Wonder Mom

I anxiously awaited at the Omaha airport.  My daughters, Nicole and Candace, were arriving for Christmas from warm San Diego!  The "boys" were in Afghanistan and it would be just us girls.  We were going to have fun!

The snow had fallen a few days before.  Everything was white and beautiful.  The sidewalks and some streets were slippery with  ice.  The first thing I saw as my beautiful girls rounded the airport walk way was the six inch leopard skin heels Nicole had on.  Didn't she know she had come to the great white north? 

After some convincing that she needed to don normal shoes, we headed home.  The girls watched the outside temperature fall-21, 16, 12.  "Mom, we're freezing!"  Not too worry I had loaded wool blankets for their comfort as they acclimated to my frozen tundra.

The next day we pulled James, my utility vehicle,  out of the shed and drove the mile to my Uncle's house.  The girls huddled together convinced they had icicles hanging from their noses as we zipped along the gravel road.  I admit it was cold and blustery.  The drivers side was on the north and I realized I was blocking the wind from the girls.  Knowing they should have the full Iowa winter experience, I pulled off to the side of the road.  "Who wants to try driving?"  Candace hopped out and slid in the drivers seat.  I rounded the back and tucked myself into her vacant seat, as far away from the wind as possible.  Genius! 

Christmas day came and we were having company.  My 94 year old aunt was coming, as well as three cousins and our minister.  The girls and I had been cooking and tidying up when a text came to Nicole from Doug's mom.  She wanted Nicole to make a snow woman in memory of  Doug's dad.  I guess he was famous for his snow women.  I'd call  him a dirty old man, but it's not nice to speak ill of the dead.

Being the good granddaughter, Nicole put on six layers of clothing and headed outside to create a snow woman.  As I said before this was a worthless snow.  It would not ball up.  Nicole being the creative person that she is decided to made a horizontal snow woman.  It is hard to tell horizontally a snow woman from a snowman.  Nicole yelled at the door she needed her hot pink bra for the snow woman.  Just as she was attaching the bra to the beautiful lady, the minister drives up and parks beside her. 

This could only happen to me!

All in all we had a great visit.  The girls stayed warm enough.  I had baked and cooked their favorite foods.  We watched movies and played games.  I played outside with them.  Candace got up to her hips in snow, but we managed to pull her out.  Nicole had us climbing a mile to the top of a hill to try in vain to sled.  (worthless snow!)  I think I satisfied their tummies and their sense of adventure.  I think I must be Wonder Mom!

Finally, Snow!

I peered outside in the dark trying in vain to see how many white molecules

 were falling to the ground.  It was snowing! 

I awoke early the next morning to snow!  Lots and lots of snow!  Excited as a four year old, I gobbled down my breakfast and began to dress.  Long underwear, t-shirt, sweatshirt, heavy blue jeans, thick wool socks, down parka, snow pants, knee high snow boots, warm gloves, hat and ear muffs.  I was ready! 

Pushing my way out the door, (who knew snow was so heavy) I looked for the best spot to make a snow man. Oh yeah, out front where everyone could see.  Once the snow plow came by!  I picked up a glove full of snow and it sprinkled to the ground.  It would not ball up.  It was a light and fluffy snow not a wet and "let's make a snowball snow."  It was worthless snow!

Royally disappointed I couldn't play in this, I realized I had grown up issues to face.  I was snowed in.  Since Doug was gone it was up to me to plow the driveway.  I could do that.  "I am Woman, Hear me Roar!"

Doug had so thoughtfully bought me an apple red sport utility vehicle, named James, with a snow plow attached.  It was in the shed in the back forty.  The snow had drifted so I trudged through ankle deep snow and knee deep snow, but made it without going under completely.  I fired up James, put the blade down and began to drive.  I drove an entire 31 feet before the snow became so heavy James stopped, smelled funny, and excreted a bit of smoke.  Oh no! 

Hopping off, retracing my steps, literally, I stumbled inside to phone my 95 year old uncle for instructions on how to plow snow.  After hearing everything, and yes everything, I did wrong, I hobbled back out to James.

By this time the 14 degree weather was beginning to seep into my bones.  But "I am Woman!"  I adjusted the blade to a tilt, put him in 4-wheel drive, and went off in a different direction from the first time.  Down the hill, across the place where green grass was yesterday, and to the end of the driveway.  I did it.  I turned around to admire my handy work.  I had barely touched any of the snow with the blade!

Suddenly a large shadow loomed over me.  I turned to see this 20 foot tall John Deere tractor with a front loader stop by my driveway.  A large figure climbed down and a deep voice said, "Want me to scoop your driveway?" 

Troy, my three mile away neighbor, had come to release me.  "I am Woman, Watch me Move Out of the Way!"

No Tomato Juice!

I spied something silver sitting three feet from the hen house as we pulled out of the driveway.  "What is that thing beside the hen house?" I inquired of Doug.

"Well since it seems we (meaning him) are not allowed to shoot anything around here (meaning I won't let him.)  I bought a live trap and we are going to trap that varmint."

I'm not sure what this we thing is.  But something is living under the hen house.  Doug is convinced it will ruin the foundation and it will come crashing to the ground.  Never mind it's probably over seventy years old.  We don't know what is under there.  I saw a skunk, Stripes, a couple of times.   Haven't seen or smelled him lately.  It was late fall and cold, so I was pretty sure Frederica, the groundhog, was hibernating.  The holes were too big for Speedy.  We had seen an opossum a time or two.  It was probably him.  My dad traps opossums all the time.  It would be no problem.  And yes I do name all the wild life!

We pulled back into the driveway about nine o'clock.  Our tummies were full of turkey and potatoes and desserts.   I strolled into the house thinking of a warm bath and pajamas.  That's when Doug blew in the door and loudly announced, "I got it.  You have to come help me."

Great.  "Can't the opossum wait until morning?" I yawned.

Doug puffed up like a peacock.  "I caught a skunk!"

"Stripes!  You caught Stripes?  I don't have any tomato juice!"

"Why do you need tomato juice? Didn't you have enough to eat?"

"No Ding-dong!  This is for when you get sprayed letting him go."

Still puffed up he announced he had a plan.  And I  had to help.  Great.

Off went my nice dinner clothes and on went the long underwear, the sweatshirt, a old holey jacket, just in case I needed to throw it away.  I trudged outside ten minutes later.

Our first mission was to hook up the trailer to the truck and dump off the half ton of old tires on it.  We didn't make it to the dump fast enough, I deducted.  After every muscle in my body was screaming, we positioned the trailer by the trap.

My weapon was the Q-beam.  I was to shine the light in the skunk's eyes.  Doug informed me they wouldn't spray what they couldn't see.   And they can only spray fifteen feet.  So sixteen feet away I blinded poor Stripes.  Doug cautiously approached from the rear.  (I was mentally calculating how  long he would have to stand outside in the cold while I drove into town for tomato juice.)  Slowly he slid the cage into a box and lifted it into the trailer.  Wow!  He didn't get sprayed!  Now how do you plan on getting it out?  And Where is Stripes going to go live?

Once again, he had a plan.  We drove one mile across the river and up the hill.  Doug went back to the box while I stood sixteen feet away.  I was farther from town and tomato juice now, but he could walk home.  Carefully he lifted the box and cage.  Slowly he walked over to the ditch.  Quick as lightening he threw the whole mess in the ditch and darted my direction.  The cage popped open and out streaked Stripes. 

"He's out!  He's out!" I yelled.  Stripes ran zigzag like a drunk down the hill.  "Look at that!  He's headed home!"

Doug mumbled some choice words.  Then Stripes made a bee line for the woods on the side of the road. 

"It's not even 10:30.  We dumped tires, moved the cage, drove to sand hill, and relocated the skunk.  Good job if I say so myself."  He was still puffed.

The next morning Doug filled in the holes under the hen house and started packing.  He had a airplane to catch the next day.  As night came, Doug took his stroll around the property,  saying good-bye to the lawn mower and such.  He came back in carrying the trap.

"What's with that?"  I asked.  Big mistake.

"There are holes dug under the hen house again.  This is for you to use while I'm gone."

All I have to say is "Dreaming is Free."

My Hero

My hero was outside in the bright morning sunshine.  He came in and chased me around the house, trying in vain to touch me with his cold hands.  It was 30 degrees outside.  Why he was outside taking pictures in 30 degree weather remains a mystery to me.  "Where are the winter gloves?" he asked.

I had moved and arranged things neatly in the six weeks he was gone.  So I lead him to the closet between the kitchen and laundry room.  I reached down to pull out a basket of gloves when a small gray rodent zoomed past my hand.

"Get it!  Get it!"  I frantically yelled. 

"What?"  There he was standing calmly with his hands in his pockets.

"That huge rat in the closet!  Where are those micers we sleep with?"

Huge rat got my hero's attention.  He was thinking fast.  "Shut the doors, block off the area, go outside and get a broom.  And bring me the cats. "

I quickly scampered off to the bedroom.  "What are you doing in there?"  he asked.  "Well, I'm still in my robe and slippers.  I run, I mean, think much faster in my tennis shoes."  Duh!

So, with all doors shut, boxes surrounding the area and the cats in place, well, the cats were locked in the hall with us.  The big scardy cat was crying to be let out and the baby was playing with her pink fuzzy ball.  I was assured when we got her she would be a good mouser.  We need a refund for that free cat!  My hero went in the trenches of the closet, while I was armed ten feet back with the  broom.

He gently moved the cat food, scooted the winter gloves around, rustled the paper bags and out popped Speedy Gonzales!  "He's out!  He's out!  Do something!,"  I yelled.  It all happened so fast, I'm not sure who threw the box on top of him, my hero or me with the broom.  I am sure it was not those cats.

How to get Speedy out of the house?  My hero had a plan.  He slid a paper bag under the box and lifted it up and out and door.  "Don't kill it!,"  I called behind him.  I was rewarded with "that look."  You know the  look.  The one your husband gives you when you say oxymoron things but if he doesn't do as you ask he'll be sleeping in the hen house for eleven nights.  So off Speedy went to his new home in the field.

Now all my hero has to do is figure out how Speedy got in.  Cause if a mouse crawls in bed with me, we will all be sleeping with him the hen house.

Closed for the Season

The autumn day was crisp with brilliant sunshine.  I was driving along on my way to Harlan some eleven miles from the trusty farmstead.  Harlan was the closest town with a Dairy Queen.  While most people enjoy their ice cream during the summer, living in south Texas for many years, I think fall and winter should be the time for a cool creamy treat. 

I first noticed something amiss when I pulled into Dairy Queen's parking lot.  There were no cars or trucks.  This is the country and one must own at least one American made truck.  People gawk at us driving something made in a far away place they can't pronounce.  Anyway, the parking lot at Dairy Queen is usually like a demolition derby.  One must pounce on a parking space without ramming the truck you are trying to beat. 

I strolled up to the window.  Yes, I know what you are thinking, window?  You don't go inside?  This is the country and there is no inside.  But there are plastic tables outside you can sit on.  I supposed in the winter you eat in the car with the heater on.  Then came the moment that turned the day to night:

"Closed for the Season"

What?!  What season?  Football Season?  I know these people are crazy about high school football, but couldn't the football players stand a few calories?    I collapsed on a plastic table.  I felt for my pulse.  It was still there but sporadic.  What was I going to do?

My cell phone was out of my purse faster than a gunfighter at the O K Corral.  "Doug," I cried, "Dairy Queen is closed for some mysterious season!"

The ever calm Doug made some noise about the winter season.  Winter!  This was October.  It was fall.  Winter didn't start until December 21st.  I was now on a mission.

Denison was only 27 miles from Harlan.  They have a Dairy Queen.  No more demolition driving, now I was a Hobby car racer.   Twenty one minutes later I pulled into Denison's Dairy Queen only to see:  "Closed for the Season."  Ahhh!!

On to Carroll, only 27.4 miles away.  They have an A & W.  That would do too.  A root beer float would hit the spot. Driving with my eyes glued to the road and my foot rooted to the floor board, I whipped into the A & W parking lot.  I slammed on the brakes as my eyes bulged out of my head:  "Closed for the Season" was plastered to their front window.  Great, now I have whiplash and an empty ice cream stomach.

It took me 91 minutes to drive the 42 miles back to my house.  I had to pull over six times to wipe the moisture from my eyes.  The farm house is great, the countryside is beautiful, the people are genuinely kind, but no soft serve ice cream in the winter time is a deal breaker.  We will have to move.

My annoyingly calm husband didn't seemed phased by the "closed for the season" crisis.  "I need to go to town for gas, come with me," he pleaded.  Town is Irwin five miles away.  They have a gas station, but no ice cream shop.  I supposed that was safe.  I didn't have to see any "closed for the season" signs.

I tied a scarf around my head, arranged a blanket over my legs and closed my eyes for the ride into town.  In Irwin the twenty-first century has not evolved.  One must go inside to pay for gas.  I sat in the truck feeling sorry for myself while Doug went in to pay.

Seconds later, he bounded outside, threw open my door and demanded I come inside.  Doug never demands anything.  So I let him help me out of the truck and into the gas station/mini-mart/Godfather's Pizza store.  He pulled me over to the soda fountain.  "Look," he demanded with great joy.  I didn't want a soda, I don't even like soda.  As I started to stomp away, I saw it out of the corner of my eye.  A soft serve ice cream maker.  And there wasn't even a sign hanging on it that said "closed for the season."

This is my town.  I love it.  I will live here in happiness forever!

Where's the Lights?

Todd is our contractor remolding the kitchen and bathroom.  He and Doug are in cahoots.  Two days after obliterating our kitchen Doug leaves for seven weeks. 

Where am I supposed to cook?  The stove is in the laundry room with no hook ups.  Where am I supposed to do dishes?  The only sink is the tiny one in the bathroom.  Where do I store the dishes I can't cook on?  The only saving grace is I have a refrigerator.  It is in the garage. 

Think, I must think.  There is the front bedroom down stairs with a bed and lots of boxes.  I can put dishes on the bed.  I can throw a board over the boxes and put the microwave there.  At least I can make tea.  I've been told no one likes me if I don't get my tea.  We own a toaster oven, I can make chicken in that.  But, there is no room left on the board and it might be a fire hazard to cook on the bed.  Ah!  I can cook in the bathroom.  That sounds very appetizing!

Todd has contracted some nice men to work on the house.  The plumber/electrician for example.  He had to disconnect the light in the dining room where I ate.  He considerately asked me if he should reconnect it before he left for the day.  "Nah, I can handle that.  It doesn't get dark until 9:30."  I could be reasonable. 

"O.K.  See you tomorrow," the pleasant man said.

Nine thirty came and it got dark.  I turned on the living room light.  Nothing.  I turned on the overhead lights in the down stairs bedrooms.  Nothing.  I turned on all the upstairs lights.  Nothing.  Nothing. Nothing!  At least the bathroom lights worked, so I could see my teeth.  I stumbled my way to bed out of boredom. 

The next day I wore a hole in the carpet waiting for the plumber/electrician.  By 3:00 I was not pleasant even though I did get my tea.  (Had to move the microwave in the bathroom.)  Todd nor the plumber/electrician had shown up.  Ripping through the phone book I could not find the plumbers name any where.  I yanked the phone off the stand and punched in Todd's number.  Voice mail.  Wouldn't you figure. 

"Hey Todd.  This is Angie.  I have no lights, television, or computer.  That plumber dude didn't come today as promised.  I am not happy!  Good bye"

By five thirty I was running circles around our property.  What else was there to do?  A truck pulled into the driveway.  Todd and his helper jumped out of it with extension cords wrapped around their bodies.  I am saved!

Todd said the plumber was knee deep in someone's well and couldn't come until tomorrow.  Well the plumber was knee deep on my well list as well.  So they extension corded my house so I could live like a somewhat normal person.

The plumber/electrician came bright and early the next morning.  He restored all the lights, but the dining room.  I can live with this one more night, I thought.  Five weeks later, the lights in the dining room came on.  But the kitchen was up and working and looked fantastic!  The only thing missing in the kitchen was the refrigerator.  It was still living in the garage.   I am told the new one will be here "any day now".

Getting Modern

I followed Doug in the door of our house after a relaxing vacation in San Diego.  He was standing in my kitchen (I think it was my kitchen)  smiling and twirling in circles.  "This is so cool," he was chanting. 

Before I go any further, let me give you some background.

Doug, myself, and the giant scardy cat moved into a circa 1900 house that had an addition in 1924.  My grandparents moved into this house in 1918.  My father and his twin brother were born in the bedroom we now sleep in.  I came home from the hospital at five days old and lived in this house for nine years.  At my ninth birthday my parents ripped me out of here and moved me to the not so wonderful south Texas shore.  Forty-two years later I have reclaimed the family farm house.

Someone along the forty-two years remolded the house.  What where they thinking?

The kitchen has a dropped seventies ceiling.  One that is not clean.  Dark brown faux brick paneling adorn the walls.  Harsh florescent lighting glare down on the worn butt-ugly vinyl tile. 

On the smarter side, some one took a small bedroom on the main floor and cut it in half.  The laundry is no longer in the musty, cob-web dangling,  haunted (probably) basement.  It is on the main floor, but open for all to see.  My laundry room is the epitome of mess!  The bathroom has been enlarged.  In the old days you couldn't have 1.75 people in there at a time and the toilet was hidden behind the door.  Now it is larger, but there is no bathtub and no door!  Really?  Those are necessities!

Doug continued the twirling and chanting thing while I scooped my bottom lip off the floor and held my nose.  Walls were gone.  The ceiling was gone.  I could see my mother's blue and yellow linoleum  flooring under my feet.  (What, did they think I would want to keep that!)  There were no cabinets or counters.  Not a sink or stove existed.  Only a lone refrigerator remained to say it was once a functioning kitchen.  And what was that smell?

I finally realized I was looking at history.  I could see where windows and doors had been but were now boarded up.  Closing my eyes I imagined the homey feel the 1900's family had.  Then I could see my father and his family cozy in this room.  I could hear the generations old voices.  "Boys!  Get down in that basement and pump that cistern.  I need water up here.  Now!"

 I was still confused about the smell. Doug put his arm around me and said "Sweetheart, that is the smell of modernization."

Great.  Modern day stinks!