Monday came too soon for me this week.  Anytime we go somewhere for the day on the weekend it seems our two days off no sooner get started and it is time to go back to work.  No doubt one of these days it will seem like I have blinked and suddenly find my self in full blown retirement wondering what happened.

Randy and I decided to go to the fair this year; we were celebrating our 8th anniversary after all.   I planned our visit around the foods I wanted to try–even highlighted where they were on the map.  Randy looked at me funny when he saw the trouble I had went through; I know he thinks I plan things to death.  Maybe I do.  Maybe I don’t.  Maybe I just like knowing I am making the most of the day and not wasting precious time that we seem to have less and less of the older we get.  I think it’s safe to say that I won’t stop, I’ll get out of practice!  I need to be ready when it comes time to plan for our assisted living center!

As we made our way up Harvard Avenue I thought I detected a note of preoccupancy in Randy when we came to the 21st street light and then passed the 21st street light without turning towards the fair.  Thankfully there was a sign reading Tulsa State Fair at the next block.  I think I had to say turn right here a few times.  Our little misstep didn’t phase our course at all, in fact, we ended up right at the west gate to the parking area I had highlighted on the map.  As we rounded the corner towards the lot entrance I thought I made it pretty clear where we were headed when I said “that’s the parking lot” and pointed to my right but maybe I didn’t say it loud enough because we stayed in the left lane.  After a few minutes passed Randy appeared to decide on his own that we needed to merge to the right.  Sigh.  It didn’t help matters that the person directing the onslaught of traffic was trying without success to let in every other car and things got a bit tangled.  Finally we got past her and paid the guy on up ahead who seemed to know what he was doing.  Navigating and parking done we set out for the fair.  It was fun! We held hands and everything!  It was like high school!

Our first destination was the Expo building; there were at least 3 food places I needed to get to.  We toured a modular home, spoke to a man about getting a home generator installed and had calf fries and gravy (I considered that my breakfast.)  It would have been nice to drool over some ATVs but there were very few and the only car maker in the whole place was Ford.  I mean, Fords are great but not everyone wants one.  We drive a Chevrolet for crying out loud.  Back in the day–stop right there–we aren’t going to talk about back in the day, it was too many days ago.

About half of the lower level contained the cake art competition.  There were scads of intricate displays like nothing I’ve seen before.  Pretty amazing.  I spotted the Frito pie place and just knew Randy would want to help me out with one but he wasn’t feeling it I guess, he turned me down but told me to get one.  I was afraid if I did I would be too full to keep up my momentum so I passed.  Outside the Expo stood the fried green tomato wagon but as I am standing there wondering why the lady isn’t opening her window I hear Randy back behind me somewhere saying “Honey…..Honey.”  I couldn’t see her waving me to the other side, there was a glare  on the window, okay?  The line on the “correct” side was too long for me so we moved on.  We stopped for a small corndog and limeade on the way to the animal barns.

The best part of the fair was the barn that had the chickens, ducks, turkeys and the expectant goats, pigs and sheep.  Judging of all the fowl was taking place so we got to admire the grand champions.  We stood from afar to ogle the Leghorn rooster.  Foghorn Leghorn had nothing on this guy!  He looked like a pterodactyl with white feathers!  Some of those man-size roosters had very guttural crows, downright scary.  And then there were the bantys, I love bantys, especially the little hens; the roosters often have the “little rooster” syndrome and work very hard to prove they are just as roosterly as their big cousins.  But their little crows are so cute, they wouldn’t take that as a compliment though.

After passing through the expectant mother row traveling the wrong way against the masses (don’t know how we managed that one) we hit the 4-H and FFA barn.  It’s great to see what the kiddos can make and grow!

The rest of the barns were disappointing.  They weren’t very gawker friendly.  It felt like we were invading the exhibitors space as we meandered through the livestock.  I guess they want folks to attend the arena events where all the advertisements are.  We just wanted to ooh and awe over the freshly shorn heifers, goats, and sheep not draw rude stares, geez.

After our last sampling (chicken on a stick) we decided it was time to call it a day and made our way back to the Expo to reach the west side rather than trudge through the midway.  We couldn’t resist stopping for a “tiny” house tour.  I could see us living in one of those cute little things, before the assisted living center of course.  We sure would have to rid ourselves of lots of stuff first though.

Overall we had a really good time at the fair, the weather was great too.

You would think after all of our sampling that we wouldn’t have room to go out for our anniversary dinner, but no no, this was my plan you see; we only ordered one of everything at  the fair so we would still have plenty of room for our favorite restaurant, Molly’s Landing in Catoosa–Filet Mignon in brandy sauce–to die for!

 

 

 

Yesterday I took Mom to a doctors appointment in Tulsa and as we were driving back after a luscious meal at Zoe’s Kitchen (our new fav) we were talking about the tensions and contentions plaguing our country of late.  She was quick to quote Isaiah 1:18.  If only that scripture would be applied and utilized in the manner it was intended.

Whatever happened to the old “round table discussions?”  Oh right, sitting at a round table gives the discussers a good aim at the others across from them and a direct contact opportunity to their right and left, hmmm.  Okay, maybe that’s not the best approach to “working” things out.  It seems there are no productive discussions or debates among the politically minded folk in our great nation.  At the end of the day it’s “I’m right and you’re wrong;” seems there is no neutral territory to meet in the middle.

First of all I would like to mention the all too frequent pitfall that I have noticed to accompany most reasoning discussions–lack of willingness to actually listen to the opposition’s dialog and content of their message.  Programs that bring a small group together to discuss the week’s happenings (usually journalists, news hosts and analysts) is a long time approach to civil political discussions, but oftentimes as one member at the table is making their point you can see the rest are just waiting for a break in the chatter so they can begin their own with a slight elevation in decibels.  After awhile it’s not that hard to predict what each person’s verbal return is going to contain.

Without reasoning, the focus of attention will remain on the conflicts and not on peace and workable solutions.  While a large population gives their attention to the controversies there are still folks out there that want to help the needy of the recent disasters and those much less fortunate than themselves and also to find some common ground with their fellow American citizens.

With God all things are possible, so if He saw fit to include the instruction of reasoning in the Isaiah passage it must be possible for people to do it.   Amen!

 

Fall is in the air despite the 90 degree temperatures today and Fall is my favorite season of the year!

Sunday we enjoyed a meal of baked chicken and dressing with green beans, gravy and rolls not to mention Pioneer Woman’s Caramel Apple Pie!  Taylor came over from Muskogee to eat and spend the night and Wes stopped  by after working on his truck all day to grab a couple of to go boxes for him and Emily.

Randy and I spent Saturday mowing and flower bed working (I think you can figure out who did what.)  I busied myself potting my new mums and cutting back the periwinkles from the sidewalk, no more Jake morning drama, struggling to stay off the wet grass.  Adding a little ornamental grass and some artificial pumpkins and gords to my little wheelbarrow planter, the porch now looked like harvest time!

Our anniversary is today and we have enjoyed 8 wonderful years together and we plan on taking a small anniversary getaway soon to celebrate; we haven’t decided Jake’s role in our trip yet, the jury is still out.   We are accepting offers to entertain him in our absence though.  His requirements include, aside from food and water,  a cushy bed, his favored treats, squeaky toys, help getting in and out of the house if steps are involved, and….it’s getting ridiculous now I’ll stop.  He’s a good old dog just a little needy.

 

 

Disclaimer:  I cannot be responsible for any reader that has an overt love of Dachshunds becoming weary with my wienie dog woes.  I understand that it may be a little hard to believe that so much would be going on with Jake that I could possibly gather enough evidence to write so much about him.  The truth is, I start out thinking “oh this will be a short post”, but by the time I am finished I’ve written a short story!  My apologies, but all of the accounts are true and I am sure if Jake could speak, write or raise a paw to indicate agreement he would certainly do so!  I think anyway.

We are back to summer days and nights again, at least for just a little while,  I hope.  It’s always a let down to welcome an early fall only to find out that it’s just a teaser.  The cool nights  produced a lot of dew on the grass.  One morning I let Jake out the front door for his first toilet run and went back to my bathroom to get ready for work.  Normally I no sooner get my hair washed or my scrubs on than I hear the familiar whine of him wanting back in ; a sound similar to a cat on the prowl and I have told him numerous times hoping it would shame him into stopping but it hasn’t worked, he doesn’t seem to mind that the neighbor dogs can hear him and are probably snickering amongst one another.  How embarrassing.

Stopping my morning ritual I went to the front door and Jake was not there, only a large wet spot on the sidewalk (he prefers concrete to wet grass, or any grass for that matter.”) In front of the flower bed that has just about grown out over the sidewalk I saw a rustling and then I saw Jake appearing to be limping, hobbling even.  Quickly assuming that something was wrong with his hips again I opened the storm door and called out to him and he just kind of looked up at me pitiful-like.  Still in my gown and bare feet, I went out to see what was wrong.  There’s nothing wrong.  Jake was simply trying to maneuver between the flowers and the yard and the limps and hobbles were his paws slipping off of the sidewalk onto the treacherous and wet grass!  He finally navigated his way through the obstacles and then he stood in front of his rather large puddle he had created that covered the entire section of the sidewalk that he had to cross to get back in the house.  He looked at me as if to say “what do I do now?”  Really Jake?

Before I could act he made the executive decision to trudge through the middle of it leaving wet paw prints to the door.  Ridiculous!  Not having this turn of  events penciled into my morning routine I hurriedly picked Jake up and  carried him to the utility room to clean his paws with Clorox wipes, he hates having his paws messed with so I thought I was really sending a signal  but he ignored me and went to his water bowl on the rug.  I’m sure his train of thought fell somewhere between a free ride to the utility room and mommy got to see him in all his frustration.

Jake has gotten pretty finicky when it comes to his treats.  His latest preference is chicken jerky.  Since he looks so cute when he is coming to fetch it out of my hand, I occasionally overindulge him, what could a little extra dried meat hurt?  One evening after dinner (and a few more treats) Jake is in his bed in between me and Randy, on the floor, in the living room and it is obvious to both of us that something is going on in Jake’s digestive system.  I found myself fanning the air with the couch pillow while Randy pulled his t shirt up over his nose.  A trip out to the sidewalk and the scary grass did not reveal much if anything that he needed to take care of.

During the night we awoke to a stench Randy could even smell through his CPAP mask.  Feeling like he was suffocating, he ripped it off his face gasping, but there wasn’t much improvement to the air quality in the  room even after a few minutes.

Randy too, became a little gassy the next day and was determined to blame the distinctive smell on the putrid air he inhaled the night before.  I agreed that Jake needed to sleep in his yurt in the utility room that night instead of his crate beside our bed (my version of a yurt being a  bedside commode covered with a blanket creating a tent-like structure.) Dachshunds like to burrow in things and be covered up when they sleep.

Okay, I gave Jake a little more than the recommended serving (maybe even a lot) of chicken jerky treats.  I knew I had to gain some control of this before Jake ends up (gasp) outside!  I know better, but I am a nurturer and a pleaser.  Come to think of it, I also continue to buy Randy his nasal spray that he has become dependent on.  That’s it, I’ve become an enabler.  I confess, I’m an enabler, there I’ve said it.

This past Friday I had a lot going on including a doctor’s appointment and steam cleaning the carpet that was overdue.  After I got back home from the doctor visit, tearing into some tacos was next on my schedule before beginning my big task of the day.  Jake stood motionless and staring as I ate so I slipped him a piece of shell or two, or three looking around as if someone might be watching me.  No guilty conscience here.

Running the vacumn cleaner was once a challenge with Jake in the house.  The second the on lever was pressed he would commence to attacking the vile machine with all the ferociousness a wienie dog could muster.    These days he makes a few lame attempts at biting it into submission but usually just succeeds in getting in my way.  Friday was no exception but I also had the steam cleaner out and running as well.  For a dog that does not want to place his delicate paws on wet grass, has no qualms about traipsing through the wet carpet and tile and to create little wet dirty trails throughout the house.  He seemed to get bored a couple of times and went to lay  in his kitchen bed for a little while and then he was back,  behind me, beside me, tangled up in the cord and moving out front to make sure I knew he was there to help out.  Maybe he was just hoping to solicit for an extra treat or two, I don’t know exactly.

I haven’t tackled the nasal spray dilemma yet but I have a different approach to the chicken treat indulgence.  In the dog isle at Walmart, I was studying the ingredients on the doggie treat bags and discovered that duck jerky treats have quite a bit less fat in them than chicken ones.  Jake’s veterinarian had discussed with me about keeping the level of fat content down in his diet and not feed him human food AT ALL.  So there it was, the REAL reason for Jake’s intestinal infirmities–the fat.  I  tossed them in the basket feeling much better about my enabling offenses.  But wait, there is still a serving size listed there under the nutrition information.  I can see the recovery process taking a little time for me and Jake to work through but I’m going to have faith that we will prevail.

 

Labor Day weekend has officially came and went. Overall I would say things went quite well. Our daughter, Taylor arrived Friday afternoon, me following shortly behind after a trip to the grocery store for weekend meal shopping. I was looking forward to having 3 days off and had plans to cook up something really good. I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t make a decision on what. After too much time was spent on trying to figure it out (how hard could it be to decide between chicken enchiladas and spaghetti and meatballs?) Randy suggested we just get take out, sounded good to me, indecisiveness makes me tired.

Ordering take out should be pretty simple since Okmulgee is not the size of town to offer a large array of eateries. Our first choice was the 102 Restorante but we discovered after several attempts to find an online updated menu that our two favorite dishes were no longer being served. As time was ticking away, we had to complain amongst ourselves about the loss of our beloved prime rib and smoked salmon and caper pasta. Our second choice was the place just next door to our first choice, Morty’s, where Randy and I had some really good fish and chips and a seafood platter. It was settled on rather quickly and I dialed the number just to get a busy signal. After 20 more minutes and numerous redials we conceded that they were losers and didn’t need our business. I offered to whip up the enchiladas but Randy said he didn’t want to be eating his dinner at bedtime, we were getting a little testy. Since I had the goods for a Mexican meal I didn’t think it would be the best idea to order from El Tapitios so to save time and further frustration I ordered Dominos online and it arrived promptly. Having dinner on a Friday before a holiday weekend shouldn’t take so much time or suck the life out of you.

I don’t know if it was my growling innards or the expertize of the cook at Dominos but my veggie sandwich was amazing, I’m going to choose the latter. The pizza and spinach feta bread was extra good too, Randy and Taylor agreed but then again, we were all starving and irritable.

With no real plans we thought a second go at getting in to the Mercantile in Pawhuska was a plan worth considering. We had taken my mom and Taylor a few months back and left town without even entering the building because of the huge lines out front. Randy rousted Taylor, we had waffles and set out for our day trip. Taylor wanted to drive the Equinox so Randy settled in the back for the rare passenger and gawker experience but this also made him the official “back seat driver” if needed so I wasn’t sure how that was going play out.

First on our stop list was a meat market in Tulsa. Randy had put in a request to have bison steaks for a cookout and after some research I located one that wasn’t too far off our path. As we got closer to the market the area began to look a little shady so all three of us went in together. As it turned out, they sold bison steaks but they were in a little box and frozen; not what we had in mind. This is Oklahoma! You know, where the buffalo roam?! We stalked out, loaded up and listened to Google Maps “Samantha” tell us repeatedly how to get out of there.

The remainder of the drive was uneventful (not even any driving commands barking from the backseat) and we enjoyed the scenery of rolling hills, old barns and thriving soybean fields. Once we arrived in Pawhuska the scene changed dramatically. The Pioneer Woman’s hometown was swarming with people and their cars. The Mercantile had only one long line instead of two like before and it appeared like we might be able to make our way in to the store at least. Taylor found a spot to park in across the street in a little Mercantile only parking lot and we strolled over to the stop light to cross the street. I started to just look both ways and make a beeline for the store but Randy stopped me and said we better go to the corner like everyone else and get the go ahead for crossing. Who would have thought jay walking could be deadly in Pawhuska, OK?

A friendly lady welcomed us at the door and we commenced to perusing all the clever displays and unique items.  After we had shopped the store out we noticed the seating for the restaurant was not very large and realized we could be spending a considerable amount of time waiting outside and it had become quite hot out. As much as we wanted to try the chicken fried steak and other irresistable items on the menu the decision was unanimous to move on and get something on our way home. Although our trip , once again, was incomplete we knew there would be a third attempt in our future so no one was mad or anything.

The next day was mowing day for Randy.  I got around early and went back to the grocery store to grab some beef steaks (we didn’t find any bison.)  Josh, our eldest son and our daughter-in-law Robin were coming for the cookout on Labor Day. The youngest, Wes, and his girlfriend Emily were on a holiday hiatus to Davis, OK so they would be missing out on all the fun (like they wouldn’t be having any going to Turner Falls and the fried pie place.)

I know better than to go to Walmart on a holiday weekend but I had a plan to create the portable chicken run and I needed bicycle training wheels to make it happen. After escaping the Walmart parking lot I hurriedly put away the food and paraded out to the shed with the training wheels where my potato rack is. Randy had made it last year out of 2x4s and chicken wire. All it needed was wire stapled to the sides and the wheels to make it portable! By the time Randy finished mowing, I was having complications with the mounting of the wheels and sweating because the sun was beating down on that end of the shed. Randy wanted to know why I hadn’t just drug the rack into the shop where the big fan was and plus I wouldn’t have to make so many trips back and forth trying to get the right tools. I didn’t have a good answer for that one.

Within minutes he had the wheels properly mounted with little help from me. As I was wrangling a roll of chicken wire a family of yellow jackets did not take kindly to my rummaging about their space and sent one of their kin out to teach me a lesson. I’m not sure what all I yelled but I’m sure I don’t want to repeat it. The back of my leg felt like it had been skewered by a hot welding rod! Randy had cut down a little tree growing in the garden fence a few days before and had gotten stung on the thumb. He thought the yellow jackets would vacate the nest once it was on the ground and dead so he tossed it under the shed lean to. They didn’t. They stayed. They conquered.

The potato rack with the training wheels was easy for us to roll in the back yard under a shade tree. I headed back to the shed and found another roll of wire inside avoiding the mad yellow jackets. It didn’t take long for Randy to realize that I was probably going to make a mess of things with the staple gun. Just for the record, staple guns obviously are intended for only strong men with large forearms to operate. He took it from me and had the wire quickly stapled to the boards in what would have taken me hours to do.  My right hand was sore the next morning reminding me where my strengths don’t lie.  Just for the record, Randy complained of his right hand having cramps, just saying.

We wheeled the run out behind the fence and put the hens in it.  They scratched around happy to be in the grass.  Rocky the rooster didn’t get to go in the run with the “girls”,  we knew he wouldn’t wander off anywhere with them confined.  He stayed behind in the yard instead of going through the gate out back.  I didn’t really want him in the yard because of the potential to cause unsightlyness to areas of the grass not to mention my flowers and herbs.  As Taylor was coming out to join us, me and Randy were trying to herd Rocky out of the yard and it wasn’t going very smoothly.  She watched the rooster rodeo from the lawn chair.  Rocky refused to go through the gate.  You would think he would be eager to get as far away from us as possible.  We gave up and plopped down in our chairs to rest.  Taylor said she wished she had her phone to record the whole thing but I was glad she didn’t have it.  Josh and Robin arrived a little later just missing the show.  I am sure they would have had some helpful tips on herding roosters but we were over it by then.

Steaks and freshly made pesto with pasta was on the menu along with Italian bread topped with grilled homegrown Italian bell peppers, eggplant and mozzarella.  Taylor sat at the table plucking basil leaves from bushes I had just clipped.  She encountered several “critters” among the leaves including a cute little snail.  She didn’t think it was very cute, just slimy.  I took the stem it was on and placed it back in the basil planter.  Robin accepted the sous chef position and sliced and diced at the kitchen cart the peppers we needed for grilling while Josh and Randy jockeyed for the master griller spot out back.

Dinner was delicious and we had a great visit.  The kids dispersed and Randy and I were left with Jake and the chickens.  I guess all of the activity was a little too much for Jake.

 

 

 

Labor Day Weekend is nearly upon us and our amazing weather is still here!  I really want a portable chicken run for my hens.  They have a pretty awesome coop with a pen that Randy built them but I would like to let them out in the yard to scratch and peck on nice days, I think it would be therapeutic for them!

It had been many years since I had chickens and I forgot what a mess they make of your yard.  All I knew was that I enjoyed sitting out under the shade in the back yard watching them forage away.  It wasn’t long before they had an area of the yard that had been invaded by moles looking like wild hogs had frolicked in it.  Randy is just as particular about his lawn as my dad is so I knew I had to act quickly or he would take charge.  I thought I had cleverly devised a plan to deter them–cover the area with chicken wire so they couldn’t carry out any more of their excavation projects.  It worked to keep Jake from digging under the chain link fence when we first moved there.  Two words….silly me.

Chickens do not give up their scratching antics easily.  They were successful at making their way around the edges of the wire until fresh dirt full of goodies was unearthed all over.  We had to make a decision fast if our yard was going to be salvaged.  It would  become a wasteland with a few pieces of bark and dried up Bermuda roots scattered around in a matter of days if we didn’t do something.  The chickens had to be locked up in their pen, including “Tiny” our little Banty speckled hen, she was very small but just as guilty at reeking havoc on the lawn.

That was last winter and the chickens are looking weary of being “cooped” up.  They sense immediately when I am opening the back door to come out towards the pen, they stop what they are doing and scramble over to the yard side of the fence anticipating what I might be bringing them.  They are hoping for something green since whenever I open the pen door they try to sneak past me to snatch a blade of grass.  Feeling sorry for them, I started pulling up whatever long grass (especially those with seeds attached) that Randy hasn’t mowed down and toss it in with their scratch grain and scraps.

A portable run can be moved wherever you don’t mind chicken scratching.  I hope this will also help with “Frankie’s” brooding urges, although I’m not sure anything helps that.  We are considering ridding ourselves of “Rocky” the rooster, although I don’t believe that has any affect on broodiness either.  Tiny was notorious for wanting to raise a little chick family (she passed away a few months ago) and became the pecking target of the big chickens when she would come out to eat or drink, even by Rocky, I haven’t cared much for him since.  I think they need a change of scenery, new dietary prospects and  their dispositions should improve and we can, once again, sit in our lawn chairs and watch them be content.

Here is an example of what I would like to purchase or make (I being me when buying, I being Randy when constructing.)

 

It is unusually pleasant in Oklahoma for August and I love it!  I was off yesterday so I told Jake we should go visit his grandparents (aka my mom and dad), he just looked at me while I ate my breakfast sandwich wondering I guess when he would be getting his second treat.  I could use a little feedback from time to time when consulting with him but he only doles out his opinions in whines, perked ears or sad eyes but mostly blank stares.    As I put on his harness he got really excited knowing something was getting ready to happen!  He didn’t seem to care what, just that he was going to be in on it and it might involve going somewhere. Yippee!

I realized, on the way to Dad’s, when I reached Henryetta that I didn’t have the proper change for the toll gate so I made a quick lane change, turned onto Main Street and circled the block to head east on the county road that leads through the old familiar countryside where I grew up and eventually would take us to Dad’s house the “back way.”  I like to avoid the toll gate on the Indian Nation Turnpike anyway; they have remodeled the whole thing by dozing down the McDonalds (another reason to avoid the area, you can’t get any food there) and a busy convenient store.  Jake didn’t seem to mind the abrupt change in course, he was too busy biting his bed, it’s what he does when his anxiety makes a showing.  I told him to stop doing that and he just looked over his shoulder and gave me the blank stare as if he didn’t recognize his own name or my tone of voice.

It was evident that the neighborhood armadillos had paid Dad a visit the night before as we pulled up to his house.    His manicured lawn was riddled with holes.  Jake sniffed each one when I got him out of the car.  I’m sure he wanted to make sure that “Grandpa” was safe from the creatures while he was there anyway.  The three of us had a nice visit, we had some lunch, Jake steadily paced the floor and I had to fix a few things on Dad’s phone.  He warned me that the toll gate might not work properly but said I could call the number posted where you drop your money and they wouldn’t send me a ticket.  I hadn’t told him that I didn’t have the correct change because I knew he would give it to me.

More times than not when passing through the new attendant-free toll booths on number 9 highway they won’t give you the green light, but they love to give you the red light and loud bell ringing if you continue on your way after dropping your money in the thing.  Taking this route before the big renovation was always a pretty pleasant experience, there were friendly attendants glad to make change for you and tell you to have a great day.  Now here I am preferring to drive my new car on a dusty pig trail of a road just to avoid the whole scene.

We said bye to Dad and struck out on the “back way” towards Henryetta and Mom’s house.   I had turned Jake’s bed sideways before we left because he kept hanging over the edge while he was biting it.  Once we were back on highway 75 I had to make a quick turn across traffic just north of town to make my way to Wilson Road and to Mom’s.  I guess it caught Jake ill prepared and he got dumped in the floor head first.  While he righted himself I pulled over, got out and rushed over to put him back in his bed.  He wouldn’t look at me the rest of the way.

Jake’s “Granny” was glad to see us.  She didn’t know we were coming because my  phone doesn’t like the cell towers around that area and I hadn’t called her before we left Okmulgee.  Jake and Lucy (Mom’s miniature Dachshund) sniffed each others butts, but that was the end of their friendly interaction.  Mom banished Lucy to her crate because she got a little gruff with Jake and Granny wasn’t having any of that!

Jake made round after round on the kitchen floor as we gabbed, pondered new recipes, and I fixed a few things on her phone.  She had 6 calendars up on her home screen! What gives, Mom?  She didn’t know.  There was an extra messaging app I had to get rid of too.  We laughed and she reminded me that at least her and Dad could provide me with plenty of fodder for my stories.

As we walked out to the driveway Jake had strolled on ahead of us and was under the car.  I told him it was time to tell Granny bye but he just stood there peering out at me reluctant to move from his spot.  Surely he wasn’t still mad about getting dumped in the floor.  Finally after several mini steps he came out and we headed home.

Randy had beat us to the house and we sat out on the patio enjoying the nice breeze while Jake continued his pacing about.  I asked him if he wanted to go inside and rest, nothing.  Surely he could understand the word “inside” of all words, it’s his favorite place to be after all!

Randy and I had a lighthearted discussion last weekend about Jake and his seemingly inability to understand us.  He suggested that maybe Jake only understands German.  While we were in Manitou Springs, Colorado with Jake last year we noticed a cute store front window that had a doormat with a Dachshund on it.  Closer inspection revealed the word Dachshund at the top and “German for pain in the —-” at the bottom.  That certainly describes Jake to a tee!  So Randy looked down at Jake in his bed and said “Frankennuggen.” He doesn’t speak any German, he made it up hoping to recruit some kind of response but it didn’t work.  We have come to the conclusion that Jake must have selective comprehension.  We can prove this; after careful experiments we can simply say the word “treat” and his ears perk and he looks like a little puppy again.  Enough said.

 

 

I was listening to a conversation between a Christian radio host and two congressmen on my way to work one morning; they were discussing the unrest and hatred that recent protests have fueled.  One of the congressmen reminded the listeners that, from a politician’s experience, interviews we see on TV regarding such topics are not always what they seem.  The rhetoric  becomes heated due to the differences in opinions but that when the interviews are over and the cameras are off they often make plans to have lunch or dinner together because they are friends or colleagues.  The viewers only see the apparent animosity between the two and assume they storm off angry with one another.

He stated the importance of I Corinthians 13 and emphasized that it is a key scripture not only for marriages but also for the way we live our daily lives.

 

My herbs before their haircut.

I think I’m becoming a bit unhinged in my otherwise normal state of mind.  With all the hacking that takes place in the world these days, I am immediately suspicious when we have a power outage.  Lights out and the wheels of paranoia begin to turn.

We have lived in our present home for 4 1/2 years and until recently, have never had an issue with our electric other than the occasional thunderstorm causing an obvious but temporary interruption in service.  However, in the last 3 weeks we have had one outage per week with each lasting a minimum of 2 hours.  Randy or I will immediately report it to our electric company and they will respond with a text and a time estimate of restoration (always 4 hours and always immediate.)  How could they know that quickly how long it’s going to take to fix it when they aren’t sure where the problem is exactly? Hmmm.

Sometimes the electric company’s system will even text after the power has been restored to tell us what happened and sometimes not (the second outage was supposedly an animal of some sort loitering where it shouldn’t have been.)  It’s cause for concern I say.  Monkeying with the power grid is not cool.  If the hackers can penetrate the airlines’ systems why not our power companies’?  My pantry has been expanding over the past year; I want to be prepared in case a large scale crisis should develop and we find ourselves without the essentials even for a short time.  Call me crazy.

Weekend before last I was feeling especially domestic.  On Saturday I began with harvesting my tomatoes, okra and a variety of herbs.  As I was loading up my dehydrator with basil, sage and chives, I decided to prepare a couple of make ahead freezer meals for the coming week in an effort to be more organized and free up some of my time after work. On the make ahead menu was Chicken Enchiladas and  Creamy Italian Chicken from a website I had found that promoted simpler living.

On Sunday my youngest called to say him and his girlfriend would be stopping by.  I felt pretty proud as I whipped out the Creamy Italian Chicken in its foil pan out of the freezer.  My domestic activity was paying off even sooner than I planned!  My first thought was to let it thaw completely then put it in a 350 degree oven until done, but I placed it directly in the oven and turned it to 300 and walked away.  My simpler life was coming together nicely!  Encouraged, I moved on and broke out the bread machine.  After placing all my ingredients for Italian bread in I plugged it in, punched in my bread type, hit start and walked away.  I was on a roll.

Next on the menu was steamed broccoli and pasta, which would be excellent with the chicken since it was going to have an abundance of sauce.  The chicken wouldn’t be ready for an hour and a half to two hours so I planned to cook the broccoli and pasta right before time to serve.  I went about to find other domestic activities that would help with my simpler life.  Gazing over the house I noted that each room contained a nice layer of dust but was convinced that the dust removal process would just complicate things so I walked away.

Later Randy and I were relaxing in the living room watching the old Parent Trap movie when it happened.  You guessed it, lights out.  No TV, no A/C, no oven, no dehydrator and worst of all, no bread machine baking.   Of course, the time frame for restoration was 4 hours.  So much for my careful planning.  Since I had put the chicken dish in to bake immediately it was actually going to be done enough to eat.

Wes and Emily arrived soon thereafter only to walk in to a dark house lit  only with 3 of my kerosene lamps  and a few candles.  With no means to cook the broccoli or pasta, I tossed a salad together and we had our dinner with a lot of the sauce left over with no pasta to pour it over.  The bread was just a motionless lump of heavy half-baked dough.  The electric came back on just as we were finishing our meal.  Great.

We are planning on purchasing a large generator for the house to power the important things (Randy’s CPAP being one of the major ones.)  In the past we could always stay with family elsewhere or get a room in town.  The older we get the less we want to load up our things plus Jake and all of his things and go anywhere unless it’s a vacation of course.   We don’t plan on being at the mercy of the power company much longer!

I await this week’s destined power outage although when and how long I can’t anticipate.  I feel a trip to town coming on to pick up extra lamp oil and whatever else I can think of to ease my concerns and simplify my life.

 

H

My parents are proud new owners of smartphones.  That right there says it all, but I am going to elaborate just a little for fun.

Dad was the first to dive off into the new age phone pool.  Within 24 hours he was ready to toss it back on the bank and retrieve his old flip phone.  He wanted to retreat to his comfort zone of simple talking on it with an occasional brief text.  I was able to convince him to keep it with the promise of producing a little manual of instructions (he couldn’t make head nor tails of the tiny one provided by the phone manufacturer since the print could be measured in micros.)

Finally after a few weeks he had mastered the device.  He got pretty good at making apps just disappear without knowing how he did it.  My uncle Jess, who was already a smartphone pro would include emojis with his texts that he sent him and Dad didn’t rest until he figured out how to install the Google keyboard so he could do the same.  I was quite proud of him.  The bond between Dad and his phone became so strong that he would have little panic attacks if he thought it was broke or not functioning properly; a subject, which is a story all by itself, that will have to wait for another day.

Mom was next to spring off the smartphone diving board.  First of all, she had talked about delving into this new phone thing for quite some time, so I was delighted that she was actually going to do it.  She would listen to her quilting buddies talk of their textings and picture sendings and she wanted in on some of that.

She caught on pretty quick how to use the thing aside from having trouble with the whole “tapping” business.  Somehow she couldn’t seem to get past the notion that she wasn’t on her old IBM at work anymore.  Instead of lightly tapping the spot on the screen she aggressively “stabbed” at it with her index finger, producing nothing from the phone.  This behavior eased up after a while; she figured out that smartphones clam up  when they get beat up.

Suprisingly enough, one thing that Mom and Dad both started using  first was the “OK Google” feature.  I get a little taken aback when I accidently hit the Siri button, so I was surprised when they both latched on to this concept early in their relationships with the phones.  They don’t live together but do go to the same church, so maybe they compared smartphone frustrations on Sunday, I’m not sure, but the Google microphone seemed to be their saving grace (and mine) for the hunting and pecking issues they were both evidently experiencing.

Here’s where the fun comes in.  Rather than taking time perfecting their tapping and texting skills they have spent countless hours speaking to Google repeatedly trying to get it to grant their requests with mixed results.

For example:

Dad Ok’d Google about trying to keep an outdoor battery housing from getting too hot and ruining the batteries.  He couldn’t understand why it kept coming up with “how to keep hate out of your home.”

Mom wanted a recipe for mint tea, simple enough.  You tell me how Google takes “mint tea” and turns it into “pregnant pee.”  Really???  Last time I checked Mom could still speak clearly, I can understand her anyway.

My parents are perfectly capable of conducting meaningful and well understood conversations.  Why can’t Google get on board and meet them in the middle for crying out loud?

This whole thing reminds me of an essay I wrote in college about language differences between men and women.   Here is a link  Say What