Tis the Season

Updating the site for Christmas is much easier then getting the fall decor down & packed away, the christmas bins inside the house to unload, clean the house first before even doing that, going out for a christmas tree and all this after being in the mobs of black friday shoppers - saved a whopping $37, and will not be doing that again unless I have been kidnapped and am stuck in someones trunk who is.

Thanksgiving 08

Yummy pies, perfectly moist Turkey, and the most golden rolls were the stars of the show.

Gotta have a dog in the mix for a bit of begging, this is Lucy and I gave in - heck, its the giving that counts today.

Had a little bit of this (I hope thats the kid stuff)

and a little bit of that

and of course some of this

Rootin for the Lil Guy

I would be a bit nervous if I was in that boat, but what a smart little penguin.

How You Like Them Eggs?

For the past year now I have been getting eggs from a friend at the club. She lives in an area that has maintained their zone rights to having livestock - while being surrounded by huge, overpriced, but incredible homes. Normally the eggs I get are the brown variety and normal sizes, but this batch offered some blue, grey, and some odd shaped ones (look at that one in the front!). Do you know how long it takes an egg to get to Alaska? From the moment the egg is taken from the hatch it takes about 6 weeks (unconfirmed) and who knows what the hens were nibbling on prior to laying the eggs. These little gems are hand picked from the hen house and delivered to me that day and they make the most fluffy, light, delicious scrambled eggs - You can tell the difference.

History Time: Once when visiting the family farm, Grandpa Angus took me to the hen house for a lesson on how to fetch eggs. He and I had our little baskets and as he was telling me the reason for these hens existence on the farm (providing eggs) he just jammed his hand under the resting hen and came out with the 2 eggs that she had been nurturing. The hen did not seem to mind and just readjusted her position, but I could not help noticing a look of resentment on her face. "He just took my babies" was what I interpreted. So the next day I was sent out to get some - by myself. I entered the coop, looked around and went to the one hen that did not look too mean. First I tried to move the hen, but she would not budge, so I had to go under her. Yikes. My hand gingerly approached the belly and then the wonderful creature started to fiercely, and I mean in a really angry way peck my hand until I backed away. I went back into the house with an empty basket and turned around to hear Grandpa Angus shake his head and say "city kid."

This may have been the same trip that the Thanksgiving turkey chased my all of 2.5ft tall body around in circles. (Okay, now that I think of it, I may have been alittle taller, but when a monster like that is awkwardly waddling/running behind you saying gobble, gobble, gobble and all you think is in turkey language that is kill,kill,kill you tend to feel really small) I am screaming for my life and my parents are just laughing. That dangly thing on the turkey was right at eye level and it was going to kill me if I stopped running - I was sure of it. I don't remember how I survived, I may have blacked out, but I do remember enjoying every bite of that turkey.

Wouldn't you run if this thing was after you?

Such good times on the family farm

Gobble, Gobble, Gobble

or kill, kill kill (however you say it)

Here's Hoping

We may not get to a bowl game, but beating

Ohio State would be nice.

Update: well that did not happen, not even close.

wow and ouch all at the same time.

Gobble Treat

Let's just all bow to Bakerella - all together now.

Turkey shoot

Need something to break your day up - Those gobblers are fast at the end

Click HERE

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Proof Positive

Ladies and gentlemen of the blogging world I present to you clear evidence that little boys do before they think.

As I pull into the driveway I notice something is on the roof that was not there earlier. I focus in on the object and I realize it is Seth's lunch box. There has to be an explanation and I had to hear it.

You see, I have a husband who likes to hit golf balls towards the roof and have them roll back to the yard or there are times when he would throw a ball up and have Seth try and catch it when it rolled down. Did Seth think his lunch box would "roll down?"

So here goes:

Mom: SEEEETTTTHHHH, get out here. (one of the reasons why a one syllable name was chosen)

Seth: What?

Mom: Can you explain why your lunch box is up on the roof?

Seth: Well, I was trying to get icecicles down to eat and I threw it up there to knock them down.

Mom: Oh, good grief child.

Explore Alaska

I need to get out more. Falls Creek is in my backyard (well, a short drive)

Good Grief

As I have mentioned before, I have a hypothyroid that requires I take a little pill each day - to be in "normal" thyroid function. All editorial comments on the "normal" usage, you can keep to your funny little selves. The instructions to taking this pill says I cannot consume anything for an hour after taking - so I have a routine of putting a pill and a glass of water on the bedside table and at some point during the sleeping hours I roll over, find the pill and gulp down water. The days of sleeping through the night are pretty much over for me, but I have a wonderful knack to regaining the REM status once my head returns to the pillow.

So last night, as in the hundreds before, I did what I do. Or so I thought, because when I woke up the pill was still there in the spot I left it the night before. Did I not awake and take it? No, I remember doing it and when I check the water glass - its empty and I know I filled it. So now I am thinking I hope I did not swallow a Lego.

A Jewel of a Blog

I am more of a good medical mystery/suspense kind of reader and not much of a romance Danielle Steele kind of gal, but I came across this blog The Pioneer Woman and spent the next few days reading her love story chapters, gazing at her amazing photography of horses, sunsets, early morning sunrises, family, and don't forget Charles- basically I am hooked and wanted to spread the obsession to you.

Trust me, you will thank me later - no gifts necessary.

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The Night I Met Marlboro Man, Part IVOr, Harlequin Romance Meets Green Acres, Part IVSep. 11, 2007

“Hi, Ree? We met at the J-Bar last Christmas?”
It was the Marlboro Man.
It had been almost four months since we’d met; four months since we’d locked glances in a bar over Christmas; four months since his icy blue-green eyes and prematurely gray hair had made my knees go weak; four months since he’d failed to call me the next day, or week, or month. I’d moved on, of course, but the rugged, smoky image of that Marlboro Man-esque creature had left an indelible mark on my mind. And my hiney.
But. I’d been planning my big move to Chicago before I’d met him that night four months earier, and I continued my planning the next day. By the end of April, just after my brother’s wedding, I was just about ready to go. But suddenly, four months after we’d first met, I found myself on the phone with him, mistaking him for a boy named Walrus and trying to appear cool.
“Oh, hi.” I said, nonchalantly. I was moving to Chicago. I didn’t need this guy.
“How’ve you been?” he continued. Ugh, that voice. It was gravely and whispery at the same time. I hadn’t realized it had already set up permanent residence in the marrow of my bones.
“Good,” I replied, focusing my efforts on appearing casual, confident, and strong. “I’m just gearing up to move to Chicago, actually.”
“No kidding,” he said. “When are you going?”
“Next month,” I replied.
“Oh…” he paused. “Well…would you like to go do something this week?”
This was always the awkward part. I could never imagine being a guy.
“Um, sure,” I said, not really seeing the point of going out with him, but also knowing it was going to be next to impossible for me to turn down a date with the first cowboy I’d ever been attracted to. Actually, the first cowboy I’d ever met. “I’m pretty free all this week, so…”
“How ’bout tomorrow night?” he cut in. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
He didn’t know it at the time, but that single take-charge moment, that instantaneous transformation from shy, quiet cowboy to this confident, commanding presence on the phone, affected me very profoundly. It positively set my interest afire.
So did the starched denim shirt he wore when he picked me up for our date the next evening.
“Hello,” he said, as I opened the front door of my parents’ house.
Oh, those eyes. They were fixed on mine, and mine on his, for more seconds than is customary at the very beginning of a first date. My knees—the knees that had turned to rubber bands that night four months before in a temporary fit of illogical, immature lust—were once again like spaghetti.
“Hello,” I said, smiling. I was wearing sleek black pants, a violet v-neck sweater, and spiked black boots—a glaring contrast to the faded denim ensemble he’d chosen. Little did I know how utterly symbolic of our future lives together those respective wardrobe choices would turn out to be.
We talked through dinner; I don’t remember the food. About my childhood on the golf course; about his upbringing on the ranch. About my college days at U.S.C.; about his unnatural passion for football. About my retarded brother, Mike; about his older brother, Todd, who died. About Los Angeles and celebrities; about cows, horses, and manure. And by the end of the evening, I had no idea what exactly I’d even said. All I knew was, I was riding home in a white Ford F250 diesel pickup with a boot-wearing cowboy—and there was nowhere else on earth I wanted to be.
He walked me to the door, naturally. Oh, I’d been walked to that same door many times before, by pimply high school boys and cocky college boys and a few miscellaneous suitors along the way. But this time was different, bigger. I felt it.
That’s when the spiked heel of my boot got hung up on the grout line of my parents’ brick sidewalk. I saw my life and any ounce of pride remaining in my soul pass instantly before my eyes as my body lurched forward; I was going to bite it for sure—and right in front of the Marlboro Man. I was an idiot, I told myself, a dork, a clutz of the highest order. I wanted desperately to snap my fingers and magically wind up in Chicago where I belonged, but my hands were too busy darting in front of my torso to brace me from the fall.
Someone caught me, though. An angel? In a way. It was Marlboro Man, whose tough upbringing on a working cattle ranch had produced the quick reflexes necessary to save me, his spastic date, from a certain wipeout. Once the danger was over, I laughed from nervous embarrassment. Marlboro Man chuckled gently. He was still holding my arms, though, in the same strong cowboy grip he’d used to rescue me moments earlier. Where were my knees? I suddenly couldn’t feel them. And suddenly, he wasn’t chuckling anymore; he was standing right in front of me, still holding my arms.
To be continued…

mystery ointment revealed

The Farmer's Wife got it - it was sunscreen lotion.

The weekend before I walked around the house with a masque on and I think someone wanted to mimic me in her own special way. I was impressed with how she was able to go around her mouth with the lotion without using a mirror (hidden talent?) and I hoped she did not eat any. The next day dashed my hopes as her "diaper gift" was the color of Wasabi - okay, now you'll never look at Wasabi the same way ever again.

Celebrity Sighting

While working my shifts at the gallery I have had old friends walk in and local celebrities. Once I had Jack Frost, the guy who voices for the Sagaya commercials, come in. I was working on something at the desk and only heard him, thinking it was another commercial then realized I had a CD playing and heard him talking art and not GIANT, DELICIOUS FRESH from the SEA, PRAWNS. Another time, Mr. White Keys was in and I just wanted to find a can of Spam and a camera - he too has another recognizable voice. I wanted to say hi and then the fear of being an add-in to one of his comedy skits set in. (like that would ever happen, but just in case - sit there and don't say a word, let the man shop)

Well last night, Greta Van Susteren was in. She is here to do a post-election interview with S. Palin. I wondered should I play nonchalant and treat her like any other customer? She was browsing and coming closer to the desk, so the words came from somewhere"can you sign our gallery book so when I tell the other gallery gals you were here they'll believe me" She said "sure"and started signing away while almost in an apologetic way said "I am a bit tired" I just said thank you and she said thanks for watching the show. As her group left one said thanks, another said good night and we might come back tomorrow to shop - we are just too tired right now. What did I say? Not, thanks for coming in, have a good night or the normal thing. Dork says "SLEEP WELL."

Who Says That?

Conversation with Seth

Seth came home on Friday, out of breath, red nose and rosey cheeks, full of excitment and had a story to tell. First that he beat Gabby home from the bus stop - only Gabby likes to saunter home so he wins every day and he thinks its because he is sooooooo fast. But there was more to the excitment and he shared:

Seth: Mom, today is a great day.

Mom: Why is that?

Seth: because Caden, a kid at school, broke his nose and won't be back at school.

Mom: Why does that make it a great day?

Seth: (in a softer tone) Well, Caden is not nice to me and he always cuts in line in front of me.

Mom: That's not very nice - see what happens to people when they are not nice - that is called karma. - and then i had to explain how Karma worked.

Seth: I like karma and I will always be nice.

Mom: (note to self) I should have added something in there about keeping his room clean too.

At it Again

When things go quiet in the night and Sydney is not down to sleep something is wrong, very wrong. So you go searching for the little tyke and this is what you find.

Any guesses on what the white stuff is?

Its Hockey Season

We are into another season and had our first game with 3 periods and officials. Seth got a bit spooked when the loud buzzer sounded to end the period. So spooked he did not want to keep playing so the coach took him off the ice to calm him down. Afterwards he said he does not like the horn or jet airplanes.

Halloween 08

The snow held off for another Halloween Trick or Treat evening. Seth is Indiana Jones and Lil Stinker is a cute pumpkin. I had face paint for a 5 o'clock shadow, but Seth said that having a beard would be ridiculous. He had an inservice day from school so I had to endure an hourly update on when we were to head out for candy and once again we went to about 20 houses and Seth proclaimed he had enough candy and wanted to head home - whose child is this?