Pickin' and Grinnin'

So I'm sitting there this evening taking in a little Hee Haw.

The episode is circa 1969.  I was a mere one year of age when this originally aired.  The jokes were corny and stale back then and I am ecstatic to report they haven't changed one wit. (Get it? Wit?  Ha!  I kill me!) 

If I groaned once, I groaned a hundred times in the hour.  One thing you can say about a bad joke, it weathers well.  It can't get any worse with time.

...but then again, it can't get any better.

Example.  

"Hey, I hear you play the trombone."

"Yeah, but lately I've been lettin' it slide.

Poetry.  Pure poetry.  

So not only was I steeped in awesome cheesy cornpone, I reveled in vintage Tammy Wynette and got to witness Mr. Haggard when he was clean shaven and sporting a pompadour.  

Don't that just churn your butter?

All was not golden however.

The Hager Twins.  

Really? 

Why?

No Hurry

Today I feel sorry for anyone who wants to peer in my kitchen window.

Not that I'm accustomed to that sort of tomfoolery, but the heat from the stove is making peering or leering impossible.  It's difficult to see through fogged up windows.

The frost on the bottoms is a good indicator that the air is freezing. As I house-slipper my way out to the back deck to sip coffee, the cattle on the fence row prove my hypothesis by snorting steam out from their noses.  

Yeah, snorted. 

 I heard them.

I appreciate that the neighbor has returned cattle to that pasture.  I like my cross-field bovine conversations.  Most days we don't discuss much, but today we had a visit about the pickup trucks that joined them yesterday and the fence mending that took place.

We said our good days and I retreated back into my kitchen and was blasted in the face by warmth and the smell of cranberries and cinnamon simmering on the stove.

The yeast rolls are rising nicely and the vegetables are in the oven melting in swiss cheese.

I reckon I orta take a shower before time gets away from me, but the fire in the wood stove beckons and I think I'll succumb to its call to sit beside it for a spell.

We'll be over the river and through the woods soon enough.

No Turkey Today

Today will be spent with just my little nuclear family.

An old family recipe involving ground ham will be eaten today.  It involves a brown sugar glaze and some baking time.

The usual Thanksgiving feast will be held Saturday, with Big Daddy in charge of the bird.

So today I give thanks with my men.

Conflicts at home and at work have been-or are in the process of being-resolved and I'm thankful for the return of my internal sunshine.

So stayed tuned.  I think my blogging britches have been hung up long enough.  They've been properly aired out are ready to return to service.

Have a blessed day.

The Albatross

I’m immersed in a project now that is the bane of my professional existence.  It has me so downtrodden I have little interest in working on it and therefore procrastinate because I detest it so.

It’s not that documenting processes for a new system is all that terrible, but it can be horrifically boring and repetitive and leave little room for creativity.  

That’s where my blogging comes in.

Well…it used too.

I’m not posting much and honestly have very little enthusiasm to try. I still voraciously read and check in with everyone else, but hitting the keys at my own digs takes too much effort.

I think it all stems from this horrible assignment.

I have corporate pulling my arms, telling me how this system works, how it should work and who has authority to do what and when. “We need checks and balances.  We need to control authorization!”

I have the end users pulling my feet.  “Corporate has no business in our affairs.  They don’t use the system and shouldn’t have any say in its day to day operation.”

I didn’t mind when they got attitudes with each other, because I am the neutral party.

At least I was.

I’m now on the receiving end of the attitudes and I gotta tell you…I don’t care for it much. 

Why are you checking in with so and so?

Uh, she’s the project manager.

She doesn’t use this system, you need to be checking in with us.

I’ll certainly be happy to show you anything I have and as a matter of fact I do need your input.

You need to let us review it not her!

Nobody has decided where the processes are going to be housed and who has control over them once they are finished.  Who is going to do ongoing maintenance?  

Just tell me who in God’s name is in charge! 

I’m going to piss somebody off and I hate that.  Yet it isn’t me making the decisions. 

…and I don’t know who is...making the decisions.

This ain’t my first rodeo, kids.  I’ve done this sort of thing before and I hate the personal and emotional toll this project is taking on me.  Usually I’m above it all, but I’m a hair’s breath away from extricating myself from this whole ugly mess, giving them what I have so far and telling them to go to a hot place.

Am I just burned out?

So here I sit.

...or should I say lie?

… on the proverbial rack.

Outside

Big Daddy and I went out on the deck tonight to get the stink blowed off us.

He felt the need for a cigar, so he took the livestock and out he went.

I donned my sheep skin slippers to ward off a slight chill and followed.

We sat side be side on top of the picnic table and listened to nothing.

The sound of nothing can be eerie.

There was no wind in the trees, no bugs kicking up a fuss, no frogs sounding off.  We didn't even hear the sound of traffic from the nearby main road.

A glow lit up the valley.  We think it came from town but we're not sure.

It was an evening for sneaking up on something.  Or an evening for something to sneak up on you.

We sat side be side breathing in clean cool air disrupted only by the occasional pleasant whiff of cigar smoke.

We wanted to talk to each other but the silence was deafening.

Saved by Zero

Lester used to sing the national anthem of the Philippines.

He’d sing it loud, off-key, and in its entirety.  Bubby and I would join him in song and collapse to the floor in giggles because Grampa couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

I searched for years to find a copy of the Filipino national anthem. …or at least someone who knew the words.  

I came up empty handed.

I relayed this story and sang a few bars of what I remembered for Big one night.

Thanks to the digital age and his 99 cent gift, I now have a copy of Lupang Hinirang.

It sounds nothing remotely like what I remember. 

 I could call Bubby right now and ask him to sing it with me and I guaran-damn-tee that we’d come up with roughly the same melody and skewered words.  Words we have no idea how to pronounce correctly or define.  

Are they even real words?

Probably not.

Today there is a different Filipino anthem than there was in the early forties. Diwa ng Bayan was sung at the time and doing a little research and finding the lyrics, it’s possible this was the song he would sing to us.  The words sound somewhat closer to what I know.

But then again, Grampa was born in Elizabeth, Arkansas.  It could have just been his backwoods southern accent coloring the pronunciation of Filipino words.

I miss it.  I listen to my Uncle Hippy who sounds of him and go to a giddy, happy place.

Grampa served in the South West Pacific theatre in World War II.  He was stationed on those islands and it is a small wonder to me that he came away with such a charming thing to share with his grandkids.

Growing up, his buddies called him Doll. He had these amazing, surreal blue eyes-the kind you’d see on a porcelain baby doll.  He had doll eyes.  He said he never cared for the nickname until he noticed that the little gals all thought it, and he, was cute.  

Then he didn’t mind so much.

During the war, he acquired a different nickname.  They called him Zero, because that was what he did.  He shot down Japanese Zero fighter planes.   I don’t know the particulars unfortunately.  Next Sunday when I talk to Granny, I’ll ask her.

I’ll get back to you.

He enjoyed the Filipino people. He’d shut down on us though, when we’d ask him about the Japanese. He’d just get up and go to the kitchen.

“I need some bristles.”

Pretzels.

 I remember once walking into a K-Mart with him.  He stopped suddenly at the front door and told me to go catch up with Grandma.  I asked him why and he told me there were Japanese folks in the store.

He told me this in a more, um, colorful manner.

He left.  

I looked around and couldn’t see anyone that looked Japanese.  I shrugged and caught up with Grandma.  I told her where he’d gone.

“Babe, he always knows when one is around.  He can smell them.  You wait, we’ll run across one.”

We did.

I will never know what he saw and felt and absorbed through the very pores of his skin. 

I never marched in his combat boots.  

…nor my dad’s who served in Korea.

…nor my brother’s who served in the Persian Gulf.

...nor all of you today who were-and continue to be-in harm’s way.

And thanks to all of them, I won’t have to.

Getting Old?

I just finished performing my morning ablutions.

Shower, makeup, hair.

I was standing at the vanity in my bra and drawers putting blush on my cheeks.  

I don't say that to be titillating.

I tend to be vigorous in my rouge application.  Every time I would swipe the brush across my cheeks I heard a weird sound coming from beneath my right arm.

It was my arm flab.

...flapping.

...audibly.

I told you it wasn't titillating.

Election's Eve

There's a pumpkin pie in the oven.

A chicken pot pie has been eaten for supper.  I put a biscuit topping on instead of a crust.  My men tend to eat their veggies if they're camouflaged in something interesting.

I've put supper in the crock pot for tomorrow night.  The recipe called for a cup of white wine. That means there is the better part of a bottle left over.  

I reckon there is nothing for it except to finish it off myself.  God knows wine doesn't keep once it's been opened.

It doesn't, does it?

I imagine I'll take my happy ass into the living room and sit it upon the couch for a night of TV.

Big is at rehearsal.  "Singing in the Rain"  for the fall show.

Big Daddy and Little are up at the local Bass Pro.  There is need of a hunter education card, so classes must be taken.  One is there for moral support, the other is in need of a passing grade before deer tags can be obtained.

Guess who is who?

Me?  I reckon I'll see how Denny Crane's mad cow is coming along.

I'll feed the livestock.  

Finish the wine.

Enjoy a weirdly warm autumn evening.

And I'll pray.

The election is tomorrow. 

Tonight, I pray for healing.  I pray for my country's decision.  I pray that no matter what the outcome tomorrow we can come together united to fix the many problems we have.

I pray the rest of the world will once again look to us as a beacon of hope and integrity.

...and change.

No man is an island.

Is it any different for a country?

I know my vote.  And no matter what anyone else says, my vote does count.

So much hinges on the choice made tomorrow.  

So, my dearest blog brothers and sisters,  no matter your decision...no matter your opinion...no matter your heart.

Be true to your country and vote.

Rest, review, reflect.

...and elect.

Another Conversation with Gram

Sometimes when I get off the phone with her, my head actually spins.  She changes mood faster than a girl changes clothes.

Granny, how are you?

Hi, Babe.  Oh Honey, Granny’s no good.  I haven’t been sleeping.

I’m sorry.  You OK?

Oh I’ve got the acid reflux.  I wake up and my chest is on fire.  I’ve got medicine, but it ain’t no count.

I hear ya.

You scared me awhile ago when I called the home to talk to yer Mommy and you answered.  It’s not like you to be there in the middle of the week.  I just knew something was wrong.

No, It ‘s her birthday and I thought I should go see her.  I got off work a few hours early.

Well it worried me.  But you know your poor old Grandpa used to tell me I worry about things that will never happen.  (Sniffle)  I sure wish I could see your Mommy one more time before I leave this Earth.  But, I know I won’t.  (Sniffle) I’m just too old.  But I won’t complain.  God’s been good to me.  I won’t complain.

It’ll be fine, Honey.

My stomach just hurts me so bad.  I wish I could get my bowels to move.  They seem to be stopped up.

Uh, OK.  Have you taken anything?

I try but it makes me sick at my stomach.  Do you still have problems with your bowels moving, Babe?

Huh?

You know when you were little you had a terrible time.  You’d sit on the pot and cry.

Really?  I uh…

And then you’d pass a stool so big I’d have to cut it up with a coat hanger to get it to flush.

Jesus God, Granny.  You did not!  Are you sure that wasn’t Bubby?

No, Babe it was you.  I told you not to eat all that cheese.

I don’t believe a word you’re saying.

Good, cuz I’m storyin’.  Ha!  Gotcha.  But Babe you did eat too much cheese.

Granny I’m going to kick ya!

Maybe it’ll help my bowels move.

Reason Enough

I'm almost home.

And I don't mind telling you...I'm exhausted.

I guess that's what you get for running naked through town.

On top of it all I'm shouting.

Gas is $1.96! Gas is $1.96! Gas is $1.96!

Well, technically, Gas is $1.93!  It is when you buy it at Wal-Mart and use a gift card.  You get three cents off whatever the price is on the sign.

So.  I'm a little chilly.  I'm a little horse.  (as opposed to a big horse?)  I mean my throat is sore.

But if those gas prices aren't enough reason to go running naked through town, I don't know what is.

I'm coming, Officer.  I need to tie my shoe laces.

Tomorrow

Big gets his senior pictures taken tomorrow.

You'd think I'd have something substantial to say about that.  You're expecting some kind of embarrassing emotional outburst, aren't ya?

Let me think.

...

...

...

No.  Nothing.  

His favorite bowling shirt is ironed and ready to go.

...

...

He got a haircut.

...

...

He's wearing his Chuck Taylors.

...

...

...

Maybe I'll have more to say after they're done.

...

...

We'll see.

The Recipe

Just so all of you will stop clamoring, I'm going to give you my recipe for cranberry tea.

OK.  So nobody is clamoring.  But...I get such joy out of this simple fall beverage that it would just warm my heart if one of my long distant blog buddies would partake and enjoy also.

So as I make the second batch of the year...

1 package cranberries

2 qt. water

3 cinnamon sticks

Bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes.  Make sure to enjoy the popping sounds of the berries as they crack open from the heat.

Strain cranberries.

At this point, I take the cranberries and concoct a homemade sauce.  Of course this isn't to every one's liking and you should only use this as a guideline, but whilst the cranberries are still hot, I put them in a small bowl and add:

1 tsp. lemon peel

1 tsp. orange peel

1/2 C brown sugar

1/2 C sugar

Stir and refrigerate.

As I said, this could be too sweet.  However, after it is cooled, Big has been known to take a spoon and eat the whole mess.  

Then he sits on the stool for two days.  

I'm just kidding.  He doesn't.  But we don't worry about urinary tract infections.

Back to the tea...

Add to the strained cranberry juice:

2 C pineapple juice

2 C orange juice

2 C water

1 C sugar

Simmer 20 -30 minutes.

Awesome, Y'all.  This is where you could add some cinnamon schnapps to taste and have a fine hot cocktail to partake of in front of a roaring fire.

Or, if you want it to remain non-alcoholic, here is the secret to adding extra cinnamony goodness.  When you bring the batch to a boil, add a package of red hots.

Yeah, the candy.

Melt it all down.

Keep warm in a crock pot.  

Every time you come into the house from out of the chill, the smell will hit you and you'll be in autumn Heaven.

You're welcome.

A Roast in Every Pot

So there’s a nip in the air, right?

What does that mean?  Hot beverage season has arrived!

I stopped at my local Price Cutter last evening after work to get fixin’s for my favorite.  On the way in, I noticed a couple of store associates hanging out in the parking lot talking to a young woman with a small child.

I went in and picked up fresh cranberries, orange/pineapple juice, cinnamon sticks and schnapps and a few other items.  I ended up spending $50 dollars out of the $20 I had allotted myself for weekend fun. So I am in the negative already and it is only Thursday.

On the way out I noticed the store folks and the young woman were still standing in the parking lot.  One of the associates wore a white lab coat that gave away his status as butcher.  A third man had joined them-one of our small town’s finest in blue- and he was searching the young woman’s car.  On closer, covert inspection, I noticed the butcher was now holding a package of roast in his hand.

Ah.  I see.

Let me explain something about myself-I have a cold hard heart about some things.  Usually when someone gets busted for shoplifting a lipstick or bottle of vodka or a Glade air freshener, (true stories every one) I have very little sympathy.  People panhandling at the corners of busy intersections and highway ramps only cause accidents and I’m never compelled to give them money.  I hate it when chunky young women hold up signs telling me they are hungry and then use their equally chubby children and/or dogs as bait.  It does not make me feel sympathetic. It makes me angry.

But last night my heart broke for this woman.

I was inside cheerfully buying crap I didn’t need with money I didn’t have so I could enjoy a tipple on a chilly evening.  I was humming to myself in anticipation for God’s sake!

This young woman, however, was tired of feeding her pale son hot dogs and canned tuna.  Something inside of her snapped and she slipped a high quality cut of meat inside her hoodie.

She stood quietly while the officer inspected her belongings.  She didn’t scream or throw any type of white trash hissy fit.  It wasn’t Cops-worthy.

She stood there with dignity.  Yes, you heard me.  Dignity. 

I wanted to buy that meat for her.  I wanted to take my bottle of liquor back inside, return it, and buy her that roast. 

But it was too late.

Later as I drank my spiked cranberry tea, I thought of her.

It tasted bitter.

Fall Behind

After work this evening I walked out into the cold and wet.

Rain.  

Brown wet leaves sticking to everything.

Autumn.

I'm beside myself I'm so excited.

I'm here.  I'm over here.  I'm here, I'm over here.

You should see me.  I'm cuteness personified.

But since you can't-see me that is-you'll have to take my word for it. 

Fall is here.

Finally.

It's dreary, chilly, and just a wee bit depressing.

I couldn't be happier.

Acting the Fool

It's been a big day for me.

...and you're going to get a sappy post.

So if you don't enjoy reading about my kids, then now is the time to go and read something else.

Love Yuns. See ya soon!

For the rest of ya's...

News flash. My kids aren't perfect. Hard to believe, but true nonetheless. In fact, I have posts written about lapses in judgement, poor choices, laziness, and well, just plain stupidity.

...and those are just about me.

But I don't publish those.

My boys break my heart on a regular basis. Sometimes it's a pleasant ache and other times, it's a bitter acidic burning in my stomach.

The good with the bad you know.

But as usual, I'll report the fantastic.

Little got his driving permit today.

For those of you who visit from across the way, here in the states at 15 you can take and pass a written test. Then you can put in drive time legally with a licensed driver.

Basically, it's a practice permit.

While waiting for him to take his test, I ran into friend I graduated high school with. She was there with her oldest.

We chatted about the year we got our own permits. Now, here we were. She and her oldest and me with my youngest.

I teared up with Big because he was the first. I teared up with Little because he is the last.

After coming home drunk with nostalgia and...and...Ok just nostalgia, it was time to prepare for homecoming activities at the high school.

Big was singing the anthem with the choir and Little rocking the tuba.

The boys had to be at school long before we did. They had things to do and all Big Daddy and I needed to do was show up. So Little drove off with Big in the passenger seat patiently showing him the ins and outs of a manual transmission.

Yeah, dammit. I teared up.

Sigh. Again.

The neighbor across the way saw me standing on the porch, watching.

You OK, Sug?

Yeah. Little got his permit today.

Nervous Mom, huh?

Actually, this just breaks my heart a little.

I understand.

Then at the end of the drive, Little popped the clutch and killed the motor.

I laughed and everything was right with the world.

So Little made me cry today. I blubber at the drop of a hat and there's nothing for it. I ain't worth shootin' and we all know it, but there it is.

But...

Big did me in, too.

At the football game he not only sang the anthem with the choir, he was the soloist.

Did he tell me he was doing this? Of course not. He knows how I am! He knows I become a puddle of ridiculousness when he springs things like this on me.

You're right. I know. I know. Even if he had told me I would have swelled up tears of pride, but I could have prepared some and not made quite such a huge spectacle of myself.

But he didn't so it serves him right. He could have saved himself the embarrassment of his ridiculous mother.

Maybe he does know and just doesn't care. Or... maybe he secretly enjoys my displays of idiocy.

Either way, my boys have done me in and I'm going to bed.

I'm worn slick.