Hutch

I am not one of those people who love to wake up at the crack of dawn on a saturday morning and drive all over the valley hitting every garage sale at every corner in hopes I'll score big with some $2 antique hiding behind a layer of dust, that when polished is worth $2000. Nope, not me. I have enough problems trying to figure out where to store my own stuff without adding other peoples junk into the mix. Don't get me wrong, I love a good bargain. I didn't earn the title "Clearance Queen" for no reason, let's just say I prefer to do my bargain hunting in a air-conditioned store and buy things that don't have dried boogies and cobwebs clinging on to them. But when my neighbor across the street announced she was sorting out her closets in hopes to make a few bucks, I was elated!

My neighbor doesn't do junk...she does Macy's, and Village Quilt shop, and Tai-Pan. In other words, she has good taste. (and no boogies)

I must admit, I held off till almost noon. I had just bought a new quilt for my bed, new clearance clothes for my closet, and Tai-Pan and I are on a first name basis I go there so much. So I didn't think there would be anything I really needed. Yes, I know there's a difference between wants and needs, so when my husband told me I needed to go see what Mary had, I didn't hesitate to take him up on it. ( I later learned those were Mary's words, not my husbands)

Oh, books. I love books. She just happened to have one of my all time favorites of Dean Koontz, Life Expectancy. I highly recommend it to anyone, and if you'd like to borrow a copy, one just happened to come in to my possession lately.

Pillows...I love pillows. A cute little christmas pillow will look so good on my bench at Christmastime. Shoes. How convenient that she is just my size, a pair of red, pair of white, pair of blue (looks just like the red one), how patriotic of me, yes I am. Just doing my part america.

But when Mary said she had just the 'thing' for me, I was slightly disappointed to see her standing beside an old 1950 something secretary (not the person type, a desk type). Eh, not interested, but not wanting to hurt her feelings, I gave it a looksy. Solid wood...maple...(I like to eat maple, not look at it)...not really my style...kinda old fashioned...kinda antiquish...antiques can be cool...it is real wood....and then it hit me! What would Vanessa do? She would refinish it, paint it, scuff it, antique it, restore it! SOLD! 35 bucks...what a steal!

Mary's son who was selling his stuff and just happens to be a woodworker, got all excited when I said I wanted to refinish it. He started telling me how to sand it, use some type of goop to remove the varnish before I re-stained it.

"Do I have to do all that if I'm going to paint it?"

"Paint it? Why would you paint it? Don't you know that's real maple? You don't want to paint over maple!"

"Uh, yes I do"

I think I just got eye rolled at, and I'm pretty sure he would have refused the sale and refunded my money if he had his way. He was a little disgusted with my plans. But I could see it in my minds eye. Black...no, too dark. It would stick out like a sore thumb. Barn Red? No, that's a fad color. I don't want to have to repaint it in a few more years. Off-white, sanded edges, antiqued finish. Yes! I can't wait to get started...and started I did. I sanded that very day. The next weekend I painted, that thursday I stained. Two weeks, a lot of work and a little love, I now have a beautiful secretary sitting in my kitchen.

Well, that doesn't sound right...

Maybe I'll call it "Hutch". Sounds manly. It will be nice having a 'hutch' hanging around the kitchen.

The long and winding road

Into every life...a little road construction will follow.

I'm beginning to think there's a conspiracy to keep me from where I need to go. Every street I turn down it's either blocked, closed, detoured, or overly crowded because it's the only street left for people to travel.

Every morning I leave at 7:10 am just to make sure Trey isn't late for school by 7:30. After we wind around 3 different sub-divisions, a quarter tank of gas and 10 minutes later, I finally drop him off where he walks the last little bit because again, I can't get across the street to actually drop him off at the school.

My work route wasn't immune either. I take the back road to avoid the rush hour backed up 90th south street. One not so fine day, the little men in orange closed my secretive escape route home. Ugh! It took me 30 minutes to travel the 6 miles to my home! This went on for some time, as most road closures do. Then one miraculous day, the road blocks were gone! I could take the road less traveled once more. Not only was my little back road open, but it was beautiful! Black, smooth road topped with brightly yellow lines showing me the way. Wide pavement with charming street lamps adorning the curbs. My drive home was actually a pleasant experience, and it made me reflect on how our lives are much like road construction.

Sometimes we have pot-holes in our lives, created by sin. Little spots that mostly go unnoticed, caused by thoughtless actions, unkind words, mischievious deeds. Other times, we have big potholes, caused by greater sin; sin that if left unrepentant, grows bigger and wider, and harder to repair. Most often, the holes start out innocently enough, but because we don't take care of them right away, they grow bigger as we journey down the same path, over and over again, making the same mistakes, until we realize too late that unless we swerve around the hole, we could fall in and get stuck. Stuck in the rut that we've made for ourselves; our road broken and damaged from unwise choices that we've neglected to fix.

Until one day, we start down the path, and realize it's not a road we want to take anymore. We don't like where it leads; the bumpy road is too painful and a sore reminder of what it used to be.

So we call on the one person who can help repair our road.

The process won't always be easy; there will be detours along the way, leading us down safe roads of those who can also help us. Our road might be closed for awhile during repair, causing us sorrow for missed opportunities. But with His help, we slowly begin to fill in the gaps and holes. With each prayer we offer, each tear we shed, each scripture we read, each sacrifice we make, the holes fill up with hope, with faith, with love and gratitude. The process may seem slow, the results at times unseen. But one fine day, you'll arrive at your path, and replacing the bumps and holes and gaps, the ugly faded and scarred surface, lies before you a beautiful, smooth road. All blemishes gone. All reminders of the rough road eraced. What lies before you now, are the clear yellow and white lines, keeping you in the straight and narrow way, guiding you to your eternal home.

And if we're smart, we'll upkeep our road...filling the potholes as we go along, so we'll never have need of major road repair again.

Now if you'll excuse me, my shovel and pail are waiting.

Jerky anyone?

Last week my son became a man.

Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. But he did do something manly. He shot his first animal; That sounds mean. He got his first kill; that doesn't sound any better. He brought home an Antelope; not for a pet, for a wallhanging.

He was so excited. Tary shot one too. Fortunately they spent all their money on tags and gas and a hotel that they can't afford to get them stuffed, so all we have to show for their big adventure is a couple of skulls with horns, and lots of antelope meat.

Not sure what I'll be doing with a freezer full of antelope. I'm hoping Tary is planning on making lots of jerky with it. My kids gobble down his elk and deer jerky, and although I'm not a fan of hard crunchy meat, it does give the house a mouth-watering smell.

Speaking of jerky smells, I have a friend who is a Dula. That's not her name, it's what she does. A dula is someone who takes care of pregnant women pre-labor, mid-labor, and post-labor. She helps women through natural child-birth and is there to help them with whatever they need her to do. A while ago, she had a patient who after she gave birth to her fifth child, came home to a family of sick kids. They all had the flu, and the Mom needed rest, so she hired Kristi to come and basically take care of everyone else, so she could take care of her own needs.

Kristi spent the morning cleaning up after 4 sick kids. Washing and changing sheets and mopping floors and all that fun stuff that accompanies the flu. By mid-afternoon, she was tired and hungry. She had planned to go home for lunch, since she lived rather close, but the demands were too great and she didn't see any way to escape, even for a quick bite.

All morning, a mouth watering aroma had been coming from the kitchen. A food dehydrator had trays of tasty look meat that Kristi just couldn't resist. She thought a little piece or two would be able to hold her till she could get away, and she didn't think anyone would begrudge her a bite since she had been working so hard all day long, and certainly the children were in no shape to be eating jerky. So Kristi slowly opened the lid, found the perfect piece, and took a bite. Hmm, tasty; a little gritty though. Not quite sure what type of meat it is, doesn't taste like beef, don't think it's venison or buffalo. As she chewed on another piece and pondered over the mystery meat, the Mom walked into the kitchen, catching her red-handed.

"This is interesting jerky" Kristi said, "what type of meat is this?"

"It's not meat... it's my placenta."

(Sphew)

Needless to say, Kristi mopped up more than just for the kids that day.

Jerky anyone?

Not so fare at the Fair

Last monday for family night, we went to the fair. So did about a gazillion other families. Family night at the fair means kids are free, which means the normal white trash, body piercing, face tattooing, hair spiking, pants falling crowd stayed away. Every night should be family night at the fair. The smell of smoke and alcohol was replaced by cotton candy and candy apples, and the sea lion show was standing room only. It was refreshing.

I made sure I got my exercise in before we went, visions of deep fried corn dogs and funnel cakes spurred me on, burning the calories I was consuming just thinking about all that delicious fair food. On the way, the radio announced the "All you can eat ice-cream" booth at the fair, just $3 for adults, $2 for children...oh heavens, I should have ran another mile.

Once inside the gates, we made our leisurely stroll through the animal barns, the 4-H exhibits, the Division of Wildlife (Tary's favorite) the quilt exhibits (my favorite) and the visual arts exhibit. The smell of roasting chicken over an open flame caught our attention, so we ditched the dogs for a bird instead, with rice and salad to boot. It was yummy, but much too healthy for the fair food conesieur. The funnel cakes looked delicious, but I resisted, knowing that my tummy and my wallet would be better served with the ice-cream, it only we could find it!

The fair is famous for it's fried foods. Normally, I try to obstain from drowning my food in a hot tub of grease, but once in awhile, it sure tastes good. This year we found everything from deep-fried snickers, to deep-fried pickles. That didn't even sound good, but I thought for sure Tary would go for the deep-fried bacon, drizzled in chocolate. I was actually looking forward to taking a bite out of it, not that I would spend $4.50 on one for myself, but I was kinda hoping he would. Bummer, no takers. I should have got the funnel cake while I had the chance. Ugh, now I'm getting desperate, where's the ice-cream?

We decided against paying $10 for a few tickets that would get us on 1 ride, and instead Tary and Trey went on a virtual reality ride. It was worth the $5 just to watch the goofy grins on their faces as they lurched and rocked and tilted side to side as they were strapped in, with virtual googles and headsets on. Trey was on a western rollercoaster, Tary did a airplane combat fight. And I sat on the sidelines, wishing I had brought my camera.

By now it's getting dark, it's a school night, time to start thinking about heading home. But we can't leave yet, we haven't found the...hey, lookie over there! It's the ice-cream tent...it's 9:05, they just barely closed, and they just scooped up the last bowl of ice-cream. It's all gone. Bummer. I should have got the fried funnel cake when i had the chance.

What a waste of a good work-out!

My Babies

My baby started Jr. High yesterday. Yeah, it's killing me. I was planning on the millenium to be here by now, so he could avoid the whole jr. high thing. I should have planned a little better and put him in a self defense class instead.

Chelsea and I pulled out Trey's baby book today; (she wanted to see if Paisley resembled her favorite uncle), and the memories came flooding back. There was Chelsea, 10 years old, holding her little brother. Now she holds her own little one. I've said it again, but it's worth repeating:

They grow up way too fast!

But if that's not consolation enough for the 3 am infomercial watching, sleep deprived mom of a newborn, consider this:

School has started. That means, before you know it, it will be time to start thinking about Halloween costumes, and carving pumpkins, and stocking up on candy. And we all know what happens the day after Halloween...Christmas music! But let's not forget Thanksgiving. We'll be so busy scouring over our recipe books, trying to find a new pie for the dessert table, that it will be here before we know it. And we all know what happens the day after Thanksgiving...setting up Christmas! The trees, the lights, the garland...oh think what fun Christmas will be this year with a new little one in our nativity manger! January brings birthdays and anniversary's to look forward too, and then spring will be right around the corner! Easter bunnies, walks in the park, blooming flowers and trees. Summer will follow on it's heels. Wading pools to keep cool, popsicles and fireworks...and then before you know it, she'll be a year old and sleepless nights will be a distant memory.



Whew! See how fast that went.

(Don't you just love the way I snucked (?) sneeked (?) the thought of halloween and christmas into my post just so I could use this awesome picture I took at Tai-Pan, cuz they have all their halloween decorations up and it's getting me trunky and treaty)

When I was a young girl in primary, we had a daddy-daughter date. I think we had dinner (I remember the ice-cream sundaes) and a program. I remember my best friends Lisa and Laurel sat on their dad's knee as he sang this song to them:

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Where are you goin' my baby my own?

Turn around and you're two

Turn around and you're four

Turn around and you're a young girl

Going out the door

Chorus: Turn around, Turn around, Turn around and you're a young girl

Going out of the door

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Little dirndles and petticoats, where have you gone?

Turn around and you're tiny

Turn around and you're grown

Turn around and you're a young wife

With babes of your own

Chorus: Turn around, Turn around, Turn around and you're a young wife
with babes of your own.

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Where are you goin' my baby my own?

By the end of the song, all of the Dad's were in tears. Back then, I didn't understand. I just knew my Dad cried alot. I figured it was a Dad thing.

Now I understand. And it's not just a Dad thing, it's a parent thing. (sniff sniff)

My babies are not babies anymore. Their grown, going off to jr high, and college, and having babies of their own.

Turn around Trey, turn around...come sit on my lap one more time. Come sing the Barney song one last time..."I love you, you love me..." come give me sticky kisses and wrap your dirty hands around my neck...let me read you a story one more time, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be"...let me wipe away the tears one more time while you ask me what's wrong.

Nothing's wrong baby, it's just the way life is.

Where are you goin' my baby, my own.

Cake baking, picture taking, vanessa stalking weekend

I had the best weekend.

My uncle Jack is turning 90 years old this week, so his family had a nice little party for him at the town park. In case your wondering what one does at a birthday party for a 90 year old, one eats alot, visits alot, and takes pictures alot. Sorry, no clowns or magicians, but there was a 99 year old man there as well, which I thought was pretty cool.

So, we baked alot of cakes this weekend, Faun and I. We also took alot of pictures. Well, truth be told, her daughter Lauren took alot of pictures, Faun and I were on the opposite end of the lens this time, and we had no clue what we were doing. We have a whole new respect for all the poor saps that we boss around when we say 'tilt your head'' "chin up" "your hands look goofy" "give me a serious look" "I said serious, not constipated". Anyway, it was harder than it looks, which is why out of 100 pictures, only 19 made it through the editing process.

In all fairness, Faun looked great in all of them. Ok, most of them. She's a natural. I, on the other hand, felt like my arms grew by 2 feet. They were lanky and flanky and I didn't know what to do with them. Just as I was starting to get the hang of it, Faun would utter those 3 words every profile challenged model hates to hear..."Lets do serious". I was so worried about my chin disappearing when I stopped smiling, that I forgot to suck in my gut. So if there's only 1 serious picture that made it, it's because I looked like a butt protruding, gut flaunting, chin receeding, nose weirding person. I'm not kidding. I don't do serious. Just ask our photographer. We ended up laughing too hard, all thoughts of seriousness gone. Mission accomplished.

I also got to meet the house of one of my idols. Vanessa from V and Co. lives in close proximity to my cousin, so we drove by in hopes that she would be outside, working in her garden or taking fashion tips from her turtled neck sheep. Disappointment. She must have been inside working on a quilt, or better yet, blogging. But...I saw her house! It's darling! Her yard is beautiful too! I felt like somewhat of a stalker, knowing where she lives and all. She's very careful not to disclose her location on her blog, identifying herself as living in "the middle of nowhere utah"...and I know where that is, nah nah. I drove by again on my way home from Faun's, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, working up the courage to stop and say "Hi, I'm one of your admirers, can I have your autograph", but lucky for her, she was inside. Probably whipping up some homemade apple pie in a cute frilly apron that she made. Oh, to be so close.

I wonder where she'll be October 9th? Maybe if she's reading this she can be outside, arranging her pumpkins fastidiously around her yard. Or dressing a cute little scarecrow with overalls that she made out of old pillow cases and worn out jeans. And if I just so happen to drive by on my way to a certain person's house in the middle of nowhere utah, I could stop by and say "Hi. I'm one of your admirers. Could I get a picture with you?"

Just as long as it's not a serious profile, I'm sure she would be great with that!

Smittled

I feel like I should be wise by now.

I thought by the time I was a Grandma I would be all knowing and wise. Maybe not. Afterall, we're not called Wisema's. But I can be Grand. Golly gee-wiz, I'm grand. Maybe not.

What I am is smitten...yes, smitten. That's the first word that pooped into my head when I think of my sweet little PJ.

And since I wanted to make sure I was using the word properly in a sentance, (cuz I've been known to make up my own words from time to time), I looked it up in the dictionary to make sure it was a real word. According to Dictionary.com, it is:

smit·ten 
 –adjective
1.
struck, as with a hard blow.
2.
grievously or disastrously stricken or afflicted.
3.
very much in love.

Does anyone else find it extremely ironic that the same word used to identify one being "very much in love" also defines it as "struck, as with a hard blow", and "disastrously stricken".

Does that mean when you "fall in love" you land on your head? When you're "head over heels" about someone, is it cuz you've been afflicted with vertigo? If you've been "swept off your feet", do you land on your tush with a hard blow? If you "take my breath away", have I been stricken with asthma?

I'm not sure smitten was the word I was looking for afterall.

How about...smittled. According to my pocket dictionary of Lindaisms:

Smit-tled, adj.

1. to have one's heart melt with love.

2. to be completely captivated by a sleeping baby.

3. having a strong desire to snuggle a baby in kisses.

Yes. That is what I am, smittled. Not wise, not grand, just smittled.

Do you blame me? I'm sure once you meet her, you'll be smittled too!