Squirrel Lessons for Me

            We have a resident squirrel at our house.  She provides much entertainment for me and my cat, Benny.  I am sure the entertainment for each not quite the same.  While I am admiring this bunch of active fur Benny is hunched down as low as he can get in front of the patio doors, slowing creeping, inch by inch, closer to the glass door.  Pure cat!  Squirrel saved by a pane of glass!

            I have given her the female gender because she is so busy, so storing up for the winter, even though the winter is here.  She makes me think of the ladies in my village when canning season is upon them.

  This grey little “lady” is swift of foot and keeps at it, back and forth from our woodshed to the nearest big pine tree. The earth is covered with a few inches of snow. It is a fair distance, out in the open, passing along a sidewalk, then an apple tree and sandbox, on behind the swing set and zip, up the pine tree. Sometimes she pauses on top of the sandbox lid, taking a breather, but always on the alert.  She makes this run while packing an item as big as her own head in her jaws.  I am guessing it is a dried apple that she has previously pocketed away in the woodshed in warmer days, when I was through harvesting my own apples. 

            It is not even a minute before she is back down on the ground, checking out a fallen pine cone or two and then a dash back to the shed for yet another burden. 

            She has to be brave, we have an outdoor cat with two kittens.  Maybe she knows they are a lazy variety as they often turn their backs on her activities.  We also have families of magpies that call that same pine “home.”  There seems to be no threat from that department.

            So industrious, so intent on what she is doing.  She could provide several lessons for most humans about how to conduct their lives, how to be successful.  It always makes me think that I need to be better at prioritizing what is important in the eternal scheme of things.  I admire her so much, I just had to write about her.  Hope you have enjoyed it.

Delight or Drudgery?

It is time for Christmas Cards, and it is a time I like.  This does take lots of time, there is the list of recipients, the writing of notes or perhaps a letter revealing the events of the last 12 months in your lives,  the addressing, the stamping, sealing and mailing.  It is not an overnight task at my house, the process has to be dovetailed in with the chores of daily living.  I always wish I had started to do it earlier, like some of my well organized friends.  However I have learned that whether early in the season or late, the sending and receiving is what is important, even if the card arrives after Christmas. 

When the mailman, or woman in my case, delivers a greeting from a friend or relative it warms my heart.  First I do some thinking about the individual who chose to send us a card, grateful that we are sufficiently a part their lives to receive a card.  Then I am warmed again as I open and peruse the contents.  Finally I want to find a spot to display the card as part of my Christmas decorations.  In this way I am reminded of the friend and our association for several weeks, depending on when it arrived.

I have yet to get this year's cards in the mail.  I do have the list out, the boxes of cards chosen and today finished up my annual letter.  I have wondered if those getting my missives will be bored by the "same old, same old," descriptions of the life of me and my husband.  I have decided that doesn't matter.  What matters is how I feel about them.  One has just recently buried her husband and I need to keep that in mind while I am in the midst of this annual production.  Normally she is one who just sends a card, no note, etc.  but I think this year I need to reach a little more than usual.  I wonder if there are some who have been seriously ill, or had circumstances in their lives that I might have assisted, had I known.  Still, this is the one time of year that we pause and wish goodness for others in this special way.

This year I want to feel like each card to my friends is like a birthday card for our Savior, after all it is His  birth that brings all of these good feelings into my heart.  I know He wants us all to come to the celebration of His coming to earth.

To Keep or to Toss---groceries

I read Prevention magazine.  Recently I was going through an article on saving at the supermarket and found it interesting to share.   You know how we are always being told to read the labels, to note the sell-by date, the expiration date, etc. so we can keep our families healthy.  I thought this bit of info might be worth sharing.


If stored properly, that means 40 degrees or below these items are still good.  Milk for a week past the sell-by date.  Eggs 3-4 weeks past the sell-by date.  Hard cheese (once opened) is good 2-4 months past the sell-by date.  Yogurt, 10-14 days past the sell-by date. Lunch meat 3-5 days past sell-by date.

For milk hit the dairy aisle right before checking out to minimize the amount of time milk is left unrefrigerated, and store it on a shelf pushed far back, where the air is coldest.  Store eggs in the original container on a refrigerator shelf rather than on th door, where eggs are vulnerable to temperature fluctuations.  Wrap cheese in moisture-proof plastic or foil; if the outside of hard cheese has visible mold, trim off the mold and a 1/2 inch area of cheese below it.  Yogurt is best stored at around 39 degrees F., a good temp for your fridge.  Don't be deterred by separation---simply stir and enjoy.  Store lunch meat in the meat compartment---it is specially designed to keep cool air in.

When I think of the groceries I have tossed, and of course, the money out of my food budget that accompanies it.  One thing I have discovered on my own is that if we can keep things air tight they certainly last longer, whether it is cookies or celery, the rule applies.  There, my tip for the day.  A good one for Thanksgiving when we have leftovers in abundance.

Just Thinking Overtime

           My brain gets a workout now and then, this is the results of one of those times.  It has been a long time since I blogged on this site,  I know I need to do some "fixing" so I will be more happy with it.  Suggestions are welcome.  I write all the time, just don't share,  so why blog?

           Sometimes I think being a human is very hard.  We have thinking powers and so are faced with decisions.  We are responsible for ourselves, we are responsible to others.  We have obligations to fulfill, we make promises, bargains….much involved with other humans. 

            Other living things on this earth are dependent on us.  Consider  the pets we enjoy---eat, sleep, roll over, play, entertain, show affection, maybe guard.  On a farm animals may help with work, or produce a desired product for the humans, but still they are cared for totally by us.  Plants are cared for by us or nature, wild and tame animals the same.  Humans----have it harder.

            We are connected to other humans.  We are happy, sad, we get hurt feelings, we argue, we take revenge.  We have to work to provide for our livelihood one way or another.  Sometimes we hate the work we have to do.

            Short of being a hermit, there is no other way.  It is part of the plan, our journey may be over cobblestones and full of potholes.  Most journeys are.  That seems to be the times we grow the most, at least when we look back on the potholes we have navigated.

            In the long run, life is good.  We just have to remind ourselves of that every so often.

A Day For Pioneers

Around here this is a day for celebrating.  In 1847 the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints had finally found a place of safety in the valleys surrounding the Great Salt Lake.  I am sure that when their prophet Brigham Young declared, “ This is the Place!”  there were quite a few that inwardly thought , “It is?  This barren, sagebrush filled spot, is the place where we have been led?” 

It had to be with mixed feelings that they walked down  the mountain canyons into that arid area, feelings of relief, gladness that their journey had come to an end, disappointment that the place did not offer the promises of any ease or luxury. In July it was probably a day to wipe sweat from their brows.  After all, these pioneers were human, they had crossed the Great Plains, the deserts in the tops of the Rocky Mountains, they knew eking a living from this sort of surroundings would not be easy. 

Some of them had been city dwellers, accustomed to a different type of life. They had traveled through Missouri, Iowa, etc. and had seen the rich farm lands of the Midwest.  On they came, following divine direction.  Past Indians, crossing deep rivers, noting the scarcity of civilization, just Ft. Laramie and then Ft. Bridger. 

I so admire the faith of those people, who set to doing, to living, meeting the many challenges that came their way  so that it truly became The Place.  After a few years they had made a spot thriving with education, culture and  many of the finer things that they had left behind.

Being a convert to the faith I cannot claim those Utah pioneers.  But I still celebrate, thinking not just of the Utah pioneers, but those of my own.  Settling Wyoming in the 1800’s.  Two ancestry lines go back to the 1600’s in the claiming of the eastern seaboard in Massachusetts,  Connecticut, South Carolina, All these  people had to have more than grit and determination.  All had to have a goodly measure of faith to help them carry on in the face of the things at that time in history that could deter them from accomplishing dreams.  All came with the hope of a better life than the one left behind.

When we step into the unknown, whatever it might be, it is a pioneering step.  The step will affect others coming behind us, particularly those of our family.  Today is my pioneer day too, so glad my forebears made the choices that placed me in this land.

Hangin' Out

Last week I had piles of laundry, leftovers from a large family gathering.  In the sorting process I figured I could be more efficient, and shave a little off the dryer bill, by hanging part of the stuff outside. 

            The day was hot and the sheets dried in no time.  I had four lines filled with sheets, and still more to wash.  The towels got the dryer treatment, more fluff than on the line.  This project took more than one day to accomplish with batch after batch.  It was something to look forward to, believe it or not!

            It felt good to be hanging out, even with the hot temperatures.  When I was growing up this was a weekly event, wash hanging on the line, all year round, even in freezing winter.  My mind was going back to those “good old days.”  Nice memories now, complaints on occasion in those earlier years. 

            Hangin’ out now has a different meaning altogether than in the days of my youth.  Being together with friends, engaged in something enjoyable.  I am glad it still can bring good feelings, providing there are the right choices.  I like hangin’ out, from either perspective.

MW????

Just what do those letters mean to you?  I take a homeopathic lettered with MW, standing for Mature Woman.  It is a nice way of describing those of us who are dealing with the hot flashes of later life.

            I was mulling it over this morning and thinking that MW could stand for lots of things connected with this phase of life.  The first thought was Mad Woman.  As the brain started rolling others came up:   Maddening Witch, then to be a little nicer, Magic Witch,  Maniac Witch,  Mad and Weird,  Mutated Wimp, Murky Wiles….well, you can see how things were progressing.

            From there my ideas turned to hot flashes and wonders on why we have to endure these thermal tortures.    Will the comments made at my funeral be influenced by the way I reacted to these intense flashes of heat at inappropriate times?  Perhaps  the epitaph on the marker of my final resting place will be,”  Just couldn’t stand that last hot flash.”

Leftovers....Again?!

When I started writing this entry the thought kept going through my head questioning,  “why are you wanting to write  about such a thing, weirdo?”  But the  doing of it was persisting so I continued.  Then the other day I read an article about how wasteful we Americans are with the food we don’t eat at meals.  Toss it down the disposal, into the garbage, etc.  It also brought out how much it is costing us in terms of dollars wasted.  Maybe that was the reason pushing me to blog such a subject.

Most of us are always thinking of what is coming up on the next meal.  Those who cook are considering meal preparations in this world of staying alive and eating happily.  I like to cook, but cooking for only two has its drawbacks.  For one thing, it seems like there is hardly anything there when you get done with all the fixing.  Another, why start from scratch which, without a doubt, is the best in taste, nutrition, expense, etc. if you end up with too much.  I like making “just a bit more” and have a bit of leftovers to work with a day or two later.  Another big reason is that when your spouse opens the fridge to see what there is for a good nibble, maybe there is something tempting to the palate.  I don’t know about you, but I have heard the lament, “There is nothing in this house to eat.”

Beyond the snack issue, using leftovers takes some creativity.  Most times it is simpler to trot out a recipe, follow it, and produce something marvelous, than it is to figure out how to use that bit of this or that to put an acceptable meal on the table.  I find it fun to figure out just how I can transform that extra into something different, yet still good.  Casserole, salads, desserts, all likely candidates for using that little amount.  Early in my married life one of my husband’s friends, on receiving a sparkling glass of liquid from me, said, “So, what have you got in here, besides the kitchen sink?”  He was smiling as he teased.  I admit, I probably “experiment “ too much and not all of the experiments turn out the way I thought they would.  Sometimes it is worse, but often it is better than I imagined.

We can think of leftovers in things besides food.  Is there someone who needs just a little of your friendship?  Maybe they aren’t on the normal list of who we consider friends yet a kind word from us would have meaning.  When we are just too tired to keep pushing a child on a swing, isn’t there really one or two more pushes there if we really want to?   Sometimes it is as simple as extending a smile to someone who crosses our path in the grocery store, or at a stop light.  Here again we can use our creativity. We have lots of areas in our lives where there is a bit leftover with which to work.

Simplify, Toss Out, Maybe

This is something that takes constant effort.  I am working on it, physically and mentally.  In the process I came upon a paper I had written for a Pych class in college.   I know, what am I doing keeping a paper of that vintage?  I had no idea I had kept it, my life story for the Genealogy 101, yes, but this class?   Well, for some reason I still had it.

 As near as I can tell it was supposed to be a case study of myself, analyzing  my habits, personality, etc., the causes of the same.  I shuddered  as I read  parts of it, wondering if I was really like that at the young age of 20.  Some traits I can see that I did possess, and I still possess---like putting my foot in my mouth now and again when something really gets to me.  "Surely I have improved," I say to myself---haven’t I? 

Actually it was rather an interesting read, seeing myself and my thought processes at that relatively early stage of maturing.  It was worth my keeping if for none other than that I had recorded a sentence or two about an appointment with an optometrist in Salt Lake City, discovering that I did indeed need to wear glasses.  My right eye saw things with a “blurry edge.”

            Now, fifty years later, having had eye surgery on my left eye to correct a macular hole, my right eye is still seeing things a bit off.  It makes me wonder if the condition  has been with me in a lesser degree all these long years.  My eye surgeon feels it is best to not remove a slowly developing cataract in my right eye in case that would accelerate whatever is going on in there.  This doctor, of course, knows nothing of this finding years ago.  I will have a surprise for him on my next trip to Idaho Falls.

            This is one thing I have been glad I did not toss, along with my life story at age 20, written for Genealogy 101. It is enlightening as well.  I hope that at least my writing style has improved.

Mother-In-Laws Are Still Mothers

Tradition has it that Mother-in-laws are interfering, obnoxious additions to married life.  Women in this role are often pictured as harridans, who feel that no one is good enough for their child, let alone be the parent of grandchildren.  Who would volunteer for that position?  Most women would not want to fill this description.  However, if you are a mother, and your child gets married, what can you do but become “the Mother-In-Law?”

            My choice of mil’s was very fortuitous.  As a newly-wed, she took me under her wing and began the teaching process of how to be a farmer’s wife,  teaching mainly by example.  Being a town-raised female, I needed this instruction badly.  I was her first in-law child and perhaps we learned the art of give and take of this relationship together.  I only know that it worked beautifully and I am forever grateful.  She approved of me, became a best friend, the forever variety.

            The lessons I learned were numerous: cooking, gardening, preservation of foods, getting that meal on the table at the time needed before the hay crew was due to arrive.  She was there in the grandma role as well, willing to give advice when asked, holding back when she felt it was none of her business.  She listened to my woes, my moments of confusion and frustration.  I knew if I had a run-in with her son that the place I would be most welcome was at the home of his parents. 

Our homes within a mile of each other, over the many years we shared our lives.  Pulling weeds from flower beds, side by side, I tried to soak up the wisdom she could impart.  She also let me know that she gained from me in return. She welcomed me into her family, did her best to make me comfortable in new surroundings,  and helped me form friendships in a place where I was totally unknown.

My experience of observing close up women in this position completely goes against the grain of tradition. As near as I could tell my parents, both of them, liked their spouse’s mothers.  My maternal grandmother lived with us for the last years of her life.  My father particularly looked forward to the results of her culinary skills, especially pies of any variety, his favorite dessert.  She took his good-natured teasing and knew he loved her.

            Mothers’ Day is arriving, my first without my own mother-in-law who passed away several months ago.  My own mother has been gone for twelve years.  I miss them both and recognize how fortunate I have been.  Hopefully I have learned from the lessons of the mils in my life.  Mothering, whether it is biological, in-laws, or just random, is a very needed calling.

Come Join the Ranks

I have joined the army of Family History Indexers.  It is so fun.  I was a little hesitant about taking it on, wondering if I had enough computer savvy.  Desire is all well and good, but there are stumbling blocks that one must be able to navigate.  I didn’t want to be sunk before I started.

            I have liked historical stuff all my life, always wanting stories from my parents, grandparents.  Census records are one of my favorite parts of genealogical research.  Through them I have discovered that one of my greats was the captain of a boat, actually a barge I think, and his son was listed as his mate.  Another find was one who had started out learning the cabinet-making trade and 2 census records later (20 years) was in an elevated position in that company, making very good money and of high prestige.  One young lady at age 20 was a polisher of glass plates at a glass blowing establishment.   I keep finding more and more about those who came to chart my path to this earth and they become very real and dear to me.   I am not even counting the relatives I have found that I didn’t know existed.   I could go on, but this gives you who read this a glimpse of some of the fun I have poking around in old records.

            Some of my searching has recently been eased through the results of indexing and it makes me so excited that I want to shout from the housetops.  What I couldn’t find is now accessible!  One of my daughters is also an indexer and she showed me the process a couple of months ago and my first thought was, “I can do that.”  : ) I am not exactly a techie so I need encouragement to get over the mental can’t hurdle.

            I always had hoped my husband and I would go on a mission in our later years.  I now know that isn’t going to happen and my yearnings for such have calmed down.  Indexing can be my later years contribution and, in some small measure, help others as I have been helped through this marvelous program. 

Being in Tune

         Throughout my life I have had many occasions when I worked at being in tune.  In my teenage life as a band member of our high school I knew the need of finding just the right pitch for my instrument to be in tune with the rest of the musicians.  As that chapter came near drawing to a close I found myself to be the concert master (mistress?) that played the note for each section, listened, suggested whether they were sharp or flat, worked to get just that right sound.  Since those days there have been many similar moments.  It isn’t always something that can be fixed with a small adjustment.  Listening in choir when someone’s voice if off-key, even just a tad, can make my teeth feel on edge, nerves fraying.  I can’t fix that, but I do need to overlook it.

            Recently I attended a symphony orchestra concert and listened to the tuning procedure prior to the concert, then again after a short intermission.  A change in temperature,  drying of reeds, lubrication insufficient---so many little things can throw off that unified sound.  Those who seem unable to find the right pitch can destroy the overall performance of a wonderful group, regardless of the hours of practice prior.  The effort  to be in tune is repeated over and over, until it meets as closely as possible to the wishes of the conductor.

            I have been reading Emily Freeman’s book 21 Days Closer to Christ.  It reminds me of how often we need to work at staying in tune with our Savior and His teachings.  Hopefully He is the conductor in our lives and has patience as we work to stay on pitch. Small, seemingly insignificant, things in our daily lives throw us off so easily and we cannot seem to find just that “right note.” Sometimes we go into a complete discordant overture!

 We are imperfect beings, everything won’t fix,  we are often most harsh on ourselves, even though we may blame others.  We may wander for lengthy periods without realizing that we are the ones who are out of sync.  Just as in music it takes repeated effort and reflection, a “good ear”to find the tone we are seeking. Then more effort is still required to cling to that soul enhancing feeling that lets us understand we are “in tune.”  For me it is an eternal quest.  I daresay I am not alone.

Where Did I Put It?

Been trying to organize much of my house, throw out, label, throw out, etc.  Orderliness is a state of being we all need. The anti-clutter is a good thing, it simplifies.  I believe this to be true and am aiming to get to that state.  However, I also know from my years of experience that just living in our society brings in much clutter.  Try picking up your daily mail for starters.

Paper coming into a household, even the necessary papers, start to build a paper mountain.  And keeping the info on the computer doesn’t make this vanish, because we all know that the computer fails and ‘poof’, there goes the works!  It isn’t all paper either that wants keeping.   Just “stuff” from living, the ancestor heirlooms of one type or another, the sentimental memory objects from our past,  our collections that are part of the definition of who we are…..and on and on.

  I do think I am making progress.  Some of you are blessed with organization talents.  I think that is not me.  I didn’t bring that talent with me to this earth, I am trying to learn.  Me and my activities, that part I can schedule just fine, the stuff, not so much.  Now I am attempting to remember where I put this or that in this latest organizing process.  My husband asks me where thus and such is, and I can’t remember.  When I had organized chaos I knew where things were. 

That isn’t the way it is supposed to work.  The articles, books, etc. on the need of organizing, simplifying and such, say that doing this will bring peace and contentment.  Frustrations from searching for something should vanish, smiles appear and life turns into smooth sailing.  That is what the organization gurus all claim.  When does this happen?  Will I have to wait until I manage to get every room in the hoped for organized state?

I am  now telling myself that it is just a new learning experience supposedly good for my aging mental capacities, if they do not drive me to the point of escape first.  Perseverance is my theme for this spring cleaning binge.  I know this isn’t temporary, it will be spring, summer, and on into the future---- once “done,” it needs constant vigilance to keep from lapsing back into past habits, etc. 

Rockin Party

When spring weather arrives around here and a field is newly plowed, close to being ready for planting, there are always good sized rocks that find their way to the surface.  Not quite boulders, but they are sufficiently large to cause damage to farm machinery that travels across the fields during the year.  My husband's solution to this has always been to have a "rock party."  Family and neighbors are "invited" to come help with the gathering of stones, limiting potential damage that might occur once he gets planting underway, not to mention the harvesting. 

A big tractor moves slowly  along,with a large loading bucket on the front, as the rock pickers walk along each side, targeting the biggest chunks.  They bend, pick up the rocks and toss them into the bucket.  It requires constant movement, down, up, toss, repeat. One also has to keep a lookout to prevent making a connection with the missiles being tossed.  When the bucket is loaded it is emptied onto a dump truck and it starts all over again.  All ages are welcome, no particular skill required, only willingness and a smile.

We have just finished a rock party, with only one injury out of the ten pickers.  A head wound with much blood, but applying an icy cold compress from the spring water that fills our pond tightened up the blood vessels quickly so that only the pain was present.

There is a reward of sorts for all the effort.  Besides the camaraderie that binds us together there is a weenie roast and s'mores at the end of the backbreaking work, visiting and the glow of the twilight campfire.  And there is a large dump truck full of good sized rocks should someone wish them for landscaping or whatever.   It is nice that rocks are now in demand for the beautification of property these days.  

When we first started this endeavor there was no great demand for rocks of this size.  You are wondering if we have never heard of those machines called "rock pickers."  Certainly, but we have never been able to afford one and thing of the good times we would have missed over the years.  Our children have fond memories, or maybe not, of this procedure and I am sure it is something they reflect upon from time to time.  None of them have gone into the farming business and this might have had something to do with their grownup choice of occupations.  However, the 15 year old neighbor confided to me this year that "this was kind of fun."  Yep, he's a great kid with the right kind of attitude.

Being Single-minded

My life took me to Cub River the other day, 'twas a soggy, wet, snowy day.  Driving took concentration with all the slush on the pavement pulling the car one way or the other.  I rounded a curve and slowed even more.  Ahead was a long column of turkeys that were just beginning to cross to the upper side. 

           

My approach did not disturb these birds in the slightest.  Single file, they kept advancing, one by one, not one feather ruffled, as they marched through the slush.  I stopped and waited while twenty-four of Cub River’s finest large feathered friends finished the crossing.  Only one appeared to have felt a bit nervous, jumping sideways and lifting a wing.

           

This single-mindedness made me remember that my aunt used to describe her daughter, along with myself, as being “one track minded.”  This was not said in a complimentary fashion.  My aunt was not happy with our being intent on carrying out whatever had caused her comment.  Now, as an adult, I realize that this being on one track mentally is not necessarily a bad thing, nor is it always a good thing.  It all depends on what is on that track. 

           

Those turkeys were nearly oblivious to me and had I been so inclined I might have been a threatening force to their very existence. (However I know it is not easy to run over these birds.)  We often go through our days rather oblivious to our surroundings, we block out any mental disturbance.  Sometimes we are so certain that what we have in mind is the most important thing, the most correct.  Does our single-mindedness cause us to miss worthwhile opportunities that might intersect our path?

           

At the same time, this same mental quality of staying on course is what helps us to accomplish much.  If we bounce around, rubber-ball style, at the end of the day we usually feel we come up short of our goals that we set as the day began.

            Seems to me we need a flexible one-track mind.  Is there such a thing?      

Yes, or maybe No

Why have I had such a difficult time to begin this "outlet?"  I have been asking myself this question for the last three months since it first occurred to me to become a blogger.(with an additional push from friends and family.)  It is something I had never considered for myself even as I have been enjoying the musings of others.  All during this time, and way beyond, I write.  Writing has become a force that drives me.  Somehow just the weekly newspaper column stuff, my journaling, my family history stories, these three outlets do not seem enough.  My head is still filled with extra words, perceptions,and observations that I find scribbled on the backs of envelopes, jotted on my car notepad.
Then there is this block of "what do I call the blog?"  I have batted a number of things around and this is what I chose, since it comes from my "noodle" and covers more of the whole kit and kaboodle of what makes me tick. Maybe that should be "tock" as I seem to talk much better with written words than those that come out of my mouth. Often I am the insert foot variety when it comes to conversations.
I am a work in progress, as are we all,  hopeful of becoming who I truly am.  Since this urge seems programmed within my soul perhaps this blog will help me in that discovery.  And, so, I am stepping off the edge of my self-imposed cliff.  For those reading I hope you find something of worth, something to enjoy.