Thursday, August 31, 2006

Uh-oh

My mother-in-law just found out we're thinking about camping at the racetrack Saturday night. She's already chittering and chattering at Hubs about going. It came out in conversation that my brother-in-law and his family are camping this weekend. So why isn't she camping with them?!?!?! Hubs even asked her. She wouldn't answer.

Skeet for Dummies


This would be my neighbor. This would be my neighbor at 8 o'clock last night. After dark. Shooting. What the hell is he shooting? It's dark. It isn't like he's shooting the random racoon or possum off of his deck... or squirrel for his supper. Unless he is a horrible shot and it takes him twenty times to hit the damn thing.

I suspect he shoots skeet. I suspect he does it with a group of people, either that or he has several guns loaded and goes from one to the next without hesitation. There are too many shots that go off too close together to be one person shooting, then reloading.

I suspect he's getting ready for the long weekend. It seems long weekends are made for him to shoot. All. Day. Long. ...and into the night. He has become the worst thing about living in the country. Him and his gun. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind hunters or an occasional practice session... but it is like Chinese water torture (not that I've ever had Chinese water torture)... one shot after another echoing through the countryside. Over and over and over again. Even the pups spooked last night when they were out and the shooting resumed!

Yeah, I'm grumpy. Tired and grumpy. Asshat.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Sometimes There Are No Words

My heart is breaking today for Helen.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

"Do you know why they call it 'PMS'? Because 'Mad Cow Disease' was already taken"*

So... I have to drive my Hubs to town this morning. He has his full-strength-caffiene-coffee-to-go. He is Awake. Morning is his time. He's fresh and awake and chatty. Have I mentioned I am not a morning person?

I. Am. Not. a morning person. I do not drink coffee. I used to drink Pepsi in the morning, but since I've been banned from it, I no longer have caffiene to stimulate my senses and get me ready for the day. I wake, usually to the low growling and quiet woofing of my pups politely letting me know they want to go use the outside facilities. They have internal alarm clocks that unfailingly read 5:15 a.m. I stumble out in the dark morning in my pj's and wait patiently on the porch, hoping this will not be the morning they get a wild hair to go running down the drive or play ... ignoring all my pleas and barking to return to the house. That is the extent of our conversation - "Good Dog" and "C'Mon...let's go!"...occasionally, "Damnit, we aren't going to play this game this morning!"

Back inside, I shower, dress, dry and fix my hair, and put my face on. Do the dishes (if I've been lax the night before), fold some laundry, make the bed, pick up the house a bit, possibly pay a bill, then I tell the pups "good bye" and "be good", pet the cats, kiss the Hubs, and dash out the door. After six years, the guys at work have learned not to talk to me... for at least an hour. They ignore me, beyond "good morning", and wait patiently for some alertness to dawn in my eyes. Woe is the man person who gets into a heated discussion with me first thing in the morning.

Which brings me to this morning. "Chatty Cathy" (aka Hubs) was talking to me all the way to town. Some conversation was repeated, which is fine... I'm known to repeat myself from time to time. A nodding of the head, a brief "uh huh" or "nuh uh" is required. I can handle that. But then came the moment. The one in which I am trying to talk and drive at the same time and he is giving me the hand signals. You know... the "I'm the passenger, but I really want to be the driver" signals. Yes, dear... I see the truck. Yes, dear... I know he wants to turn. I should go? I was trying to let him go first, I was trying to be the polite driver. Oh? I'm to stay in this lane? I am. I never left this lane. I wasn't going to turn into that lane. I CAN talk and drive at the same time... even first thing in the morning. (And he accuses ME of having A.D.D.!)

Needless to say, we did not end the drive on a good note. He made the critical mistake. He talked to me in the morning. We've been together for 27 years. He's supposed to know this by now. What? My fault? Me? ... oh... yeah, I suppose. Sorry, sweetie. I'm awake now.

*unknown author

Sunday, August 27, 2006

The One Where the Nightmare Comes True

So... have I mentioned I get anxious in situations where I am expected to actually talk to people? You know, live ones? I usually leave the talking to my spouse, who is one of those chameleons who can talk to anyone. Occasionally I accuse him of "dummying down" to get along, and he admits it, but it is a very effective trick he's perfected and it serves him quite well.

I'm shy. I'm painfully shy. I always have been. You'd never know it from my blog, or from my WoW friends, but I am. Deep within the bowels of a computer I can be a very chatty, out-going person, but in the real world? Not so much. At least until I get to know you. However do I get to know you if I'm shy and can't get the words out of my mouth to ask you the questions and carry on the conversation necessary to get to know you? Ah... Now you see the dilemma.

Fast forward to Saturday night. Being as it is a saturday night, son is racing and Hubs is with him. That's just the way it is. My husband and I both feel it isn't just for enjoyment that my husband be there, but also it's a safety factor. If someone must take son to the hospital, one of us must be there to fulfill that duty. I prefer it to be him... as he enjoys the racing, too. I am 'on call' however, to race to said hospital at a moments' notice. I am not fully relaxed and in my jammies until I know the car is safely on the trailer and the race night is over for my son.

Saturday night we were invited to a wedding reception. Hubs told his friend, who's reception it was, that he would not be there and why. I was going to go to "represent". First you must know that this is said friends' second marriage. He was reluctant to even get married again and they have been living "in sin" for about five years. They actually got married last week at the courthouse, so this has all been rather down-played. Nonetheless, it was a wedding reception. At a local country club.

I fight down my normal panic throughout the day. I imagine telling them I suddenly got sick. I tell myself that wouldn't be nice and buck up and get through this. I keep telling myself it will be okay to drive home after dark, that the law of averages says I've hit my one deer for the year. It will be okay.

I do my nails, I lay out my clothes, I shower, put on my lovely new slinky skirt, blouse and blazer and even wear the dreaded panty hose. Only another woman can know what I mean when I say dreaded. Thank god I work in a job (now) that I don't ever have to wear them. Thank all the stars in heaven I can wear jeans to work! I do know how to play dress-up, tho', and can when I have to. I put on my face, spritz some of my trademark perfume on all the 'hot spots', and brace myself for smiling and small-talk.

The first clue should have been the flat tire.

I go out to the garage to get my vehicle and see the tire is flat. Okay, to be fair, not entirely flat, but low. Too low to drive out of town to the reception. Fine. Hubs has ridden with his mother to the races, his truck is sitting there. I call and see if I can borrow it. No problem... except it probably will need fuel. It's a diesel truck and you can't get diesel just anywhere. Do I really want to have to mess with getting fuel? Dressed the way I am? Em! Is home! I beg her to let me borrow her vehicle. She agrees. Whew!

I stop and wash her truck on the way out of town. (You can never ever be seen with a dirty vehicle...especially at some type of party. This is one of the small-town-silly-rules.) I take deep breaths and check my map. Again. I've not been to this country club before, but am pretty sure I know how to find it. Piece of cake.

Thirty minutes later I am pulling into the country club parking lot. According to the invite, the party started about 15 minutes ago, but I figure it is one of those where people are going to be coming and going all evening... I stop the car, gather up my purse and the card (no gifts, said the invite), and wait, there in the back row of the parking lot, watching the other people walking in. Watching the other people walking in with cards in their hands and c a s u a l clothing on their bodies. Wtf? Maybe it was just those two couples... no, wait, there comes another one... jeans, no less. Oh, shit. I look at the invite once more, scouring every single line of print to see if the word 'casual' appears. It doesn't. Not once. Somehow word of mouth has gotten around and it is clear as mud that casual is the theme of this party. As I sit in my slinky dress and hose with my heart racing in my chest, I realize I can't do this. I'm having an all-out panic attack. It's bad enough having to walk into a.) somewhere I've never been, with b.) alone, c.) without knowing hardly anyone there, let alone to do it improperly dressed. Nothing like drawing attention!

This is where you can start cackling. Yes, I was a chicken. I called Hubs who told me I should just go in anyway and be the "best looking one there". Me? I turned around and slunk out of the parking lot, thanking the gods that be that I had a vehicle no one would recognize and hoping the three other vehicles who were coming in as I was going out was no one I knew - but of course, I didn't meet the drivers' eyes to see if it was or not. I drove home, cursing the ball of self-conciousness that is me, and wishing I could just fall into a hole. Home never felt so good or so safe. So... how's your weekend going?

Friday, August 25, 2006

The No Good Very Bad Day

Warning: Not to be read while eating or if you have a weak stomach.

I hope today improves. It has to.

I hit a deer on the way to work, less than 1/4 mile from my house. It came out of no where and by the time I saw it, I was squarely aiming for it's side. Amazing what damage going 40 mph can do hitting an object that size (it wasn't tiny). I had my "beater" car, and felt a big whoosh! as I hit... glass from the headlights tinkling and pieces of the grill shattering all over the place. One minute the deer was there, the next it was gone. Sitting at a standstill, I tried to get out of the car to see what damage there was, but the door wouldn't open. My nerves jarring, I looked out over my ... well, not so straight hood. I realized it had buckled and was probably pushed into the edge of the door, causing it to be blocked. Fearing if I got it open I wouldn't get it closed, I decided to limp it home, since it was still running. Steam was coming out from under the hood, but I figured as close to home as I was it would be okay.

I turned around, looking to see if I could see signs of the deer anywhere... hoping it wasn't as bad as it seemed. No signs. Maybe it was going to be okay?

As I drove home, another huge buck lept across the road. I watched it, to see if it stopped - perhaps noticing the other one, but it kept going. I got home and slid across the bench seat to the passenger door which worked fine. I walked around front and felt sick. The whole grill is gone, as well as the headlights on the driver's side and the hood is pushed in. The worst? It had um..."stuff"... on it. I'm guessing stomach contents. Looked a lot like chewed up grass. Ugh.

I call Hubs at coffee and break the bad news to him. Yeah, I'm okay. Yeah, at least it was the beater. Okay, I'm going to get my good car and head to work now...

I go exceptionally slowly through the area where I hit the deer. I'm hoping not to see anything. I realize that I'm probably going to see a dead deer. I steel myself for this... then, I see it. It's not dead, but it's not in good shape. It's thrashing in the ditch, trying to get to it's feet. I know this can't be good. After the way my car looked, it's going to die. Why couldn't it have died quickly? I'm tormented with that thought as I call my husband again. I'm crying as I try to tell him what I see. He thinks at first I'm upset about the car... then he gets it. He's lived with me enough years to know what's really going on. He promises me he'll take care of it. Have I mentioned I love this guy?

Today has to get better. It just has to. I can't feel much worse at this point.

(Update: He just called. The deer was dead when he got there. )

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Sorry~

Two long posts today. Be sure and read them both. I need some input!!!

Mind or Body?

I'm having a quandry. I'm trying to decide what I want to do with the minimal amount of time I have left in my day. Seriously, there is no minimal amount of time left in my day... and will be even less when the harvest begins, but I have a couple of things I've been debating on doing and I can't make up my mind which is more important. I think I know, but maybe I'm just too close to the situation. I welcome your input.

Option I: The Mind
From my earliest recollection, I loved music. All music. My parents would have Montovani, Jackie Gleason, or Andy Williams playing during dinner. I would sneak to the basement on Saturday afternoon to soak up American Bandstand on our 12" black and white TV. (Yes, kids, there were things called black and white TV). I had a little am radio that I would sit in my corner of the basement and rock and listen to until my mother would yell at me to get out of the house and go play...and from my earliest recollection, I loved guitar music and piano music.

I've told the story of ending up with a trumpet... and how years later in my adulthood I would finally learn to play the piano. Unfortunately, I've long forgotten all that I learned. I don't know how it happened, but lack of time led me to let it slip away. I've regretted that decision. Lately I've been contemplating taking lessons again. It just so happens my best friend is my piano teacher and she never pushes me a bit, but has said she can always fit me in. I would need to get the piano tuned... a piano that is much better than the one I learned on, thanks to her. We bought it at a ridiculously reasonable price when she got a new one. I've never really played this good one! It would mean hours of practice. If I do something, I want to do it well. It would mean spending more time with a friend that I e-mail each and every day, but rarely see any more (due to my anti-social tendencies?). It would mean music to feed my soul.

Option II: The Body
My body is junk. I'm falling apart before my eyes. I'm not the person I used to be, thanks to the passage of time, gravity, and a love of all things lethargic. I used to be in good shape when I was young. I used to ride my bike everywhere, walk when I couldn't ride, and was a skinny little thing. I remember those days of energy and boundless enthusism. Okay, I remember the days of energy... I'm not sure I ever was enthusiastic.

Everything I do, every hobby I have, involves no physical activity to speak of. I sit at a computer every day, all day long. In my free time, I ... sit at a computer... or, read, cross-stitch, crochet, rubber stamp, and watch TV or movies (some of these can be done in conjuntion with each other). I do the normal house-wifey things like cook, and clean, which involves physical activity, but in minimal doses. Same with gardening. I go in spurts, but in no way does it constitute long term "exersize". I walk my 50-lb beagle, but he goes slower than I do. I ride my stationary bike. A little. I fall down. A lot. Injuries to my ankles and feet and wrists and back are common. I could lose a few pounds... okay, probably quite a few pounds. At least a beagle's worth.

Now that Em (don't forget! she has a new blog!) has moved home and changed jobs to one less physical, she's been wondering about joining a gym to keep in shape. We've had some talks about it. Several years ago when I worked at a job on campus and a girlfriend and I who worked in the same office would go to the gym on campus after work. It was handy, being right next to our parking lot, and we would go in all pumped up to get in shape. This was the old gym, the one with the free weights and the weight machines that were not automated. We each had a weight key and lifting gloves and amidst the raging testosterone and sweating twenty-something muscle bound college men, we two middle-aged married ladies would try and make ourselves transform into something better. It worked for awhile, and I probably was in the best shape of my life, strength wise. I was getting toned and fit... and then... life changes and I got a different job and she got a different job and we no longer had access to the gym or to each other and it never fails to amaze me how fast that toned body can melt back into goo.

I had my doctor appointment Wednesday. My blood pressure is a bit high. My blood sugar is a lot high. My ankle is still swollen from falling out of the RV. (I knew it was still twinging a bit now and then, but didn't realize it was still swollen!) My doc is waiting for some tests to come back to see if she's going to put me on insulin. It isn't the end of the world, but it's a sign that things are getting worse. I'm too young for this shit. I love my family, my critters, even this stupid blog-stuff, and I want to be around for a long time to see how the story ends.

I think Em is going to be around for awhile. She's going back to school this month, and at the moment living with us. I don't see that changing for awhile. She's in pretty good shape (oh, who am I kidding - she's in GREAT shape) but has promised not to leave me in the dust. The gym we're thinking of has three locations in our town, plus one has an olympic sized pool. Have I mentioned I love to swim? As long as I can get over my phobia about me. In. A. Swimming. Suit. I love the water. I could use the exersize for so many reasons, and I know if I had my coach urging me on (and hopefully, I could do the same for her) I think I would actually use the facilities. These are all pluses.

Okay, there are the options. Discuss among yourselves and let me know what you decide. I'm putty in your hands.

You Can't Kill 'Em - Special Edition - You Be the Judge

Observe the following behavior:

-Name calling (not bad names, but cutesy irreverent names)
-Using things without asking (vehicles, tools, shop supplies, basically anything they can get their hands on)
-Never see 'em unless they have a problem or want something.
-Taking things that don't belong to them (in the real world, I believe this is called theft)
-Unreliable (saying they'll do one thing and then not completeing the job or doing it half-assed)

Now, is it just me or would all of these things rolled into one family piss you off? I've probably left a thing or two off of this list, but this is my brother-in-law and his family. The name calling? I swear he doesn't know my husbands' name. When he calls and asks for him on the phone, he's always got some stupid cutesy name to call him - always. C'mon people, at least one of you is in his 50's and the other one is in his late 40's. Grow up already. This is not a revered childhood name, just whatever stupid name he's thought up at the time.

The latest fiasco? Involves aluminum beverage cans. Here in Iowa we have a 5 cent can refund. You pay it up front and get it back when you turn in the empty cans at a recycling center (hence the term "refund") . The recycling center gives you a huge cardboard box with large plastic liner bags in which to facilitate this exchange. My hubs keeps one at his shop, and we collect cans at our home which he then may either take to the shop and put in the bigger sack, or just take in when he takes in the rest. A filled sack can get you something in the range of $20. It's worth doing.

Yesterday, Hubs walks in his shop to see the younger brat nephew lugging a filled sack of cans out the other door. WTF?

Hubs: what's up?
BIL: (nephew) is getting the cans
Hubs: I don't think so.
BIL: ...
Hubs: Those are my cans, I take them in, and I collect the money. I don't recall saying (nephew) could have them.
BIL: ... (mouth hanging open with dumb look on face - note:he does this expression quite well, has had years of practice)

Hubs said BIL left the farm a bit later throwing gravel all over from his spinning wheels. His mother was nearby (MIL). He asked her what (brother) was so upset about.

MIL: I guess something was said down at the shop that disturbed him
Hubs: Well, the last time I looked, I didn't go into town and scrounge around their place for something to sell.

I'm sorry if I come off being a bitch. I really am. I'd like nothing better than to be able to get along with my Hubs' family. Much as this woman has trouble with her asshat neighbor, I have these battles raging inside of what I should be feeling toward my in-laws and what I actually do feel. It seems every time I let the "good" angel sitting on my shoulder talk me into making the attempt to get along, they do something else to my family (remember this one?) and it just drives me right over the wall again. It's one thing if they don't like me, but it pisses the hell out of me when they treat my husband and family this way.

When my father-in-law was alive, this was his shop. His gas barrels outside. His electric, heating, and insurance bills. What he chose to do with his equipment and his building was his choice. As a father, he chose to open it up to his younger son to use. He provided his son with free fuel, and an open-door policy on the equipment. I have no problem with that. It was his son! My husband, the elder son, farmed and worked with his dad and he put a hoist in the shop to work on vehicles in the off-season, as well as collecting a vast amount of (not cheap) tools. Of course, he had no problem with his father using the tools and equipment as they worked together and it was a joint venture. Mutual respect.


When my FIL died eleven years ago, everything changed. Everything in the shop building that my husband didn't own, we bought from my MIL. Everything. The farm equipment, the shop equipment. Everything. We don't pay "rent" on the building, as such, but we pay all the utilities for the shop and my MIL's home, as well as the insurance. We pay for all the supplies stored within... the oil, the filters, the nuts, bolts, screws, and washers. Everything.

The first thing my husband did was to change the locks on the shop and put a lock on the fuel barrel, giving keys to only those people who needed one. We provided one for MIL (which she proceeded to use for many years, fueling up her car and mower at our expense), the hired help (one of their perks), and our kids. OUR kids. Who was one of the first people to complain? Yep...you got it. BIL. He couldn't understand why the barrel was locked. He complained about the shop being locked, so MIL made him a key. He complained that Hubs locked his toolbox, so MIL chewed out Hubs, making his life miserable until he started leaving it unlocked again. No, he never did get a key for the fuel barrel... although he tried the ruse of saying he needed it to fuel up Mom's mower that he borrows. Uh huh. Yes, we provided fuel to her to mow her yard, but you think we're going to let you take it, full of fuel, to your house... mow... then come back and fill it on our nickel? You're NUTS. I can understand your dad letting you have all this stuff, but c'mon! You're 40-something years old and you are NOT OUR SON. We shouldn't have to pay your way!

In their minds (Hubs' sister and her family are the same way, only they don't live closeby) it's still "Dad's" shop. Still open to come and go as they please, to use it and anything in it at any time they chose, without asking. Using the tools and supplies with no thought to who has to pay for them.BIL uses all the oxygen? Oh, (Hubs), you're out of oxygen. More often than not, he doesn't even bother to tell him he used it all... it's just "surprise!" when Hubs or our son, now working with him, go to use something and it's gone. It does no good to tell BIL to replace it... he just says his wife has his checkbook, or she hasn't given him any money, or he just puts it off until it's needed and can't wait for him to replace it. Trust me, he's got this mooching thing down to a science.

Obviously, he's training his children well. Me? I'm getting pretty darn tired of it. I've stayed out of the whole mess as much as possible, mostly because of some things that have been said since I had my breakdown. I just steer clear of him and his as much as humanly possible and bite my tongue bloody trying to keep civil. What do you say when your husband calls up ranting and raving because the "asshats" have struck again? Those are the times I bless the stars I'm an only child...

I swear, I'm going to go off on them one day... and it won't be pretty. What would YOU do?

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Quick! Go Look!

She's moved!

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

The Chicken House

A strange thing has happened at our old house. First, the landlord put new siding on. This is a miracle. Trust me. We had that house painted several times over the past 30 years and it never stuck. We had professionals come and look at it and make sure the painter had taken off the old paint right, prepped correctly, and used the best paint a large name-brand company can sell. No go. Within a few months, large chunks of paint would literally fall off the side. The landlord kept bemoaning the fact it needed painting and would procrastinate so years would pass and our house would look like some dump, on it’s last legs. It didn’t matter that we planted trees and flower beds and kept the large (5 acre) lawn mowed to perfection, because when the house has big chunks of paint missing, it just loses the effect somehow.

Several months ago, one of the landlords’ passed away and the family decided to hire a farm manager. For the most part, farmers will tell you those words “farm manager” are something that leaves a bad taste in the mouth. I don’t know how we got so lucky, but this one actually has a brain in his head and some logic in his bones. Since he’s taken over, things have run much more smoothly and things, such as the siding, are getting done – instead of just being talked about.

Now, phase two has taken place. The old chicken house and out-house are history, burned, buried, and covered with dirt… no longer a fixture of this farm. If buildings can hold memories, these two held a few…

The innumerable spoons and bowls that were carried and left on the hay bales in the chicken house by two little girls who were cat-crazy and who would take their treats out to share with the herd of farm cats that nested there.

The old tires that seemed to breed there… from things like old tractors, cars that drag-raced on the road to cars that raced on an oval track. Four-wheeler tires, odyssey tires. Each tire has a story, if only you could hear it.

The boxes of books relegated to sitting in dusty boxes, turning slowly to misshapen, mildewed blobs when windows blew out in a storm and the rains came in.

The boxes filled with old cooking pans, dishes, and household items that moved home once (or twice) with returning children who then decided they didn’t need or want those items after all.

The great spools of rope that lived out their last years in the old out-house. (Long-since unused.) A crack in the door allowing a home for wasps and an occasional lost kitten.

The little red plastic chair that sat in the bushes between the two… Almost hidden by the overgrowth, the ghost of a child whispering secrets to another in their shadows.

The pets that were buried between them in the flowerbed. May they rest in peace wherever they are now, buried far below where a saddened heart could dig with a measly spade.

I am a product of memory. I tie that house, those buildings to my life with my family. It’s where my children were raised – two of them born there, the other two since the eldest was four. It’s where my husband lived since he was seven. It’s where I’d lived the longest of my whole entire life after having moved several times as a child and young adult. As much as I love (like a lot) my new house, a big piece of my heart lives in that little old house. I’m not sure how I would have reacted if we’d had to move and our son had not been living there… if I’d had to leave it to strangers. I think houses imprint with the people who live there, and a shadow of me lives there today.

I miss seeing the chicken house, the out-house. Just as I missed the barn for years when they took it down, many years ago. In many ways it looks better, but in my heart there will always be a little hole where they, and the memories they invoke, live.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Monday Mutterings

As promised, here is my friend Michael's blog site. Unfortunately, it's on MSN, so you have to log into their system to comment, but if you just want to read all his good stuff go on over to Recipes for Life. He used to be a chef, and has lots of good recipes, as well as some great writing and cute kitty pics.

Saturday wasn't the best night for racing. Jon made it two laps in the heat race and ... wait for it... blew up his motor. Yup. Again. The good news is, he's found a buyer for his stock car and is now, officially, going to be getting his own modified. Will be nice to see him go 'round and 'round with his own colors and number.

The mornings are actually cool now... can fall be far? The fields are starting to turn and it won't be too long and the combines will be in them and life will get even more hectic.

The new guy at work started. He said a whole four words to me today. I didn't realize I was so scary. He left early. He better enjoy - he won't get that opportunity very often.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Odds and Ends

I gotta come up with a better name for these snippets. Open to suggestions! I know, we could have a contest... the winner gets... okay, nevermind.


  • I should have posted earlier that my ankle is just fine. I wrapped it up in Ace bandages (not the Wile E. Coyote brand) that my lovely DIL2B brought me (the nurse) and after a couple of days it was just ducky.
  • The roof was fixed in record time. It only took one guy one afternoon and he did it before the last round of rains came. Yes, it's covered by insurance. So far, we can't find anything else wrong. Amazing, no fire! We can find no problems with anything electrical. The ceiling of the shower will need to be painted with a stain killer and paint, but it appears the drywall is just fine. Now, who wants to go up into the crawlspace and fluff the insulation? Not me...
  • Eldest son is starting a new job on the 28th in the "big city" closeby. Will be a great opportunity for him to use his degree and he'll have less driving time. Bonus: his office building is right next door to his girlfriends' office building. Congrats, Honey!
  • Eldest daughter is starting a new job on the 5th! She just accepted today! YES! She can finally escape from her "BL" (boss lady) who drives her nuts. Moving to a small office where at the moment she'll be the only woman (welcome to MY world!). Have I mentioned I really do like working with men better... sorry, ladies. A lot less cattiness going on... At any rate, the company is small and they tell her they are pretty laid back, but it sounds like a great opportunity for her to blossom. Congrats to you, too, Sweetie!
  • The new guy at work starts Monday. I'm not sure what to expect. It's going to be hard to replace Chris. Okay, it won't be a replacement. It will be different. Hope he works out okay... I would hate to have to build that wall between our desks. (In-office joke. I've threatened that if I don't like the person I have to share my office space with I'm going to make my own "cubicle" out of whatever is handy.) He is huge! He has to be 6'7" at least, and giant. Looks like a football player. Or an enforcer.
  • A friend of mine (from WoW) has joined the blogworld. I'll give you his address when he posts something. So far, he's just come up with the site. He's really worrying about how he's going to present himself. I keep telling him he worries too much. He's a terrific writer and very intelligent and has cats! What can go wrong with cats?!? Will pass the site link along when he's ready... (btw, he's the one who did the shoelace poster.)
  • Just found out a friend is expecting a baby the first week in January. I tease him it might be the New Years' baby! They know it's a boy, and because his wife is 35, they've done some doppler ultra-sound and everything looks fine. He said he could even see the baby blink it's eyelids! My gosh! The technology just blows me away. When I had my last ultra sound you could barely make out it had a head or fingers!
  • I am hoping this weekend brings some much-needed self-positive reinforcement. I need to get the house cleaned, laundry caught up, print some reports for the tax-man to deliver on Monday, possibly work on my craft room and/or office, as well as some current crafting and WoW-ing. (I swear, I'm suffering from withdrawal!) I always feel better when I get some things accomplished. Don't you? Then again, deep in my heart I crave a jammie day...

Carnie

I went to visit my parents last night. Ironically, it was very much like going to the fair.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

A Friendly Reminder from a Friend

Fun at the Fair II

Random Observations

Those shorts don't do you justice. They are so short that your pockets hang out the bottom.

You are wearing that lovely straw cowboy hat with the red, white, and blue boa feathers wrapped around as a headband and stringing down the back. It would look adorable on ... okay, it looks adorable on no one, but especially a 30-year-old male.

The airbrushed t-shirt and matching airbrushed ballcap make quite the fashion statement.

Can that shirt / shorts / tank top / get any tighter?

Do I have to see your belly? If you had a nice, tight, six-pack that would be different. You, honey, don't.

I'm sure you are very proud of that tattoo. So is your mother.

Get a room.

Please keep your boob inside at all times. Unless you are breastfeeding. You. Are. Not.

Yep. You needed that turkey leg / corn dog / funnel cake / ice cream / fried twinkie / saltwater taffy / giant cinnamon roll / something-on-a-stick / pork chop / roast beef dinner / gyro / pizza / fried chicken / deep fried oreo. I could see you were gonna starve without it. (Disclaimer: I did not have ALL of these... only some.... and many options were left off the list.)

Carnies are hot. NOT.

Camping Fun #203

I have made breakfast. A lovely breakfast of bacon, toast, scrambled eggs. I have served it to my Hubs, my MIL, my son's future father-in-law, and some of my sons' friends who have camped in their tent next to our RV this night. Son and his girlfriend had to leave before breakfast, as she had to go to work and he had to work on the 'other' car for tonights' race.

I am now cleaning up. I use paper plates, but still have silverware, cups, and pans to wash. I have a very tiny kitchen in the RV, but I'm used to doing things in the kitchen myself. In our old house, I didn't want anyone else in my small kitchen because they would just get in the way. In the new house, my kitchen is huge and I can have people sit at the bar and watch me, but I prefer to just do the actual cooking myself. I know where things are, I know how to do it, and please just get the fcuk out of my way. The RV is the same way. Has a galley kitchen and is made for ONE person.

MIL keeps walking behind me in the RV as I am starting to organize the dishes. She heads for the garbage waste can. No, no, please don't take it out. I still need it. I'm clearing dishes. The RV doesn't have a garbage disposal, I need to scrape the waste into the bag. She walks back behind me going the other way. Heading for the door. This is good. This is a very good sign. She stops next to my elbow (within "oops!" slamming range). Being a good daughter-in-law, I keep my elbow tucked tightly to my side. Not easy to do when trying to handle an electric skillet and several utensils at once. She stands and watches. I scrape scraps from a bowl into the trash.

MIL: "Is it ready to go now?"
Me: "um... no... I still have dishes. I'll let you know when I'm done"
MIL: "I was just going to take it up to the dumpster"
Me:" yes, and that's terrific. I'll bring it outside when I'm done"
MIL: "there is a box out there with a couple of cans, too. I sent the rest of the cans with Jon. I don't want that money to go to waste" (we have a 5 cent can deposit here that is refundable when you recycle your cans).
Me:...
MIL:" I'll just take that trash out and run it up to the dumpster"

She starts heading for the trash can again.

Me: "Give me a minute to finish, then you can take it up"

She hovers, watching me scrape lose scraps into the bag.

MIL: "Now? It it ready to go now?"
Me: "not quite yet"

I'm starting to feel like I'm dealing with a three-year-old who wants to go out and play with their friends. "Can I go now? How about now? Now? NOW?" I thought I was through with that about 20 years go. (No, she's not senile. This is how she is. Oh, have I mentioned the whole pot of coffee she has just had to drink. By herself. Caffinated, of course.)

I get out the scraper and scratch off some crusted on food. I don't want any to go down the sink and clog it up. I'm not normally this meticulate, but for some reason this morning, I just gotta get every crumb. Probably because I'm being passive-aggressive, or some such shit.

MIL:" Ready?"
Me: oh, what the fuck. "Sure, you can take it now".

I end up putting a clean sack in the garbage can after she leaves.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Heads Up!

More than one post today... so be sure and catch them all. Wouldn't want you missing out on somethin'...

How Did They Know?

Your Blog Should Be Purple
You're an expressive, offbeat blogger who tends to write about anything and everything.You tend to set blogging trends, and you're the most likely to write your own meme or survey.You are a bit distant though. Your blog is all about you - not what anyone else has to say.
What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?


Sometimes Someone Just Does It Better

He said it all.

Tales from the Fair I

Dear State Fair Attendee,

My family sat across the sidewalk from you as you stood in line at the beef tent to get a meal of delicious Iowa beef prepared by the Beef Producers. I'm sure if the rest of my family had been paying as close attention to you as I was, they would have promptly spit their sandwiches onto the sidewalk between us. As it were, I was not eating. God looks out for us in strange ways.

Although you are a fairly attractive middle-aged woman, I in no way find it appealing to watch as that old man sprayed sunscreen / ointment / whatever on your sunburned chest and neck, then proceeded to rub it in with such tenderness and, dare I say, erotic? motions. Your shirt was low cut and he was very thorough... and the look on your face was pure bliss. To the point where I thought one or both of you were going to have an orgasm right in front of me. I take that back. You may have had one. Both of you.

First, I felt a little odd at this open display of affection. It was a bit much, but it is the fair. Then, he turned around and saw how much older he was than you and decided maybe you were trying hard to turn on your elderly hubs. What an *ick* loving wife.

Finally, to my horror, I realized that he wasn't. Even. Yours. He was with an older woman standing behind you. They were both standing behind you. They were the couple. You? You were there alone. Ewwww. Ewwww. Ewwww.

I briefly examined the thought that you were his daughter... but that didn't set well with me either, after seeing the look on your face and the way he was touching you. I think I'm just going to go with him being a stranger. At least that will let me sleep at night.

Is it any wonder the rest of the time I was watching, what I assume was now his wife, never said two words to him? I wish she'd have hauled off and smacked him. He deserved it. You both did.

Camping Fun # 201

Today's lecture was how to clean the shoelaces of your sneakers. Presented by MIL. In detail. It took a good 30 minutes of my life that I will never get back again. E-mail me if you want to know how it is done.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

A Moment To Reflect

Another year has come and gone. It is true, the older you get the faster they go. There's a scientific word for it that my daughter, who is the queen of trivia could tell you what it is, but I'm not that good and too lazy to look for it.

I'm another year into my job. I'm another year into my blog! I'm another year into my life. Most importantly, my husband is another year older! Yes, today is Hubs' birthday.

When I look back at last years' post commemorating his birthday, I didn't even know then that he would ever read my blog. Then I told him about it and the rest is history. Now that I know he will be reading it, I worry sometimes that I won't say things the way I should and he'll be upset or hurt. He thinks you all know waaaay too much about him. Maybe you do. Hopefully, you understand the spirit in which it was written. If I sound like I'm complaining, I'm just venting a bit... I should hope the love comes through loud and clear. I'm not kidding when I say I would not be here without this man. He's my rock.

To another year on the planet. It's much better than the alternative! Happy birthday, honey...

Sunday, August 13, 2006

A Little Piece of Wonderland

We're back. I'll get into some of these in more detail later (much to your delight and amusement, I'm sure...). For now, these are the highlights.

  • Jon qualified on the last night for the last slot to be in the main race with his stock car. He came in 16th in the main race. Still, he got $1,000 to qualify for the main race, so that's pretty darn good.

  • Saturday night Jon raced the modified. He won! I watched...

  • I fell on the RV stairs (the second day) and twisted my ankle. Par for the course. No alcohol was involved...

  • While we were gone, it rained at home. A lot. It also stormed. Badly. We found when we got home there is a hole in our roof the size of a basketball. Evidently, we were struck by lightening! It woke up Emily who was in the far corner of the house, but she didn't realize what had happened. There was water leaking in through the ceiling of my shower that we tracked to the roof. Thank goodness it didn't start a fire!

  • MIL is alive, no thanks to her.
Details will trickle out as I find the energy. It's good to be home so we can REST!

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Sympathy for the Devil

For some reason I have that Rolling Stones classic stuck in my head. More for the title, I think...

We are leaving shortly for our trip. Four days of racing, predicted rain, and ..... wait for it.... my MIL. Yeah. It's like that. Now you understand the title.

Alcohol will be consumed.

See you when we get back, assuming I don't kill someone and end up with Johnny Law.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Dear Driver

When you pull out in front of me, causing me to almost T-bone you, the correct response is not to smile and wave as though we are long-lost friends. Asshat.

The Full Moon Must be Upon Us

Why? Because there are too many unexplainable events right now.
  1. Hubs gets home from work last night and his garage door opener won't work. Worked fine in the morning, won't work at all now. I tell him to use mine this morning, figuring his needs new batteries. Mine won't work either. The button on the wall works fine. I go flick the breaker a couple of times. Doesn't make a difference. The repairman has been called.
  2. The satellite TV remote control for the livingroom stopped working. We have three 'boxes' and three remotes. Two of them are actually in one 'box', but they have two remotes and run two different channels, 3 and 30. Our house is wired so that you can watch any satellite in any room that you want, you just have to watch what the person with the remote is watching - unless you swipe the remote. Mostly I keep the one for channell 30 in the master bedroom, and the one for channel 3 is mainly used in the upstairs living room. That's the one that isn't working. However, you can use the other remote in there, so it's not the system itself, it apparently is the remote. I got it to work some this morning, but it's not getting much of a signal so it's going to be a problem. For me. I re-programmed all Hubs' favorites into the channel 30 remote so now he's set. Am I a good wife or what?
  3. At 4 a.m. the smoke detector alarm went off. Not for long, only about 5 seconds. Just long enough to wake me from a sound sleep and scare the shit out of me. If you recall we had this happen once before. Only that time it took me through the whole smoke detector life cycle to figure out what was happening with this nocturnal screeching. I am much smarter now. I will be buying new batteries and replacing them before the next 'warning' bell sounds. I just wonder why this manufacturer decided having it blare at you in the middle of the night was much better than a simple, quiet, yet annoying beep that most smoke detectors have when the batteries are getting low?
  4. It couldn't be avoided. Although the words have not been spoken out loud, in fear of the panic it will create, I have been informed that we will not be able to get out of having my mother-in-law go with us this week. Somewhere I hope God is writing this down in His little black book to use on the "plus" side when I show up at the pearly gates. Oh, and alcohol. There will be lots of alcohol. Diabetes be damned, I'm not surviving this week without it.
  5. Last, but not least, I'm a little under the weather today. No clue why, unless it was that damn alarm literally scaring my body out of it's normal patterns. I'll be taking it easy today and saving up for tomorrow's onslaught of RV cleaning and packing.

Have a good Monday. I'll be over here forming my little hat out of tinfoil to keep out the moon...

Friday, August 04, 2006

Welcome to My Garden


A small sampling of what my garden has to offer. Lilies, Daylilies, Buddelia, Russian sage. Flowering Thyme and Joe Pye weed are all visible in this photo.


One of my several roses...















....Phlox.....



...and some volunteer Violas... which I seem to have hundreds of in varying colors scattered throughout the garden....



Thursday, August 03, 2006

Missing: 4' 7"

woman. Yeah. Remember the other day when I said she was p.o.'d because Hubs didn't have room in the truck to take her to the races? Well, she's been "difficult" ever since. Logistics note: Hubs' shop is located at MIL's house. She has windows that look out on the shop. Generally, she is sitting in the kitchen at the island where she can see out the window and "shoot out of the blocks" the minute someone pulls in down at the shop building. We have threatened to time her, but never have. Even in the wintertime, it doesn't take her long enough to get on her coat and boots and leave the house - we're just sure she's sitting there, ready and waiting for the next victim visitor to arrive.

So, last night Hubs asked son Jon if he'd seen grandma. Jon said, nope... she hadn't been down. Hubs went up to the house. Dark. No car. No MIL. Hmmm... He tried to call her house phone later. No answer. He tried again this morning. No answer. This is odd. He called her cell phone. Finally she answered.

Hubs: Where are you?
MIL: I went to (brother-in-law)'s house to stay with (one of The Boys)
Hubs: Why didn't you tell me where you went?
MIL:...

He proceeded to chew her out. She expects to know every single minute of our lives, where, who, what, when, etc., but doesn't feel the need to share the same with us? The old double standard. Gotta love it.

Oh, and she hasn't found out about the races next week. Don't you dare tell.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

It's Good to be Queen*





Jon's race got rained out last night. No, we didn't get more but the part of the state he was to race in did. So, tho' she didn't go, she didn't miss anything.

Next week is the three-day race out-of-town that we attended last year. Like last year, we'll be taking the RV. We'll be camping. Although I've not heard the official word, I am positive The Queen will be going with us. The pronouncement should be coming shortly.

Things I am looking forward to:
  • More help than I need or want. Ever.
  • Sticks being picked up all over the campground
  • A guided tour of the grounds and facilities
  • The ordering of the removal of the shoes (It's an RV, lady... not your house! Oh, and btw, not YOUR RV!)
  • The sweeping of the RV every 15 minutes, whether it needs it or not
  • The sweeping of the fake carpet mat outside the RV door (see above time schedule)
  • The worrying of the chairs. (Should we put them under the RV at night? What to do with them while we're at the race? When we want to sit on them? What if the neighboring campers try to sit on them? Should we SHOOT them?)
  • The daily newspaper quest. (We're c-a-m-p-i-n-g people!)
  • The licking of the lips and the staring at the shoes (We still haven't figured out why she does this, but if she stands in one place more than 3 minutes, she examines her shoes and feet in detail. Maybe she's just trying to make sure they're still there?)
  • The interrupted naps. No, I'm sorry, that would be the non-existant naps.
  • The constant questions that have been asked and answered. (As I always told my kids when they asked the same question over again, "If you aren't going to listen to the answer, don't bother to ask the question.")
  • The alchohol I will consume
  • The movies I will get watched
  • The books I will get read
  • Forget the last three if she is anywhere in a 10 mile radius.

I really DO love the woman. I do. Really. Someday I want to be Queen.

*The Queen in our family is my mother-in-law

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

It's Raining!



It wasn't as bad as it seemed. I didn't really take a hatchet to my 'puter, but there are days...

  • Yesterday I just could barely face my desk, let alone blog. I tell ya, sometimes I just want to stay in bedHad a good, if short, weekend.
  • No, I didn't get my bookwork completely done. Thank you for asking. Yes, I made huge progress and should have it licked by next weekend.
  • Made giant strides in the world of home sanitation. (Didn't that sound impressive? It means I cleaned the house.) I even managed to spend several hours in my "crap" room getting some of my "crap" unpacked and put away. (This would be my crafts - of which I have several. Rubber stamping, scrapbooking sorta, crocheting, knitting, cross-stitching, painting - to name a few. Hubs has nicknamed my "crafts" as in "craft sales" to "crap sales" when we are traveling and it stuck.)We've only been living in this house now for two years... thought it was about time I got some things to the point I can actually use them! Unique concept, huh?
  • Jon raced on Saturday night ... getting second place again. Whoot! Unless he gets rained out, there will be racing tonight, also. The rain slipped in this morning and has been going pretty much all morning long but is now slipping off to the north, so I'm thinking he'll race. The gardens (and Hubs' "gardens") will be very, very happy. It's still hotter than blazes, but they're claiming it's to back off some in the next day or two. Whew! Hubs has been self-dubbed "the evil asshole". Jon wants to take his truck to pull the car trailer to the race and they can only get so many people in the truck. Jon, Hubs, DIL2B, and DIL2B's dad. Um... sorry... no room for MIL. Is she pissed? Uh... yup. Do you think she'll take a hint? Uh...nope. I know, my turns' coming - it looks like next week may be the big three-day race we'll take the RV to. *sigh* More on that later, I'm sure.
  • Also, late next week the Iowa State Fair begins. It's beginning to look like our blog and WoW buddies we were hoping could come probably won't make it. Darn. Nothin' we like better than to share our nekked chicken throwing and big butter cow. Hopefully, the cooler weather will come in by then. This heat wave is normal fair fare.
  • "Is this heaven?... No, it's Iowa." Yeah, you all have heard that one a zillion times since Kevin Costner made it a state trademark. Well, I guess he's coming back on August 11 to be part of the Netflix rolling roadshow and is bringing his band. (Who knew?) Hubs and I stopped there once on the way to a wedding but it was just a couple of years after the movie came out and at that time the neighbor had taken the outfield back and turned it back to a cornfield. No one was there when we stopped, not a soul, but there was a spiral notebook sitting on the lone wooden bleacher for us to sign. I looked through at all the signatures from places all over the world, and felt proud to put our name in there beside all the others. Is it a corny movie (bad pun)? Yes. But it's also a beautiful movie and I for one am proud it was made in Iowa.
  • I just realized my posts are starting to sound like Saturday Night Live's "Weekend Update". I gotta get a life, people! .... or.... maybe not.

    It Had to be Said

    Some of this is repeated, but I think it's worth mentioning again. I'm also putting this at the top of the blog until the end of the month as I want to be sure everyone reads it. This is not a "oh, woe is me" post, truly... it is more a "we're all in this together and someone better do something soon about it" post.

    As promised, here is my lesson in agriculture for those of you who didn't know milk came from a cow, bacon used to be Wilber, and what is out there growing in the field is not a.) sweet corn or b.) green beans (To be fair, in some fields there probably is sweet corn and green beans, but for our purposes today, that is not the discussion. Most of this can apply to all farmers, be it food crop, dairy, citrus, or 'other'.) Please read it slowly and let it sink in. Think about it. You may not feel this has anything to do with you, but you'd be wrong. You eat. One of those things that is pretty much non-negotiable in the human being. You may not eat meat, or you may be on some special diet, but whatever you are eating came from a farmer of some type. If it didn't, you are either growing it yourself (making YOU the farmer ) or you are living off the wild berries and twigs in the forest. I'm pretty sure if you're reading this, you are not the latter.

    In the world of farming, things are a little shaky crazy right now. The heat wave has hit and we're nearing 100 degrees and sweltering. We've gotten some timely rains (but small, we can use more) and that helped immensely. It isn't a "done deal" yet.

    Do you know right now how much money you're going to make this week, month, year? We don't have the luxery of knowing what we'll make from year to year, and payday being once a year. Oh, we can make guesses, but they are based on how much grain is raised per acre, and how much that grain is worth - minus the costs of production. When we start out the year, we don't even know if we would have a crop. Would there be a drought? Will some disease take over the field? Will we have pests that eat the crop? We do what we can to prevent such things, but some like the weather are totally out of our control, and if we do have to spray for pests that is another cost added to the production.

    As you are preparing to put gasoline in your vehicles to go to work and are in sticker shock about the prices, I would mention that we not only have to put gas in our pickups and small go-to-work cars, but in our farm equipment. Diesel fuel keeps going up, just like other fuel. Tractors easily burn 200 gallons a day while working. The cooperatives want us to fill our on-farm barrels before the price go up further. (We're talking thousands of dollars.)

    We purchase LP gas to use in our grain dryers. It, too, has gone up.... as have the fertilizers and anhydrous we use to produce a crop... they are made with natural gas and therefore the price has increased for those too. However, the price for our grain right now is at an almost all-time low. We spend more for a gallon of gas than we are paid for a bushel of corn.

    Everyone wants cheap food. People, more often than not, blame the farmer for any increases in food costs. Believe me, we are not the ones seeing the increase! The people on both ends of us are the ones that see the increases. Our production costs keep skyrocketing and the middle-men tack on the increases that you see. We get squeezed. Not to mention the cost of equipment and repairs. One piece of our farm equipment costs as much, if not more, than most of your houses. Let that one sink in for a minute. One piece. And, no, we can't farm with just one piece.

    Is your insurance subsidized by your employer? We pay our own insurance. All of it. It isn't cheap, but is critical as we also work in one of the most dangerous jobs there are.


    Do you think about the weather? Every day? Do you worry when the sky darkens and severe storm warnings are around that it may hail and that you will lose your whole years' income? Do you sit up nights praying for rain as the temperatures soar and the corn begins to curl up on itself trying to preserve moisture. Have you seen a corn crop destroyed by high winds? Yes, the grain is there - on the ground. You may be able to salvage some of it, but it is a lot of hard work. Will the frost come early and kill the beans before they've fully matured? Will the snow come early and make harvesting a pain and fall field work near to impossible? Will it rain so much in the spring you can't get the crop in... or will it wash all your newly planted seeds into the ditch?


    If we do have a crop, then we have to rely on someone in Chicago (the Board of Trade) to determine what our grain is going to be worth. Will China be importing? Will Russia be exporting? Will there be rain in Chicago? In Nebraska? In China? How much grain is on hand? What is the report this week going to say? How many acres have been planted in the nation? More than expected? Less? All these things factor into our grain prices.

    It gets nuts trying to figure out what prices will be and why. There used to be some kind of a rhyme or reason to that, but even common sense has gone out the window where marketing is concerned. The internet has even had it's effect. Now some doctor in California can get on his computer and buy 10,000 bushels of corn. He can buy and sell on a whim, in one day out the next. It's all speculation... it's all on paper. It isn't real to him. When he does this, along with several hundred of his kind, it can change the market prices and give it the instability that makes it so difficult for the farmer to determine when to sell his own grain. (Hubs has often said the way to cure this is for someone who buys bushels like this should have to take delivery of the grain. That would bring all this day-trader crap to a screaming halt. "Where would you like your 10,000 bushels, Mr. Doctor?")

    They've recently been putting up ethanol plants like there is no tomorrow. This has been touted to the farmer as a saving grace, getting the best of both worlds... creating ethanol to lower gas prices and less dependence on foreign oil, and a market for local grain. HA!! Do you hear me? HA! As of today, ethanol is higher at the pump than regular gas and the farmer isn't getting any more money for his grain than he is selling it to the elevator. Plus, the plant is such a prima-donna that it is closed half the time to delivery because they are "cleaning out silos" or "have enough grain for today" or some such crap. Again, the farmer is not seeing that fuel price increase. It's going somewhere else, but not to the farm.

    It's a good life, don't get me wrong. I love living in the country and some of the freedoms it provides. You have to be a very self-motivated person, however, which my husband is. He's done this his whole life, except for the four years he served his country in the Navy. You have to be disciplined and get yourself out there every day to do what needs to be done - and in the fall and spring when there is planting and harvesting to be done, you won't be home for dinner. Ever. They are long days. But it is good. I couldn't see him selling out and going to work for someone else. Besides? We need people like him. You may not see it, but that steak you had for dinner was a cow fed by some of our corn or the tortilla chips you had with your salsa - that was all provided to you by some farmer somewhere. We as a nation are spoiled rotten with our supermarkets and our wealth of food. The fact that there are people starving in our own country is another sore subject that I'll probably get on the bandwagon about at a later date.... but do not blame the farmer for that one!!

    It would just be nice to have a fighting chance at making an income that is reasonable. Yes, reasonable is all I'm asking. Not that I would turn down a lottery winning, grant you, but just to not have the stress and worry hanging over our heads would be a nice thing. To get a good price for our grain that would pay all the input costs and possibly give us some extra, instead of feeling like we're living from hand to mouth most days. We sold some land which may give us another year or two of a fighting chance. Once more we are trying to decide if we can really keep this beautiful house we've grown to love. (Never love anything that can't love you back, tho', as Hubs always says... so I like it alot, but still, it's a house. I can do without a house. Family? Hubs? Critters? That's another thing. But a home I can make anywhere.)

    I grew up early on in some small towns and later in a large city. In my years in the large city there were no rural kids to speak of. At all. We never thought about where our food was coming from. We didn't know any better. It wasn't a priority. When I moved to the country to be with Hubs, it was a whole new world for me. The idyllic setting you see in the movies about farm families... well, it just wasn't. You smile at your neighbors while telling lies about how many acres you farm and what your yield was. It isn't unusual to find yourselves in a bidding war for the same piece of ground to cash rent. There is only so much to go around and everyone wants more. In 1984 the movie Country came pretty close to the truth at the time. Farmers were being foreclosed on left and right. Personally, our bank was closed and some years were taken off Hubs' life during that time. Things haven't changed a lot since then... prices still suck, costs still increase. We're holding our breath hoping the other shoe doesn't fall and the "powers that be" will feel we've gone through enough in our lifetime.

    I just keep saying "how long can it be this way"? How long can we continue to farm with things so out of balance. How long can we continue with all our input costs being so high and getting higher and our grain prices getting lower? I keep saying something has to change. I hope the something is not less farmers. If that's the solution, everyone will suffer. Think about it.