Where's My Whiskey?

The whiskey bottle is missing.  But I don't think it really existed anyway.

I have an elderly aunt in a nursing home.  A very homey nursing home.  There is a dog and cat who can be found snoozing with a resident.  Birds flitter about in an aviary.   Residents are taken out on van rides around the countryside to watch the corn grow.  They play bingo several times a week.  Everyone wins.  The residents go back to their room with a prize; a banana, some crackers, a beanie baby.  The staff are all

kind and thoughtful.   But my aunt has one problem.  Someone has taken her whiskey bottle!

My aunt is a wonderful woman.  But her short term memory is...well,short.  She can tell you a story from eighty years ago in vivid detail.  But some days has no memory of who visited her yesterday. 

One visit after telling me about the pet raccoon she kept in the house seventy years ago, she preceded to complain that someone had stolen her whiskey bottle.  It was gone.  She couldn't find it anywhere.  She instructed me to go out to the grocery store.  No, maybe the grocery store didn't sell whiskey.  I should find a liquor store in a larger town.  Her town's population is only 779.  They do have a gnat of a grocery store, but liquor is not on their shelves.

I interrupted her ramblings.  "Auntie, I don't think you are allowed to have whiskey in here."

Her face grew solemn as she thought.  "We can hide it under my underpants.  No one has to know I have it."

I tried to reason with her.  "They will find it when they put your clean clothes away."

Then in walked the nurse.  This ninety-four year old lady moved faster than a run away truck.  She yanked open the bottom drawer of her night stand and pulled out a wrinkled brown bag.  Shoving the bag under the nurse's nose she complained, "Someone stole my bottle of whiskey.  This is the empty one!"

To my utter astonishment, an empty bottle of whiskey dropped out of the bag!  OMG!  Were they going to expel my aunt from the nursing home?

The nurse patiently picked up the bottle and said to my aunt, "Remember we had to take the full one and lock it up.  Let us know when you want it and we'll bring it down to you."

I managed to stutter, "You mean she really has a whiskey bottle here?"

"Oh yes," said the nurse.  "Many of our residents have alcohol.  By law we have to lock it up.  Lots of them will have drinks with their guests that visit."

The mystery of the missing whiskey bottle has been solved.  It did exist.  My only concern now was why my aunt had never offered a drink to me, her favorite niece?  And by the way, I want my children to know that when I am elderly I am going to live with each of them for five months at a time.  That way I can be at a different house for Christmas each year.  But when I am tired of moving around, I want to live in the nursing home with the missing whiskey bottle.

Don't Feed the Husband!

My mother had fallen and broken her hip. I needed to go to Texas to help. Doug had just come home from a two month leave of absence.  I would have to leave him to cook, clean, do laundry, and shop for himself for an undisclosed length of time.  There would be cats to feed and litter boxes to tidy.  The dog I am babysitting would have to be walked at least three times a day, even in toe numbing below zero weather.  (Yes, I have done this.)  And there would be no children living at home to help him.

Yes Virginia there is a Santa Claus!

Before I left I had a special election to work.  I related to the women I worked with my joy in having Doug rough it by himself.  When I have left before, our sweet children who went to school and worked jobs and did a mountain of homework, were tasked to do laundry, clean, feed the cats, and have dinner on the table when he arrived home from a sit down job.

Then in walked a voter, (Yes this is amazing because we had seven all day!)  my cousin Pat.  She is funny and caring and way too kind.  She had a container of warm homemade sugar cookies for Doug.  After all he was going to be all by himself out in the cold, lonely country.  My parting words to her were, "Do not feed the husband!"

This is how Doug's bachelor time went.  "It has been in the 40's since you left, honey.   It's bright and sunny with no snow in the forecast.  The dog and I sat outside having a beer and scratching ears."  I can only hope it was Doug having the beer and the dog getting his ears scratched.

"What about food?  What did you make?"  I sat on the edge of my chair anticipating the answer.  I had left the cupboards a little barren.  He didn't know the difference between 93% lean beef and 40% lean beef.  And he tends to blacken his food.  This was going to be good.

"Well, as it turns out, I didn't cook a thing."

Wait,..what?  He survived on cold cereal and peanut butter?  Then why do I cook a hot three course meal every night?

"I went to church one morning for the Lenten breakfast.  There were biscuits and gravy and eggs and cooked prunes.  Everyone knew you were gone, so they sent the leftovers home with me."

 I thought I liked those people.

"One night I went to the fundraiser for the antique tractor club.  There was thick vegetable soup and creamy potato soup, and hearty beef chili.  Someone made deli sandwiches with the bread slathered in butter.  (This is the Midwest.)  Dessert was three layer chocolate cake and gooey chocolate chip cookies."

"Another night I traveled to Earling for the Parish's all you can eat fish dinner.  We had fresh Alaskan pollack, a fist sized baked potato, crunchy coleslaw,  fresh from the oven buns, and decedent angel food cake with strawberries and just beaten whipped cream.  When those nice people there heard we never serve fish at our house, they sent me home with a sack full of leftover pollack."

"Then another night I went into Harlan for the spring fundraiser.  It was a buffet!"  His eyes bugged out at that word.  "We had fork tender chicken and roast beef and gravy, lump less mashed potatoes, corn and green beans from someone's garden, too many jello salads to count, and cakes up the wazoo."

And so the eating continued.  I zoned out.  I told people I knew not to feed the husband.  But I forgot to tell the strangers.  He talked on.

"This morning I went to Irwin for the benefit breakfast for the fire house.  There was so much food.  Fluffy eggs, pancakes swimming in syrup, biscuits and sausage gravy, and thick slabs of ham.  I met new people.  Oh, and by the way,"  He was puffed up now. "  I am now an Irwin volunteer fireman."

There is a Santa, but he doesn't play fair!

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!