Out Here in The West



"Well, that's how it works, out here in the West."

This was the response I received after I offered some sympathy to someone who had suffered a loss.

We were standing inside the almost empty kitchen of the house. Except for a few boxes that held items  for a garage sale, it was me, the one who had suffered the loss, and quiet.

I let the silence sink in and  looked outside the window at the tree branches being shook by an Idahoan wind. I  let my eyes rest on the decorateive rusted farm equipment that had grass and weeds growing up around it after months of neglect due to cancer.

The dreary weath matched the situation with a big exclamation point. Death happens everywhere but somehow this person's experience made it different with his statement of how it goes out here, in 'the west'.

Why?

 I don't know. Maybe it has to do with hard work, a certain frame of mind, way of life, and the weather.

With Memorial Day approaching I can recall many funerals where the loved one was laid to rest on windy day. On occassion the sun was out, but temperature was bitter cold. And you found yourself standing in snow in a dress, and frozen high heels. (your church shoes.)

Or it is a warmer winter day and you are holding an umbrella to avoid the silent snow from piling up on your head.

So this friend's comment unexpectedly hit my heart.

It  conjured up dry wells, dust bowls, hard ground to be tilled,  a scrawny horse, in a patch of dry dirt swirling around a farmer with tattered overalls, trying to til the soil.

Other" western" images came to mind such as bare wood cabins-and I could almost taste tumbleweeds and  sage brush.

The resolution in those brown eyes, that had seen more of what the west can dish out than others, made my eyes well up a bit. I had to look upward to the sky to keep them from pouring out over the bottom of my eye lids.  It darn near made me feel like we were caught up in some long, cowboy western.

But we weren't.We were caught up in our own seemingly long lives out here "in the west." The feeling of harsh trials in life washed over me, like a flash flood on the prairies when
 I
           fell 

                            Again!

I'll be!
Gosh darned!

Dag nabbit!

I was back to burning solitary M&Ms on the Tred Mill per day, rather than the whole package!

I had slowly found my groove of tapering off that cock-a-poo med,
 prednisone,
 that I've been on for almost two years, and getting used to pioneering the new drug me and others
are taking when one mis-step set me back.

That 'ol Pinterest site had me and Jaden doing crafts on a budget. One of which involved using left over toilet paper rolls. I was inclined to not use those and wait for a paper towel roll to reach its end for hygenic reason.

When I initially ran across the useful ways to use the rolls I was stymied.

You have gotta be kidding me.

After all those times I was annoyed that Padre has left a T.P. roll on the counter, here, on a site, people were using them right and left.

For hygenic reason I thought wrapping paper rolls would work too.
(the original idea for the T,P. rolls was to cut them and then secure it around wrapping paper rolls to keep them from unraveling.)

The whole thing  seemed like a good idea at the time.... And I was anxious to tell Padre about it.

So one day I headed to the laundry room to locate an old roll of wrapping paper from the rafters.

One evening we were finishing up eating dinner and as  I lifted the last of the peas off my plate I recalled the idea. I finished chewing and then started to tell  Padre who was leaning back in his captain's chair, letting the meal digest.

"Dad, you won't believe this, but I actually found a use for those rolls you always set on the counter.
He quickly sat straight up, slapped his knee, looked at mom then back at me wagging his finger and said:

 

"Now see! I knew there was a use for those!"

So I guess the reason why he kept them was out of the ingrained idea that there has to be a use for something before it is thrown away. An ingrained mind frame that had come down from ancestors that had lived through the depression, out here "

"in the west"

Even the Pinterest site has changed the stigma of recycling old thing by using the word:

Upcycle.

It's more cool than what some of us out here in the west have done all our lives. Like repatching jeans or washing and saving zip lock bags, keeping condiments like  salt and pepper or packets of ketchup and mustard in the butter bin of the fridge.

Somehow the rest of the nation has caught on to re-using things and those of us in the west have suddenly been up graded in the world wide on line web community!

 And we didn't even know it!

So I made this:

It is an "up-cycled" wrapping paper roll that I have stuffed with the black garbage bags and put velcro on the back so I can attach it to the wall of the laundry room. Normally, the bags are kept in the garage.

Every Friday is garbage day and going clear outside to fetch a bag.
Getting to the bags is a bit tricky due to the amount of stuff we have in the garage.
Padre has packed our one car garage so full and precisly that it is hard to navigate to the back yard. It It is probably a fire and fall hazard if you were to get technical.

The garbage sacks are in a grey cupboard that holds various items like camping stuff and dutch oven or two. Or ten.
In front of the cupboard are two white buckets containing old wooden bats, children's garden toys and other poles that have some use to Padre.

To retrieve the bag or get out of the garage by way of the back door, one must turn side ways and side step like you were on a thin wire. So as not to scratch the car, and not get jabbed in the gut by something in the buckets it takes the likes of stunt people in the movies.  Die I mention that you also have to watch your head?

Lawn chairs hang from hooks in the cieling of the garage. So it takes some practice to get to any items withing the grey cupboard.
You have to move the buckets and the door only opens three fourths of the way due to something above it. There is just enough room to reach your arm into the cupboard and pull out a bag from the jumbo, Sam's club sized cardboard box of garbage sacks.

Once you have pulled hard on the bag in the contorted body position, you can then close the cupboard, return the two buckets, side step back to the screen door.

It would be easier to pull the car out, but for some reason I'm just too lazy.
So I was super excited to show Jaden the new idea and to make the rolls look cute I got some vinyl paper from the craft store.

It made me feel like the project was possibly a result or side effect of tapering off of prednisone but when I saw all the repins on Pinterest I figured others must be on to upcyling too. Or on prednisone.

See:

Who Knew?

I will have to tell about the "fall" in another post cause this post is dragging on like a long cattle drive.
 

 

 

 

 

I Will Text No More, Forever

 

 

 

 

Two Recent events have made me think of the admirable Nez Perce Indian, Chief Joseph.

 

One: Jaden has been studying Idaho History. With the school year coming to a close, he has been preparing for their program and today's


 Rendezvous.

The latter is a word I have been able to spell with my eyes closed, however with all the new medications the medical community has thrown at me and a concussion, I've noticed I really need to edit and spell check.Which you readers know I don't do.

And that makes all my English teachers ashamed.
(But I am proud and feel editing is for editors. I need to change. I also am sick. And so it's best to just get the goodness on paper and go back later and edit, like a first draft. Right? Right.) 

 

Thank you, side effects and falling, for making my life so neat.

 

Okay- so he had to make a yarn belt with some variegated colored yarn that we had on hand. The colors turned out to include some softer colors.

 

Turquoise-definitely a masculine AND Native American color included in all of their school/daily life.

 

Yellow- it was soft yellow, as in baby blanket yellow.

 

Coral- Again, soft coral. Dad Gum! Perfect baby blanket color again! 

 

Since he was almost a foot into the belt, I insisted it was actually the colors that the Indians had used for their school/daily life projects.

Thankfully, Squaws or girls that were attending the Ran de Vous would enjoy colors like that and it wasn't necessarily part of his 'period costume.'

 

J could have used the belt and brought  other items to trade at
The Mountain Person/Native American Rendezvous.

 However, after all the work J.. put into knitting the belt, despite the slightly hint at femine colors,  he said:

 

"I'm not trading this! This has taken me forever to knit!"

 

When his father called, two evening before the Pow-Wow  he must have asked  J. what he was doing.

because I heard him say:
 

 "Sitting here knitting."

 

Me, frantically from the kitchen: "Clarify that you are knitting for a school project!!!!"

 

The reason I had to be frantic was because, in this Day and Age, there are a lot of divorced situations and you could end up in court for making your son knit as 'knitting' carries a real stigma.

In Idaho we still consider knitting to be a Grandmother Sport. - Yes, I know we are behind times, that male inmates all over the country are popping out knitted items along with birdhouses made from Idaho license plates, AND that movie actresses and actors, I assume,  have even made knitting hip.

However, like I said, Idaho is at least 3 years behind in fashion, despite our neighboring Perfect stat of Utah. And to boot, we don't watch a lot of T.V. due to our busy schedule.

(speaking of boots, J. finally wore his to the Ron De Voo)


Back to J's conversation....

 

J: "Yeh, I have to make this belt for our 4th grade 'Renday vous.'"
(I am sick of spelling this word correctly It makes my concussed brain hurt.)

 

J. had already met with some resistance with the colors when his aunts, who have babies with masculine colored clothing and blankets, informed him that the colors, were in their opinion;
" girl colors."
Never mind that  hot pink colors are popular to wear now in a variety of sports to show that people are being' good sports', and contributing or backing  the fight against breast cancer.
(actually, the younger kids love the bright color so they can stand out on the field. I don't know if any of them really comprehend what the point of pink was in the first place. It simply has become a fade on a phenominal scale.

Jaden wasn't thinking of this oft time terminal cancer while making his belt- so we couldn't feign that we were stomping out cancer with our choice of colors, either.

That said though,
The last thing a mom needs is the dad to think you are letting your child cross over into what is predominantly girl or boy activities/colors. For instance. A four year old nephew of mine was struggling with his rocking horse or rope or something and my sister tried to help him.

He said:
 "Woman, you can't help me. This is what a man doo-s."  (does)
They watch a good deal of John Wayne, I think. Because I recall Wayne saying something like that in one of his old flicks.
This nephew also loved it when his beautician aunt pulled out all the bright paint colors and wanted to be in on pedicure and manicures, much to his father's chagrin.

Boys just like to paint.

I don't know if the  Native American boys were forced to do bead work and sewing Tee-Pees out of buffalo hide out of necessity or simply boredom.

Either way, thankfully J wasn't making jewelry out of gold he'd panned from the Snake River or garnet gems he'd mined for  on a fishing trip up to... whatever that place is by Salmon that passes a
Ghost town
or else I could be in a custody battle minus warriors and horses.

.

Jaden has also been working on his program which involves some songs.

Coincidently,  he had a part as Brighan Young
who we happen to be related to through his first wife and first daughter.
I explained the lineage to Jaden and he immediately said:

J: "Wait, he had more than one wife?"

Great. I have to explain the whole polygamy thing to my ten year old. It's hard enough for well seasoned PR for our church to address the fact that, yes, our church had a time period of polygamy, but it was STOPPED.

 And we have nothing to do with it any more. But I figured as a member he'd face this obstacle his whole life, he might as well bite the bullet and learn why we practiced it and ended it and that we have nothing to do those that practice it now.

Here is how it went:

Me: Brigham was married before he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day
Saints to a woman that passed away after she'd had three kids. And one of those kids is how we are related, if that makes you feel better.

But, yes, after joining the church, he was called to have several wives. No it has nothing to do with what you have seen in the news about the FLDS church.

So he went from feeling proud of being related to someone famous, to this:

J: "Well, I'm not telling anyone at school that we're related!"

So of course I had to give a

 long lesson on our church's history, Bible doctrine that started in the Old Testament clear through to the Book of Mormon.

It was a good, long chat.

Later he replied:

"Well, on one side of the family, I'm related to a Prophet. And on the other I am related to someone who tarred and feathered Joseph Smith. So I guess it just equals out."

Me: descendants of the person who did  the tarring, eventually  joined the church if that helps you feel better as well.

So, Dear Readers, you can see Idaho history can open up a huge can of worms.

BACK to HIS Idaho History Program...

One of the songs they were required to sing was called:'Go West'. J did most of the his practicing in the shower. I'd hear him belt out a verse: 'Go west, Young Man, go west!'
(another verse included the young women so no worries on the P.C. aspect of who came out here.)
 

 

As you can see, my mind has been emerged in  Native American, Early Settlers, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints
history mode.

 It has me recalling being very intrigued with Chief Joseph in the 4th and 5th grade to the extent that I read a very difficult book Padre owned as a 5th grader.

 

It explained the situation of the Indian's conflict with some of the early settlers coming out here. How lines were drawn and some of our not so great settlers would cross that line and this really ticked off the Indians who were buying booz from some of our not so integrous (yes I am making up that word)

settlers.

 

Anyway, a couple of Native Americans (NA for short from no on) that were maybe related to Chief Joseph and his clan, in a long distant sort of way, were just so drunk that they acted out on grounds of" boozness" and shot some settler's store or something.

 I forget if they were upstanding settlers, like the ones that had come West to follow the rules by taming the land and were worried by the much needed law enforcement, or if they were some of the ones we, as a nation, would rather not be related to or claim in our history.)

 

Either way, a fight broke out.  And Joseph was joined by some of the other non related clans from all over Idaho clear down into Oregon- They of course being their own bands and living far away, didn't tnecesssarily prescribe to Jo being their leader.

 The southern NAs were more' savage', or just hadn't gotten into as many congressional hearings with the governement as  Jo.  And didn't have many talks with the law enforcers, nor heard or agreed to  the promises made with Jo. It's all pretty confusing.

All I can think is that they were more of the mind frame:

 

"Bring it On, 'Go West Settlers!'

Cause they felt the deal was like the settlers essentialy giving them one lame horse and  taking 30 of their best horses. That is the best analogy I could remember from the book.

 

Jo, who had no doubt sat through some excruciatingly long talks with our early law enforcement and goverment officials, one of which went on a bender himself and killed some NAs that might have been at the same party,  was left with no other choice but to pack up his deer skinned bags and Run.

 

The NAs put the unequipped law dudes on a serious goose chase through Idaho, etc,  and almost made it to Canada when law enforcers caught up to flat out tired NAs.
 

 Chief Joseph said the famous line:

 "I will fight no more forever."

 

It seemed so magestic  of him say this. Because he'd really tried to make it work out with the Go Westers. But to no avail.This  respected, old leader said the noble and  profound words.
  

My Idaho History days were a long time ago, so I am 

Not sure if he said this as they were clamping on hand cuffs while shoving his face into a Tee Pee or if he happened to say this on the reservation one day before signing another Treaty..  

 

New demographic lines were drawn up and Jo was placed on the Rez.

 

This is the extent of what I recall from Idaho history and that really thick book that I'm sure is many moons old and history has probably re-written itself with time, so I could be way off with my recollections.

 

What does this have to do with texting?

 

Well, J's coaches for baseball, not knitting texted me about some game info at the same time Madre was texting me and, well, his whole team got in on our conversation.

 

It started out benign. Much like some of the early NAs squirmishes with the 'Go Westers.

 

Mom: What ya doin'?

 

Me: Sitting here. What you doin'?

 

Mom: We are at Wal-Mart. Do you need anything?

 

Me: Njhuayhijfji. yio;iuiouiouo. ouoidafndl;akdhf.
 (scrambled so not to further damage reputations) What asked for sounded like it was named in a Native American tongue.

 

J's Baseball coach sent this ensuing text:

 " ? "

 

Me, realizing, in horror, that my request went out to the whole thread of parents responded:

 #@!$$$!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Then I  remembered Chief Joseph, Treaties, and my own rich, ancestral past that included making mistakes.
Like Chief Joseph I solemnly swore to myself:

 

I WILL TEXT NO MORE FOREVER.

But, in a weakness I continued to carefully text.

 

Like Idaho history, the errant and drunk early settlers/squatters and the NAs, I haven't stuck to my what I promised;

 

 

 I just sent a text.

 

Another example of a botched Treaty Signing Text message; I sent one that simply had the letter "K"

 , as in okay, I'm on board with what you are saying. I agree.

okkee-dokee-okay! 

 

But the "smart phone" I was using, fixed my" mistake" and put in its place:

 JFK.

As in John F. Kennedy. 

 

Super confused the recipient and she thought my mistake was due to my concussion.

(good thing I caught it as it left my mail box and I  Could clarify later on, or else there could have been some serious misunderstandings to the degree that the  NA.s and early Settlers dealt with
'Back in the Day.'

 

If they [NAs and Ss ]had been texting on Smart Phones, rather than using the Pony Express, I'm sure the whole war misunderstanding could have been averted, more lives saved to put on the reservations and the only confusion would be who in the world

"JFK" was and what it had to do with the Treaty they were signing.

*****Pictures of J's Rendezvous are pending.

They could choose to "Period Dress"

As in "Time Period", not to be confused with the dot at the end of a sentence.

So, Jaden wore ,not only jeans and boots, but a green shirt with an elk on it. The shirt was bought in
Kilgore, Idaho. Close to the place we fish, that is near Salmon, Idaho. For all you geography buffs out there. And not to give away a great watering hole for fishing to you anglers.

He took one of his rocks from his rock collection to trade and came home with a leather wrist band or bracelet- whichever sex you are,
dipped candles, and a BIG eraser that his teacher gave him.

It says:

Whether she was referring to his math mistakes or eluding to the early settlers'  and
NAs' mistakes, I don't know.

Too bad that eraser doesn't work on Smart Phones or Computers.
Would have come in real handy the last few years.




 

 

You Should Have Seen It

There is nothing worse than not being

 

 able.

 

 

Not being able to do what you want to do.

 

Not being able to do what you need to do.

 

The other day J. and I were shopping for groceries and we saw one of his teammate's mom.

She had taken in a game, in Rexburg, that I missed.

 

Jaden finally hit his first  homer during a game.

 

"You should have seen it, it was a great hit!" the mom told me wearing her work uniform.

 

"Are you going to tonight's game?" J asked.

 

She replied: "Nope I'm going to be right here at [store we were at.]

 

(and here is where I brag some more......)

 

That (her working) made me feel somewhat better for missing the game where he had hit the homer.

 

Days earlier, the coach had told me it was at least a couple feet above a fence line and several feet past it.

 

Due to my health, I didn't drive up to the game.

 

Yes, I missed it.

 

How many more amazing things will I miss?

 

The guilt set in.

 

 

But then I remembered all the

 

 homers

 

that he has hit when  we practiced at the park,

 

the ones he'd hit off the hitting machine rented from the city when I coached little league,

 

all the batting practices after practice, when it was just me and him, left on the field.

 

When I was tired  of it all and ready to leave,  but he wanted to hit that ball so much.

 

The hours I stood in the back yard with only one  soft, bouncy ball, tossing it to the fencethat played  as a catcher, and running all over the place while he kept his best two year old stance.

 

The days we had  only 3 to five balls to throw to him because everyone else had trotted off with their own

 or one we'd bought for the team;

 

we practiced.  

 

When this mom said what she did,

 

Pride welled up inside of me, because I have seen it.

 

Now, everyone else got to see it.

 

A huge smiile came across my face, ;like Mr. Miagi (sp? sound like meeawwgee) at the end of the original Karate Kid. .

 

I nodded my head and thanked her and then we went on our way home, to unload groceries, fix a meal, and get on with our day.

 

And I get to rejoice in what my son is

 

 able

 

to do.

May 8th, 2013

(one of my creations using scrabble tiles, Mod Podge, a stamp that reads: 'Letters mingle souls',  beads J. showed me in the store and figured I'd like the colors,( he knows me well!), a cheap frame from Michaels, and Prednisone.  It looks great next to my Roald Dahl stamp in the white frame. awwww...... )





My enthusiasm right now is on par with that 911 operator who took poor Amanda Berry's phone call. Did  anyone listen to that whole conversation?

 

 

I did.

 

And I heard a rude operator. 

Here is this distraught, scared, woman- held captive for ten years, with her child yelling for help- calling

NINE. ONE. ONE.

 

The response?

Op person: "nwupp, nwupp. yawn. Okayyyy, so you have been kidnapped ya say? What makes ya say that? "

Her: I'm Amanda ... I've been on T.V. !! Please help me!! Before he gets back!

Op person: I'm sorry I can't hear what you're saying. Could you get ahold of yourself?

So where do you live. Oh, yeah? Well, my tracker says you are across the stree? How ya gonna fool me now, girl?"

Her: I'm using the neighbor's phone across the street. He is helping me and I'm calling from his home!! Are you sending police? Please...

Person: "Oh? You are on your nayyyyhbor's phone" (operator, covering the phone- "Get this, guys. This lady says she is being held hostage and has been for like a decade or something. sigh. This job gets so freaking redundant." )

Op Person in the monotone, unamused and in control way:"Hey, look, lady- I'm sending the cops over there. I told you that I was sending them. Not much more I can do, okay, Lady?"

Her: I've been missing!!  -panicked and needing a proverbially hand to help her feel safe.


Op:  Look, talk to the cops when they get there- okay? Talk to the cops when they get there."

Stunned but breathing hard Her: uhhh... okayyy?

click.

So my sarcastic thoughts the operator must have had:

sheesh..... How could this woman be so needy??? And REMEMBER people, this is OHIO! They get this ALL the time!

Not like those operators in Idaho who get one in a million opportunities to hear a woman who maybe is delirious from starvation, blinded by the light of real sunlight for the first time in few weeks, soooo  annoying.Good thing I am paid for these kinds of calls....

 

 Good grief.

That poor operator having to spend some time, be expected to to take a few moments with her as she is going through this majorly traumatic escape and she got

 

Enthusiastic Person

 for her 911 call.

Yes, I embellished and didn't record it correctly. I'm sorry. Listen to it. Really. It's that amazing how disconnected this guy seems about the event. He/she must have taken millions of calls of this nature and learned to disengage because, if it were me, it would have gone A LOT differently.

I'd have been racing there myself- in a cop car- after I'd notified them. I'd have been walking her through some sort of emotional CPR. Cradling her and her kid. Taking a machete to the door of what's his faces and knockin' it down. Apologizing to her for her first contact to the outside world was with Captain 911.

 Now that that is off my chest...



(another finished project... the LAST of the sea shells of J.'s. Notice the vace and it's sticker? Looks like a job for some white vinegar. Lovin' that stuff.)



*** I am tired. But I saw the funniest thing the other day. This woman, who was watching over her son and his cousins play from the Tread Mill had quite an ordeal.

First off, she'd inherited some clothes for her son and there was a bigger T her size- "remotely" that was St. Patty's themed. And green,, of course. Donning the get up to work out in, she entered the room  and asked her precious nephews how they like it.

Here's how she said it went.....

'They are "new" nephews but knew how to play me.  I didn't realize the extent of their devious knowledge!

J. was ignoring my q as he explained to the younger crew how to play the Wii game. As I stepped up on the Nordic Track for a slow walk while they played, I heard a  response from one of my nephews:

(another angle  of the shells in case this is boring. I swear they are prettier in person.)

 

Nephew 1: "First of all I'd take it, wad it up, then put it in the fireplace."

He said this without taking his eyes off the T.V. as he was dueling with J. per Wii.

Me guffaw laughing: I look that good in it, eh?

(memo to self- don't wear this  to work out unless it is in the dead of night. Or everyone else is dead in the world and then it's safe to step outside in it.)

Nephew 2 had jumped up at the sight of me on the tread mill so I reminded him of Padre's rules about the kids on them.

1. We don't hang on them, play on them, etc.
2. You could get a finger chopped off so stay clear of them.
3, blah, blah, blee


So I am rehearsing this from just 5 minutes earlier but apparently  N. 2 sees me on it  and he is quickly circling the mill, a smile on his face like a tiger getting ready to jump it's next meal.

(another pic to keep you here.)

 

Me: Hey, uh, don't even go back there cause you could get your fingers under the belt and it'll eat them right up, hey, do you have one of these at hoooooommmmmaaaahhhh????

Suddenly, out of my peripheral, N2 has done something to the mill... I'm holding onto the sides of it for balance- which is what I do anyway but straining my neck around to watch what he is doing and it is going faster, faster, FAAAAASSSSTTTTT!!!!!

 N2  had made his way, up to the control panel, sneakily hit 20 mph, and disappeared.


 Before I knew it, my lucky shirt had run out; I was running to keep up with going over the edge of the machine. Why didn't I think to yank the safety umbilical cord out of the machine?

No sooner had I began running than it was making a noisy sound of a plane in lift off- N2 had hit the elevation button. It was going up to 10.

Try to imagine a blurring green object upon a piece of exercise equipment but looking like she is hanging from a jet for a scene out of Batman or something. And remember, in a shirt that should have been burned first. Not pretty.



Quickly I spread eagle to the side steps to stop, regain the initial speed and get my breath back. (don't ask why I didn't pull the emergency button off my shirt. ) but no sooner was this happening when the machine was starting to incline. N2 had made it around to the other side



Dennis the Menace and Calvin and Hobbes messing with the babysitter all rolled into one, is a  good analogy.


** And then..... Baby Sis gave me another Pre- Mother's Day Gift: a Pedi. with more fun craft stuff: glitter! I picked purple. And were given to me......

 

 

(out the sea shells go)

 

 

 

I have something that actually belongs in

this vase.

 

 

 

(flowers in another of my favorite colors; coral.)







Long Benches and Water Sheds



While randomly searching the net about prednisone one evening, I came across a comment on a forum about the loss of weight, when it comes, and how it comes.
A random commenter said:

"Once you hit 'such and such' mgs of prednisone the weight falls off like water shed. "  \

Even after all the times I have been on this med, I became giddy inside at the prospect of my weight shedding like the natural process of water and our ecosystem.

Unfortunately, this happens  only if you are still sick when you taper off and your bowels act performing in a water shed fashion.

Because I have hit and passed 'such and such' and the shedding of the water is still to be seen I feel a bit miffed.

Moving on from such a tear jerking commentary, I learned a new phrase from a friend:

 

 "Long Bench".

 

 I'd been a fan of Long Benching for most of my life and Didn't know it.

 

My friend was just leaving the neighbor's and stopped to talk with me. She is an older lady I know from my church and it had been some time since we had talked. Well, we'd never really talked for very long. But I'd always enjoyed hearing her talk because her accent was so unique.

Her heritage is all over the place and her language isn't just with a Spanish accent but Jamaican.

 

I simply thought she was simply very cool and didn't attribute it to any other country.

I am so ignorant, I know.  

Like I said, she and I the best little chat.

Her sounding exoctic and me sounding as western as the wind passing through tumble weeds.

How come Idahoans can't sound cool?

I mean, we are hard stock and in the past have had a reputation for being hard workers...

 

Don't we deserve a cool accent?

 Anyway, 

 My older, petite little friend explained to my son where she lived. that it was the house with the long bench on the porch.

Which was exactly what we were;.

 

'Having long bench'. 

 

"huh?"

A little slow to catch on, seeing how that the nearest bench was across the street at a neighbor's house, and we were standing, somewhat confused me.

I played along like someone who is talking with another person in a different language, like your math teacher and nodding your head as if all of it is totally making sense and you know what they are saying.

"Oh, yes. Long Bench! Yup, Long Bench. " I said leaning on my rake and getting that vague look of misunderstanding wash over it.

She explained that she had lived in Belize and, there, they called talking a long time , spinning yarns, was called:

 

 

Long Bench.

 

 

Ah, I see now. And then I chuckled about the fact that she literally had one at her house.

 

J. having NO idea where Belize was located, and needing to learn how to fake that you know what someone is saying, had to have a quick geography lesson about Mexico.

 

I thought it was in Mexico. Apparently it is on the border.

 

So my stymied face stuck for awhile because

I had to question why she would leave Belize.....





 

for Idaho?

 

 

Where it is very windy most of the time?

 

She threw out words like Creole,  Jamaica and speaking English but the location was near alot of  Spanish speaking folks and J. and I just looked at each other dumbfoundly like we needed some serious geography.

ethnicity, and travel lessons.

 

After studying it a bit, I can see why Idaho would bring a greater opportunity than this South American country.

 

And it's safer.

 

Most importantly, we have Some seriously beautiful country too. Mountain Ranges and wide open spaces.

 

 

I Even if it means putting up with the wind for a few months. And harsh cold winter.

 

I'll take. it.

 

Hammering Nails- Finger Nails that is...

Pinterest has done me in again. An idea to make a cute hook for J's sweatshirts and ball caps turned into a lesson for Jaden and I. With the help of this beloved tree, Jaden and I learned some lessons.

(these actually look like willow sticks from the banks of a canal)

One: we had a sturdy, brick of a tree out back. How that wind storm dismantled it, is beyond me. Because after hammering or trying to drive a nail through the "twigs" left behind and not succeeding a fourth of an inch...

Let's just say that Ash tree was tough. And I hope there is some segment or pin J. can earn for hammering a good half hour.



The devastation to this tree happened a few winters ago. Seeing the heavy, wet snow on the tramp led me outside to "brush" it off the tramp to prevent damage. That's when I heard an eerie creaking sound and got outta the way in time to watch a massive limb fall to the ground. It Barely missed our house.

(the tramp that has had many a grandkid bounce on it and not died, yet._

I had plenty of time from the creaking forewarning. But as the next few years came and went, our Dr. Suess tree obviously needed evening up. Especially since the other side blocked the sun from reaching our garden.

Little brother sawed off theright sided limb, made smaller parts for firewood while  J. and I pretended to be desolate and picked up twigs for a total of two fires over the winter and then  left the remaining  mess. It  provided perfect use for boys to play in the back yard. Dirt. Sticks. You don't need much.


The left over "twigs" were perfect for the "hook" look that I needed/wanted  for the  Pinterest project as well! (see foggy pinterest pic above).

 You would have thought the Ash tree was actually petrified wood with how long J. and I hammered at that nail,Fingers, And FingerNails.

 

I didn't cuss once.

We took turns holding the nail and incurring the slamming of the hammer. We used three different sized hammers. Several different nails. Nothing put a "dent" in the wood. We did feel we'd bonded and related  with how working on a chain gang laying down rail road track might have been had we belonged to that time period. But we just chalked it up to more pioneer suffering like we did the picking up of the sticks last fall.

 

After a good twenty minutes of pure sweat, we

Finally gave up.

The smooth board we are going to nail- I regress, we WERE going to nail the twigs to, will now be for clothes pins to hold up assignments and other cute clothes pins I've made using paper, material, the Diamond Brite and bright colors.

Later in the evening I asked Padre what in the world was the deal. He mentioned a nail gun.
Or better yet, why not buy some hooks from Home DePot?

 

This brillaint idea almost had me pinning it on Pinterest.  

Pinterest has me learning some great stuff. However, I need to do the Before and After pics to show and explain- like that guy on This Old House episodes; More info/talent needed. But it has me also putting petrified wood on his wall.....

With some re-arranging, I think I can find a good place for hooks. Above his corkboard. Then he can just put them up there. Or I can when he forgets. It's amazing how handy a hook is.

I use them for towels on the back of his door.

 

For mitts.

 

Coats.

 

Hats.

 

I can't live without hooks. And it looks like I need a trip to Wal-Mart or Lowe's or Home DePot to find the cheapest but sturdiest hooks on the market.

 

Period.

I am not particularly talented with fashion, art, decour of house but I know I can do the basics pretty well. And that's satisfying enough.

 

Lately I have been sad about a pal moving.

This is on top of having to drink liquids for a few days so my emotions are a little amplified.

But....

I hadn't seen her in awhile and it makes me realize how fleeting our time with one another is and to make the most of those moments.

 

Time flies,  I recall when our boys were in pre-school together and we initially became aqquainted.

What a blessing true friends are in our lives!

 

Isn't that the best? When you make friends? Hold onto them and find joy in their successes and they give you props for yours?

 

Both she and her husband are oozing with talent and they are progressing in this world. So I am stymied and I can't believe I didn't tap into her talent more often.

 

Ask more questions.

Be more observant.

 

It isn't too late for that I suppose, but she is moving to the middle of no where near me and it will be difficult.

I will have to study on my own.

 

Which Pinterest has made me realize that I have some pretty good creative ideas of my own if I actually acted on them. But it usually stems from another's idea, from collaborating and talking with others, writing my ideas down and meditating that good ideas sorta come out of it.

 

 

. If anyone wants to know, Pinterest seems like one huge LDS site. By this I mean that there is a program in my church called the Relief Society and we get together and swap ideas and tips. Pinterest is this organization on steroids.

 

Really.

 

When I think of firing up my Resume, like my friend has had to do in recent months, I often wonder if folding clothes would qualify. I am actually quite proud of myself for how I have organized J's time, my time to appts. for my "job", and incorporated the help I've needed.

 

It has taken some serious organizational skills. All of which revolve around dish washer and clothes washing cycles.

 

Oh, and getting uniforms cleaned.

 

(my dream is to have a laminator)

 

I go to bed at night feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Jaden would probably beg to differ. Now that he is in Webelos I feel like every day we are working on something to do with earning a "pin". Which is really him learning life. The pin isn't the end.

 

He eluded to this the other day when he said: "I get what you are trying to do."

 

Which I had to confirm what I was trying to get him to do.....

But he realized that all my nagging was so that he would be prepared.

 

The repetitive nature of these books really helps him to soak in the information. Or at least I hope it is sticking.

He did a trial run with his tent the other day and it is a good thing we did. He will have my Dad there and his pals/ other leaders for this outing but you run into things like how big the tent is. That we need to put sealant on those seams. I have half the month to do this. He will learn how to put down a tarp beneath the tent to keep it from tearing and pooling water. How extra stakes will help in this wind. And know that there will be back up tents available if there are major probs.

All these things I am re-learning too. And it aches a bit. I recall the rainy days spent in stinky, mildew smelling tents that seemed larger when we did the trial run, but how much fun it was to put on our ponchos and tent hop. The teens played UNO and other games. Which means I need to send J with some cards and teach him the most important ones for hikes lasting longer than two days.

And I need to go to bed. I'm tired.




 

Pinch on Earrings and Army Surplus

It's official; the basement smells like Army Surplus. J's B-day has equipped him with all the survival gear necessary to be a Scout.

His friend affectionately called the smell of the Surplus store that made me want to shower: 'man smell'. Which is a smell they can't even smell but if it is something foreign to me, it's 'man smell'. Which is what the aroma and atmosphere at Army Surplus is all about he confided- MAN.

Beg to differ, but I could at least differentiate between the smells.

This is why there is this smell....

You can't see it well but there is a mosquito net atop his already camoflouged quilt. On top of it is another manly saturated gunny sack.

 

It must be from WWII.

 

 

Showing off his Bday gifts. One fake grenade, one real, but undetunated one purchased at man smell heaven; Army Surplus: Largest Surplus store in the area.

 

Or Idaho.

 

 Or the West.

 

He acquirred another rifle- can't you have one too many of these? Apparently not. Especially when the kid can tell a distinct difference in sound from seemingly similar looking guns.

 

He also received a special bat that make you hit better.

 

 

 

 

And some mates from the high seas left Jack Sparrows boat or something.

 

 

(Both these gifts he had to pay half on in order to keep him form feeling entitled)

 

THEN

he went down south where more famil, informed about his Scouting days to come with his advancement into Webelo,. 

 

Not one gift had was laundry detergent.

Which must have been why he was so puzzled that he has to do his laundry for a month to earn a pin that goes onto these colored flaps of material he wears on one shoulder.

When his scouting days are all said and done, I will make them into some kind of jewelry and wear them because I feel I have earned each badge along with him.

 

Take today. He is on some assignment that invovles Citizenship. We went over all the things he should and already knows but it's all a good refresher that Francis Scott Keys wrote our anthem and the SHIPS that were fighting against one antoher.

 

He'd set up his Jr. Sized Two kid tent.

 

 

Which we found, after putting his mattress pad, sleeping bag, and scout self inside; it's a one kid tent.

They must have meant toddler when it was labeled "Jr.".

He was in heaven. He offered to actually pass off some of his at home assignments, listen to me talk about how much we spend each month, how much we would if we were hypothetically in a family of four, and how it would be to budget. Hypothetically on two incomes. All these things had to be averaged.

His giddiness took away the boredom of having to prepare another Family Home Get Together for tomorrow or Tuesday before his practice or a game or something of that nature.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speaking of nature. He was elated to add yet another knife to his family of knives.

We located binoculars so he could see the basement furniture more clearly, hung his flashlight from the cieling of the tent so he could pretend he didn't have real lighting to help him read his assigned Citizenship pages out of a brand new book I bought from the Scout Office that is already falling apart.?? I hesitate to take it back since I put his name in it and figure that the rest of the books are old and experiencing old glue bindings as well. But what do you do?

 

Maybe they will just refund me the money.

Oh! I forgot to tell how in the midst of all his scouting excursions, I was able to spend some quality me time learing and practing  new skills.

Remember I learned to sew. Sort of?

Well, I broke another needle fixing a purse for summer so that was a dissapointment.

And my efforts to get out of my comfort zone further led me to Pinterest to find more recipes for cleaning things.

Such as using half a cup of salt and half a cup of vinegar to "set"a new black shirt.
So I should expect it not to  fade like the rest of my black things.

 

All it made me want to do is by dye and turn our faded black socks, black again.

This "free day" gave me the desire to try a product called: Diamond Glaze. So I've used it on some things to make them look like resin covered items...

 

 

 

(like this cute Rhoald Dahl stamp of Charlie waving his ticket to Willy Wonka's Factory. Sent straight from England. Diamond Glaze makes the product have a raised affect. Perfect for pendants and such.

.

 The desire to wear earrings hit me a few weeks ago. I bought two pairs of clearance clip ons and backs so I could turn favs into clip ons.  Guess what!!

 

They still made my ears burn, turn red, and itch.

 

I am allergic to these metals.

 

No amount of nail polish or cushy comfort can change that fact. And when you buy the clamps to put on your favorite old earrings, you find they pinch really hard. Like a lobster, clamping onto your ear.

 

So I can handle them for a photo shoot or an hour at church. Even bending them just messed up how they looked.

 

So I learned a lot this week, from new hobbies, to cleaning recipes, to realizing when to stop doing those things and actually face the laundry.

 

First and foremost: 

 

my main accessories are: neclaces.

 

I cleaned up all my old, cheap silver ones by sprinkling them with baking soda.

 

First they had to be place in glass dish layered with tin foil and when I put the boiling water over the top and let them sit the ten minutes required; they transferred their tarnish to the tin foil!

 

Now that time was well spent and  worth it. I even painted those oldie but goodie pieces of jewelry, to slow down the tarnishing. Using clear nail polish, of course.

 

Another good use of the Saturday open to us women who used the church to do crafts, etc., was to write letters. Another needed task to be accomplished.

 

Beading and making neclaces can be fun, but I am not a huge accessory gal. So I am having to learn the ropes. I just wanna do a couple and call it good.

 

My favorite is one idea I got off Mommagoround.blogspot.com that is a knock off of an anthropologie or J. Crew neclace. I belive.

 

Instead of clear beads, I undid one of those old beaded watches that bothered me to wear and made it into the neclace. It didn't bother me like most other neclaces.

 

 

 

 

 

So that was worth my time and even convinced me I should do a smaller version for a bracelet and add some charms. On prednisone any metal on my skin is annoying. So flannel is good.

 

 

Now for some flannel earrings, that, by the end of a session of wearing them, my ears won't be red, sore and feelt like they are on fire!

These were made last week so I actaully capped the day with a loooonggg needed nap. Thank you sunshine streaming through the window. When I awoke I had a VERY excited scout ready to show me all of his gearl.