Vacation Time

For the past week we have been frantically trying to tie up all the loose ends to get away for a vacation.  Sometimes I wonder if it is worth it.  However, once we get away I decide it's like having a baby.  Not much fun getting it here but you forget all about it when the baby arrives.

It didn't help that we have had an unbelievable spell of major storms as a front has become stationary right over us.  Fortunately, we didn't have the number of tornadoes that they did further south but we still had lots of wind damage, flooding and related storm problems.  Since my hubby is an insurance agent that means that he has been super busy at the office.  Although we didn't have much damage on the farm (a couple of trees down and some branches here and there) we also haven't been able to get much done in the rain.  Now that we have a few clear days we are frantically trying to get fertilizer spread, fences mended, water-gaps replaced, cattle worked, yard mowed and weeds sprayed.  That means late nights and long days. At the end of which we hope to have a week of relaxation in the sun. 

If only we aren't too tired to enjoy it.

Barbecue

I used to love to fly.  That was before it got to be such a hassle and when you were treated like the paying guests that you were.  Ah, the good old days of a few years ago.  When my son was living in Kansas and Oklahoma I would love to hop on a plane and go for a long week-end visit.  I have always told my children that as long as there was an airstrip close, they could never get away from me.  My son almost figured out a way to keep my visits down when he lived in Dodge City, Kansas.  The closest airport was in Wichita which was about 2 1/2 hours.  To drive took 15 hours so the 2 1/2 hour drive started to look pretty good.

I've always enjoyed the experience of flying and the adventure of airports.  I don't mind layovers because I get to explore the shops and stores that are now part of all airports.  I love the fellow passengers and the camaraderie that binds everyone together as they wait for their flights.  To me flying is a fun time, so consequently I would use any excuse to visit the kids.

I haven't mentioned food at the airports because most of the time the food isn't a big plus.  However, I did make one discovery that caused me to rearrange my future flights based on a  lunch layover.  I was going through Memphis on my way to visit my son.  We had landed at one terminal and had to leave from another, so I was walking through the airport.  I noticed a pilot hurrying just ahead of me.  I thought he was probably in a hurry for his next flight.  He was going my way so I followed along behind him.  Then I noticed another pilot and a stewardess hurrying in the same direction.  I hoped that their hurry didn't indicate that someone was waiting without a crew to take off.  It wasn't long before I saw another crew member hurrying along.  Now my curiosity was up.  We arrived at the food court and they all peeled off to jog into the food area.  I wondered what had lured them at such a fast pace.  Sure enough they all arrived at the same food counter and lined up with various other airport personnel.  Not being a slow learner, I lined up behind them.  Thus, I was treated to some of the best Memphis barbecue I have ever eaten. 

It seemed one of the local barbecue restaurants had opened a food counter and the word had spread fast.  I got a fat, thick smoked brisket sandwich that had my mouth watering before I could unwrap it.  I didn't have a lot of time, so I grabbed my sandwich bag and went to my gate.  I was just in time and soon was boarded on the plane.  After taxing off, I put my tray down and unwrapped my big, delicious smelling sandwich.  My seatmate was a young professional who was taking a serious interest in my lunch.  As I started to take my first bite I glanced up to see him watching with the same look as a little boy at the candy store window.  "That really looks good " he said.  "Well, uh, I really haven't tried it yet but it does look good.", I replied.  His eyes remained glued to the sandwich.

I couldn't do it.  I picked up half of the sandwich and pushed the other half in his direction.  "Would you like to share?"  He made all the polite noises but in the end we shared a wonderful meal and an interesting visit over the best Memphis barbecue you will ever eat. 

If you are flying through Memphis, try to make it at meal time.

Brazilian Friends

Several years ago our little church was trying to figure out how we could hire a choir director.  We had a small, dedicated group that wanted to sing, but no one to lead.  The preacher said he would pray on it.  The rest of us figured someone would have to die and leave us a bunch of money before it would come to pass.  Since most were in good health and none of us possessing a bunch of money, we figured our chances of  having a choir director were slim.  Never underestimate the power of prayer. 

Through a friend of a friend the word got to the preacher that a small church college about 30 miles away had a group of music students that needed outside income to help them stay in school.  Negotiations ensued and an agreement was made that a student would come to work for us, but he needed housing.   My father had spent his last years in a trailer on our farm, which was now empty.  We volunteered the trailer.  Little did we know that that small act would open up a whole new world to us.

It turned out that the group of students were all from Brazil.  Somehow this little college had started a connection with the music community in Brazil.  They had for years sent some of their brightest and most talented to the United States to study and many came through this little school.  We have since learned that the colleges in Brazil are so over-crowded that it is almost impossible for even the brightest students to get in.  They value their education so much that they are willing to endure years of being away from their families to obtain an education.  They arrive, many speaking very little English, and are confronted with the trials of a new school, new language, homesickness and all the other challenges that face college students.  We didn't know any of this then, we just knew that our new boarder would be from Brazil. 

I think in the back of our mind was the idea that this was an undeveloped country and we were doing them a big favor by lending our trailer.  It wasn't until later we realized that our boarder was from a very cosmopolitan city in northern Brazil and probably thought he had been dropped in the jungle when he wound up on a farm in rural Kentucky.  We never made a farmer out of him but we made him family.   In the process we gained a Brazilian family complete with parents, siblings, and grandparents, as they came to visit.

In return they have opened up the world of music to us.  I love to sing, but I am probably the least talented in our small choir.  However, our young friend wasn't daunted by lack of talent he just proceeded to teach us how to sing.  I am amazed at how much we have learned and what we have done.  I once commented that he would confront us with impossibilities and then proceed to make us accomplish it.  Our little choir, sometimes only numbering 20 members has become well known for their outstanding music. 

Through our boarder and his friends and family we have learned about another culture.  They have enveloped us in their warmth and taught us about their lives and country.  I can't say I have learned Portuguese, (their language) but I can at least pronounce their names correctly, I think.  I have developed a huge respect for these kids as they polish their English first through taking English as  Second Language courses in college to practicing on us to finally being fluent enough to make jokes and poke fun at our Kentucky twang and slang.   We have been blessed to have them in our homes on holidays to cheer them in the triumphs of their lives.

Our young friend met and fell in love with a lovely girl at school.  They dated for the time he lived on our farm and we were honored to be a part of his wedding.  In Brazil instead of having just the young friends as groomsmen and bridesmaids, the couple is presented by special people who have been important in their lives.  Usually these are 5 couples who are seated in a special section to recognize their influence and honor.  We were so proud to be able to sit in this section and know that we had meant as much to him and he had meant to us.

He and his new wife, graduated with honors and have moved to Louisville where he is music minister for a larger church.  They have a darling baby that we have been lucky enough to babysit for when his parents come back to the area for performances or visits.  Before they left, they passed our church on to the very capable hands of another Brazilian musician who is continuing the challenge of teaching us music.

God certainly answers prayers in the most wonderful and amazing way.

Easter Dinner

 I have always felt that Easter is a very dignified holiday.  Christmas has become so commercial and so hectic that my goal is just to get through it with no major disasters.  Thanksgiving has become more about the shopping than being thankful.   Unless, of course, you are being thankful for finding a parking place or the perfect bargain.  Halloween has always been crazy.  Easter, on the other hand, has a more decorous and thoughtful time about it.  It has always been a special time for us with church services, family and friends. 

It was a tradition that we have a big Easter dinner after church with all the aunts, uncles and cousins.  Sometimes it meant that I had to get up at the crack of dawn to get dinner started before leaving for Sunday School and church.  Then after church it was hectic trying to finish up everything and get it on the table before the kids started chewing on the table legs.  After dinner we would have an Easter egg hunt in the yard for the kids (while the dads slept dinner off scattered around the house on various beds, couches and chairs.)

Time passed.  The kids grew up and married and moved away or started their own traditions with new families.  The grandparents are no longer with us and the aunts and uncles are now grandparents attending Easter dinner with their kids.  Some years we tried just having a cook-out, but somehow it wasn't the same. Our grandkids were mostly small and we just didn't do as much and the tradition faded away.

Then my son came to me this year with a request.  He wanted to have our old traditional Easter dinner.  So for the past few days I have been digging out the linens and napkins.  Polishing the silver and getting out all the china and serving pieces.  I firmly believe that children need to be taught to appreciate and understand dressing up and using your best manners.  So our Easter dinners have always meant getting out the best and setting the table in the dining room.  Yes, we have had a few disasters.  There was the year my nephew tried to blow out the candles with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. There have been spills and stains but all in all it has been worth it. 

I wondered sometimes if it was worth all the trouble.  The cooking, cleaning, decorating and especially digging everything out and putting it up.  However, when I see the table set with mother's sterling flatware, my good china,  grandmother's candlesticks, and the table centerpiece with the carefully decorated blown eggshells that the kids made all those years ago, I know it is worth the work.  But it's when your children tell you that it is one of their favorite memories, that you know it is definitely worth it.

So I'll get back to work making sure everything is perfect for tomorrow.  I just hope no one starts a food fight.

Hauling Cats

My son-in-law is one smart guy.  After all he was smart enough to marry my daughter, even if he did take her off to Iowa to live.  However, I will forgive him that since he also sired my two bright, red-headed granddaughters.  He is an industrious, intelligent farmer who is respected by his peers.  He is soft spoken and quiet but a mental match for my daughter who is, of course, very smart, too.  Enough about brains, because this story really isn't about smarts.

My daughter has a soft heart and a desire to please people.  Therefore when her mother-in-law asked if she would be willing to take a couple of kittens off her hands, she agreed.  After all they lived on a grain farm and had lots of mice snacking on the corn from the bins, machinery, and cattle feed.  So she took them home and began putting out a little cat food for them.  Now cats communicate.  I don't know if it is by telegraph, flashing lights or mental telepathy but the message went out that there was free food at the farm.  Soon she had a little company for her kittens.  Kittens grow into cats and they collect more company in the form of visiting tom cats.  (Don't ask me to explain it but if you are given a kitten it WILL be female.)  Before long she had three litters of kittens and was feeding 2 lbs. of cat food a day.  These kittens, who will be female at a rate of 3 to1, grew up and had visitors....and you get the picture.  Soon she is buying cat food in 50 lb. bags.   The cats get wilder and wilder because now there are too many to gentle and socialize.  Before long she is running a small zoo.

Her husband has been patient with his wife up to a point.  However, when he is knee deep in cats trying to deliver a calf he began to get a little testy.  Then the kittens took over the chute where he worked his cattle causing his little girls to wail because he was being mean to the kitties by making them move (maybe a little forcefully).  Soon the very mention of cats caused my quiet, mild mannered son-in-law to roar. 

About this time my daughter decided to come to visit for a while.  My son-in-law inherited the job of feeding all the cats while she was away.  Working on the theory that nobody really knew how many were in the barn, he decided that he would get rid of a few while she was gone. However since he couldn't catch any of them he was stumped as to how to go about it.  Finally he hit upon the idea of feeding them in the cattle trailer every day and then, when he had them all inside, he would close the door and haul them off.  So each day he would place their feed in the trailer and let them get used to going in it.  At first they wouldn't approach until he was gone but after a few days they were running over him to get into the trailer and eat. 

The day came when he fed them and slipped outside and quietly closed the door.  Running to the cab of the truck he started up and pulled out of the drive.  Down the road he went to deliver the cats to an unsuspecting farm he had already picked out based on the distance from his house.  Through the night he drove.  Arriving at his destination he pulled into the lane and parked the truck.  Hustling to the back he threw open the door, expecting wildly excited cats.  Nothing happened.  He looked inside.  It was empty.  Cattle trailers come with lots of slotted openings so the cattle can have plenty of fresh air.  I don't know what made him think that cats couldn't climb out.  He had happily sown cats down a 5 mile stretch of road.  Each and every one had abandoned ship on the way.

He drove back home with a feeling of satisfaction.  True he hadn't delivered the cats to the location he had picked out, but at least they were gone.  Whistling happily he pulled into the barn lot to put away the trailer only to be met by the glittering reflection of eyes.  His lights flashed into the barn to discover all his cats had beat him back home and were waiting for him to put out their feed.

Like I said, I have a very smart son-in-law.  He walked over, scooped their feed into the pans and made a mental note to buy another 50 pounds of cat food at the co-op the next day.

A Tale of Two Asses

Yesterday was one of those days when hubby and I really hadn't crossed paths all day.  Wednesday being his half-day at the office he had come home at lunchtime and gone out somewhere.  I hadn't gotten home until later due to staying at church to clean up after Holy Week services.  I was deep into laundry and getting ready for Easter when the phone rang.  "You haven't started supper have you?"  Well, uh, I really wasn't even planning on cooking, so I answered, "Not yet."  "Well," he said over truck noises in the background,"I'm on my way home with two donkeys and wondered if you would like to ride with me to deliver them."   After a glance out the window, at a rare sunny day, I dumped the housework and said , "Sure".

Now the idea of hubby dealing with two donkeys was already bubbling in my head.  My first riding animal was a donkey.  I am reasonably familiar with the little beasts.  They are darling to look at with their sweet faces their long, fuzzy ears and tiny feet,  but what is between their ears is pure devilment.  My dad brought home my little donkey to start my riding career.  A strange choice but in his words, "A donkey will never put himself in danger.  So as long as she doesn't fall off, she should be safe."  Thus arrived my dear Poncho Vio.  I was probably all of six at the time and daddy was right, I was never in danger. 

We lived in town but we had lots of empty lots and little plots of pasture land where I could keep Poncho.  Soon we were a fixture riding around town.  Even though he was small, I still couldn't get into the saddle by myself.  So when I would get off, I had to figure out how to get myself back on.  It wasn't long before I figured out that if I led Poncho to a patch of grass he would drop his head and start eating.  Then I would climb on his head, put my feet behind his ears and when he raised his head up, I could slide down his neck.  Then all I had to do was turn around and I was mounted.  That patient little animal never once ran off with me, kicked at me or in any way caused me a bit of trouble.  However, that can not be said of his efforts to get at the neighborhood boys.  All the bigger boys thought it would be fun to ride the little jackass.  That is until they tried.  No matter the size Poncho soon had them scurrying away.  Teeth, hooves, and an angry inclination to use both were an effective deterrent. 

So, when hubby said he had two donkeys, I knew he was already having fun.  Besides being cautious, careful, and gentle (sometimes) they can also be cross, stubborn, smart, mischievous, and pure devils.  They may look like little horses (except for the ears) but they think different.  Put a donkey in a field he doesn't like and he'll just put himself somewhere else.  If he gets bored, he'll just entertain himself--either by braying at odd hours, taking down gates, chasing other animals, or just leaving.  They are master escape artists.   Put horses and donkeys together and the donkey will be the boss, every time.  They like to be the herd leader and are fiercely protective of their herd.  Which is exactly why we got into this trip.   A friend had wanted a couple of donkeys to put with his cattle to keep the coyotes away. 

I haven't figured out how long it took them to load the donkeys on the trailer but it was long enough that hubby scrapped the plan of bringing them home and delivering them tomorrow.  He figured that although he had gotten them on the trailer once he would never be able to do it again.  So here we went through the beautiful spring afternoon to deliver the donkeys.  The trip went uneventfully and soon we were ready to unload our cargo.  We pulled into a lovely, green field and opened the gate to the trailer.  Hubby mumbles something about the stubborn fools probably won't come off the trailer, now.  However, they ambled off as though a fractious thought had never crossed their minds and soon were checking out their new surroundings.  They were precious, little things, all big ears and bright eyes. 

We pulled out of the field while I checked the fences and gates, chuckling.  I couldn't help but wonder if the farmer had a clue what he was in for.  I wished I could see his face when his little charges decided to greet the morning with a trumpet blast of  brays under his window.  I wondered how he would react when he went to the field to check on them and discovered them at the neighbors.  I wondered how his neighbors would react to a donkey symphony under their windows.  Boy!  Was he going to have fun!

The Pie Safe

Over the years I have inherited a number of pieces of furniture  from various relatives.  Not only are some of these beautiful examples of the craftsmanship of a bygone age but many of them also come with family stories. It seems that my family collected stories about as enthusiastically as they did furniture.  No surprise there.

One such piece was a large,walnut double door piece called a pie safe.  This piece was especially unique because of it's size.  Most pie safes were small cupboards literally used to keep flies off the freshly baked pies while they cooled and before they were eaten. Their main characteristic was the placement of pieces of tin in the doors and on the sides.  These tin pieces were punched with a series of holes in a decorative design to allow air to circulate but keep out insects.  Most pie safes stood about 5 to 5 1/2 feet tall and usually had short legs.  Mine stands about 7 feet tall and has had the legs cut off.  It's a monster pie safe.

As a child it stored toys and I once papered it to use as a doll house. (Mama was not impressed.)  When I married it was one of the pieces that I took to our first house.  Ever since then it has had a place of honor in my kitchen.  In fact when I remodeled my kitchen I took the drawer to the showroom because I wanted my cabinets to go with the pie safe because it had to be in my new kitchen, too.  In short, it's one of my favorite things. 

However, it's story is fun, too.  My mother and father hunted antiques from their earliest days.  They often would find pieces that no one else would look twice at.  My dad swore that Mama once talked an old granny lady out of the chair she was sitting in on her front porch.  They happily dug through old out buildings and barns looking for treasures.  They were hunting antiques when people were getting rid of that "old furniture" by throwing them in sink-holes or hay lofts.  Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder. 

On one of their early hunts they found this old cupboard in a dusty outbuilding.  Mama thought it had possibility even though it was covered in layer upon layer of old paint and leaning drastically against the wall.  The lean was quickly corrected by moving it to a solid section of floor.  Out came Mama's pocket knife and she scratched industriously at the paint on one side.  After a little while a glimmer of wood showed through.  With delight, she declared that it was sure to be walnut.  They loaded up their find and took it back to the boarding house.

Mama was cooking for the boarding house where they were living.  That gave her some free time to work on the pie safe.  She set it up on the back porch and started to work removing the layers of old paint.  The process involved lots of foul smelling concoctions and scraping. It wasn't long before she had an interested audience of the residents of the boarding house.  Every night after supper they would gather to offer opinions and advice.  Most of the men thought it hysterically funny that she was laboring on that old piece of junk. They suggested that she was working awfully hard on something that would be better used for firewood. Some suggested that she could put it in the chicken house and use it for the hens to nest. She took all their ribbing and just kept on working.

Then one day one of the forestry service men came out on the porch and settled on an old bucket.  He smoked quietly for a while, then offered a little advice on removing a particularly stubborn patch of paint.  Shortly he was working along with her as they cleaned on the old piece.  Everyday he came and would sand or scrape.  While he worked he talked about his family and where he came from.  He was from Boston and understood and loved old furniture.  Eventually the pie safe was finished and ready to be installed in the kitchen, where it became a beautiful display piece for her collection of dishes.

She often said that she never looked at it that she didn't think of the gentle Yankee who ignored the teasing of his friends to help her bring her pie safe to life.

The Boarding House

When my mother and dad were a newly married couple, Daddy got a job with his cousins lumber mill.  One of his first jobs was to go into the forests of eastern Kentucky and pick out the trees that would make good lumber.  This was done as a team with the forestry service.  He and one of the rangers would look over the trees and decide which ones needed to be thinned that would meet the standards of good lumber.  The job was good and he always loved spending time in the forests, but it was a long way from my mother. 

During this time he was living in the little community of McKee, Ky., deep in the mountains.  He stayed at the local boarding house with several other men, including the forestry service employee he was working with.  Boarding houses are a thing of the past now, but at one time nearly every little town had one.  Usually run by a widow who was left with a big house and not much income, she would rent out rooms to make ends meet..  In addition to a room she would provide lunch and dinner.  The residents might be long term, or even permanent, or some of the many traveling salesmen that covered the area.  Most were men, but often a spinster lady or older couple would find a boarding house supplied an alternative to living with relatives.

The lady who ran the house ran into some troubles and needed some time off.  If I ever knew what troubles I've forgotten, but the important thing is that she couldn't just leave her boarders with no cook.  Daddy saw this as a golden opportunity to get Mother to the mountains without having to pay extra for her to stay.  He promptly volunteered her to come and take over the cooking.  So Mama went to the mountains to cook for the boarding house. 

Now Daddy always had a soft place for anything that was hurt, helpless, or needful.  The helper at the boarding house was a mentally retarded boy who did all the heavy lifting, helped clean up and kept the wood box filled.  He was a gentle soul and soon realized that Daddy would take the time to talk to him and show him how to do things, like tie fancy knots, carve little items, or just read to him from the paper.  He became Daddy's constant shadow.  As kind as Daddy was, he loved a practical joke better than anything.  With Mama on the way, he couldn't resist roping this young man into playing a joke on her.

You see, Mama, as young as she was, had totally gray hair.  It wasn't pretty silver hair either, it was a dull, salt and pepper gray.  Daddy pulled young friend to the side and told him that he wanted him to be especially nice to his wife who would be arriving shortly.  He went on to say that although she was a nice lady, he would have to be very careful about one thing.  She was very sensitive about her age.  Under no circumstances was he to bring up the fact that she was several years older than Daddy.  (In reality, Mama was six years younger than Daddy.)

Mama arrived and met everyone at the boarding house including Daddy's young friend.  After checking out the kitchen, she decided that a trip to the store was in order.  Knowing she had a lot of purchases to make she took the young friend with her to help with the load.  At the store she noticed that every time she turned around he was staring at her intensely.  If she took a step back, he was there, staring at her.  Finally on the walk back to the boarding house she could stand it no longer.  She asked him why he found her so strange and why he kept looking at her so oddly.  He blushed and blurted, "I know Mr. Morris told me not to say anything, but Mrs. Morris you just don't look like you're 10 years older than him!"

A couple of weeks passed and Mama hadn't said anything about the joke, but she was laying her plans.    The night came when instead of serving the food to the residents as she usually did, she let her helper wait the table, while she stayed in the kitchen.  When dessert time rolled around she picked up the plates and made her entrance.  With every eye on the kitchen door, she walked through with her head held high.  Except instead of the gray hair  they had come to expect, she was crowned with a mass of flaming red curls!  Daddy's mouth dropped open and then shut.  He knew he had been beaten this time.

The color wasn't permanent but no one ever mentioned her gray hair again.

Unvulcanized Rubber

We married while we both were finishing up college.  We figured that we could actually save money by paying for one living area instead of two.  Remember, this was back in the dark ages 40 something years ago when things weren't as simple as they are now.  So we married and rented a very small house just on the edge of campus.  Money was scarce so I came upon the scheme of feeding hubby's younger brother and his roommate two meals a day for the princely sum of $7.50 each.  This sum actually about paid our food bills. (Remember, it was a long time ago.)

I had always cooked and was used to getting meals on the table, however my family consisted of one sister, mother, and dad.  I figured four is four so I continued cooking as I had at home.  I really hadn't calculated that feeding three hungry young men was a vastly different thing.  The first weeks the boys were the ideal boarders.  They showed up promptly and ate anything I put in front of them.  It was several weeks before my brother-in-law slipped up and confessed that they were going back to the dorm every night and ordering pizza!  That was when my education on feeding males really took off.  I learned a lot about how filling pasta, beans, and potatoes are.  I also learned that the number of servings a recipe makes does not mean "male" servings.

One night I decided to surprise the boys with my aunt's famous homemade, from scratch, chocolate cake.  When we married a cousin had given us a recipe shower, where each guest brings two treasured recipes for the new bride.  This cake had been my aunt's contribution and I was excited to make it for the first time.  I spent all afternoon mixing, measuring and baking.  I then frosted the two deep chocolate layers with a foamy, white frosting. 

After dinner I proudly carried the cake in and set it on the table.  It looked beautiful!  I picked up the knife and eagerly begin slicing thick chunks of cake onto the waiting plates.  I began to suspect something was wrong when the knife met a little resistance when I pushed it through the slices, but it looked fine, so I passed out the plates.  My plate was last so everyone else was chewing by the time I put my fork to mine.  I poked it.  It popped my fork right back.  I looked up to see my husband sitting with a quizzical look on his face.  My brother-in-law was chewing mightily.  His roommate was just looking at my cake and prodding it lightly with his fork.  Without missing a beat, he looked up and said, "I think you have just created unvulcanized rubber!"

He was right.  I had followed the recipe to the letter without using a bit of common sense.  My aunt had failed to include the baking powder when she copied the recipe.  I never noticed.  So what I got was a layer of cake that would rise on the steam in the baking with the rest of it cooking to a layer of "unvulcanized rubber". 

None of us ever forgot that rubber cake.  It has become a family legend.  However, what I remember most is that my husband didn't eat it, the roommate only prodded it, but my dear brother-in-law tried manfully to eat it, rather than hurt my feelings.  He was a prince.

A Genetic Thing

I think women are born with a gene that makes them try to always make everyone happy, even if it means fudging the truth just a little.  When presented with a drawing by a child, a woman will respond with "What a beautiful tree!  Oh!  It's a picture of your mommy?  Of course, it is and she is beautiful."  When asked for an opinion on a friend's dress, she would of course say, "I love the color.  It brings out your eyes."  She would never say, "That style makes you look ten pounds heavier."  When presented with a baby, he is the cutest thing you've ever seen, even if you do think he looks just like his grandfather and that's not a compliment.

All day, every day, mothers everywhere are telling little white lies.  "Your hair looks really cute that way.  Very stylish."  Not, "Well, it will grow out someday and look decent again."  They look their teenager in the eye and say "It's such a tiny spot on your face that I don't even notice it.", instead of "Oh, my.  It looks like a mountain between your eyes."  When their daughter is complaining about how their jeans fit, every mother will assure her that they look wonderful.    They aren't big lies but we are constantly careful about the truths that we tell. 

Now explain to me why men can't do the same thing?  What is it that compels a man to offer his own brand of truth, regardless?  Upon seeing his wife's new dress, he will offer, "Didn't they have a bigger size?"  If presented with his daughter's question about how her slacks look will wonder "Is that the only color you could get? "  How many men have commented "do you really like that?" when shown the new color for the bedroom.  I always want to respond "No.  Actually I think it is a horrid color, but they were paying people to take the paint."  Why else would I have picked that color and why weren't you helping when I was showing you color chips!!

My hubby is no exception to this rule. My mother loved hats and wore them regally.  Early in our marriage I decided to wear one of her hats that I had kept  to church.  It was stylish and really looked wonderful with my outfit.  I carefully arranged it on my hair, proudly got in the car and we rode to church.  I felt so elegant and dressed up.   Just as we pulled into the parking lot and were ready to leave the car my husband looks over at me and says, "You aren't really going to wear that into church, are you?" 

It must be a genetic thing. 

Computer Help

I love my computer.  I love all the things it can do and all the places it can take me.  I write on it, do our accounts on it, shop on it, organize on it and dozens of other things.  However, for all of the things that I do on a computer I am not computer literate.  I haven't a clue how they work.  I know how to do what I do and that's about it.  When something goes wrong with it I call for help, quickly!  Fortunately for me, I bought my computer locally so when it's a hardware problem I call the wonderful people that own the little computer store in our community.  They are endlessly patient and helpful.  If it is an Internet problem I call the people that provide my Internet service.  They have a wonderful "techie" who will answer any question and if needed they will send a serviceman quickly. 

However, if it is a software problem, I am toast.  First of all they will send you to a website that will take you though endless pages of questions and answers.  After reading them all, I usually discover that they don't answer my question at all.  Then you have to fill out a e-mail request for help.  (which will be answered sometime) or you have to give in a call the help line.

Last December I finally gave up on trying to make my Quicken program write checks in sequence.  It would print one on a page, then two on a page or maybe three but never without skipping some in the middle.  This messes up my check numbers something fierce.  So after reading all the questions and answers, e-mailing my question, and waiting....I decided I would give in a call the help line.  Help lines are a problem for me for two reasons.  One is language and two is language. 

The first language problem is that I really don't understand computer talk.  They tell me to find something on my computer and I don't have a clue where to look.  They ask me a question about my computer and I don't have any idea what they are asking.  They tell me to do something and then they have to guide me through it step by step. They use terms I don't understand and then I feel like an idiot for having to ask again.  I am a literally computer illiterate.  This creates lots of frustration on their part and mine. 

The second language problem is that computer help lines are outsourced to other countries.  I'm from the south--I have a strange accent.  They are from India and they have a strange accent.  It's a lot like a chicken and a cow trying to have a conversation.  There are a lot of words going back and forth but not a lot of communication.  Add this language problem to the computer language problem and I have a real challenge.

So I called India and asked for help.  Luckily for me my "help" actually spoke very good English, although with a heavy accent.  He was very knowledgeable and certainly knew what he was doing.  He also was very patient, both with my requests for him to repeat himself and with my total ignorance about my computer.    Eventually we got to the point where we were waiting for a "patch" to download to my computer and to see if it would work.  While we were waiting I just couldn't sit with a phone to my ear and not talk.  So I started asking about his job and himself.  I found that he was single and worked mostly at night, but was filling in for a friend on this particular day.  He was interested in our plans for Christmas.  He said he wasn't a Christian but would be celebrating Christmas with some friends.  This would be his first Christmas and he was very excited.  He in turn wanted to know if we would be having snow (we did) and if my family would be all together (we were). 

I hung up from my call with a feeling of having connected with a young man from around the world.  We had shared a moment and learned a little about another culture.  Maybe he thinks about the lady from Kentucky sometimes.  I know I wonder about him.

I may get another chance to visit--the patch didn't fix it!

Mr. Mocker

Living on a farm you get to know the wildlife that shares your space, much like you do neighbors in a subdivision.  Just like in a town, some of your neighbors are friendly and immediately want to get acquainted, some are stand-offish and you only see them occasionally, some are fun, some are a nuisance and some are just unforgettable. 

We share our yard with a loudmouth, brash, mischievous, jester of a mockingbird.  I don't know how long mockingbirds live, but if this isn't the same one then he really does pass his characteristics down to his children.  Frankly, if cats have 9 lives, then this bird must have a 100 to have survived. I think everything on the farm has suffered from his bent sense of humor.

One time I was out in the yard hanging out clothes when I noticed one of the mama cats acting strangely.  She would look under this bush and then that bush as though she was searching for something.  She kept up this behaviour for some time before I realized I was hearing a kitten.  Every so often the distinctive "meow" of a kitten would sound out.  The problem was that it would come from a different bush each time.  Sure enough, there was Mr. Mocker having a wonderful time driving that poor mama cat nuts looking for the lost kitten.

We have a big tom cat that hangs out on the back porch.  Every day that mockingbird sits on the railing and teases the cat.  First he will just sit on the railing, then he hops down on the back of the bench, then he'll move ever closer and closer.  Each time he shows supreme indifference to the cat, continuing his singing as though he was the only being on the planet.  When the cat can't stand it any longer and tries to pounce on him, Mr. Mocker flits away and literally laughs in his face.  Of course, there was the one day when I heard an awful ruckus on the porch and looked out the door to discover Mr. Mocker had tried his game on my best mouser and she had proved quicker than he was.  Naturally, I rescued him to torment another day. 

One Christmas the wreath on the back door proved to be more fun than he could ignore.  First he tried to eat all the berries.  They proved to be unappetizing and resistant to his attempts to pluck off.  While he was struggling he discovered a new game.  In snatching for the berries he was making a tapping noise on the door, which resulted in me running to answer the door.  It didn't take long for him to decide this was more fun than berries.  After that he would entertain himself by sitting on the wreath and knocking on the door.  He seemed utterly delighted at our exasperation when we answered the door and would sit on the porch chair and make chuckling noises in his throat. 

For all his being a nuisance, he is a chorus of music.  Mockingbirds are well named.  They can duplicate any bird song and lots of other sounds.  One of my delights is to be in the yard when he decides to present a concert.  He'll arrange himself on a perch in plain sight, for all the world like a singer approaching a podium on a stage.  Then he'll do a few trills and bits to warm up.  When he is satisfied he is ready, he then launches into a full scale aria.  It's like a symphony of birds.  There are the soft trills of the wren, the harsh chuckles of the jay, little coos of the dove, soaring notes of the lark and on and on.  I hold my breath as I listen in wonder.  When he finishes he puffs his chest out, points his long tail feather out proudly and stands as though waiting through the prolonged applause of the crowd. 

Mr. Mocker you are a maestro.

In-Laws and Out-Laws

My daughter has the best in-laws. 

You know when you marry you don't give a lot of thought to the parents and siblings of your love.  However, you really should take a long look at his (or her) family before you decide to tie the knot.  After all that knot is going to tie you to these people for better and for worse for the rest of your life.  Not only will they be a part of your family but they will be in on every decision that you make.  They will have their two cents worth to say on when you have children, how many you have, where you will live, what you will do for a living, how you will spend that living and on and on.  I know.  I have been both a daughter-in-law and mother-in-law.  I've seen it from both sides.  Trust me take a long look!!

You can tell a lot about how you and your husband will fight by looking at how your husband's family settles their arguments.  Do they compromise and end peacefully or do they fight it to the bitter end and whine?  Do they yap about every little thing or keep it bottled up until it's a big explosion?  Do they reason or shout?  After all you do tend to carry these traits on into your own marriage.  I once knew a couple who loved nothing better than a good war.  Every fight became a campaign to get everyone in the family to take sides and fight it out.  I wouldn't have lasted two days before I was running for cover. 

You also tend to parent like your parents did.  So look at how these people relate to their children.  Are they supportive or always negative.  Do they tend to make all their children's decisions or step back and let them decide their lives?  Do they nag and pick or just suggest and drop it?  Not only do you lean toward the parenting skills that you were raised with, but some parents never quit being the "all knowing" parents.  They will still try to make your decisions and guide your lives.   Can you live with that?

I don't know if my daughter actually thought of any of these things when she was falling in love, but she sure came up trumps.  Her in-laws are supportive without smothering, loving, encouraging, helpful and kind.  They are truly a Norman Rockwell family that loves each other and enjoys spending time together.  They have opened their hearts and welcomed her as another daughter.  I feel very blessed that she has this second mother to go to whenever she needs to.  If you have to send your child 700 miles away to live at least I can rest knowing that she has a loving family to support her every day. 

Thanks for being her loving family.

This Little Piggy went to Market

 I have just returned from my first children's clothing market.  My daughter is opening a children's boutique this fall in the little town of Humeston, Iowa.  She is calling it Sweet Southern Sass, a play on the fact that she is from the south (and still sounds like it) and the fact that she is located now in southern Iowa and hopes to draw customers from that whole area.  It's a huge step to be opening a new store in these times of dwindling main streets in small towns and tough economy but she has done her homework, studied the area, knows her clientele and talked (and listened to) lots of business people. I'm proud of her detailed approach and the amount of work she has already put into this project.

Last week-end I rode to Chicago with her to attend her first buying market.  We spent three long days meeting with children clothing rep's and stocking up her shop.  To me, it was an awesome and slightly overwhelming process.  One whole floor of the hotel was turned over to the clothing market.  Each suite was set up like a little store, with displays, racks, goodies.  The reps would show you each piece of the line they were carrying, with my daughter quickly deciding yes, no, maybe.  They would then go back over her choices and decide which sizes she needed and how many to order.  I was amazed at her grasp of what she needed and the type of styles she wanted in her shop.  Where did she learn to be such a businesswoman?  I'm not surprised at her grasp of style, after all this is the same child that as a 3 year old would pick out her father's ties each morning. 

I was chatting with one of the reps about another young woman who was also opening a shop.  This young woman was having a difficult time deciding what she wanted and settling on the styles she needed.  I had commented on what a hard time she was having.  The rep shook her head and said, "She won't be back next season.  She'll never make it.  You know, we see a lot of shops start up and we get a really good feel for the ones that will be successful and the ones that won't.  She won't."  I guess she could see the question in my eyes because she smiled and said,  "Your daughter is one of the ones I would bet on."  I felt that was high praise. 

If you need really unique, special clothing for little ones, I know a great store opening in August in Iowa.