Father's day is Sunday. Since this weekend looms as one of those kinds of weekends where I will wake up Monday and say, "Where the heck did it go??" I want to share the ten things I learned from my Daddy in honor of Father's Day.
10. Don't believe everything. When the doctor tells you that you have six months to live, don't believe him. When the doctor dies, go to his funeral and send flowers. Do this for at least 25 years.
9. Work hard. If a person is paying you $5 an hour, still work as though you are earning $25 an hour. Soon, you will.
8. Love. Never tell your children you love them, but show them everyday by asking their Mother to call and make sure they are okay or to give the latest weather report.
7. Stick with it. When one way doesn't work, stand back, say a few choice words, and then try another way. Chances are there is more than one way to do something.
6. Use a hammer. When repairing something, a hammer will always work. Even if you smash it to little bits, it is taken care of and out of the way.
5. Own a tractor. On a tractor one cannot hear any complaining, whining, or useless talking. And, when the woman is crying over the fact that there are still tomatoes in the garden, you can take your tractor and plow and turn them over. Problem solved and no hammer needed.
4. Make a list. When the above mentioned wife says, "You need to do..." the best response is, "It is on the list." Somehow that makes it appear that you are actually going to do it.
3. Eat frequently. You never know when you might get another chance. I think that says it all.
2. Take a nap. Whenever you sit down, take the time to snooze for five minutes or ten or fifteen...
1. Love life. Laugh. Love. Believe. Enjoy. No matter what happens, philosophically remind everyone nearby that things work out as they should. And believe it! There is no use in saying, "If only..."
My Daddy is one remarkable man. He has created a very full and successful life from simple beginnings to great success -- not just monetary success, but accomplishments as well. My earliest memories of him are of his very long legs (he has a 36" in seam) stretching to nearly the sky as he bent down to pick me up to put me on the top of the refrigerator so I would be out of the way as he and Mother cooked dinner. It was the only time in my life I could see the top of his head.
He took us fishing, hunting, gardening, and to church. He spanked us when we needed it and loved us after he did. He has high standards, but they are no higher for us than for himself. I am very proud of my Daddy.
Happy father's day, George!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Mind-Mapping Thursday
As I feel rather random today, I thought I would share just how my mind works -- randomly...
I have a flat tire on the Goat Mobile as a result of running over the spade of a fence post when unloading feed yesterday. It is still flat. I have to change it. It might stay flat another day.
The truck still has a load of wood on it because I thought it was going to storm yesterday, so I rushed to feed the does and kids, but then it didn't storm, but the Mister came home and we decided to go ahead and load Copper (the Dexter bull) to take to Market today, so we did but it took two hours, but he is loaded and gone. (Yes, I know that is a super long run-on sentence!) I joyfully waved "so long" this morning as the trailer went out of sight. And the truck still has wood on it...
When moving the cattle trailer last night, the Mister caught the edge of the chicken fence with the fender. Guess who has to rebuild a chicken fence? The Mister. *giggle*
After making coffee that only Airmen like (read: with oil on top, bleh), I have finally mastered using my stovepot perculator. It takes four minutes, not ten, to perk a really fine cuppa. You see the problem.
For the past two nights it has been in the 40s here. We had to turn on the heat last night to take the chill off. That's wrong, that's wrong, that's wrong.
Yesterday I had lunch with my dearest friends Sara and Julian. Their eight-year-old daughter Corrie wanted to show me how she can ride her bike. She did a great job. Then, I asked if I could try. Her bike is an 18" affair. I rode it down the drive way, giggling all the way. So did Corrie. "You look like a clown," she hooted.
Yeah. That's me. A clown.
Have a great Thursday and find something to laugh about!
I have a flat tire on the Goat Mobile as a result of running over the spade of a fence post when unloading feed yesterday. It is still flat. I have to change it. It might stay flat another day.
The truck still has a load of wood on it because I thought it was going to storm yesterday, so I rushed to feed the does and kids, but then it didn't storm, but the Mister came home and we decided to go ahead and load Copper (the Dexter bull) to take to Market today, so we did but it took two hours, but he is loaded and gone. (Yes, I know that is a super long run-on sentence!) I joyfully waved "so long" this morning as the trailer went out of sight. And the truck still has wood on it...
When moving the cattle trailer last night, the Mister caught the edge of the chicken fence with the fender. Guess who has to rebuild a chicken fence? The Mister. *giggle*
After making coffee that only Airmen like (read: with oil on top, bleh), I have finally mastered using my stovepot perculator. It takes four minutes, not ten, to perk a really fine cuppa. You see the problem.
For the past two nights it has been in the 40s here. We had to turn on the heat last night to take the chill off. That's wrong, that's wrong, that's wrong.
Yesterday I had lunch with my dearest friends Sara and Julian. Their eight-year-old daughter Corrie wanted to show me how she can ride her bike. She did a great job. Then, I asked if I could try. Her bike is an 18" affair. I rode it down the drive way, giggling all the way. So did Corrie. "You look like a clown," she hooted.
Yeah. That's me. A clown.
Have a great Thursday and find something to laugh about!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
I Better Wake Up Skinny
This summer, thus far, I have done little more than physical labor -- planting, hoeing, loading hay, loading firewood, moving feed, fencing, cleaning buildings, cleaning houses, chasing naughty goats, and hauling trash. It looks like with all this activity that I should weigh seven pounds.
Not by any stretch of the imagination is this true.
Somehow, my weight stays nearly the same. Really.
This is pushing me to saying some very nasty things about my metabolism. Things you might not want your mother to hear.
Why is it that our bodies immediately go into the "overwork! too little food!! warning! Warning!! WARNING!! Hold onto every calorie and squeeeeeezzzzze it for every single tinee tiney bit of FAT you can" mode?? I know nutritionists believe it is to keep us from starving to death quickly in times of famine, but can't my body tell when I am working like 12 men or 1 woman that I am NOT starving to death? I am moving, for crying out loud! If I were hungry, I would be in the kitchen, not on the back of the truck!
Today I have loaded an entire truckload of firewood, TWICE! Once from the field to a trailer and then to the truck and, in a few minutes, I will UNLOAD it to the wood pile. That should negate the ice cream cone I had when I went for feed, don't you think?? And the cookies I ate between loading from the trailer to the truck... and the soda... wait... er.... nevermind....
We now resume our regular blog. Look! Over there! It's a goat....
Not by any stretch of the imagination is this true.
Somehow, my weight stays nearly the same. Really.
This is pushing me to saying some very nasty things about my metabolism. Things you might not want your mother to hear.
Why is it that our bodies immediately go into the "overwork! too little food!! warning! Warning!! WARNING!! Hold onto every calorie and squeeeeeezzzzze it for every single tinee tiney bit of FAT you can" mode?? I know nutritionists believe it is to keep us from starving to death quickly in times of famine, but can't my body tell when I am working like 12 men or 1 woman that I am NOT starving to death? I am moving, for crying out loud! If I were hungry, I would be in the kitchen, not on the back of the truck!
Today I have loaded an entire truckload of firewood, TWICE! Once from the field to a trailer and then to the truck and, in a few minutes, I will UNLOAD it to the wood pile. That should negate the ice cream cone I had when I went for feed, don't you think?? And the cookies I ate between loading from the trailer to the truck... and the soda... wait... er.... nevermind....
We now resume our regular blog. Look! Over there! It's a goat....
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
He Made It!
Today is also Flag Day. It is a day to remember the formal adoption of our Nation's flag in 1777.
When I was a wee Matty, I couldn't understand why the flags were flying on Daddy's birthday. Surely he is special, I thought, if the whole country put out flags on his day! And, of course, Daddy would confirm that repeatedly.
"See? The flags are out for me! " he would declare. And we bought it. After all, he was our Daddy and we knew he was special.
A rather funny thing about my special Daddy, though. He isn't, or wasn't, who he thought he was for a long time. Seems that when he was born at home, my Grandmother Ada, who was a force that would have taken on the entire European theatre and won, declared his name to be one thing. My Grandfather, minister, furniture maker, and very quiet man, declared this son would have the name he chose. Of course, it seemed Grandmother had won and so off went Grandpa to the county seat to record Daddy's birth. No more was said and Daddy went by the name Grandmother gave him.
Leap forward 40 years, 4 children, 1 marriage, 1 tour of duty in Germany. Mother and Daddy were celebrating their 25th anniversary with a trip to the family property in Scotland. Birth certificates were needed to get their passports. The courthouse had burned in their home county, so they had to write for them from the state capital.
Surprise, surprise! Grandpa won! And, he hadn't said a thing about it! He let Daddy and Grandmother use the other name. Suddenly there was quite a bit of drama. First, he wasn't who he thought he was. Second, he wasn't legally married. Third, well, you can guess what his children had to say about that. A flurry of attorney appointments later, Daddy had his name legally changed to what he thought it was all along. And, he went to his knees and asked Mother to remarry him. She wouldn't. Seems that 25 years had filled her in on who he was and she just wasn't going to do it again. However, she would live with him... and has for a grand total of 56 years. At the time, though, it was scandalous.
So here we are; he is finally who he thought he was and has enjoyed, I hoped, this extra year of life. Speaking for myself, I am so glad he has been with us another year. And, surely the flags are truly flying just for my Daddy. Happy Birthday, George!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Monday, Monday, Can't Trust That Day
Monday has been stellar. So far today I have:
Overslept;
Dropped a call to the Airman and couldn't get him back;
Left my gas money at home and had to come back for it;
Forgot to mail my Netflix;
Couldn't get the straps loosened to tie on a load of hay;
Took four hours to get hay when it should have taken three;
Ate Fritos and potato chips for lunch with a creme soda (okay -- that was a good thing);
Got my truck stuck with a load of hay on it and I am not near the barn;
Got kicked by Louie when I was trimming his hooves (and he is a big boy);
and,
Forgot my bank password.
I think I will take a nap. I am too afraid to try anything else!
How's your day been?
Overslept;
Dropped a call to the Airman and couldn't get him back;
Left my gas money at home and had to come back for it;
Forgot to mail my Netflix;
Couldn't get the straps loosened to tie on a load of hay;
Took four hours to get hay when it should have taken three;
Ate Fritos and potato chips for lunch with a creme soda (okay -- that was a good thing);
Got my truck stuck with a load of hay on it and I am not near the barn;
Got kicked by Louie when I was trimming his hooves (and he is a big boy);
and,
Forgot my bank password.
I think I will take a nap. I am too afraid to try anything else!
How's your day been?
Sunday, June 12, 2011
First Day Musings --- An Eye for an Eye
Warning: Rant below.
This week a friend and I had a very interesting exchange. She confided she had been to her doctor for "dope" -- read: anti-depressants. The doctor asked her if she had thoughts of "doing harm to herself or others." My friend stated, laughingly, "all the time!" As we talked, we realized that we both share a common, er, concern: that we feel as though every direction we turn someone wants something from us.
That night, I picked up my current night-night book, Land of Long Ago, by Eliza Calvert Hall Obenchain, and started reading the next little story "An Eye for an Eye." In the story, Aunt Jane relates how a friend of hers had a sort of nervous breakdown after a sermon on an eye for an eye -- that what we give out comes back to us in kind. The friend's husband, in this story, was the victim of some kind of destructive prank: hoes left in the field, grain thrown around the barn, cows out, and so forth. In short, someone was undoing all his work! As the story unfolded, it turns out his wife (Aunt Jane's friend) was returning to him what he had done to her all their married life: undone her work. He had come into the house with muddy feet, thrown his clothes around, left dirty dishes scattered, and so on. We all, as women, can understand this, can't we? So, she was giving him an eye for an eye back.
As I read this story, I thought about how so many women, myself included, struggle with conflicting feelings of insufficiency. We try to be all things, but, in short, we are a dab of this and that. Very few of us manage to successfully be all things to all people. Thus, we end up spread far too thin and very unhappy. In fact, if the truth be told, I dare say nearly all us at one time or another has thought: "If I were just dead, this pain would end."
Where do these feelings start? Is it the fact that magazines shout at us that we should have this kind of home? Or is it those TV shows with the perfectly decorated and maintained house? Or, is it the myth that as women we can be all things to all people? Or maybe it is the lie of so-called "radical feminism" that we are better than our male counterparts and as such we should be able to do it all and still be thin, dressed impecably, and pleasant.
Whatever it is, I am tired of playing the game. Are you? My sink has dirty dishes; my flowerbeds are overrun with weeds; dirty laundry is piled head high on the washer; and the goats' stalls need a good cleaning. I can't do it all. I can only do what I can do. And, I am not going to sacrifice the joy of living with the prison of doing, of keeping up with whoever is making the rules. In short, I am taking my ball and going home --- even if it isn't perfect.
This week a friend and I had a very interesting exchange. She confided she had been to her doctor for "dope" -- read: anti-depressants. The doctor asked her if she had thoughts of "doing harm to herself or others." My friend stated, laughingly, "all the time!" As we talked, we realized that we both share a common, er, concern: that we feel as though every direction we turn someone wants something from us.
That night, I picked up my current night-night book, Land of Long Ago, by Eliza Calvert Hall Obenchain, and started reading the next little story "An Eye for an Eye." In the story, Aunt Jane relates how a friend of hers had a sort of nervous breakdown after a sermon on an eye for an eye -- that what we give out comes back to us in kind. The friend's husband, in this story, was the victim of some kind of destructive prank: hoes left in the field, grain thrown around the barn, cows out, and so forth. In short, someone was undoing all his work! As the story unfolded, it turns out his wife (Aunt Jane's friend) was returning to him what he had done to her all their married life: undone her work. He had come into the house with muddy feet, thrown his clothes around, left dirty dishes scattered, and so on. We all, as women, can understand this, can't we? So, she was giving him an eye for an eye back.
As I read this story, I thought about how so many women, myself included, struggle with conflicting feelings of insufficiency. We try to be all things, but, in short, we are a dab of this and that. Very few of us manage to successfully be all things to all people. Thus, we end up spread far too thin and very unhappy. In fact, if the truth be told, I dare say nearly all us at one time or another has thought: "If I were just dead, this pain would end."
Where do these feelings start? Is it the fact that magazines shout at us that we should have this kind of home? Or is it those TV shows with the perfectly decorated and maintained house? Or, is it the myth that as women we can be all things to all people? Or maybe it is the lie of so-called "radical feminism" that we are better than our male counterparts and as such we should be able to do it all and still be thin, dressed impecably, and pleasant.
Whatever it is, I am tired of playing the game. Are you? My sink has dirty dishes; my flowerbeds are overrun with weeds; dirty laundry is piled head high on the washer; and the goats' stalls need a good cleaning. I can't do it all. I can only do what I can do. And, I am not going to sacrifice the joy of living with the prison of doing, of keeping up with whoever is making the rules. In short, I am taking my ball and going home --- even if it isn't perfect.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Okay... Just a LIttle Mean...
Took two bucks to be castrated this morning; the new owner wanted wethers and, after a little dickering, we decided I would take care of it.
The Mister and I loaded Chuck and Charlie into the carrier in the back of the Forester / Goat Mobile and off we went. Because the Mister had to go on to work, I had the chore, er, pleasure, of taking the boys into the vets' office alone. They were really good. Except, as with children, they pottied themselves all the way there and back, which meant I was pottied on all the way there and back each time I picked them up.
Since they were so knocked out when we got home, I had to leave them in the back of the Goat Mobile until they woke. Chuck was up and at it pretty quickly, bawled for his Momma until I lifted him out, and then went right in for a little Momma love. Charlie, however, has had a tough time waking up. He will wake a little, thrash, roll, pee, and bawl. Then, he is right back to sleep.
I have giggled in the most unkind way! And, it reminded me of this:
I guess you can see how really sick my sense of humor is... Poor fella and poor Charlie. Charlie will have extra cookies tonight. And I won't giggle in front of him. Really.
The Mister and I loaded Chuck and Charlie into the carrier in the back of the Forester / Goat Mobile and off we went. Because the Mister had to go on to work, I had the chore, er, pleasure, of taking the boys into the vets' office alone. They were really good. Except, as with children, they pottied themselves all the way there and back, which meant I was pottied on all the way there and back each time I picked them up.
Since they were so knocked out when we got home, I had to leave them in the back of the Goat Mobile until they woke. Chuck was up and at it pretty quickly, bawled for his Momma until I lifted him out, and then went right in for a little Momma love. Charlie, however, has had a tough time waking up. He will wake a little, thrash, roll, pee, and bawl. Then, he is right back to sleep.
I have giggled in the most unkind way! And, it reminded me of this:
I guess you can see how really sick my sense of humor is... Poor fella and poor Charlie. Charlie will have extra cookies tonight. And I won't giggle in front of him. Really.
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