Archive for October, 2011

What Were We Thinking?

It was cold. Really cold. Now I know why stories of pioneer life mention people going to bed just to get warm.

Last year we had tickets to the Lake Eden Arts Festival in mid October in Black Mountain, NC. Of course, the Great Leg-Breaking put that plan aside for the year. Therefore, we still had tickets left over. They were burning a hole in our collective pocket. That was the last warm idea we had.

Every other time we’ve camped there, it has rained. No, not this time. It was too ever-lovin’ cold. It would have snowed, if that had been the case! Because we were camping in a big meadow, there was no electricity. So there was no hope of even a small space heater. Just two wonderful sleeping bags — rated to 20 degrees. I grabbed my book and little reading light to hunker down inside the bag and read, hoping the little light would put out some more heat. Bruce kept saying, “I can’t hear you.” Of course not, my head was stuffed inside a flannel lined bag. Poor Bruce is too tall to crunch down inside. He had to use the flannel blanket we brought as an after-thought to cover his head.

The next morning I went to boil water for our coffee and found ice in the kettle. Again — what were we thinking?

This was our swan song for cold weather camping. Now that our brains have thawed out, we’re finally thinking again.

Read Full Post »

Our New Secretary

We babysat Abby yesterday.  While her daddy took Austin to a football game, she came to spend the day with us. Besides singing songs with her grandfather,  she was interested in the dogs, the cat and the fish and the doll house.

Ginger is called the “good dog” because she doesn’t bark at little girls; Annie doesn’t earn that title.  She wanted to know if that “other dog” was in “her room” where the doll house is kept. She was and, of course, promptly barked from her crate when we entered the room.

I said aloud in the car that I needed to feed Raggs, our calico cat, when we got home.  As soon as we got in the house, she reminded me.  Later, again back in the car, Bruce asked if I’d fed the fish.  No.  Little Missy reminded me again after we returned from seeing Lion King.

Also in the car (yes, we were in and out all day) I lamented that I wished we had cup holders in the back seat.  “In my daddy’s car, they are there,” she said, pointing to the folded up arm rest.   I pulled it down. Sure enough. There they were.  I’ve only owned that car for five years. . . . sigh.

Need sorting out?  Give the job to a four year old.

Read Full Post »

If . . .

If I never again had to walk through someone’s cigarette smoke, who is lurking right outside the entrance of a store, I’d breathe easier.

If I never had to see anyone’s tattoos, on arms, legs or places strangers shouldn’t even see,  unless they’re medical personnel, that would be fine.

If I never had to hear  a baby scream or an older child throw a tantrum in a restaurant, book store or church service, then I’d smile more.

I quit smoking years ago so I’d no longer smell cigarette smoke. That hasn’t changed.

Remember when tattoos were private? In private places?  Only career sailors or carnival workers had them.  Those people were few and far between.  Now people wear clothing so revealing we can’t miss them.  And they seem to be everywhere.  Both the people and the tattoos.

I know my children occasionally cried or carried on in public.  Once Jim threw himself down on the floor of the grocery store because I wouldn’t buy him something he wanted.  I stepped over him and kept on going.  Faced with no audience, he hopped up and trailed after me.  The boys didn’t go out to restaurants until they were old enough to behave themselves. If we couldn’t afford a sitter, we stayed home — or asked Dale’s grandmother to sit.   Going out was special, not every day.  Children were on their best behavior or they stayed home.

What if people still did some of those things?  Would we all be more content?  I’d have to find another subject for a blog.

Read Full Post »