A Day

One of the problems — and trust me, there are very few — with being retired is when to take a “day off.” When I worked. that was evident. Whatever day(s) you weren’t scheduled to work, is your day off. I used to run errands on the way home on Friday evenings, clean house, wash clothes, and cook on Saturdays, so that I felt perfectly free to sit on my can and read and rest after church on Sundays. Lazy Sunday evenings were special too. That was real down time. Don’t ask me to do anything — I wasn’t budging from my sofa.

Last Friday we took a day off. Bruce didn’t do any chores in the yard or fix anything in the house. I didn’t do laundry or iron or clean the oven. We didn’t even cook. Bruce brought in sausage cheese egg biscuits for breakfast. Clean-up was throwing the paper wrappers in the trash. After we got the dogs fed, peed and cookied, we were on our way.

Errands for me are pure logistical strategy, something that might parallel a device Napoleon could have used. There are all kinds of possible arrangements. Do you start with the most important or least? We must use the distance factor, of course, however, do we start at the most distant point and work our way back home or the other way around? Bruce has lived in Augusta only 5 years so he still depends on me for such strategic manuevers.

Friday we opted for the start-with-the-most-far-and-work-our-way-home method. The Book Tavern downtown is well-run place. David, the tall bearded owner, knows more about books and literary genres than I will ever hope to know. He always compliments Bruce’s taste in books. Since now I’m definitely more the “just entertain me with a tale” type, he doesn’t say that to me. I’ve already read Ulysses and Moby Dick and Remembrances of Times Past. No more, thank you. Been there, done that, and even got paid to do it. Lately, I’ve been reading Sandra Dallas. Her historical fiction is my favorite as I identify with her female characters and their struggles building new lives in the rugged West. Prayers for Sale was a special at Barnes & Noble last summer and I’ve been well-pleased with their recommendations lately. That got me started. Anyway, we have credit at the Book Tavern so, being wild and crazy kids, we were ready to spend a few bucks! I got a new-to-me Sandra Dallas and Bruce chose History of Christianity. We left after Bruce got his usual stamp of approval.

Off we went to find a Chinese restaurant where we had the best egg rolls I think I’ve ever had. I almost ordered another, however, when our orders arrived I was glad I hadn’t. They were huge! Even Bruce asked for a box, which he seldom does.

Off we went to the bank and the pet store and B&N. Two cups of coffee later we had checked out our new selections and spent an enjoyable afternoon.

Retirement is so tough.

C-O-L-D

Brrrrr. That was the temperature in the North Carolina mountains last weekend. We had been checking the weather forecast every day before we left so we were prepared. Kinda. We brought all the requisite cold weather gear. Bruce even insisted I go buy some rainboots — thankfully, I did. They weren’t just for keeping out the rain, I discovered, but they also kept my feet warm too. It’s miserable to sit around with cold feet. And — at a music festival, there is obviously lots of sitting around time. We had better tent neighbors than last spring. These people knew to go to sleep at night. Last spring they wanted to talk all night and fight at 3 AM. (Too much brew, perhaps?) Anyway, we’re always amazed that the tent actually does hold in some warmth. Which you don’t know until you compare it to the outside temp. One night, I had to take my reading light and book inside my sleeping bag to snuggle down and read. A bit like being under the covers and reading after “lights out”when I was a kid. It was easy to pack up when we left the music festival campsite. We were wearing most of our clothes.

The last night in the mountains we did have the presence of mind to stay in our favorite lodge, down the road from my brother, rather than try to camp. By then we were ready for a warm bathroom and a steaming shower and a friendly restaurant across the road. We got to visit my niece, Michele, who has moved near her dad and step-mom, with her two little ones. Hugh’s house was jumping with all sorts of critters — both two and four legged on a cold, blustery night. It was a great visit. I’m glad we’ll get to see more of family in the future.

Rainy Mondays

I used to hate rainy Monday mornings. I was trying to get geared up for a new school week and the buses were always late and the kids hyper because three drops of rain hit them at the edge of the sheltered walkway, but, of course, their feet were wet because they wore sandals, hence there were puddles on the floor of my classroom. Ir was just a messy miserable day.

Not any more. Annie and I got hack from the vet before the heavy rain hit. My plants are on the deck getting rinsed off and watered. Annie is in her crate with her head on her toy rabbit/pillow, sleeping off her shots and I’m blogging from the comfort of the daybed on the screened porch. Ginger is keeping a spot on the sofa nice and warm and Bruce is back in the study being productive.

I vowed when I retired that rain and Mondays deserved chocolate bonbons and a tall cup of coffee and a stint on the porch. I’m honoring my promise to myself. Publix moved their Brach’s candy display from a side aisle right next to the milk and eggs, so Kathy is sure not to forget an occasional bag. The Pumpkin Spice coffee is perking and the porch is cozy as the rain pelts the aluminum roof.

I grew up with a mother who loved porches.  Almost all the houses she lived in had one and they had chairs out there that were well used.  When we bought this house with a deck around almost two sides of the house, the real estate explained how functional they were.  However, one side got too much sun and, therefore, was way too hot during the day.  The first Christmas after Dale’s death I treated myself to a porch — turned that hot deck area into a screened porch with ceiling fans and electrical outlets and a shelf down one long side for plants and things.  It now has a daybed, two end tables, three rocking chairs and a table for meals.  We use it almost all year round.  Money very well spent.  I’m only sorry mother never got to enjoy it.  On the other hand, I’d have to share the daybed. . . .

Annie and Other Things

This morning we played a rousing game of “fetch the water bottle that makes the crinkly sound and will pop out of my mouth if I squeeze too hard.” The toy is certainly the right price. We’re still waiting for her bladder, shall we say, to mature. She’s fine in her crate at night, but the living room seems to be fair game. Annie thinks it’s just indoor grass. She is now double the size she was when Bruce first found her. Soon she will be too big to perch on my lap. She is almost as tall as Ginger, which isn’t saying much. When they were younger the boys would brag when suddenly they were eye to eye with me. My response was “Honey, there are pygmies as tall as your mother.”

I love fall. The cooler nights, yet warm days. Someone could probably predict the time of year by just taking notice of my purchases at the grocery store. Chai, flavored coffee, apple strudel, sweet potatoes. I even eye-balled the pumpkins. I don’t carve them anymore. I have a ceramic one that is cuter and doesn’t rot on the front step. However, if the price is right, I might spring for one. I might even spring for a pot of mums. I actually have a pot that I’ve gotten to re-bloom from last year. “They” say they won’t do that, but I’ve found “they” don’t aways know of what they speak.

We’re off to LEAF again next week. Time to restock our camping boxes and gather up all our supplies. Bruce is busily airing out the tent and I’m airing out the sleeping bags and pillows since we’ve not used them since May. The weather prediction for Black Mountain, NC is for showers while we’re there — and not the hot ones in the bathhouse. Oh well, that’s why we own rain jackets.

Oh, woe is work . . .

It is hard work going on vacation.

First, you have all the preparation to do just to “get gone”. Clean up the yard and the house, wash clothes, get the cats’ feeders on the porch, pack the suitcases, gather up all the beach stuff, get the dogs to the kennel, wash the dishes, pack the car, water the plants, dump the trash, take the dumpster to the curb, and remind the good neighbor who keeps an eye on things and gets our mail while we’re gone. For us, that’s a half day’s work. We’re worn-out before we’ve even left the driveway.

Second, there’s the drive down there. But we stop for lunch along the way. And it’s an enjoyable drive.

At Edisto we have to check in at the rental office for our keys and parking tag. Thank heavens the place we rent has an elevator or we’d be hauling everything up two flights of stairs. Since we stay a week, we have to unpack everything and put it all away. We have to make a trip to the Pig (the local Piggly Wiggly grocery store, the only grocery on the island – the absolute heart beat of the community) to stock up on food. We also make a trip to the water depot on the island for jugs of fresh drinking water.

By that time, we’re ready for a rum and coke as we watch the sun go down while sitting on the balcony that overlooks the inland creek. It’s a tough job . . . .

Water – Water

This is hurricane season.  We get updates on the news occasionally to keep emergency supplies handy — water, batteries, meds, first-aid kit, non-perishable food, etc.    Well — there are more reasons than that to be prepared.

We woke up last week to no water.  None.  Nary a drop.  I knew I’d paid the bill, so that wasn’t the problem.  Anyway, Bruce dressed, grabbed a flashlight and struck off in the pre-dawn dark to check the water line.

At the cut-off, he found the problem.  During the rain the night before, a tree limb had fallen on the water cut-off valve and broken the line underneath it.  Square on.  Smack on top.  Perfect hit.  He immediately called the water utilities for them to turn off the water at the street so we didn’t have a bill from hell.  To their credit, they came promptly and shut it off.

Bruce called our plumber and waited — and waited — and waited.  He finally called back at 1 PM to tell us he was on his way, as soon as he finished a repair at this mother-in-law’s house.  Ooops, we knew we were outranked.  For peace to reign at home, mama came first.  I prayed her problem was small and insignificant.   About 5 PM he finally made it and after going for a necessary part (and eating his dinner) he got it repaired about 8, just as it was getting dark.  I was just about ready to call the neighbors and tell them to expect us at their outside hydrant.

It’s a real pain to be without water all day.  We both went to the faucet a dozen times each forgetting that it wasn’t on.  Thank heavens I had a gallon of water left from our last beach trip and that I make coffee at night so it brews with the timer and that we both take our showers before bed instead of morning.  However, the toilets — now that’s another story . . . .

Little Orphan Annie

Annie, after her first trip to the vet today, weighs in at 12.6 pounds. I wish we’d weighed her last Thursday, because Bruce and I both swear that she’s grown in a mere 4 days.

Bruce was running errands and drove by some rental houses in our neighborhood — the ones that have a rather frequent turnover, shall we say, which are currently empty yet again. He saw a yellow lab puppy at the door of one, acting like it wanted in. After his errands, when he drove by the second time, the puppy was in the street. He drove around it, stopped, turned around and went back.

She is a cutie. After several days of puppy chow, puppy biscuits, and ball fetching and Ginger acclimation, she is doing well. Two mornings in a row now, her towel in her crate has been dry. (Does this sound like a diaper report?) The vet thinks she is a lab mix about 10-12 weeks old. She exclaimed, “She’s cute! I’d stopped and picked her up too! And if you’re going to rescue a puppy, it’s nice to get a healthy one!” So today she got her deworming and first vaccinations, and is conked out, sleeping it off. (I know I had to get two inoculations last week and felt the very same way.)

We had decided that we’d get another dog if one fell into our laps. Yep. There she is. Right in our laps.

The Bruce and Kathy 2009 Reunion Tour

We’re back home after 3491 miles and 31 miles per gallon and 11 states. It was a great trip — long and busy, but fruitful. We saw the people we wanted, but also didn’t see others we would have wanted to see but lacked the time. I realized that we could have easily spent another week on the road. However, Bruce now knows why I’m a bit nervous when the tank gets low. “We need to stop for gas.” “The gas light isn’t on yet.” “There’s no station for a long time. We need to stop now.” “Oh. Okay.” We stop and the next leg is accompanied by miles and miles of farm land and fields. “Now I see what you mean.”

The Hubble reunion in Illinois had the usual people. Each year I try to talk in depth to a different cousin. This year it was Kathy Clark Wolfe. We enjoyed Carolyn’s ham loaf and Jane’s blackberry cobbler and Judy’s deviled eggs. We generally bring baked goods fixed by Mrs. Grocery Store since we come from so far away. Last year I brought homemade cookies, but this year I was too busy to get anything baked before we left.

Ironically, we went to local wineries in both Illinois and Nebraska. They have discovered that certain grapes do well in certain climates and those grapes make excellent wine. We brought bottles home from each state. Both white and both fruity. We’ll think of Ree and Connie when we drink them.

We saw my nieces Nicole and Jessica and their husbands plus little Bailey, Nicole and Richard’s daughter. We made the rounds of signifcant places in Lincoln. The cemetery where Mom, Dad and Christine are all buried. Their house. Mom’s church. Places I wanted Bruce to see. Also my favorite used bookstore. They even gave us a shopping bag to haul off all our new books.

Bruce got to spend three days on a Nebraska farm, petting the horses and talking to Connie and Steve’s dog. We even went to a Indian Massacre Re-enactment. It was clever and informative. The BBQ in the city park in Oak was a nice slice of small town Americana. Even the night spent at a local saloon drinking beer and eating sauerkraut pizza and chatting with more old friends, Judy and Lee, was special.

Our house in Norton was enlarged and improved. They did all the things we had wanted to do to the house. Had we had time, I would have gone up and knocked on the door and introduced myself and asked for a tour. However, they did keep the same color scheme of the house, light brown house and dark brown trim.

Winfield in southern Kansas was a nice stopping off place to see friend, Ann. Bruce wanted to steal the double headed shower head in the guest bathroom. He even got to see a Kansas/Oklahoma storm roll in. I kept an eye out for those nasty funnel shaped clouds that drop down from the sky. Thankfully, none appeared.

We handed out all the pickle relish and bread and butter pickles and peach jam we hauled 1500 miles. And we returned with five diaper boxes of canning jars. A good trade I think! We’ll be set for next year’s canning season.

Two surprise side trips I’ll blog about later. Bruce took gobs of pictures. More about them later too.

Can It

The kitchen floor is still a little sticky. It will get scrubbed Monday.

I blogged last year about our adventures in canning, We drug out the jars from the crawl space under the house and washed and readied them. “My mother would have been proud of you for saving these,” said Bruce. I resurrected the pressure canner from the store room, bought new lids and rings and away we went to the Farmers’ Market.

We made and gave away strawberry-blueberry jam and bread and butter pickles. We canned pickled peaches and sliced peaches. However, the all time best investment was green beans. They taste like the ones we both knew growing up. We started eating them soon after they were canned and had them up until Easter. A quart was good for two meals so we averaged three meals a week with green beans as one of the vegetables. Last summer the un-fun part was all that slicing. Oh, aching wrist.

However, this year we got smart and invested in a food processor. We got a Hamilton Beach. So it did all the grinding for the pickles relish and slicing for the bread and butter pickles. And — in no time flat! A mere fraction of the time. We now call him “Mr. Beach.”

Because we weren’t worn out with the pickle process, the bean chopping wasn’t so dreadful. We worked through a box of beans in about an hour and a half. (Is a box and a bushel comparable sizes? I think they look like the same volume — but does anyone know? I do know that it’s easier to ship stackable boxes as opposed to unstackable bushel baskets.) “Our beans came from North Carolina,” said Bruce. “How do you know?” I asked. “It says so on the box.” (Isn’t literacy wonderful?)

So — we’re down to two dozen quart jars and will be ready for another round of green beans soon. Time to fill the larder for winter. If you have any old jars lying around, quarts or pints, let us know.

Peaches in a Jam

This is peach season in South Carolina and Georgia. Even though Georgia is called the Peach State, South Carolina produces more. And we live right down the road from the peach capitol, Edgefield County, the home of the late Strom Thurmond, in fact, his son, Strom, Jr., was the state’s top federal prosecutor, until he returned to private law practice in Aiken.

We jumped in the car the other day and headed out to Highway 25, where the peach stands reside. One was clean, and pretty and decorated with flowers and umbrellas and neat piles. Their peaches were hard as rocks. Down the road we went to another stand, Jackie’s, not nearly so pristine but loaded with fragant juicy peaches. We bought a big basket. Two days later we were in (a) jam, 18 jars actually. Bruce peeled and chopped, I prepared jars and lids and manned the stove with each batch. Stick to the small batches, as the recipes dictate, they are easier to stir the Sure-Jel and measure the sugar. We made four golden batches, each yielding 4 to 5 jelly jars each. Then we followed the directions in the Sure-Jel for peach jelly, using the peel and pits (with flesh still attached), and boiled that into a big mash, draining off the juice. That yielded 6 jars of jelly, which are rosy and smooth. The mash went into the compost bin. Happy worms enjoyed their treat too.

Thankfully, one jar of jam didn’t seal. Always good, as then we get a first crack at official tasting. Butter and homemade peach jam on crackers are delicious.