encounter.

Jack continued to rub and dig all around.  Claudia decided it was time to see a doctor.

Doctor may be a six letter word to most of us.  But to Jack it is the worst four letter word in history.  He detests doctors!

First was the protest.  "I'm not going.  Not. Not.  Not.  You can't make me."

Then came, "I'll go when I get home.  It can wait.  No problem."

Finally the realization set in, "I want a blanket and a box of tissues.  Claudia, you will have to drive.  I can't manage it."

"Okay," I said.  "Let's head to the emergency room."

"Emergency room!" they both shrieked.  "We need an urgent care facility."

Obviously they were from the city.

"We can drive a hour and a half to Omaha and wait to be seen in an urgent care.  Or we can mosey over to our local hospital and been seen immediately."

They skeptically agreed with my logic.

I have three children.  We have traveled thousand of miles in the car.  Nothing prepared me for riding thirty minutes with Jack to the emergency room.  The whining.  The many proclamations of "No Way am I getting a shot.  Not going to happen folks."

We arrive at the emergency room.  Claudia is holding Jack's hand.  (Actually she is tugging him towards the entrance.)  There is no wait.  We are ushered into an examining room.  All the while Jack is informing the nurse, "I don't do shots!"

The jovial doctor bounced into the room.  He turns Jack's arm this way and that before proclaiming "We can fix that poison ivy up.  No problem.  Nurse please give him an injection of fast acting steroid."

Jack's face turns white.

I can feel it coming.  It started at my toes.  Traveled up my legs, across my stomach, into my throat and bubbled out my mouth.  I could not restrain my giggles.

Then the doctor laid the bombshell.  "I think we need a slow acting steroid also.  Two injections please nurse."

Jack was now green.

I couldn't restrain myself.  Laughter erupted from my mouth and tears ran down my face.  I glanced at Claudia.  She was covering her face.  Her body was wracked with spasms of laughter.

If knifes could have come out of Jack's eyes, we would have been the target.

Jack managed to squeak out, "Which sleeve should I roll up?"

The nurse preparing the injections calmly answered, "Oh we don't want anything rolled up.  You are going to have to be pulling something down."

That's when Claudia and I hightailed it out of the room.  We laughed until every part of our body hurt!

I discovered the ride to the emergency room was a piece of cake.  The moaning and wailing from the back seat didn't cease on the drive home.

"Oh my poor bum.  Both sides!"

"We didn't bring a blankie!"

"Where's the pillow for me to sit on?!"

Luckily I was a preschool teacher.  I can block things out.

We arrived home without tossing Jack into the ditch somewhere along the way.  Jack didn't sit much that day unless he had a cushion to pad his bum.  He did survive his ordeal.

The moral of the story is; if your brother-in-law visits and needs a ride to the ER-call an Uber!  It may cost a fortune to find you in the country but will save your sanity for later in life.

Years Gone By

Forty-seven years ago I was packed up and moved from Iowa.  After living around the world I have returned.  I did not graduate from small school Iowa.  Instead I graduated from a city school with over 800 in my graduating class.  It goes without saying I have not been back to a reunion.  The 37 people I knew may not show up.  However I have since attended a reunion of small town Iowa.

The town of Irwin was having an all-school reunion.  Translated means anyone who has ever graduated from the town of Irwin can and should attend.  And attend they did.  Four Hundred and three came from near and far.  When a graduating class is comprised of 30-40 people, 403 is a lot of students under one roof.  People from classes of 1942-1990 attended the bash.

They couldn't exactly get them all under one roof.  A large tent was banged into place and the "younger" people banned to outside.  Graduating classes from 1971 through 1990 were considered the younger sect.

One of my sisters, Claudia, and her husband, Jack, came to the reunion.  My arm was twisted into attending.  I don't think she was feeling bad about leaving me home alone.  I think I have lived here long enough I would recognize people she didn't and help break the ice.

I am told the class I would have graduated with was one of the larger classes in Irwin.  A whopping 5 people showed up.  One lives a mile across the field from me.  We have become friends.  I recognized her.  Two of them are faint memories.  Two others have not changed a bit in forty-seven years.  Well, they are taller, but that's it!

I dashed home after the reunion to dig out my old school photos from when I lived here.  Sure enough I had pictures of the frozen in time people.  They could be on a milk carton from years ago and no "looks like now" sketch would be needed.  I don't think it's fair some of us don't age and the others of us have to bath in anti-aging cream.

I discovered there were many reasons people did not attend this all-school fiesta.  "I didn't know."  Come on.  This is a small town.  Everyone knows everything.

"I have a family reunion to attend."  Really.  Family over long lost comrades?  All though to be fair, I drove past that reunion.  They needed an entire field to park all the vehicles.  And it looked like fun.  Yes, we slowed down as we past this all ages party.  Didn't want to dust anyone from the gravel road.

"I'm attending a bachorlette, party."  This excuse is a reason for missing...anything!

Students were not the only ones attending the gathering of classes.  Some former teachers attended.  One such teacher was a woman in her 90's.  I had the most fun watching her.  She fluttered from one former student to another.  A broad grin gracing her face.  I'm guessing she had all well behaved pupils.  Or she has forgotten.

The night was warm outside.  No matter.  I had a blast listening to my former school mates lives.  Claudia also enjoyed finding old friends and catching up.  I was able to help Claudia remember some faces.  She soon took off on her own remembering her days as "the perky cheerleader" and the winner of the "Betty Crocker Homemaker of the Year."  (We have yet to find the teacher who gave her that award!)

We went home (past the reunion still in full swing) feeling nostalgic.  It had been fun to see how people have matured and learn about their different lives.  I thought the nostalgia was finished for the decade.  Claudia had other ideas.

The next morning Claudia awoke wanting the see the sight where she attended kindergarten.  This was in a tiny town called Kirkman, population 64.  The school (where our father and uncles spent their school days) has long since been demolished.  A historical marker is all that remains.

The school might be gone, but some recreation still remains.  An old fashioned merry-go-round!

Claudia and I jumped on.  We spun until our heads nearly came off and our stomachs hurt from laughing.  Jack took pictures.  He wasn't allowed to ride.  The smell of barf in the truck is hard to get rid of.  

We all look toward the future.  Wondering what next adventure is around the corner.  A look back in our personal history is good for the soul.  We must remember where we came from to see where we are going.  I thank my could-have-been class for letting me crash the party.  It was truly an experience to remember!

Monster in the Grove

Spring is wonderful in western Iowa.  The plump robins return gobbling up wiggly worms.  Red winged blackbirds make their appearance to serenade the morning.  Baby bunnies hop out of their nests to munch on troublesome dandelions.  Spring is a peaceful time.  Except for the monster hiding in the grove.

The first sign of spring is the red breasted robin.  (Actually it looks orange to me, but who am I to argue with the experts.)  One day a lone robin is hopping in the yard and the next day his friends have joined him.  They flutter from spot to spot pulling up worms for their feast.  Worms are good for the ground.  I have to open the window to holler at them not to be so greedy.

Baby bunnies seem to appear out of nowhere.  I do not have a yard.  I have a dandelion field.  Those babies get fat dining on all those yellow weeds.  The baby bunnies do not have as much fear as they should have.  My son was able to pick one up, hold it, pet it, try to bring it in the house and name it.  The son had to return back to his home.  Without the bunny.

My son is not the only one who would like a baby bunny has a pet.  So would my cat, Snuggles.  She is a ferocious huntress.  She crouches in the grass stalking the unsuspecting babies.  Like lightening she pounces on the bunny.  Snuggles thinks she has a new toy.  She carries it to the driveway tossing the terrified bunny into the air.  The bunny gets swatted around and carried some more in her mouth.

That's when I show up.  Snuggles knows this routine.  As soon as she spots my big toe Snuggles charges through the grass with baby bunny captive.  I may be technically an antique, but I can run.    My dash across the yard results in the capture of Snuggles.  I nab her by her scruff and shake the baby bunny to freedom.  Snuggles is then hauled into the garage for kitty time out.

Spring in Iowa also brings ear deafening storms.  Lightening slashes across the sky.  Thunder booms, rattling the entire house.  The wind howls its discontent.  Rain pounds relentlessly on the windows.

I am not a fan of these spring hostile occurrences.  But with a good book and four cats snuggled by my side, I can get through anything.

My son called during such a storm.  I peered out the window during our conversation.  "Holy @#%*!  There's a monster in my grove!"

"Mom, what are you talking about?" my worried son inquired.

"There's a monster out there.  It has taken it's sharp claws and attacked the largest tree I have!"

"Mom, have you been drinking?"  I could hear my son rolling his eyes through the receiver.

"No!  There are giant claw marks on my tree.  There's a huge monster out there waiting to get me!"

"Take a picture and send it to me," replied my unruffled son.

Take a picture?  He wanted me to go outside with that monster and take a picture?  I'm smarter than that.  I snapped a picture through the window.

His answer came quickly enough.  "Lightening has hit your tree."

Lightening?  Lightening stripped rows of bark off my tree?  I  suppose he could be right.

My heart rate went back to normal.  My sweet son continued to assure me there was no monster lurking in my grove.

The storm eventually subsided.  All was back to a peaceful spring.

Now when I go outside I carry a bat.  I am not totally convinced there is not a gigantic monster creeping around my grove.  While a bat may not kill the beast.  It will stun him.  And as I mentioned, I can run! 

 

Why Be Ordinary?

I have had some interesting jobs throughout my life.  Interesting and fun to me.  My father-in-law however once asked me, "Where do you find all these strange jobs?"  He was a Naval aviator his entire life.  While I have had job diversity.

Before I got married I had been employed as a receptionist for a group of pediatricians.  I suppose my favorite father-in-law considered this a normal respectable job.  Then I got married and the fun began.

While living in Japan I taught English to children.  This may not seem particularly odd.  Some mothers just wanted their children to come and play with my kids and they would pay me.  Others wanted me to come to their doll sized apartments so the children could hear my accent.  (FYI:  I did not have an accent.  They did.)

Back in the States I would occasionally entertain the idea of going back to work.  I delivered biweekly newspapers the old fashioned way-walking.  That was a great gig:  exercise for pay.  Until one dusk I came face to face with a black masked bandit.  Mr. Raccoon.  I was convinced there were other creatures hiding in the shrubs waiting to pounce on me as I scooted from house to house.  That was the end of that job.

I jumped for UPS one Christmas.  That was another exercise for pay job.  The driver would slow to a snails crawl.  I hopped out of the truck, sprinted to the door, gently placed the package down, and raced back in the truck.  I was able to down many cookies that Christmas without a worry of holiday pounds.

One Valentine's day I worked for four days delivering flowers.  Such a fulfilling job.  People are so happy to see you carrying bouquets of sweet smelling beauty.   Well, most are pleased to see you.  There was always that one person, "There's none for me...?"

Then all my children started school and I got a "real" job in my father-in-law's eyes.  I became a preschool teacher.  He couldn't understand, though, why it was two year olds I taught.  The secret is they are really, really sweet.  Nothing terrible about them.  It's a bad rap.

That was ordinary.  I do not like to be ordinary.  So to spice up life, my unordinary friend talked me into doing a flash mob at the San Diego Fair.  We took lessons and learned how to dance to Michael Jackson's Thriller.  It was exhilarating to dress as a zombie and entertain/scare people.

Fast forward to Iowa.  I again felt the need to be something other than ordinary.  While cruising through Craigslist I found my next paying gig.  The mall needed an Easter Bunny!

What fun!

Children love the Easter Bunny.  All children.  Although some can not get within 30 feet of the Bunny before turning to butter and screeching "No!  No!  No!"

Others professed their love for the bunny.  One four year old felt the need to pray with me.  Some children had to be pried off my lap their love was so great.  And some tried to make off with my extra large Easter eggs.

The oldest "child" I saw was 98.  He didn't even ask for anything special in his Easter basket.  He just smiled for the camera.

A couple of grandpas came to have their pictures taken with the bunny for grandchildren far away.  It must have been a delight for these children to get a picture of Grandpa being brave and sitting beside the Bunny.

The strangest visitors were a couple in their forties on their first date.  He pulled her into my springy compound.  "We must have a picture with the Bunny.  It will give us something to laugh about in 20 years."

He was pretty confident for their first date.  What I really wanted to know is why their first date was at the mall?  This mall had no restaurants or coffee shops.  What were they doing?  Did they have a second date?  I may never know.  I'll have to ask Santa.  He keeps tabs on people for his nice or naughty list.

Now I'm back to being ordinary.  Working at school and mowing my lawn.  I'm on the lookout for my next adventure at being odd.  If you have any suggestions or want to come on an adventure let me know!

An Iowa Concert

Jack, my brother-in-law,  was visiting Iowa in winter.  Besides constructing snow men and throwing around balls of frozen water, I wanted to entertain him.  Iowa style.  I asked if he would like to go to a concert?  He would.  I informed him we could have supper there also.  "Great!  We have places like that in Houston with outstanding new bands," he replied.

"Yeah.  Just like that."  Sort-of.

I told Jack the name of the place we were going was called The Corn Crib.  He came back with, "I don't want to go there.  I don't want to eat outside."

Outside?  What was he talking about?  This was Iowa in the dead of winter.  It was 7 degrees outside. Did he think I would eat outside?

Then my light bulb came on.  There is a spot on my acreage we call the corn crib.  It is a cement slab in the middle of the property with a fantastic view of the river and fields and tractors rambling down the road.  This is the spot when work is done and relaxing is called for.  It's also where the corn crib used to stand.  This Texas boy thought anything called the corn crib was for relaxing outside.  I've been called crazy many a time, but not that crazy to eat a full meal outside in near subzero temps.

After clarifying this was indeed a restaurant with heat and indoor plumbing, he was in for the adventure.  Jack dressed in his best blue jeans and a fine looking shirt.  He was in for a surprise!

We hurried out of the icy wind into The Corn Crib.  Jack took the place in.  Informal restaurant seating on the left, a convince store on the right with random tables scattered through out.  A large circle was cleared by the windows with chairs around the perimeter. The band was warming up in them.

"Look!"  I cried.  "There's a table right next to the band."

Jack squeezed into his chair.  "This is it?  This is the band?  I don't think there is a person under 80 in it.  And the instruments...That lady has a...What is that anyway?"

"Well, it's a...I think it's a...."  I had no idea what it was.  It appeared to be a large cane with a cowbell, a bicycle horn, a metal box, some jingle bells, and another kind of bell decorating the top.  She was armed with a drum stick ready play it some how.

There were a few guitars scattered around the chairs, a banjo, several harmonicas, and a man with two spoons.  A couple the chairs just held people sitting and smiling.

Jack inspected the menu.  "What do you recommend?"

I informed him The Corn Crib had won an award for it's hot beef sandwich.  I had not actually tried it.  This was going to be the night to indulge in an award winning meal.  Jack agreed.

The band began to warm up.  An elderly man was sitting at a table with a suitcase at his feet.  What appeared to be the band's spokesman inquired of this man if he was playing tonight.  He shook his white head no.  My curiosity was aroused as to what was in that suitcase.  I supposed I was to never find out.

Our meal arrived as the band started to play.  Steaming tender roast nestled between two soft pieces of bread.  Mashed potatoes adorned the rest of the plate.  All was drenched in brown gravy.  Our server bet I could not eat the entire thing.  I proved him wrong!  Jack had to roll me out the door!

Everyone in the chairs took turns choosing songs.  The mike was passed around the circle so all the participating band members could sing.  The lady with the musical cane used her drum stick to tap the cow bell or the metal box.  One man strummed his guitar while simultaneously blowing his harmonica.  The man with the spoons thumped them against his knee.  It was loud, too loud for a conversation.

Jack did manage to yell at me.  "I suppose the spoon man has a sore knee by the end of the night."

I supposed the man had a calloused knee from playing those musical spoons.

Six songs into the concert the man with the suitcase rose and joined the band.  The mystery as to what the suitcase held was soon to be solved.

Slowly he opened the lid and pulled out an ordinary board cutting saw.  Was he the resident magician?  Was he going to saw someone in half?  Was I sitting too close to the band that I would be volunteered?

I started to rise to sprint out the door when the white haired man began to play a tune with the ordinary saw.  That was a musical instrument?

Yes it was!  He played a couple of solos.  It was easy to recognize the song.  The saw laid across his legs as he bent it to and fro.  I have no idea how the tune was actually played.  I decided it was just talent.  That or he had goofed off many times when he was supposed to be actually working with that saw.

Everyone in the band had a genuine smile on their face.  There was ice and a bitter wind outside.  But inside The Corn Crib everyone was warm, toasty, full, and having a grand time.  Jack suggested we come again some time.  Next time we should bring Claudia.  I suppose that will happen when the temperatures rise above 80.

It's Coming...Part two...Snow at Last!

The much anticipated blizzard had come and wrecked havoc in my yard.  My truck was a hostage in the garage.  I needed to be in Texas in two days.  What was I to do?

It was my cousin, Norris, to the rescue riding in on his white van.  We hauled my suitcases through the snow and over the broken tree.  He deposited me at the airport to rent a car.  I was on my way to Texas to bring home treasures from my parent's house.

But that wasn't the only thing I brought home with me.  I brought back a brother-in-law.  A brother-in-law, Jack, who had never seen snow!  Did I have some snow for him!

Jack has been obsessed with snow for years.  He would venture north in the dead of winter only to meet with a heat wave.  The two day trek from Texas to Iowa was like riding with a small child.  "Are we there yet?  When do we see snow?  I don't see any snow.  Are you sure there's snow at your house?"

My sister, Claudia, has a different attitude about this winter and snow thing.  She hates it. I was given my marching orders as we departed Houston.  "Make him cold.  Get his blue jeans wet.  Take away his mittens.  Get this out of his system!"

Jack and I arrived at my disheveled winter wonderland on a cold winter afternoon.  The electric wire was strung proudly in the air to my house.  But the sad pin oak still lay strewn about the driveway and front yard.  It was then I realized my mistake.  I had left my house key inside my locked house.

Luckily I had one hidden.  I instructed Jack to put on his boots and follow me.  (He brought knee high wader boots.)  We tromped through the snow with Jack oohing and awing over snow at last.  The wind had blown leaving about a three foot drift I had to jump down to retrieve the key.

Key in hand I was uncertain how to scale the almost chest high drift.  Jack being the gentleman held out his hand for me.  I reached to grab it when the most hysterical thing brought tears to my eyes. Jack started to disappear.  In slow motion he sunk into the snow.

Tears ran down my face as I convulsed in laughter.  He managed to pull himself out of his snow bondage.  I assessed the situation.  No mittens.  Blue jeans soaked.  Snow inside his wader boots.

Text to Claudia:  "Mission Complete!"

This did not deter Jack.  He high tailed it into the house.  After several rotating twists in front of a heating register he was ready to tackle the snow for real this time.

I decided to "dress" him this time.  "Yes, you need snow pants.  No, I don't have any that will fit you."

Jack pulled on my son's snow pants.  (Robby keeps them stashed here.  There doesn't seem to be a large supply of snow in Florida.)  They were snug in the waist, but the length was a problem.  Robby is a few inches taller than Jack.  We managed to scrunch them up around his boots.  The crotch was almost to his knees.  But isn't that the style anyway?

The next few days were a blur of snowball fights.  Which I might proudly add, I won.  In Jack's defense he had never participated in a frozen fight before.  He did improve his skill.  I will practice more.  I can't have a southern boy whoop my butt at snowballing.

Jack made his first snow man.  He was a proud sculptor.  I sent a picture to Claudia.

Her reply, "Why isn't he cold?"

A few days later the temperatures started to rise.  Jack squinted out the window at his snowman.  He shrieked in dismay, "My snow man has become a snow woman!"

Tragedy hit the next morning.  The snow man/woman lay in melting parts across the ground.  Jack was beside himself.  What probably hurt more was my snow man was still standing.  I didn't mention to him I had more practice.  Instead I strolled outside and freshened up my white friend.

I'm sorry to tell Claudia, but this winter obsession of Jack's is not gone.  Getting a taste of it may have intensified his need to have more winter.

However, I do think in the end the southern boy was happy to fly off into the dawn to a place where snow doesn't exist.  A place where his wife was waiting for him clad in shorts and a tee shirt.

It's Coming...

They had been forecasting it for days.  The anticipation was making me shaky.  I had gathered all necessities to get me through.  We were going to have a blizzard!

A blizzard was coming to town.  I was as excited as a six year old anticipating the tooth fairy.  Everyone else seemed to be down in the mouth about this weather phenomenon.  My very own sister (warm and too toasty in Texas) doubted my enthusiasm.

"Are you sure you are prepared?  Do you have the necessary provisions in case you are stranded for nine days."

Yes and yes.  I had everything I needed.  Books.  Cats.  Milk.  Bread.  Popcorn.  Beer.

I guess the kids were home for Christmas.

I had been through hurricanes where the wind whips its nasty fingers tearing off roofs, uprooting trees, knocking down fences.  Surely a blizzard is more beautiful.  Powdery snow glistening on everything.  I was told the wind would howl.  But I would be inside snuggled in a soft blanket surrounded by four warm fur balls.  My book would be my best friend and popcorn my nourishment.

Blizzard day arrived early on Tuesday morning.  I stirred up a warm bowl of oatmeal.  The snow drifted down covering the brown winter ground.  It was looking like a winter postcard.

After breakfast warmed my insides, I curled up with the cats and a I-can't-put-you-down book by my favorite author.  It was then I realized the wind wasn't howling.  It was shouting and rattling my windows.  I peered outside.  Snow was flying by almost horizontal.  This wasn't the peaceful scenario I envisioned.

All at once there was a chest rattling boom.  Sixteen paws flew into the air and scrambled under the nearest piece of furniture.

"What in the world would make that noise,"  I wondered.

Looking out the dining room window I quickly snapped to the decision that I didn't like blizzards any more than I liked hurricanes.

There laying sprawled on the glittering snow was the top half of my seventy some year old pin oak tree.  Under it lay hostage the electric wire to my house.

The electric wire!  Oh no.  Now I have no electricity.  But wait.  My lights were still on.  I could hear the heater running.  (Thank goodness!  My blood has gotten thicker, but still has traces of being a southern California junkie.)

After a frantic thought of "What do I do now?"  I called my sister.  She's in Texas.  She'll know what to do.

Yes, I called the electric company.  They rushed right over in the storm.  After surveying the damage and checking I did indeed have electricity, it was decided to leave everything until the storm was finished causing havoc.

The next day dawned sunny and bitterly cold.  The electric company showed up as promised.  The unexpected news was they didn't have the part to repair the damaged wire. I supposed since I still had light and warmth it wasn't a big deal.  Except my truck was trapped in the garage.  The tree and wire littered my driveway.

The electric company offered to cut the tree up to make it easier for them to repair things. Then they offered to cut down the remaining large stub of a tree.  Which caused another sonic boom with cats scrambling in all directions.

The tree was cut up.  The parts ordered to repair the wire.  I found someone to come move the trees parts cluttering my driveway.  But he couldn't come right away.  And I had an appointment to keep in Texas.

Now what was I going to do...

To Be Continued...

Ice Monsters

It had been a wonderful Christmas.  I had asked Santa for snow and he delivered!  We had 11 inches before Christmas and a couple more after.  The temperatures were hiding in the below freezing range.  It was cold.

Nicole had extended her Christmas visit until after New Years.  We headed into town to raid the grocery store.  On the way we passed my Uncle's house.

"Did you see that strange icicle on Uncle's house?" Nicole inquired as we zoomed down the road.

I had not and thought nothing of it.  Nicole was from California.  She had lived the majority of her life in  warm weather climates.  It was time for her to see what real icicles looked like.

We were zipping down the road home when Nicole exclaimed, "Mom!  Look at the huge icicle on Uncle's house."

I glanced the the left.  I gasped.  I hit the brakes-hard.

Did I mention the temperatures were below zero?  One should probably not be zooming and zipping down the roads at that temperature and then slam on the brakes.  Luckily I managed to keep us out of the ditch and away from the mail box.

It was the icicle.  Well, it wasn't really an icicle.  I was correct in saying Nicole did not know what a real icicle was.  I had never seen anything like it in my 55 years of being.  These were ice monsters!

Rising up from the north side of his house were about fifty ice monsters.  They were all shapes and sizes.  Some short.  Some over six feet tall.  Some were slender.  Others were chubby little pigs.  There were even baby ones dripping off the eaves.

Cautiously I pulled into the driveway.  Nicole jumped out and headed up the hill.

"Stop!  Now!"  I screamed.  "They might be related Medusa and turn you into a permanent ice sculpture."

Nicole rolled her eyes and kept going.  At times she can still be a teenager.

What to do?  Watch and see if she is turned into ice art and go for help?  Or scoot along after her and protect her with my powerful biceps?

Motherly instinct kicked in.  I trotted along beside her to conquer the invading ice ogres.

Nearing the top of the hill we began to hear a faint hissing.  "Nicole, they sound like opossums.  Do you think they are large opossums from the Arctic?"

Again I was rewarded with an eye roll.

"Mom.  Look.  There is a mist spraying behind that wall of ice."

Sure enough.  A mist shot eight feet into the air.  It looked like a water mist at the San Diego Zoo trying to cool everyone off.  Except it was 20 degrees outside.

These were not ice monsters after all.  They were harmless bushes and trees that had been frozen into beautiful, intimidating pieces of ice art.

A phone call later and the mist from a garden hose was gone.

A month has now passed.  It's still cold.  The ice monsters are still guarding my Uncle's house.  They are as beautiful now as they were in December.  I am considering making my own ice art.  I could turn the hose on some bushes and trees.  Let them freeze good and hard for several days.  Then I could go out with my chain saw and some picks.  I will not have ice monsters guarding my house.  I will turn my guards into ice cats!



 

Lumpy Pumpkins

Most of my growing up years were in Texas.  People love to hunt there.  Their trucks are armed with gun racks positioned and loaded in the rear widow.  Hunters don their camouflage and head to their deer lease.  There they sit in a stilted camouflaged blind for hours waiting for a deer to pass their way.  I moved to Iowa and the hunting was a bit different.

It was hunting season.  My usually quiet gravel road was buzzing with pickups.  They raced up and down the road.  Some stopped by my property.  The excited hunters hopped out and stood peering towards the mile away river.  They stood as still as a cactus in the desert.  Could the deer around the river actually see their movement so far away?  Fifteen or twenty minutes later, the cactus became  men again.  Back in their trucks they rushed to another deer look-out point.

Through out the day I could hear "bam-bam-bam" as gun shots rang around the country side.  I wondered where the hunters were.  I wondered where the deer were hiding?  A trip to town answered one of those questions.

I was tootling around the back roads when a curious sight assaulted my eyes.  A field was filled with what appeared to be lumpy gigantic pumpkins.  It was way past pumpkin harvest.  So what were these alien shapes?

A closer inspection reveled the lumpy sights to be men.  Hunter type of men.*  They were wearing bright orange vests and loud orange beanies perched on their heads.

I understand there are not deer leases in Iowa.  Hunters must prowl around different fields.  They need to be readily seen.  Not to be mistaken for prey.  I see the need to wear neon blinding orange.  What I do not understand is the camouflage clothing under the bright orange.

Picture this in your mind:  A sunrise wake-up call.  The hunter jumps out of his warm bed.  He quickly pulls on his camo pants and shirt.  Dirt brown boots are tied over the feet.  This hunter is ready to be disguised in the unsuspecting deer's habitat.  Then the hunter snaps on his vest of luminous orange and tops it off with a carrot colored beanie.  He can then be spotted for miles by any one or any thing.

So, why wear the camouflage?

Why not put on comfy jeans and a flannel shirt?  Why not work pants and a sweat shirt?  Heck even your Sunday best.  What does it matter what you wear under your pumpkin suit?

Then I began to wonder.  Are deer color blind?  Perhaps they can not see the orange vests as humans do.

I little research and the answer was "yes".  Deer are color blind.  So once again I asked myself-if deer can't see color-Why the camouflage?!

Still meandering around the country roads, my mind was busy speculating.  When I drive past these bright orange hunters scattered around the field and stream waiting for deer, I could help the situation.  I could lay on my horn and holler through my megaphone-"Hide Deer-Hide!  It's an invasion of lumpy pumpkins!"

I did not say who I was going to help.





* I do not mean to be sexist, but I have never seen a female hunter in my part of Iowa.  Even though I know my Texas nieces can take down a prey with one shot.  Eat your heart out boys!