Dum Dums, childhood in a sweet marble of flavor

When I was a child, the banks handed out lollipops in the drive~thru for the children in the car.  Sometimes those were the flat ones in clear cellophane; but usually, they were Dum~Dums.

Dum dums are lil round pops that are just the right size for a child.  Or even an adult who wants a marble sized zap of sugar and flavor.

Root beer was my favorite, altho butterscotch ran a close second.  I think those are two of the oldest flavors, tho there were other original flavors that have also stood the test of time.

I don't remember ever buying a dum~dum.  I never turned in the wrappers for rebates.  But I always inspect the waxed paper, flattening it, as tho this time, I might save it.

Dum dums have been around over sixty years.  Lots of kids have eaten these treats over years and I suspect that a few adults have had more than their fair share too!

I think next time I'm at the bank, I'll ask for one.

Math Thinking

When I was a first semester college freshman, over 25 yrs ago {shuddup}, I enrolled in college calculus.  I was the ONLY freshman in that class.  And I was one of TWO students in the class of forty who was taking the class for the very first time.  That means that 38 upperclassman in that class had gotten a D or lower, or dropped/withdrawn from the class mid-semester the first time around.  I have many, many stories from that class; and it was one of the two classes that I did repeat in my undergraduate years.  Thankfully, I was able to take it from a different professor the second time around, who realized that not all of us who have to take the class are mathematically inclined.  So he focused lots on the theory behind the formulas and the practical applications, so we were able to understand more of what we were doing and why.

Because I needed to take more mathematical classes in order to fulfill my liberal education requirements, and because I could not take a "lower" math that normally would be taught before calculus {such as algebra or geometry}, I was severely limited on what options were realistically available.  However, I was able to take "math thinking", a course which focused on those very things that I could understand and find interesting.

I loved that class.  In fact, most of the math that I use now comes from my understanding of principles taught in that class, oh so long ago; so that even if I cannot remember formulas, I remember the theory behind them~~and that is really what matters the most anyway.

Which brings me to the picture of dominoes seen here...

In this set of dominoes, we have double blanks on up to double fifteens.  That's sixteen of each type of domino; but there are not 256 tiles {16x16}~because there is only ONE domino that has two pips and eight pips.  So you cannot count that same domino twice, once in the twos and once in the eights; there is only one.  If you count that domino in the twos, then you cannot count it again in the eights.  So that is why I have sixteen dominoes under the row of fifteen pips, fifteen dominoes under the row of fourteen pips, fourteen dominoes under the row of thirteen pips, and so on.

It's like when you learn your times tables.  If you are learning your sixes, you already know what one times six is, two times six, three times six, four times six, five times six...because you learned those when you learned your ones, twos, threes, fours, and fives.  That's why the times table on the back of composition notebooks had an angled diminishing graph that looked like the picture you see here.

So how many dominoes are in a set that includes double fifteens?   136.  {16+15+14+...+1  or plug in the formula that involves something like {{N{N-1}}/2}+N, where N is the number of double dominoes}

Hope that makes sense and that I phrased it all correctly.

Family doings

My husband's mother turned eighty in March and my husband turned sixty in April; so we'd told all five adult children to save their pennies to get home to Mississippi sometime in 2015 for the Summer Shindig.  We weren't sure when we were going to do it, til a few months ago, earlier this spring; we decided July sounds fine.

Now that Jerry's retired from MSU, it worked nicely to include that as another reason for celebrating.  So we called upon Jerry's youngest son's in~laws and their pig roasting abilities to make this fun food festivity even more fun and festive.  Then, we decided that one pig wouldn't do; nope!  We went the route of two.

PawPaw and Savvy sharing cool treats on a hot day, July 2015

Next thing you know, we were asking these people, those people, this person over here, that person over there, and that person was asking this person and before you know it, we had quite the guest list, potential guests, and gee~we~sure~wish~we~could~buts.  So we'd nailed down a date, but not really a time, because who knows when pigs are done roasting?  The pig roaster, that's who.  And we had to wait til the pig roaster could eye the pigs, and that wasn't going to happen until Thursday, with Saturday being the event.

Til we decided that, yes, we'd still do that...but, let's roast the wild boar on Friday because there was way more than enough people already here already {and by "here", I mean the house, yes, but also in town, because our house only has so many rooms, and so many rooms do fill up when there are five adult kids, and their families, and the other folks and so forth and so on, ya see?}.  So we roasted one pig Friday and one Saturday, and by "we" I mean "not me" {thank you, oh so much, Jesus, Chris, Jerry Wayne, and Jerry}.  Janet and Jennifer cooked black beans and yellow rice.  And I made gallons of sweetened teas {ginger~lemon, apple cinnamon, watermelon, and chai} and veggie salad that makes everyone who tries it goes "soooooo good".  Jerry roasted corn on the cob and sliced up watermelon.

So feasting went on for a couple days.  When Sunday rolled around, most everyone packed up and left, and we took stock.  We all had a blast and am glad that folks came out and enjoyed themselves.  We have a lil of this and a lil of that in the fridge, some black beans in the freezer, but most of the food got eaten, which is good, because that's the purpose of the food.

We have a few more stories, a few good pictures, and a toddler's onesie with pink stars on a white background.  Mostly tho, we've good memories and good friends.  Thanks for helping to make this a great Summer Shindig.

Good Sleep, good mood, creative goodness

I got some of the best sleep I've had in years this morning.  Not sure why, and that's important, cuz I'd love to replicate the conditions that contributed to the restive sleep, so I can have more and More and MORE.  I'm a sleep slut that way.

Then when I got up, I was chipper.  Bright eyed and bushy tailed.  In a swellagain mood!  No headache, that helped, I'm sure.  No extra body heaviness drag, that was huge, most likely.  But it wasn't just the absence of negative stuff; it was the presence of positive stuff too.

So after I ate my banana and took my meds, finishing up my strep antibiotic today, yea!; I did the sudoku that my husband always sets aside for me on Sunday.  And we were listening to an 80s channel, so I doodled because the first song I really heard was "I aint got noBODY, no BODY, noBODY cares for me".  In my mind, I saw this drunk bum in an oversized suit, sort of shuffling along in a jazz hand sort of way, in time with the song.  So I sketched it out fast.

The next song was Bobby Brown's repetitive drone, I want, I want, I want.  So quickly I did that.  I woman sitting on a chair, in profile, with her arm draped over the back.

That's when I realized I don't get to the point of drawing the head of my lil sketches.

So I made a point on the next one to START with the head.  Duran Duran's "Girls on Film".  In my mind I was seeing very 80s big hair with dangling earrings and such.  Whatcha think?

Still no face.  And obviously my camera skills are way lacking.

I left the room for a few minutes and when I came back, the lyrics "when the bullet hits the bone" were belted and so I drew a leg.  Not sure why.  Don't care for the clownish disproportionate shoe.  But here it is.

But there wasn't much time to reflect on that before that short couple few minutes' worth of song was over and "We Don't Need Another Hero" came on.

My first thought was of the hero~character from yesterday's Twice Upon a Time.  The curlicue hair swirl with the gleaming oversized teeth that sparkled in a huge smile captured the character just right.  But that wasn't what I focused on.

I started with the cape.  Then the arms akimbo, and the leg in a spradle straddled stance.  And of course, the obligatory "S" emblazoned on the chest.

Still no head, but that's ok.  We don't focus on the head of heros.  We tend to focus on their brawn, not their brains.  suuuuuuuuuuuuuper.

Gifts that keep on giving, or not.

Pretty sure I mentioned it before, but it won't hurt to do so again...

My brain is going to Harvard.  I figure, some part of me should go, and I doubt I'll do so in this lifetime.  So, I've made arrangements for my brain to go to Harvard after I die.

Your brain can go too!  Why?  Well, Harvard Brain Tissue Resource Center {Brain Bank} collects and studies the neurobiological differences between "normal" {no neurological, no neuropsychiatric disorders}, individuals with neurological &/or neuropsychiatric disorders, and familial individuals' brains too.   It's the largest repository of brains and brain tissue, used for study for determining what sort of differences there might be between various types of brains, with hopes that the more that we learn about the brain, the more we can help treat various disorders and diseases.

So say you're all enthusiastically supportive and ya wanna do this too.  Here are a few things you might want to know that may help to facilitate the collection process.  First off, be sure this is what you want.  Read up on the material and fill out the forms, send them in, and be sure that you've discussed your wishes with those around you.

Your body and brain becomes the property of your estate upon death.  This usually means that the next of kin becomes the owner of the body, although there are certain state and federal laws you {they} must abide by.  So regardless of YOUR wishes, if your next of kin {or whomever is the executor of your estate} is not hip to them, they might not be carried out.  So be sure to talk with your peeps, dude.

It's a good idea to have all the pertinent info, especially contact numbers, handy.  I've a list that I, my husband, and a few others keep in their wallets.  It has that contact number on it, along with the steps to be taken, along with a list of my current medications.  It's all typed out, clearly.

It's hard enough to deal with a loved one's dying and death, so make it easier on everyone involved by having all the steps right there, within reach to refer to, printed out.  Donation of organs, tissues, bodies, and BRAINS is a time~sensitive issue and must occur within hours of death, in most cases.  In some cases, minutes.  Usually doctors, coroners, and organizations are involved, so take care of as much of what you can, beforehand.

Also, be sure that your estate is NOT responsible for the cost, unless that is a non~issue.  For me, I'd like my body to go to the University of Tennessee's "Body Farm" in Knoxville~~BUT, that's not going to happen, because they have a policy that states that your estate incurs the cost of transportation of your body to their location {unless you died within a hundred miles of their facility}.  There are all sorts of laws regarding interstate body transfer, and it's expensive.  So I'd rather not fuss with that.

Instead, I do have the University Hospital, in Jackson, Mississippi listed as the recipient of my body sans brain.  They prefer whole body donation, however, they can use partials for educational, medical, research purposes.  If my brain isn't harvested by Harvard, then whole body donation is an option for cadaver classes {Gross Anatomy}.

And there are other options as well, such as organ and tissue donation, as well as bone donation.  Or perhaps no donation would be acceptable, depending on circumstances of death.  In which case, cremation is my wish.

Lots to think on, so make plans now, for then.

Plumbing Problems: we all have them, sometime or another

Those of you who are familiar with the Wolf Compound can skip right over this first paragraph and not miss much, so see ya in a bit.  My husband's grandfather left the acreage we live on to my husband back more than a couple few years ago.  I never met Big Daddy, but by all accounts, I'd've liked to.  He and Mama Jenny lived in a lil house which is no longer on the property, having been bought by a cousin of the pack and moved down the road a bit.  But the foundation still sits in the field, marking the middle to the road front property here.  To the west of that old place was the home where their daughter {my husband's mother} lived until a year or so ago, and further to the west of that, was at one point where her daughter {my husband's sister} lived, which then became the location for my husband's youngest daughter's family, and eventually my mother moved her trailer into that location.  To the east of what had been Big Daddy's is my husband's place, where he and his first wife raised their five children, none of whom live here currently, but all of whom have lived somewhere on the land at some point as adults, I think.  Well, perhaps not all of them.  To the east of the place we live in now, was where his oldest daughter and her family lived for fourteen years.  So when I say, "Wolf Compound", I'm only sort of joking, the rest of me is serious as can be, and with good reason.

Lemony Snicket's lakeside house, well not HIS house...

Now, Jerry's mother is 80 and she does not live here anymore; she finally got her wish and lives in a nursing home, and loves it.  So we decided to rent out her place.  We weren't too rushed to put anyone in there, when we wanted to take our time and find the right folks, someone who might be there for longer than a year, someone who might be good tenants and not cause lots of complications and grief, and so we took our time, since we had lots of other stuff going on too.  In February, a young woman expressed an interest and she fit all the criteria~~she gave off good people vibes, ya know?

In March she signed the lease with a move in date scheduled for sometime about now, the mid to end of June.  So skip with me ahead a few months til last week when my husband is out mowing the various yards.  Normally, this means he gets all sweaty and dusty and grassy and a lil grit thrown in too.  But this time, he showed up at the front door after a few hours of mowing, and he was just caked with mud; which is odd, cuz we've been having a bit of a dry spell, relatively speaking.

Well, it turns out that the western end of his mother's place was sorta mucky and swampy, which was odd, cuz the rest of the yard was not.  So he goes hunting for a leak, which we hadn't noticed because no one was living there for awhile and Jerry hadn't had a chance to mow in a couple few weeks.  He discovers at least one leak, but couldn't get to it.  He tried, hence the caked mud attire, to squirm under the house to get to the leaky pipe.  Couldn't do it.

after the not Lemony's Snicket's
lakeside house falls into the lake

So we called a plumber.  And another one.  Then two more.  And then yesterday, after the first four or five didn't show up either when they said or call back; we got in touch with someone who it turns out my husband knows but had forgotten because how often do we need a plumber?  More often than you might think.

This morning, said plumber comes by and we chat for a few moments; he graciously allowed me to gather my straying wits as I earlier described on FaceBook {you can read about it here}.  Then he went off to see what was what.  Half an hour later, he was back and the prognoses is not good.

The problem isn't the leak, per se; it's access to the pipe.  There isn't any access at the moment.  So we're going to have to cut an access area, thru the brick.  And then we're still not entirely sure that will be enough to grant access, because there isn't a lot of clearance between the house and the ground.  Oh, and the tongue that allowed the home to be towed and moved onto the property some seventeen years ago or so has been cut off and, I do think, shoved under the house.  Right about where the plumbing for the master bath and laundry is.  So we're not exactly sure what we'll find.

We'll take it as it comes, cuz it's gotta be done, and it's gotta be fixed.

{*sigh*}

The Strangest Accident of which He was NOT a Part

Rather than focus on the current plumbing skituashun, I thought I'd share a lil something that happened the other day for your reading enjoyment.  Use your imagination here, I'll paint the verbal image, and provide a few sketches to help you along the way...but I'm sure that your own imagination will have you shaking your head, chuckling, or face~palming {preferably the next stupid person you encounter, if only mentally}.

My husband drives a smartCar, a bright yellow one, and many people are captivated by it; pointing it out to others, sometimes to their own detriment because they tend to forget that they are operating vehicles themselves.  So you might already see where this is heading.  Sure you do, cuz you is smart.  If so, you might already be giggling.

So the other day, he is at the gas pumps, at one of these new fangled gas stations that have twenty or

thirty islands and five or six entrances to three or four different roads.  You might even know which gas station it is, but if not, you can probably still imagine such a place and the potential chaos that can ensue if just one monkey gets thrown into the mix, let alone if that monkey is wrenching their neck around and ogling my husband's lil car instead of paying attention to what they are doing.  Yes, you can see a whole barrel of monkeys let loose, can't you?

I knew you could.

So there stands my husband, gas nozzle at about hip height, filling up the lil smartCar~~which takes about three minutes because the tank is lil too.  He's standing there, watching the car backing out of the parking slot at the convenience store.  The guy driving is excitedly pointing the smartCar out to his passenger and still backing out.  My husband sees this, and starts to make wild arm waving gestures and the man waves back, just grinning away.

You must see where this is heading, right?  Cuz the guy backing up sure didn't.  Not even with my husband trying to get his attention and now adding a few yells of "hey there, STOP, HOLD IT, STOP" into the upcoming fray.  But nope, the backing~up guy just continues to wave right back, while not paying attention to anything other than my husband and his bright yellow car.

{sigh}

Meanwhile, through one of the entrances that is at the end of the row of parking slots, whips another vehicle, going a bit too quickly for the locale; but ya know, they had places to go, things to do, people to see, cuz they's impo'tant.  And then that straight fast car's driver gets all caught up in the spirit of awesomeness of my husband's car too.  In fact they might have even mouthed something like, "oh look!  how cute!"  Not exactly sure because that is NOT what they were saying a few seconds later.

Now it's hard to tell who made first contact, but backing up guy kept backing and straight fast car plowed straight on and they met with great force and rending of clothing and gnashing of teeth, sworn epitaphs, and ludicrous statements of finger pointing, fist shaking, and yelling.  The police officer who was exiting from the store with his co'cola, shook his own head, and flipped out his tablet, all set to do his thing, which involved a lot of listening and then explaining.

He agreed that yes, an accident report would be filed, with both of them at fault.  No, it is not my husband's fault that they were not paying attention to their own vehicles instead of gawking at the parked vehicle that was at the gas pump, getting gas.  No, not even tho the car is bright yellow.  Well, sir, if you were captivated, you should have safely parked your car and THEN let your imagination run rampant.  And no, it really does not matter who had the right~away in this case because neither of you were paying attention.  No, again, the gentleman is NOT responsible for your distraction.  Well, see you both admitted that you were not paying attention.  And no, it doesn't matter that the car is yellow, or cute, or novel.

{sigh}

Then the police office meandered over to my husband and asked him how the gas mileage was on that lil smartCar. Cuz he is kind.  And smart.  And impo'tant.

Sophie Approved

This throw is going to be a lil over 40"x56", in about fifteen more rows or so.

It meets Sophie's approval.

I'm so very glad.

Fathers

Today's Fathers' Day, a time when children call their fathers or visit them, giving them neckties,

grilling accessories, and so forth.  Those things were never really appropriate for my dad.  Visiting with him, yes, of course~~if that was possible.  Sometimes we lived states away from each other.  At those times, a phone call would do.  Most times, a card was given.

Choosing the right card can be tricky.  Because usually the typical father's day cards mentioned golf, boating, fishing, etc.  Dad didn't do those things.  Well he did go fishing, but not with such an undying passion that would necessitate a card devoted to it.

I do not remember ever giving my dad a necktie.  He seldom wore them and had a few that would suffice if a wedding, funeral, or day in court arose.  So lots of the typical images of fatherhood just didn't seem to fit.

My father is a complex man in that he's not the most predictable person.  He's a simple man in that his needs are few.  He is a great listener, a deep thinker, and can tell the most amazing stories.  He has a great sense of humor, is charming, and has a capacity for kindness, caring, and love.

So if your father doesn't fit into the model commercial image of dad's day pictures; so what?  As long as you dad was your dad, a good man with an interest in you and someone you can turn to in moments of celebration, sharing those victories in life, a parent you can depend on to extend support, when you need it the most, a listening ear, offering sage advice, and as long as YOU are happy with you dad, who cares if he doesn't wear a necktie, goes golfing, or owns a pair of dock shoes.

Your dad is probably the onliest one you're gonna have, so be glad of him.  I love you dad, and I hope you've a great day today and always.  Huggles and chuckles, your dear daughter debra.

Just Sayin'

I'm not always the easiest person to get along with {*gasp*, no! really?} and at times can be persnickety as all get out.  Usually that happens when I am feeling out of control and so feel the need to regain or maintain what control there is, by grousing over the seemingly trivial things.  To me, at that moment, those are big things, very important, and they matter.  To others, especially those who do not know me personally, those trivial things are just that, small and inconsequential to the big overall picture of forests and trees.  I'm down there spazzing over the leaves and roots, and others are all, "chill, woman, those pine needles will be fine!"

On the other hand, there are lots of times when I'm way over on the other end of the spectrum, with huge grandiose sweeping visions of possibilities with very little idea of how to break that down into actual plans for making that happen.  At those moments, I'm all, "thousands of acres of national parks with paths and camping and intentional instruction of the natural plants around them...whadja mean, THE forest?  I'm talking thousands upon thousands of acres..."

Mostly I live in the midlands, in more moderate conditions of, "yup there's a forest of all sorts of trees there, and here's another forest of all sorts of trees, maybe there is a way to make these forests more productive or hey here's an idea, maybe we should just leave the forests alone and appreciate them for what they are".

Believe it.  Or not.  Up to you.  But sometimes  being capable of seeing all the various perspectives is not nearly as beneficial as you might think.  Sometimes seeing all those perspectives, with the pros and the cons and the yeas and the nays, can be overwhelming and can actually almost become paralyzing.

And then I'm not good to anyone because I cannot even be good for myself.  The possibilities are mind~blowing and not necessarily in a good way.  My mind has taken a few too many blows over the years and while the occasional stretch is a good thing, allowing me to build new ideas as I reassemble my blown mind into a fully functioning model; somewhere along the way, resiliency is lost and understanding and seeing everything no longer feels fun and freeing.  Instead, it feels overwhelming and threatening, it feels terrifying and frustrating.  It can swallow me whole and leave behind blown mind~bits that might have been useful at one point but are now odds and ends that I can't find, but sorely need.

This is why the recreational drug escape route that so many flock to with zest and zeal because it helps them to expand has never really been my thing.  I worked too hard to get where I am, which is right here, now, in the moment, with some plans for the future and some familiarity of the past.  It's too hard for me to keep balanced in the here and now to actively seek another mind~blowing experience of which I don't retain some control.  I've fought hard to maintain a balance or moderate range within my life, to go upsetting that apple cart to get to the grapefruit.

So when folks ask me why I take the medication I do, my reply is that the meds I take keep me here and functioning, for the most part.  Because I can only speak for me and my experiences, I can tell you that I hesitate to disturb the fine balance we've achieved to introduce an alternative to what I already have established.  My resiliency is not great anymore, and knowing that about myself makes me less inclined to be adventuresome in very many ways now.  I'm spinning and balancing too many full plates of different sizes and some will fall and shatter.  So it's a matter of choosing which are worth the energy it takes to focus on maintaining.

Sometimes I walk the line, other times I sit on the cliff; but usually, I'm dancing to my own drummer in the forest of pines.

Truly a work of art

I don't remember where or when I picked up this book, but it is very likely that I'd gotten it from the freebie table at our local public library a few years back.  Since I have stacks of books which are piled in various areas, along with overflowing bookshelves in just about every room in the house; I am never caught up on my reading.  There are many books that I have intentions of having had read, but have not yet done so.  Any bibliophile can not only understand this, but is most definitely in the same tub, along with the proverbial butcher, baker, and candlestickmaker...because we all make odd bedfellows.

The point is tho that this particular book called to me in cheerful tones of beckoning loveliness because storytelling and quilts.  I love storytelling, both to listen/read and to actually tell {or ya know, write}.  And I admire quilts, quilting, especially handmade quilts.  So I started to read this and quickly determined that this is the adult equivalent of "Little House on the Prairie", soddies, buckboards, midwest, and all.  I say "adult" not because it is pornographic, but because Laura Ingalls Wilder's series tends to be written for and read by children.

Both Wilder and Grace Snyder rely on their daughters to tell their stories, to tell them accurately, and from the perspective of the mothers not the daughters {Rose and Nellie, respectively}.  Both focus on the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and what life was like for them personally, for their neighbors in general, and also how the world's events influenced their lives as well.  There are many similarities, of course, and many differences as well.

It's taking me an unusually long time to read this book, in part because I am having problems focusing for long on any one thing.  This is reminiscent to me of when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and so forth.  The main difference between now and then is that at that point, I was having problems functioning at all; while I am comparatively in a much better frame of mind now.

In part though, another more importantly positive reason that it is a longer than usual process for me to read this book is because I have been thinking a lot while I read.  So two or three paragraphs will find me an hour later no further along in the text, but in my mind, I've covered miles and miles of dry sandhills and dusty plains.  Earlier today, I told my husband that I am sure that I would not have survived the brutal workload and harsh conditions of childhood had I been born during that time period.  I am in awe of the fortitude these people had to deal with life, let alone to make that life beautiful in creative and functional ways.

The quilt featured on the cover of the aptly named No Time on My Hands is the Flower Basket Petit Point.  Grace Snyder received permission, and a full set of china dishes, from the Salem, Ohio company which inspired this pattern and design, complete with the flowers' colors.  This quilt is now part of the International Quilt Study Center & Museum, at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln.  How many pieces are in this king~sized quilt?

Just under 86 thousand.

No Time on My Hands.

June 12th Thoughts

My husband suggested that we head downtown for a bit today, with our computers, have some lunch, coffee {decaf for me, please}, and spend some time reading and writing.  This is a perfect way to spend today, thank you very much, Mister Wolf!  With all the noise in my head, I wanted to pick just one thing to focus on to write about and that wasn't happening.

So I decided to google "June 12" and see what there was to see!  I opened the first ten links and read about what this date meant in various wars, battles, and political arenas {Virginia Declaration of Rights adopted, for instance}.  In 1942, Anne Frank received a diary for her thirteenth birthday, which most school children during the fifties, sixties, seventies, and into the eighties went on to read.  Not sure if it is still required or recommended for reading in the education curricula now or not.

Who knows how many diaries began due to kids reading Frank's own writings from those tumultuous

years?  It's been awhile since I read a translation, but I do recall that she wrote from where she was in her life, she wrote of her possible future, she wrote of the petty, the wistful, the anger, the hurt, the confusion, the dreams, the beginnings of teen angst, and the mature insights of human nature in general.  We all have similar insights, regardless of age, socio~economic status, ethnicity, or locale.  It's how we share them, even with ourselves, taking notice of our selves, our thoughts, those around us, the world's current events, and so forth.  Frank was able to record such things, in large part because she had to have hours of stillness, of quiet contemplation, of inactivity, of being with her own thoughts.  Circumstances were such that she could not run about, play with friends, turn to others.  She had herself for company, and altho there were others present, she didn't have peers to chat with.  Her socialization was extremely altered from the world she had known and from the world we know today.

There are many of us who have written pen pals, diaries, blogs, etc.  We start them with good intentions to continue them, to write regularly, to record significant steps.  But most of us don't.  How many baby~books have you seen that are actually written in, let alone finished?  I think most of us might have good intentions, but life occurs and things happen and priorities take place and there are only so many hours in the day, so much time we have to devote, and so forth.

Some folks are internally conflicted, because their intentions was good, but the other stuff sounds like excuses.  I believe tho, that those other things that arose were important to ourselves too, and we did them because we can and because we are LIVING.  And those things are good for us too.

Johanna Spyri authored Heidi,  When I was a child, I read my mother's copy of that book from when she was a child.  That copy is long since gone, it was ruined in the fire during the early eighties, when I was twelve or so.  I loved the book, the story.  When I first saw the movie, I fell in love with Shirly Temple and wanted to sleep in a hay filled loft, eating goats' milk cheese and drinking milk straight from the cow.

In 2010, a professor came across a book that was written by Hermann Adam von Kamp before Spyri's Heidi.  In fact, it might have been Spyri's familiarity with that story that led to her own.  Adelaide:  Das Madchen vom Alpengebirge {Adelaide, the girl from the Alps} and Heidi share similar plot and imagery.

Not having read Adelaide, I cannot address the matter in particular; except to say that there are many versions of the common plot lines, rags to riches, ill fated lovers, overcoming some obstacle to reach goal, and so forth.  And there are many times ideas will form to various folks simultaneously, just ask anyone who works with the patent, trademark, and registration offices.  So while I do NOT support plagiarism, I do support the expression of your own creativity, as odd or as similar as it might be to anything already in existence.

Very very few of us are completely unique.  We build upon what has come before us, what we know the world to be, and take it a step further.  We are all of us individuals in the combination of elements that make us who we are, yes.  But we are all star stuff, just like everyone else.

Imma Ijit

Last night, I visited a profile I'd forgotten I even had...yahoo!  I belong to a few Yahoo! Groups that I find useful.  The updates are mailed to me, usually on a daily basis.  Most times, I glance thru the summary and delete, but sometimes I have the time and inclination to respond to an item of interest.  One of my crochet groups had a link to an older post which showed a round ripple, and I went to the Yahoo! Group.  But on the way, Yahoo! wanted me to verify this and update that, most of which I skipped.  But I ended up at my profile, and saw this:

Instantly, it reminded me of younger days, when I was a tad creative with colored pencils and lighter of heart and attitude.  Le Mon from my banner resulted from those days, as did Imma Ijit {who could probably be a very distant cousin of Stewie's, the lemon~head baby on Family Guy}.  I was experimenting with how a few well placed lines could completely capture a certain expression, flow of movement, or personality.  What you don't see here is that Imma is wearing a pair of lace up boots, similar to Doc Martens, with her billowy skirt, feminine top, choker neckband, and bald head.  She rocks!

Imma has a sister, Ermmahh, who is shy and hesitant.  She's hidden somewhere.  I won't go dig her out, because I need to be tidying things up, not tearing apart my home!

abounding betterness

Last night, I boiled the lil red new potatoes pictured here and then mixed some butter and curry into them.  And ground pistachios.  Why?  Well, why not?

They were tasty and I'd do them like that again, if I think about it.  Truth is I have all sorts of ground nuts at the moment, because I didn't get to use them up making energy balls...because I burned up my food processor's lil motor that couldn't while I was mincing dried cherries and dates.  So I stopped making the energy balls and now have bags of ground nuts {which didn't cause problems, but the dried cherries gummed up the works, imagine that?}.  Usually I forget about the ground peanuts, walnuts, pecans, pistachios. and wheat germ.  But yesterday, I remembered because I was thinking about a dish that I used to make often in my twenties, using boiled potatoes, sunflower seeds, butter or sour cream, and some cheese.   It was the sunflower seeds that sent me to the nut cupboard.   So yes, I'd make the boiled potatoes with curried butter and pistachios again.

But as most of you know, my husband does 99% of the cooking, baking, sauteeing, boiling, grilling, and so forth that's done here.  The other one percent is actually done by guests.  Yes, guests cook, because they want to.  I cook too, but rarely.  Not sure why.  I used to cook often.  But don't much anymore.  And when I cook, I usually end up with a huge pot of whatever it is that is being made.

So my husband is now slicing and dicing some veggies from Lancaster Farms for dinner.  Actually his main purpose was to saute the cabbage that I forgot we had in the fridge; but now that the other veggies are sauteing in the pan, there is no room for the cabbage.

So we'll have the cabbage tomorrow.  Today was a better day than yesterday and I hope tomorrow will be better still!  My awesome husband feels better, I feel better, the pups feel better; betterness abounds!

Do what your own agency's policy states

Loooooong time readers will remember years ago when I had daily contact with several federal and state government agencies.  Recall how carefully I'd read the policies regarding certain procedures?  Remember how utterly frustrated I would get?  That's very usual, I think, to become exceedingly frustrated with bureaucratic agencies.  I'm not special in that way.

But I was special in that I was able to have multiple others in the health care profession join my support team and take up my battle~cry with me.  And I was able to establish not just my own paper trail, and not just the documentation of this general practitioner's office and that counselor's office and this psychiatrist's office; but I was able to establish all that through the United States' Federal Department of Education's own Ombudsman's office.  And eventually, all was well.

Yea, me.

So, let's fast forward a bit.

My mental health has improved vastly over the past several years, in many ways.  Because I am able to take the breaks I need to, I'm able to do a fair amount of self~monitoring and know when I am unable to do this or that or should probably avoid contact with these offices, those people, or this organization.  I've learned that when I feel this way, I should avoid that situation.  When I feel that way, I should seek this professional's assistance or notify that practitioner, because it's probably time for a med adjustment or even a re~evaluation of all my medications and the schedules they are on.

I'm able to avoid certain triggers altogether, and know that I've good support networks in place for handling other stressors.  And sometimes, I can pull off appearing to be within the range of acceptable or normal behavior.  And at other times, I misstep and it's not that bad to recover.

Then there are other times, when I realize that I have completely misjudged the situation, overestimated my own abilities, and crashed into an unforgiving wall of "Nope".  Sometimes I recover from that pretty well, if not with grace and dignity.  But then there are those times that remind me that I may have come a long way, but I've yet a long way to go.

This morning, I learned that the close to thirty thousand dollars that we payed for my mother~in~law's care for the past year and a half is not going to be considered at all in Medicaid's decision to cover her care at the nursing home from this point forward.  Not only are we going to have to not be reimbursed for any of that well documented and legitimate expense, but we have to pay close to another twenty thousand as well.  So, I'll be again looking at the stated policy of government agencies and perhaps in contact with a different Ombudsman's office.

I literally sat for hours today and stared at walls, trying not to lose my shit altogether.

Six months later

Sometimes, I think, "surely folks must be sick and tired of me citing my mom's death, of me saying that she's dead, one week, one month, three months, six months" and then I realize it's more that I'm sick and hard of citing mom's death; because I'm wishing she wasn't dead, and I'm wishing I was past it, even though I know that six months is reasonable and I know that getting past it isn't really going to happen, that you always miss the ones you love, when they are absent from your life.  I get all that, I understand it, but that head knowledge doesn't always affect the heart's feelings.

So, yesterday I was talking with a friend of mine on the phone and started to cry, telling her that I don't think I'm doing all that great.  She disagreed, telling me that she thinks that I've been handling things remarkably well.  She went on to say lots of other reassuring things, that I needed to hear at the moment.

Mom never wanted to be a bother, she wanted me to keep living my life, not to allow her to interrupt things for me.  And I tried to honor that, and kept in mind all those things that people advise, like not to make any huge changes or decisions while grieving.  And so I shouldered on, and did those things that I'd already committed to, that I already planned, that I felt I needed to address because they were things that needed to be done for other folks, or because I should do them, because I should, that was reason enough.

Then I thought that perhaps I was using those commitments as a delaying tactic so that I wouldn't

have to face up to mom's death, that I wouldn't need to go thru her things, her clothes, etc.  Even tho her death was not something that I've avoided or been able to avoid even if I had wanted to.  So, I began to tell folks, "starting in midMay & running thru July, I'm taking a break" so that I can focus on mom's things and grieving.

But then last week, I realized that none of that time is for me, really.  It's all family stuff.  And it's all on the go, Go, GO.  And now that I am starting to decompress, I'm plunging, I'm more and more tired and exhausted and sore.

I'm so conflicted, internally.  Because I don't seem to be doing a good job with easing back on involvement, without taking on more commitments and wanting to do the best that I can do, to excel on those commitments.  But I dread them, and they are no longer fun, if ever they were in the first place.  Just because I can do something and do it well, doesn't necessarily mean that I should or even that I truly want to.  Yet I want to do them, because I've committed to them and I so don't want to disappoint others.

I can't seem to find that balance of moderation, that midrange that is a healthy place to be.  I go from one extreme of doing all I can do, and then taking on more, to the other extreme of wanting to chuck it all so that I can draw a clear line of delineation.  And even now, I think, "aren't others sick and tired of hearing me whine?"

"Boofle"

Those of you who know me, also know that I think I have the best husband I could possibly have; he's supportive, loving, accepting, witty, giving, goofy, and so very caring that sometimes our love~fest of appreciation makes others nauseous with all the sweetness overflowing and coating
every surface with sticky honey love.

Jerry is also my personal shopper, cuz I hate shopping, especially for clothes.  He has good tastes and knows what I like, so is able to pick things that he knows I'll wear and appreciate.  Aren't I lucky?

Last night, when I got home from a day of running about like a crazed social moth, Jerry had a few things for me.

One was a sleeveless, maxi dress.  The bodice is a smooth black fabric that is lightweight.  The rest is a white paisley on a blue background with black touches here and there.  Fits wonderfully and it'll work well for "summer casual" events...cuz my definition is considerably different than polite society's idea.

And a lovely card "just because".

It features "Boofle", a knit puppy.  The card itself has textured relief, of the garter stitched head and ears, ribbing for the paws, and tighter reverse knit for his nose.  The back of the card tells the brand's story:

"Grandpa's favorite sweater was old and frayed,
But Grandma knew something more could be made.
She started to sew on that cold winter's night,
And Boofle was born~~to the children's delight!
Boofle was all that a cute pup should be~~
A lovable friend for you and for me!"

Right now, today, the memories are ok

One priority that I've set for this month is to go thru mom's things and pack them for my brother and father.  It allows me to spend some time with memories, for those objects evoke plenty of shared CorningWare and her haluski electric pan, because he is a good and frequent cook, and so would use them often.

times, throughout my life, and stories mom has shared with me from her own life.  Since my husband is with me during this time, sometimes I tell him about mom and her set of stainless steel pots and pans that she'd bought as a young woman; or how I learned to fry hamburg in cast iron when I was 8 {though I could not light the stove til years later}; or how mom had a special cast iron pan that she only cooked eggs in and woe to the person who ever fried anything else in it; or how mom wanted my brother to have the set of

That was a huge tenet for mom;  use it.  Don't place it in a closet, keeping it for posterity.  Use it.  Fine, if you want to keep something for "special use", such as Grandma's lace tablecloth at Christmas dinner.  But use it.  Otherwise, you've been hiding it.  Your kids need to make their own memories with those old family items, otherwise it loses meaning and when it becomes theirs, they don't have a special memory that is dear to them to assign to that object.

If something is a gift, of course, it is yours to do with as you please.  But she'd rather see you use it than have it be relegated to the closet and have no special place in your life.  She'd say that she put the time and effort into it, so that it can be useful and beautiful, practical and pretty, functional and fantastic.  She never made a fuss over broken dishes, and believe me, I've broken plenty over the years and shed tears.  And mom would shrug and say that when you use things, sometimes they fall, fall apart, shatter, break, get chipped, whatever.

And if you notice, the patina from use gives the piece a well~loved finish.  It feels comfortable in your hand, and you can feel those memories of those hands who held this before you, and that can make your heart very happy indeed.

Mom has been dead for six months now.  I miss her, every day I think of something to share.  But that sharpness, a keening grief that leaves me breathless doesn't happen quite as often.  I still am hit at odd times, such as in the dentist's chair during my cleaning yesterday; but I'm not completely shattered each time her absence is apparent, in an endless series of blows that leaves me worn and frazzled.

This morning, while I was sorting, packing, and placing items at her place; I was sure to take the time to sit still and be with myself, with mom, with memories, with Jerry, and be in the present as well as giggle over this gadget or that picture or the quick flash of her scruching her face up to put me at ease and not take it all so seriously.  After awhile tho, I was filthy, covered in sweat and Foxy's fur.  So I knew it was time to call it a day, and head home for a shower, before I did something stupid like wipe my eyes with cat dander coated fingers.

I feel fine, I know what I'm doing, what the plan is, how to do this, and I have time, to do it right, to take my time and give myself what I need, when I need it.  I have grown into the person I am, and am glad that I have this ability to handle things this way.  And I am so very loved, so very supported, and so very fortunate to have Jerry in my life, to help me thru all this.

Just before I left Starkville, I had started a baby blanket for a friend who just had her first lil girl.  I worked on it while Jerry drove.  I just finished it this evening, while we listened to the end of "Roots".  I still need to weave in the ends, but this is it.  It's slightly different than the series of baby blankets I have been doing, with a shallower chevron.

5,000 Miles in 10 Days

Yesterday, I wrote a bit about the TearDrop {we still haven't picked the perfect name, oh but we will, yes, we will}.  However, that was just a portion of our trip.  So let me tell ya some about the rest!

Friday 15 May, Jerry and I went to a workshop MSU's Extension Services held in Lowndes County, focusing on tree farming.  Mostly with "how do I know when to thin my trees?" for those of us who have fast growing pines planted.  It was an informative session, with lots of handouts and goodies, a few books on Mississippi trees and nonnative invasive pests.  There were some hands~on walk~abouts and demonstrations.  And mouth watering bone~in grilled pork chops, potato salad, and beans.  We were very reassured that we are doing what we should be at this point, and nothing we shouldn't be.  Mostly for now, it's a hands~off, let them grow, waiting game.  Yea!!

So then Saturday morning, we took off around 4:30a:  go west, young man, go west!  We stopped in Winona, MS for breakfast at Waffle House and had some of the nicest waitstaff we'd encountered in a long time.  Thanks, Paul and Andy!  Jerry even sent glowing compliments to the home office to commend these two gentlemen for their outstanding service.

About an hour later, the hashbrowns were making me sleepy {and probably the early start had something to do with it too} so I drowsed in and out while Jerry drove up through Memphis, into Arkansas, clipping the northeastern corner, we stopped at Mammoth Springs.  It rained during our drive to Logan, Utah at all times, except when it was snowing in Wyoming...but that was still rain, just much colder.

We had lunch on Saturday at Uncle Rooster's in Missouri, and signed the floor.  I attempted to draw a howling wolf's silhouette with the blue Sharpie, but it was a very jagged impression.  It's ok tho, I labelled it "Wolf", in case anyone staring at the floor's myriad of signatures and other squiggly lines though, "hey, what's that?"

Not "our" tumbleweed
Wyoming

By the time we called it a day and stopped for the night for a shower and some sleep, we'd driven a thousand miles and were in Ogallala, Nebraska.  Sunday morning, we encountered our first tumbleweed and stopped in Laramie, Wyoming for a late breakfast, which turned into lunch by the time we were served.  I am not sure, but I think there was only one cook in the kitchen and he was manning every thing there, except for rinsing the dirty dishes, while five waitresses stood around behind the counter, chatting with each other, and carefully avoiding customers' beckoning hands holding empty coffee cups.  That would be the other end of the waitstaff spectrum from the previous day's breakfast experience.

We stopped at Buford, population ONE, for gas and that's when I realized that my jacket was keeping my dining room chair nice and toasty in Mississippi, while I was wrapping the fleece car~blanket around my bare legs...it was short wearing weather in the south, snow spitting in the mountains of Wyoming.  D'uhm, DebRAH, D'uhm.

Sunday evening, we pulled into Logan and ate at Angie's {"where the locals eat"}.  Beautiful place.  The next morning, the high desert chill burnt off fairly quickly, especially since I was dancing about with excitement while viewing the TearDrop for the first time.  See earlier post for that.

By 10a, local time {Mountain?}, we drove off with our TearDrop and headed for Portland, Oregon via the southeastern corner of Idaho.  I didn't see a potato, nary a one; but since they were probably still growing underground, that'd make sense.  We did stop for a bite to eat in Snowville, not named for the wintry white fluffy stuff, but for the founder of the town.  They school their kids til 5th grade and then ship them forty miles away for grades six and up.

Various states have various policies regarding rest~areas and their usage; in Oregon, you can spend the night and so that's what we did, around Broadman, some 160 miles east of Portland.  Our first night in our trailer went well and I reminded myself that in the future, I'll need to stop drinking fluids well before bedtime...toilets are not quite as accessible as stumbling from bed to the one several yards away in the master bath like here at home.

Tuesday morning, we stopped at Cousin's, off exit 84 on I~84.  The door moo'd at me as I opened it and then crowed at me when it shut.  The hostess greeted as with, "hey there cousins" and I parried back with "it's been a long time", she didn't sally forth with a witty reply.  But I was not terribly disappointed because OMG, I had the best breakfast of the trip right then and there.  They make their mammoth sized cinnamon rolls daily, and sliced that, dipped it in eggs, and served me up some french toast tastiness that was not too sweet, and had just the right amount of whipped butter.  I drank a pint of grapefruit juice, which meant we had to stop at every other exit in search of a restroom.  Apparently the "no fluids at bedtime" rule needs to be amended to also include "no pints while traveling".

The scenery along the trip was fantastic, with lots of ooohs and ahhs filling the car around every bend of the road.  The trailer pulled nicely thru the mountain ranges, and we'd listened to two audio books that were very apropos for that portion of the trip. "Uncommon Carriers" regarding cargo delivery, via trucks, tankers, boats, ships, barges, and trains covered a vast majority of I~80; while "The Signal" discussed camping, hiking, and fishing in Wyoming.

Even with all the pitstops, we still pulled up in front of Daughter Donna's at 9a {Pacific Time, I know that for sure, just sometimes am a lil hazy with where the time zones' boundaries are}.  We spent the rest of Tuesday visiting and eating Donna's fantastic chili.

Wednesday, Jerry and I hopped a bus and went downtown to Powell's City of Books,  It's a city block building that is three stories of new and used books, audio, music, maps, and merchandise.  When you enter, a map of the store is provided, along with a pair of hiking boots {kidding about the footwear}.  We started at the top and worked our way down.  I figured Jerry would love the gold room, and didn't want him to feel rushed, so let's do the rest first.

I plopped at a table in the cafe, with my tea and selections, while Jerry ran back and forth with great exuberance, showing me this book, and telling me about that one, and did I know that they had Dr. Who Yahtzee?!?   After several hours, he flung himself into a chair and cradled his head, "it hurts, there's too much".  I commiserated,   In this case, better too much than not enough.

We went across the street to a consignment shop, where my personal shopper selected three sweaters for me to choose from, and I walked out, with a maroon cardigan for the chillier nights and days.  Then we boarded the bus and headed back the way we came.  We saw a Chinese Restaurant we wanted to try, but turns out that those signs are from what was there before the current back~alley entrance only dive that we quickly left in search of a late lunch, early supper.  Which we found at Beulahland.  Turns out that Donna and her housemates used to live in that neighborhood, so we stumbled into one roommate that we'd only just met the day before.  After a tasty sandwich, we played two rounds of Dr. Who Yahtzee, before heading back to Donna's.

Thursday was a laid back day full of visiting with folks, and Jerry made gumbo for the house.  Everyone liked it poured over the cornbread he'd made, sooOOOooo good.  {sigh}

Friday, Donna and her friends grilled for us, so much food, great folks, lots of laughs, lots of discussion, yea!!  They were a wonderful group, for sure.  It was a lil too cold and damp for Jerry outside, but I was having some cat~allergy issues; so tho we enjoyed our visit, we knew that it was time to head out on our return trip Saturday,

A friend whom I've not seen for twenty years and we met for breakfast at Elmer's.   It was great

She's a hoot, her writing style is great

visiting and catching up the highlights, and with promises to keep in touch, Jerry and I began to retrace our route, heading both south and east.  We stayed that night in Utah, I think, where they posted "drowsy drivers:  rest area ahead" signs often.

Sunday, the road was pretty bad.  Lots of cars, vans, and tractor trailers slid off the road, into ditches, or flipped over, with rescue crews responding as we chugged past, slowly and carefully.  The snow gave way to rain, which turned to sleet, which became heavy patches of fog as we drove thru into Nebraska, where we were told NOT to stop at the rest areas after dark and head to the Wal*Mart parking lot fifty miles east.  So we did, along with sixty big rigs, and a few smaller campers.

Monday, we decided to continue traveling, since the traffic was very light, especially considering it was a holiday.  But then perhaps most folks aren't vacationing in Nebraska and Missouri.  Jerry did most all the driving, and I knit, a whole heaping lot.  We listened to "Roots", which we'd picked up for fourteen dollars at Powell's.  I knew it was an epic tale, remembering when the miniseries was aired; there are THREE MP3 disks.  So we still have twenty tracks to go, not bad considering there were about two hundred in all.

We spent that night in a hotel, about four hours or so from home.  We needed showers and solid sleep, a break from the road, and we wanted to be somewhat fresh for our arrival home, since we knew we'd have lots to do immediately.  Our last meal of the trip was where we started, Waffle House in Winona.

Our girls were so glad to see us, and we them.  We have lots done and lots to do, but we'll just keep plugging away on it.  Ten days travel, five thousand miles, pft.

Plans, plans, plans

When mom was in the hospital in November, and my cousin was here {two separate events that just happened to be at the same time, which turned out to be good timing, all things considered}, I reconnected with a few folks from my mom's side of the family that I'd not seen since I was but a wee child, some forty years ago.  Most of the connections occurred via FaceBook, which was still relatively new for me {*gasp*, "new"?!?  yes, yes, imagine, someone being late to the facebook party}.  Even tho I knew that mom's mom's family had a yearly reunion, I don't remember having gone, tho mom told me that she took me when I was young{er} and encouraged me to attend again.  My cousin who was visiting and I got to talking and decided that it would be great if some one from each of mom's mom's kids represented at this summer's gathering.  So word spread quickly amongst the other cousins and wah~LAH, Grandma Evert's five children will each have some of their children and their children's children present at this year's family reunion in PA.

Now, keep in mind that my husband's five children and their families were already set to return home in July to celebrate Jerry's 60th and his mom's 80th birthdays, plus my husband's retirement.  My maternal grandmother's family reunion takes place the following weekend in PA.  So we decided that we wanted to get the teardrop prior to the trip from Mississippi to Pennsylvania.  All that was planned in December 2014, set in motion in February, and now here we are, getting it all done according to schedule.

Along the way tho, there were lots of other things that came up; including transferring Jerry's mom from the personal care home to a nursing home, and all the stuff that goes with that.  This past year, we rerouted money that would have been going into our retirement plans into immediate care for his mom.  It reaffirmed for us that long range financial planning is a good thing, so that our own care when we require it will be already taken into account and we won't need to rely on our children or the state to provide for us in those ways, leading to a cycle of being unprepared and unable to catch up {we want to be sure to do what we can to get ahead of that NOW for THEN}.

Also, there were various circumstances that cropped up, crises to calm, fires to put out, waters to calm, mountains to restore to molehills, and life to manage.  We've become more adept with how we handle these things, keeping our priorities straight, and doing what we can, when we can, how we'd like.  Most times, this works well and we're good with things; sometimes, compromise comes into play.  And then there are those times when we look back on something and think, "wow, I did NOT handle that well at all."

Fortunately, those times are fewer and fewer, as we get older and older.  Foresight is great, especially if it's accurate.  Hindsight is perfect, especially if you can learn from your mistakes.  Seeing what's right before you, happening right now, is best of all~~cuz that's really all you have for certain.

Wolf Wagon, DewDrop, Pearl, Anal Avenger, & Other Tags

For years now, Jerry and I've been talking about a camper.  We both are past the point of camping via nylon tent and sleeping on the ground.  Besides, that's way too much stuff to haul around, unpack, set up, tear down, repack, etc.  And if it rains, no matter how weather proof that tent is, you still feel damp and clammy.  And as I get older, my sense of smell is getting keener, and sleeping bags, tents, tarps, tend to have a peculiar odor.

I'm more focused on convenience now, but I also like to be efficient and cost~effective.  So I did my research.  Teardrop trailers are also called "canned hams", due to the shape of the tow~behind, hard~shelled campers that usually sleep two {altho some actually have a shelf in them, a loft of sorts, allowing more folks to sleep sardine style}, with the rear hatch opening to provide a kitchen galley of sorts.  There are many who build them for a fee, for fun, or for therapy {just threw that one in there to see if you were paying attention, and you are, which is great for my ego}.  Some companies manufacture them, such as Lil Guys, who go "where they're towed".

NOT ours, but similar is appearance
{door, fenders, vent, tongue}

Usually, TearDrops can be customized with various features, such as fridge, stove top, TV/DVR/Stereo fixtures, AC {both AC as in airconditioners and AC as in 110 outlets}, shelving, lighting, etc.  Exteriors can be aluminum, fiberglass, wood, and can come in a range of colors with various decals and designs.  They come in various widths and lengths, weights and heights, and shapes.  There are more options available, but you get the general idea, I'm sure, right?  Yeah, I thought so.

I drive a Yaris.  Toyota Yaris's do NOT have a towing capacity in the United States, but the exact same car with no modifications can be driven into Canada and all of a sudden, the Yaris now has a 700 pound towing capacity.  Imagine that!  More research.

Then I saw that one company actually makes pods, lil teardrops, that are towable by smartCars.  I figured, if it's towable by a smartCar, it ought to be towable with a Yaris.  More research.

Then I contacted various TearDrop builders.  It was surprising how many builders were not open to discussing variations, even though they bill themselves as able to customize your teardrop for your specs.  But one builder, Preston Broadhurst, of Logan, UT, not only stepped up to the plate and answered all my questions; but welcomed other discussion and hypothetical questions.  He accepted the challenge I posed, and exceeded expectations.

I explained that I wanted a lighter weight TearDrop than his base model, and asked if he could build with lighter materials, while still maintaining the structural integrity and road~worthy safety.  Yup.  Preston told me what he modifications he had in mind, including moving from a 13" wheel/tire to a twelve inch {which was fine, my Yaris is not going off~road and needing high terrain clearance}.  We discussed which features I wanted to include, and which ones would contribute too much weight, so would need to be excluded.  Then, we discussed time frames and monetary considerations.

About a week ago, Jerry and I picked up a lil teardrop trailer and I was so damn excited that I squealed like the lil girl I once was.  I giggled as I climbed inside it and sat in the middle, clicking on and off the battery operated reading lights.  I splashed into a puddle while I wriggled on his driveway to peer under the trailer and poke at the tires.  I took plenty of notes {of course I did} while he explained and showed us how to hook it up, how much slack should be left in the chains, how to properly seat the flat four prong electrical connection, and so forth.  I asked a gazillion questions, most of which had to do with the teardrop, how he got into building them, and what sort of maintenance it might require.

Preston was very informative, very professional while still being accommodating, and an all around good guy.  He assured us when we asked "is this normal?" when we drove it around the block {we'd never towed anything with the Yaris before}.  He welcomed feedback and so forth.

We drove on to Portland, which is "only" ten hours from Logan, Utah~~Portland, Oregon is a helluva lot closer to Utah than to Starkville, Mississippi; that's for damn sure!  In the over five years that Daughter Donna, Jerry's middle child, has been living in Portland, this is the first time we've visited.  We'll be seeing her in July, when she comes eastward for the better part of a month; but we couldn't be THAT close and not go visit her!

The TearDrop handled nicely, even through the Rockies.  It's the exact dimensions of my Yaris, from tongue to galley, from fender to fender, and pretty much in height too!  We're very Very VERY pleased!

Along the way, we tossed around names for the trailer.  Wolf Wagon, DewDrop, Conestoga are the top contenders.  Altho, "Pearl:  the world is our oyster" kinda works too.  A few other not~so~wonderful nomers popped up every now and then, to be shot down with wither glances, guffaws, or groans.

I asked Donna and her fella for a few suggestions and quick as could be, she states, "Anal Avenger" and my first reaction was, "what sort of super powers does the Anal Avenger have?", thinking about Jerry's love of Marvel and DC comics.  It's an odd conversation to have with both father and daughter, but not the strangest one ever.  I learned the story of "avenger" labels and since Donna and I had just finished discussing the cyclops tree directly in front of their porch {"cyclops" was not the first term that came to my mind when I saw the knothole, below which was an almost obscene stain that just begged for comment}, her suggested tag was more reasonable than was first apparent.  However, I think it's safe to say that there are other better names in the running {could NOT help that pun}.

Why have I not posted a picture?  Of the trailer, dudes, the trailer!  Cuz I didn't take one yet, despite having my camera with me.  So there's a similar one pictured above.  Probably when I am less road weary from traveling about five thousand miles in about ten days, I'll take a few pictures.  At the moment, I'm ready to take a shower and climb into bed for some solid sleep, ahhhhhh.

Some thoughts on mothers, my mom, my mom's mom, and Mothers' Day in general

Savvy Sue, a year and a half old.
My mom considered Savvy to be my first grandchild,
hence her great grandchild.  Mom made her a toddler
sized quilt, featuring a paper~doll with all the accessories.

My mom died five months ago, I miss her every day.  In about a hundred ways, I think of things to share, things to say, things to do, places to go, people I want to meet her, funny things to tell her about.  I miss her, her laughter, her hugs, her expressions, her mannerisms.  I want to show her this movie, or that afghan, or this video, or this cute picture of Savvy.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.  I miss her with a sharp keenness that I've not yet felt that is slightly different than her absence til now.  There is a reason for the traditional mourning period of a year and a day.  That first year without someone is full of firsts.  It is the first holiday season, the first spring, the first spring, the first Mother's Day, the first flowering, the first harvest, the first set of birthdays, the first snow.

I have thought, within that first week of mom's death, "if I am having this much difficulty with mom's absence. what am I going to do if my husband dies before I do?"  How will I handle that?  How will I ever get to an ok place then?

My mom's mom died when mom was 30.  I asked her just this past year, 37 years after grandma died, if mom still misses her as much.  Does she think of her often?  Every day, she said, in some way.  Even if it is something simple and not complex, like, oh how she would have laughed about this or that.

Mom shared more stories about her mom and her own childhood, young adulthood, being newly married, a young mom, etc this past year than before.  She'd found boxes of pictures the year before that, in her move to Mississippi.  We would go thru some, in batches, one day and then perhaps a few weeks later, another batch with more stories.  We'd laugh over some things, and marvel about others.

Mom was 67 when she died.  Her mother, my grandma, was 64 when she died in 1977.  I'm 44.  Heavier than either of them ever were.  I'm not diabetic and insulin dependent as my mother was.  I don't have the co~morbid conditions that accompany diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, high triglycerides.  I had a stress test in September, because with heart disease being the cause of death for the two most direct women in my lineage, it was a good idea.  I'm fine, my heart is too.

That's not to say that I shouldn't be making changes and being more heart healthy.  I should.  Starting Tuesday, my husband and I will be picking up our share of the Community Supported Agriculture {CSA} in Lancaster Farms.  For sixteen weeks, we'll be bringing home fresh veggies ~~ whatever is in season and being harvested.  Eating better produce is a huge step in the right direction for us.

Mom would be glad to see that.  She'd also be glad to see that I will be resuming my water workouts.  Long time readers will remember my swim suittee years.  My stress levels are lower and she would be glad to see that.  She'd be glad to know that I'm treating myself some better, by encouraging my own creativity ~~ making afghans and playing with yarn.

But the main thrust of all this is not about making Mom proud, or happy, or pleased.  It's about me.  I'm the one who is here and still alive and still able to make those changes and still able to do new things or resume old hidden habits that were good to have.  And no good change ever comes about unless it is for the right reason, you do it for you, ultimately.

I love my mom.  She is a huge part of me, of who I am.  I sometimes sit with that, and feel the fullness of knowing her, of being her daughter, of being her friend.  At those moments, I weep for now, but eventually, I know that I'll wear that well and I'll both hear her laughter coming from my throat and also know that I am uniquely me as well ~~ for we are made of those who came before us and surround us now.

Happy Mother's Day for all you who are mothers yourselves, for you touch, mold, and shape lives in ways that you are not even aware of.  Some day down the road, you will have conversations with your adult children that will show you all that the things that they remember with clarity may be the moments you didn't assign any sort of importance.  Of course there will be shared memories wherein you both feel similarly.  Then too there will be memories that are viewed differently for all involved.  That is the nature of us as individuals, embrace that.

Happy Mother's Day to those of you who come into ready~made families that exist long before you ever arrived.  You may not have taken on any traditional role of mother, but you may be surprised to find that your partner's children and their children have certain views of you that place you in that motherly role...one of listening, loving, advising, and acceptance.

And for those of you who have lost your mothers, it's ok to miss her.  It's ok for tomorrow to be a bittersweet day of mixed memories and emotions.  It's ok to take a few moments just for you, to honor yourself as a child, with a mother of your own.