How To Know It Is Summer...

Today is my official "first day of summer break" and I can already tell you how I know, even without looking at the calendar:

10. I ate breakfast in my jammies.
9.  Wookie didn't call for me until 6 instead of 5 a.m.
8.  I am still in my jammies.
7.  There is a list of errands THIS LONG to accomplish today.
6.  I am still in my jammies.
5.  There is a chicken in the fridge thawing for the Mister's supper. For the last two weeks, he has eaten ham sandwiches.
4. There was only one lunch to pack today.
3. I have 320 bruises from working in the yard yesterday.
2. I have poison ivy on my feet from going barefoot and on my arms from picking up hay.
1. A bee stung me on the top of my head while I was in the garden and the Mister was changing supers. Really.

Even though it looks like rain today, I am doing my happy dance. I haven't stayed home and not worked in the summer for 15 years. Yeah. It is going to be good...

First Day Musings -- Wisdom

As my master's thesis advisor, John Higby often made me so angry that I could spit nails. In fact, frankly, the end of our relationship was not pretty. I had written no more than five drafts of my thesis (over 120 pages each time!) and at the time I had four children I was raising,  plus the farm, drove more than an hour each way to graduate school, and was working full-time teaching. And, each time I submitted a draft, he would return it with one line, "Something is missing." Well, it came down to either publish or lose my full-time position; I pitched a fit to the graduate dean and showed her my drafts. In short, I was published within three days. John and I never spoke again.

In spite of all this, I learned a great deal from him: bibliography and research methods; never, never, never use a split infinitive no matter what the handbooks say; Samuel Johnson was the funniest and smartest man of the 18th century (and maybe even today); and stop talking before you talk yourself in a hole. But, the best thing I learned from him was this:

You can't choose who you work with; you can't choose who you vote with. But, by golly, you can choose who you eat and drink with.

(Notice the sentence ends with a preposition; maybe he wasn't so hard to get along with after all...)

How true.

One of the cardinal rules in our family is never, never, never socialize with anyone you work with beyond the average meal on campus or chit-chat in the hallway. And, I mostly observe this rule. The only exception was marrying the Mister, but he works in another section of the college and we never see each other at work unless there is a problem in my classroom with the technology and I call him. Otherwise, I do not and will not socialize with my co-workers.

It makes sense. First, people you work with will not forgive or forget anything you confide about another co-worker, family, or friend. And second, people you work with will lose respect for you if they know all about you. Familiarity breds contempt and all that.

It's that simple.

John was a wise man and many times I have thought of this over the past years. Whenever an invitation comes to an after-work event, I always decline. Beyond the fact that I really look at my teaching gig as just a way to pay my bills, which doesn't mean I don't work hard, I really just don't have much in common with most folks unless they have goats or enjoy needlework. I don't gossip; I don't drink; I don't eat meat. I think that covers most social functions, don't you?

So, Dr. Higby, whereever you are, thank you for the wisdom you imparted. You have saved me more than once with these sage words!

What about you? Do you think one should mix work with one's personal life?

Trash Talk

What's your garbage like? Okay, maybe that is a little personal, but here on the farm, we are always trying to find ways to keep from having much trash. We live in a county without any public garbage collection and, while we like the folks who have a private service, there is something about paying someone to carry off our waste that we find, well, foolish.

Years ago I read Plain and Simple, a sweet little book about a woman who went to live with the Amish in hopes of finding her own inner peace. While the book itself is charming, one thing that really stuck out to me was the fact that one of the Amish families she boarded with only had one small can of trash from an entire family of ten once a week. That was awe inspiring!

Since then, I have tried to find ways to cut our waste -- less packaging, recycling, and such. Today, I had the unpleasant task of hauling away two months of trash and recycling -- built up because we have been so busy managing the fires in our lives that we couldn't get to the dump. We had 10-20 gallon garbage bags and five totes of recycling. Not really bad when you consider how much other folks have.

Here's what we do:

We keep a small bucket in the kitchen for the leavings from salads and baking. This is goes either to the worms to the compost bin. Any food scraps go right to the hens. They love any treats and often greet me at the back door and follow me like the Pied Piper to the coop. 

A small metal trash can is kept in the kitchen for recycling. When the can is full, it is taken to porch and the lidded bins. We sort as we go so it is a small task (unless the bins are knocked over) to take to the recycling center and dump each into its proper receptacle.

Truthfully, I haven't done well with the worms, but I think it is how I was managing them. I have ordered more and am going to work more diligently to keep these guys going. I love the idea of having my own fertilizer from waste, don't you?

On the way to the stable, we have two compost bins built from old 4 x4s that are NOT pressure treated. They are stacked, log cabin style, which allows the air to circulate as well as gives the hens a play pen. Having it on the way to the stable is very convenient as I can combine trips. 

Managing our trash is a simple thing, now that we have our systems in place. It hasn't been easy to figure out how to reduce our waste, but we are well on our way to having very, very little. And this makes me happy.

How do you manage your waste?

First Day Musings -- Happy Mother's Day, Baboo!

Julia Ward Howe

When Julia Ward Howe decided we needed a "Formal Date" to remember and honor our mothers, she was only making official what most of us have always done: adored our Mothers. I know I do mine, even though, as most of us confess, our Mother was not always our favorite person.

While I could tell you about the challenges she faced as a child and young woman, I would prefer to tell you about her today. She is remarkable.

She became Baboo when I ws pregnant with the Airman. She was with me for the ultrasound and wryly commented that he "looked like a monkey" as he was so active. I replied that "every monkey has a baboon in his family tree" and thus, her nickname of Baboo was born. All the grandchildren affectionately call her that now. NO Grandma for her!

At nearly 80, she still has red hair, bright blue eyes, and can out walk her three adult children and three grandsons on any given day. Her quick Scot-Irish temper serves her well as she refuses to be "treated like an old person" and she will quickly tell my sister and me that we are not going to push her into old age. I believe her.

She works from 6 a.m. until 6 p.m., stopping only for lunch or to read a little. She and my father still work at their many rental properties every day, painting, cleaning, laying carpet, fixing plumbing or whatever needs done. They only call a "specialist" when they are stumped. That is seldom!

Mother makes the best pound cake in the world and loves to have "something baked" and on the counter when her family or friends drop by. Her cure for anything is a cuppa hot tea -- Red Rose, of course. Breakfast is her least favorite meal, which is why Daddy makes sure to always cook bacon, eggs, biscuits, and fruit. I am convinced he just likes to torture her with that --- and his rendition of the "Star Spangled Banner" every morning.

"Painting with flowers" is her therapy and pulling weeds is her greatest stress relief. We will find her, hind end up, in the garden, fussin', cussin', and cryin'. Sometimes we giggle just out of her hearing as we listen to the blue streak streaming from her mouth. I learned my first swear word from her when I was six. She ran a red light in Charlotte and was ticketed for it. As we drove off, she muttered, "D---! Now your father is going to fuss!" So, obviously, the next time I spilt my milk at the table (which was EVERY meal when I was six), I muttered, "D---! Now Mother is going to fuss!" Daddy made sure I knew never to say it again and Mother and he had a "little talk" about "swearing in front of the children." Yeah. That's my Mother...

The greatest sadness in her life was when her own Mother passed over. She still weeps that "Mother isn't there for me to ask advice" and says that it scares her to think that she is "now the older generation." She doesn't like the responsibility or the implications. Personally, I think she is timeless.

Unlike my father's mother who was so mean that I decreed once that: "God doesn't want her and the Devil is afraid she'll take over", my Mother tries live her faith quietly and personally. However, that doesn't mean that she and God don't have arguments from time to time. She got into a shouting match in Sunday School a few years ago and my Father had to nearly carry her out of the room. Somehow, I was proud of her.

My Mother is one of a kind, just as yours is. I tell her this at odd times, sometimes to make her laugh, but, she knows we adore her. Happy Mother's Day, Boo!

Put a Fork in Me

Now I am going to sleep for 37 hours and start farming and being more fun to visit.

Thanks for waiting on me. Have I got some stuff to show you!

Tomorrow.

Night night.

Liar, liar, pants on fire

I hate to be lied to. I really hate it. In fact, the Airman will tell you, punishment was a mere penance for most offenses, but lying -- oh, boy!

This semester, more than any other time, I have had students send me late work, stating: "Oh, it must have gotten... here it is, again."

Do they think I am stupid?

I check the file properties which give the date, time, and even length of time revised for a document. It is there. In black and white, for crying out loud.

I don't mind working with people who may have forgotten or just didn't do it or whose kid threw up or who even those who were just was too lazy to get off facebook and do their work. But, I do mind being lied to. A lot. In fact, it enrages me to the point of being bug-eyed and eating tacks.

Honestly, the next email I open where a student starts off: "here it is again..." and the document has today's date on it, I am going to get in my car, drive to their house, and egg it. I can do that. I have chickens and a ready supply.

I still have a few more essays to grade and I am done. It is a good thing. I don't know if my patience can stand much more.

Do you think McDonald's hired enough people during their "blitz"?

Up For Air..

I miss miss miss you all! Only one more class of grading to finish and I am done done done. Did I mention that I have 175 students? Just want to be sure I did One More Time.

Best essay of the semester:

Assignment: Develop a research paper in which you persuade another reader to change their opinion about a topic. You must use three outside sources and will be evaluated on: documentation, quality of research....

Submitted: I have researched my family. ..... Grandma ran away and married Grandpa. They had my Mama six months later. My Uncle was hit by a garbage truck during the Holocaust.

Honest to goodness. This is most of her submission. I wept. Now eating leftover candy hearts from Valentines. They aren't helping, but I am pretending they are.

Back soon!