Lurking

The night is peaceful. Bats fly overhead, chickens chuckle soft sounds as they settle, and horses make low calling sounds to me, encouraging me to their feed. It was later than I normally do the chores yesterday evening, fully dark. As I emerged from the lights of the garage into the semi-darkness of the driveway, I heard a tremendous crashing in the woods, of something either caught, terribly frightened of me, or both.

I stood still and wondered if the minis had wandered into the woods, which they rarely if ever do, and gotten caught on a vine or the rolled wire fence. As much as I love the peaceful night, I wasn't about to go into the unlit woods to encounter whatever it was that thrashed there. Finally, I heard steps. It had escaped whatever held it there, and I could hear it carefully walking away.

Proceeding to the barn, I found the minis in with the larger ponies. Likely, it had been a deer. A herd of six does were across the street just this week, eyes glowing in our headlights. There must be a bumper crop of deer this year. Carcasses litter the roadsides all over, and I'm guessing body shops are doing a very good business.

I measured the miniature horses for weight in preparation for worming them. Perhaps I can use Roxie for an exercise ball, so round she is getting. Two hundred fifty pounds! Interestingly, Chiron is not so round, yet they eat exactly the same food and are turned out for the same length of time. Both seem to have about the same energy level. Similarly, our newest horse, Etta, is thin but is getting more food than our other two ponies who are fat.

The minis are now on a restricted diet, much to their dismay. They are only turned out on our luscious lawn for half the day. Had I more time, I'd start walking them around the "loop", our 2 mile walk, but for now, I'm still in the college visit mode.

Conversations with William in the car:

Why are those people selling wood? Where did they get that wood? Why doesn't wet wood burn? Why doesn't water burn? Will rubber burn? Will gasoline explode? What if I took a fishing pole and hung a lit match from it over our house, filled the house with gasoline, and stood far away and then let the match fall, would the house explode? What if I took gasoline and poured it all over our driveway and lit it? What is gasoline made out of? How do they make it? What are the ingredients? What if I mixed water with gasoline, would it still burn? What makes things burn? Why does rubber make smoke when it burns? ....Conversation finally ended due to arrival at our destination but fully convincing me why I needed a degree in Chemical Engineering - to answer the questions of a seven year old boy.
(And as a side note, I will be hiding all of our matches.)

Show Me the Money

I suppose I didn't expect the FAFSA form to tell me that our family was eligible for financial aid. We're not wealthy, but we make ends meet most months. FAFSA is the Free Application for Federal Student Aid. Still, it amuses me to find out what "they" think our family can pay out of pocket for our first college student. It doesn't (or at least the estimate form, I can't fill out the real form until January, I think) ask any pertinent questions like:

• How much do you spend in horse feed each month?
• What were your library fines in June?
• HOW OLD is your van?? (Are you nuts?)
• How many sizes of gym shoes did your son go through last year?

And then, they could provide some cost savings ideas:

• Would it be possible for you to live in your car while financing your daughter's education?
• Have you applied to third shift Walmart yet?
• Could you sell your dishwasher and wash your dishes in the creek?
• What is the average temperature in your house? Please lower it 15 degrees in the winter to save on heating bills.
  

I have learned also that it is to our advantage to not own anything but our house, our cars, our retirement accounts. Our daughter must not own anything. Were I to get a job, after I pay taxes, the amount I earned would go against us and the little bit of loans we qualify for would disappear. So, I will look for little scholarships here and hope that Lauren's piano talent will be recognized.

Notes:
The silkie chickie is a rooster, as he attacks when you try to pick him up. Once he gets over the initial shock of one's hand, however, he will perch on you like a parrot.

Renee asked me via Facebook how I get our hens to sit on eggs. Well, Renee, they are bantams, and bantams like to sit on eggs. In fact, it can be a problem. We have one hen right now sitting on four dud eggs, and she has for some time. I feed her where she sits, but she waits in vain.

I showed up for a 10 o'clock class yesterday at 10:30, thinking I was on time. The 10:30 class is on Thursday, not Tuesday. I'm losing it!

Someday, I hope to become organized. It amuses me to no end that people that aren't often at my house will make a comment to a mutual friend, "she is so organized". I try not to snort. I put on a good show to the outside world.

At home? I think of the other day when dh brought in my meat tenderizer hammer which he found in the yard. Or perhaps the day when I looked over to see William using the sweater shaver (you know, the little thing that takes the pilings off your sweater?) on a banana. My eyebrows are getting out of shape for want of tweezers, which likely have been used in some bug dissection.

I visualize some secret hiding place in my house where, if I could locate it, I might find all the cordless phone sets, a few remote controls, my tweezers, about a dozen or more finger nail clippers, every blasted ink pen I've ever bought, and loads and loads of clear tape. What would you want to find if you located the secret hiding place in your house?

And if you wonder why I'm posting at 1 a.m., if I'm going to keep up this blog, that's when I have quiet and time to write. My current job is to scour the Internet for scholarship opportunities for my up and coming college students. I spent some precious minutes filling out a form for the Optimist Club, only to find that their "submit" button seems to not work. Optimistically, I kept trying to submit, but after several tries, I gave up. I wonder if that was a test I failed? Perhaps I should have kept trying - optimistically.

What Used to Be My Blog

Possible reasons I abandoned my poor blog:

• I've been abducted by aliens.
• I've gotten the swine flu and now live in the barn.
• I've lost my mind.
• Every moment of my day is consumed with college searches, visits and filling out forms.
• I have no free time.

Well, if you've guessed number one, please come get me. Life inside this space ship is exhausting. And I don't think I've gotten swine flu - yet, but it is all around our community. I think I have lost my mind, so if you find it, please return it to me. And the last two are definitely true.

I will try to regain my footing and post again, as my mom says she hasn't anything to read during lunch. My sister says she keeps up with me by what "used to be my blog". Ouch!

William quote of the day:

"I really like our Church. You know why? 1. It has good value and 2. It doesn't take long to get there."

Notes:
My nephew called me yesterday to inquire as to how long a pumpkin lasts after you carve it. I am now the great pumpkin expert! My answer was what he wanted to hear - go ahead and carve it!

Punished by Rewards

Bribing with food is not recommended by people who don't have young children and aren't over-scheduled. Knowing better, I still told William that if he came with me immediately without complaining so that I could get to the post office in time to mail an urgent package, that I would buy him an ice cream on the way home.

After mailing the package and on our way home, I heard a familiar refrain: "I'm hungry." I asked is he wanted the promised ice-cream cone or something "more substantial".

"More substantial, please," he replied. Long pause. "What does that mean: 'stantial?"

William and I began our study of religion that day by discussing the number of Sacraments.

"I know already. Seven," he said confidently. Surprised because I help in another classroom and not his Sunday school class. Our class hadn't yet covered this. I asked if he could name any.

"Well, there is Marriage. Baptism. Then, there is the one where you have to follow the rules."

I was puzzled. Follow the rules?

"Yes, you know, like Father Mark must follow the rules."

Oh, Holy Orders.

Any others?

"Yes, Annoying of the Sick. But I don't know why they use that word: annoying."

Notes:
About a year after our built, insulation began flaking off and hanging in sheets inside of it. It has taken us about two years total, but today, they will take off the roof, replace the insulation and put the metal roof back on again. It seems that it was a bad batch of insulation.

Sign Language

I wondered at first if this might be considered a Corporal Work of Mercy,
for surely this was an imprisonment. Though she had a beautifully landscaped enclosure, this intelligent creature sat forlornly in the corner, eyes sadly downcast, looking away if someone tried to take her photo. Though I know orangutans generally live alone, I could not help but feel sorry for her boredom.

We put our palms to the glass, yet she didn't respond. We were about to leave when she suddenly climbed to the grating above the window. She took a small twig from her mouth and began to feed it through a tiny hole in the corner of the plate glass. A few people began to gather behind me. What was she doing?

She climbed back down and pointed at my purse and then up again at the hole. She wanted me to give her something through that hole. Knowing I would not as I don't want to get arrested, yet wanting to interact, I began to show her things in my purse. At each item, she'd look, wave it away, and point again to my purse. Finally, I just held the purse up to the window, and she peered in, inspecting more closely than an airport security guard. Indeed, I wondered why they didn't reassign her to these duties. She motioned for me to move over the dividers in my purse so she could see better. She memorized my credit card numbers, hence the creative fundraising the zoo is now employing.

Having found nothing satisfactory, she pointed to William's backpack. He'd brought along clothes and goggles in the unlikely event that on this cold day, the sprinkler park would be open. William did not want an ape going through his things, nor did he want his mother to show the ape his backpack. Still, the orang pointed. Finally, we were able to negotiate showing that the pack contained only clothes. Back to my purse.

By now, a docent told us that "she" was Amber, and was curious. She loved to watch women put on lipstick and see what else you have. And the docent had caught people trying to stick gum and other items through the hole. The ape is very persuasive.

Amber stuck her long arms though a fence behind her and grabbed an even longer stick. She stripped it of side branches, and again gave me a present through the small hole. We sat "talking" to her, forever divided by glass.

"Is she dangerous, mom?" William asked. About that time, Amber yawned, showing very large teeth. I have no answer, and will not have the opportunity to find out. We left, able to call goodbye to her from the outside fence where she could hear us. She looked briefly, then went back to frisking the rest of her audience.

Zoo Finds New Method of Funding

After days of rain, yesterday, we had beautiful weather. I left my mountains of housework and tasks to take William and Anna to the zoo.

I was taken aback at their new fundraising techniques, that is, they seem to be training the animals to pick my pocket, or in this case, purse. Here you see a lorikeet looking in my purse, only after eating $2 in nectar and then licking the side of my face.

Evidently, he (she?) did not find the pickings satisfactory, for shortly after the photo was taken, it bit the back of my arm sharply, which hurt like the devil.

Next: how I got frisked by an orangutan.

Notes: Where have I been? Two of our four computers completely crashed. When you have two daughters working on online courses, that becomes a serious problem. So, computer time has been limited.

Last night I was out at my favorite time of day, just after it turned completely dark. I looked up at the stars far above, stars that have been looked upon by many generations gone before, stars that will be here long after I'm gone. What's it like up there, I wondered?

My eyes often turn upward after my evening chores and I think of such things. It is quiet, just me and the crickets, and I think about life and the beyond. Last night, I thought about Chuck.

It is my great sadness to write that Chuck of Chuck's Chatter went to heaven this past Saturday after a brief illness. I met Chuck several years ago when he and I became partners in running the Church thrift shop. Chuck would relieve me of running the register and I'd relieve him of folding clothes, a satisfactory arrangement for us both. His wit and updates on his family brought him into my extended family.

William asked, "Who will count the money at the shop now? Chuck and I used to count the money together." I reminded him that it was okay to be sad, but to also be happy that we had the opportunity to know him.

Chuck was also known around town as Constable Chuck, as he ran unopposed as a write-in candidate in last November's election. He made it his project to ticket motorists parking illegally in handicapped parking spots about town. Every time I look at handicapped spots, I will think of him and look for their handicap permits. (Not that I plan to take his place in these duties.)

The thrift store will not be the same for me, as I really continued my work there longer than I probably should so that I could hear stories about his wife, their two sons and grandchildren, about wintering at the Mets baseball training camp, about Lorain, his 80-something baseball training camp friend, and his favorite spots to eat.

Rest well, my friend.

Pushing the Limit

My sister has embarked on a new exercise program and she daily updates us with her progress on Facebook. She mentioned today that she was doing push-ups. I responded:

I'm doing push-ups, too. I'm pushing my coffee up to my mouth, and pushing my new reading glasses up on my nose, and pushing my butt up out of this chair to go do chores.

We've been college shopping for Lauren. It feels a good deal like house shopping. First one has to find the right neighborhood, then the right house, and THEN, can one afford it? Another analogy might be that it is like shopping for a husband for her, knowing all the while none of them are good enough for her, but ultimately, you'll have to find the one that is good enough to send her away to.

This college shopping is something that I don't remember doing when I went to college. I remember having a short list of colleges, none of which I visited, and finally just picking based on cost and that the location was nearby. Of course, cost remains a factor. Yearly costs are more than a luxury car.

Notes:
Was that duck supposed to hatch this weekend or next?

Pet sitting for neighbors who have ducks. They are very stupid, even worse than chickens. How do they survive?

Anna and my mother-in-law have an art show starting on Monday as a multi-generational art show.

My days are so full, I'm afraid one day I'll wake up and find that I'm ninety years old and it went by so fast.

Hay Fairy

Yesterday was a day of mystery. I could not find the juvenile red rooster, and in the middle of the day, six square hay bales appeared out of nowhere. I asked one neighbor, and she denied having been my benefactor. Perhaps it was the neighbor to the west?

After working at the Church thrift shop, I went to feed the horses their afternoon grain, and there was red rooster. In the morning, as I put out grain, the chickens try to steal a little before the horses come ambling in. It seems he got cornered, and though I had looked in all the stalls, I missed seeing him. He seemed relieved to be let out.

After an early morning ride, a friend stopped on his way home. He was my hay fairy. Someone had gifted him with twenty bales and he couldn't fit it all in his barn, so he gave me some. What a nice surprise!

The bantam continues to sit on the duck egg, and I can only imagine what she will think when this ugly duckling hatches.

On Monday, we picked Anna's artwork up from three sources, farmed out for the fair and an art show. We were surprised with a three foot trophy as she had won (unbeknownst to us) the title "Supreme Grand Champion" award for 4H at the Kentucky State Fair.

We're going to donate the trophy to the 4H office, for surely it'll be knocked over by some dog or kid here at our house.

And, for those of you that care, today is Talk Like a Pirate Day~! William says pirates don't do homework. I said pirates also get thrown overboard or run through with a sword. Just sayin'.

AND! This day twenty years and twenty pounds ago, I was walking down the aisle to my future happiness. I hope for at least twenty more! Happy Anniversary, honey!

Prayer request: Chuck of Chuck's Chatter is in the hospital in ICU. Please leave him a note on his blog wishing him a speedy recovery. I'll print it out and bring it to his room.

Bold Fortune Ette

Etta Mae

Sunset

One of My Favorite Movie Clips

The Element of Surprise

We looked around for Anna's painting in Cloverville, the make-believe 4H town in the West Hall of the Kentucky State Fair. The painting, bigger than most there, and of course, very familiar to us, would catch our eye immediately if we laid eyes on it. I suggested maybe it was in another room, though this was the senior painting division room. "They better not have lost it," Anna said ominously.

We were directed to the information booth to inquire. And there, beside the booth, were the Grand Champion winners encased in glass. My throat choked as I saw Anna's painting with a large purple ribbon. Indeed, they had not lost it.

"Temptation"
by Anna

Notes:
A neighbor (you know who you are) stuck a duck egg under my broody bantam hen. Duck eggs aren't so big as goose eggs, so the hen was happy to adopt this egg. Now, what she is going to think when her efforts result in this child of hers, I don't know. Neighbors have been notified that they will adopt said smelly child when it is "weaned".

It's finally summer here, reaching the high 80s. Somehow, we escaped without having temperatures in the 90s. The nice weather ruined some crops, but our famous grass is beautiful. Good hay season!

Here, Kitty, Kitty

Butt in the air and down on the pavement with my dress clothes on, I momentarily gave pause that my daughter might be embarrassed if she and her friends were to see me right now. A six week old, jet black kitten was meowing piteously and panicked. I meowed back, a soothing mommy-kitty sound. As I reached for it, it climbed the tire of the car beneath which it hid.

I couldn't leave it there: we were in downtown Lexington, and cars were whizzing by on the busy street, pulling in and out of the parking lot for the campus bookstore of the nearby university. The kitty retreated further into the car, following the cavity where the axle came out to the wheel. Oh, well (no pun intended), I would sit on the curb and see if I was quiet, it might come out. I had time to kill.

Lauren was having dinner with friends in a nearby restaurant, a precursor to an event we were attending that night, a "masterclass" with Alessio Bax. I eat fast, so I went walking around to the bookstore to browse. Upon exiting, I heard the kitten.

After awhile, I looked under the car again, and got a curious look from two young coeds. I shrugged. "There's a little kitty under there."

Both girls immediately joined in to trying to coax kitty out of the car. They went back into the store, found the car owner who came out to open the hood. The mom of one of the girls had also arrived. My meow seemed to elicit more responses from the kitten, so the girl asked me to keep meowing.

By now, Lauren and friends had arrived, and luckily, I was on my feet and ready to get out of there before I found myself taking home a small black kitten. As I walked away, one girl had her entire arm down in the engine of the car, trying to reach it. I worried that she'd break the car or her arm, but not my problem. We walked back to my car, and all loaded in to our next stop. On exiting, we could see the car down the block, which now had several more people crowded around it, all trying to get the cat out. I was amused. But as far as I was concerned, I had deftly solved the problem by delegation.

Notes:
Yes, Lauren, the fact that he is so handsome probably doesn't hurt his career at the very least. But he does seem to be an amazing pianist (haven't really heard him play yet, only teach).

Adding classes at a university the day before classes start isn't smart. Lesson learned.

Teach...Your Children Well...

Baby talk, that is, high-pitched helium gas talk, isn't well tolerated in our house. Yet, we do find it difficult to let go of cute mispronounced words. Letting go of them somehow means that the child is growing up, no longer wanting a "hambur-bur". At seven, I suppose it is time to teach William that magazines are not "mazagines", but mazagine sound so much better. And he loves to go to Cost-so to get "zamples". A zample is a sample of a product which is used as an example. I think it is a cool new word.

Speaking of zamples, they really do work if you have a seven year old with you - and it isn't crab meat. William loves to try all the zamples and then see how long it takes to wear me down to buy it. He "got me good" on the Angus hamburgers with blue cheese. Boy, were they good (and expensive). A friend of mine is a zample presenter, and she laughed recently, when William started to take her zample and I asked, "William, you do know it's crab meat, right?" I pictured him throwing up all over the aisle when he found out. We didn't buy that zample.

Moo

The soft inquisitive eyes stared out at me through the galvanized slats. Not at all introspective about the hypocrisy of heading to the store to by lunchmeat and feeling sorry for the cow in the trailer, I hoped that the owners weren't heading to the slaughter house. She (?), the cow that is, not the owner, was wearing a leather halter with a shiny brass buckle. You wouldn't put a leather halter on a meat cow, now would you?

Ohio license plates turned towards StuffMart. Then, it dawned on me. State Fair. The Kentucky State Fair started today! Maybe it was a famous, prize cow I just saw, headed to the Fair to win more prizes. Relieved, I stopped worrying about her. And went to buy roast beef.

Notes:
Rode Etta in the pasture, or rather, sat on her and watched the sunset. I'd share the photos of this Anna took, but my computer refuses to cooperate. Maybe tomorrow.

Today, our Math-U-See shipment arrived, William's math curriculum. I had to buy new, different manipulatives to go with this program. William spent much of the day building hotels, stores, houses with them. One hotel had some kind of high tech safety beam on it so that if anyone shoots at it, the bullets are deflected. So glad he likes his new math supplies,

Eugene the Van

We were a couple of miles from home when the stupid orange-yellow light came on. Out of gas. I told Anna to grab my purse, the one gas station between here and there was coming up. No purse. I did, however, have the dry cleaning bag full of my husband's dirty dress shirts. Evidently, my mind was on a slight blip. I didn't think that the gas station takes dirty laundry in exchange for gas, but that's an interesting concept. What to do? The drive to Anna's art class is about 20 minutes, perhaps 15 miles give or take, and then back. My light comes on when I have about 30 miles left of gas. If I went home, she'd be very late for class.

Anna had only one paper dollar on her, but then remembered she might have some quarters. Digging around in her purse, she came up with three more dollars. That'll do it, I said, and continued on our journey. After dropping her off, I carefully pumped four dollars, not even two gallons, but enough to get me home. I went in to pay with my change, feeling like white trash driving a van with nearly 200,000 miles on it and paying with quarters. But, I didn't have to walk.

Speaking of Eugene (the van), we had briefly considered turning him in for the clunker program. Even with the rebate, we decided that to get a vehicle big enough to haul the girls back and forth to college in the coming years, and with needing to have extra vehicles for two extra drivers, it was not economically feasible, given the price of new cars. It would be better to get a newer used one (aren't you proud of us, Dave Ramsey?).

Perhaps we should not have anthropomorphized our van, and given him a name, but we all felt we could not turn him in to be euthanized. That is just wrong! Just as a wedding ring is not just a gold band, neither is Eugene just a trashed old van. Many, many hours have been spent in that van, and to know that it would be injected and silenced for ever, and then crushed! Well, not going to happen. William, eavesdropping on the whole conversation, asked if the people would take Eugene, fix him up and return him to us. I hadn't the heart to tell him that the van would be smashed.

Besides, having an old vehicle fits us right now. Dogs and kids pile in. Spill your drink? Oh, well, wipe it up. Smelly cleats, no problem. Dog throws up? Get a towel. New vehicle response, "(not printable)"

Notes:
My busy season is about to start, visiting colleges and starting some more formal schooling for everyone.

Yesterday, William and I spotted a male luna moth.