One Amazing Storm

As we drove north through the golden fields at sunset, we could see storm clouds ahead and to the east of the road we would be driving. In the West the sun was brilliant, so we turned in that direction for about nine miles, then veered North again, skirting the worst of the storm, but pulling over several times to take pictures. Do you blame us?


Claye took most of these out her window when we slowed or stopped. Occasionally she handed me the camera so I could get pictures out of mine. Turtle patiently bore with us. The variety of scenes in such a short distance was hard to believe, and the pictures also varied in intensity--from soft evening light to silhouette dark.











The difference was also notable from West to East. As we faced the sun, the background appeared darker. Later, safe at home, we smiled when we uploaded them and saw how beautiful they turned out. Isn't God amazing?

Our day has been rather like that too. We began the day with a drive to the city for a funeral, spent time visiting with my sister, then headed south on a new highway with great scenery (no stopping for pictures there, however. It was a toll road with no space for gawkers)

We arrived in Lawton, met Marie's family, and were all in time to welcome Elijah and Marie into their newly-rented home and watch them open wedding gifts. We celebrated by eating pizza and drinking diet coke with lime.  Life is great! It's so full of variety and shades of beauty--darks and pinks and black silhouettes outlined with heaven's light.

The Red Umbrella

Another funeral today.
I'm wearing black. . . with a red jacket.
That is, if the funeral protocol police don't eject me at the door.

My daughter and her husband will be there, shepherding my grandchildren through the solemn family line, explaining to them that their great uncle Bennet has joined their great-grandfathers on the path that forges ahead and out of sight.

It brings me back to another day...another funeral. On a cold February in the gloom of southern Arkansas, we huddled, shocked and silent in the gray cemetery among the pines as friends and family joined us for the burial of Turtle's mother--as kind and cheerful a woman as ever I had known. Then, as if in a torrent of sympathy for our tear-streaked faces, rain fell.
From my shielded position inside the canopy, I watched as umbrellas appeared all around, gray-black and properly somber. Then, through bleary eyes I saw a marvel--a bright red umbrella in the crowd--bobbing a little, hesitant, not so sure that it belonged.
It was carried by a frumpy little lady, a close friend whose loyalty was stronger than her sense of appropriate.
I smiled--even chuckled quietly inside-- and that secret joy brought comfort.
That was twenty six years ago, but I still smile when I remember it.

So today, I'm wearing a bright red jacket.
I'll be the frumpy little lady.
Maybe, someone will smile.

Elijah

My son (whose blog-alias is Elijah) and my new daughter-in-law (whose blog-alias is going to be Marie) are blissfully far away on their honeymoon, unable to access computers to read blogs and such.
Therefore, I'm going to take this opportunity to tell a couple of funny stories about Elijah.

When he was a sophomore in high school, we all piled into the van on Sunday morning to make the fifteen-mile drive to church. He was in his socks, because he knew that surely there was a huge selection of his shoes under the back seat of the van where he was prone to leave them. As we neared the church parking lot, he began to search for shoes. He found one.

"Alright, who cleaned the van?"
"I did. Why?"
"What did you do with my other shoe? Is it up there?"
"Probably not. I carrying a whole pile into your room and dumped them into your closet."
"Mom!"
"Well!"
"Well I only have one shoe now to wear to church..."

So we all looked, but, sure enough. There was only one.
Elijah wasn't one to let something like that inhibit him, however. Boldly he walked into church and even sang in the choir. (Fortunately from the back row.)
After church we decided to go out for Pizza. Elijah limped a little as we walked into the restaurant and placed the socked foot carefully under the table. Whenever anyone asked him what happened to his foot, he smiled gingerly, and said,
"I think I misplaced something."
They commiserated; we all smiled.

A couple of years later Elijah dove over our backyard chain link fence to do a front flip and keep running--the way he always did. This time, however, he didn't jump quite high enough. The top of the fence left an impressive gash down the entire front of his stomach.
That fall at football practice, when he pulled off his shirt, the guys in the locker room caught sight of the lengthy scar.
"Wow! How did you get that one?"
Elijah didn't miss a beat.
"Fencing," he replied.

He Was a Carpenter

He was a carpenter--a humble master, with sure, strong hands.
He was a teacher--patient, persuasive.
He was a father, and a grandfather--gentle and generous.

When Wayman and his wife Adalou moved into our town several years ago, we little knew the impact they would have on us and on our church, but from the first we loved them. They were the kind of folk that jump into life and share it and help it happen. That first summer Adalou, an accomplished seamstress, made over fifty little costumes for VBS. Wayman designed and built a village set. Five summers later, we are still using these, and over two hundred children have marveled as they learned.

How do I describe Wayman? a doctor? college professor of industrial arts? fascinating friend whose bank of amusing stories reflected many travels and adventures? He was a deacon on the church board, and the school board, a Sunday School teacher, and director of Team U Serve, which repaired roofs and interiors of churches damaged by storms. He was his family's devoted fan, attending hours of grandchildren's games and school events.

And he was a carpenter. He built furniture, amazing and unique. When my husband--his pastor--asked if he could build a stand for the advent candles, Wayman gave a little smile and said he thought he could. A couple of weeks later, he came back with a marvel in woodwork--an artifact so beautiful we hated to endanger it with candle wax. Excellence, we discovered, was his trademark.

A little over a month ago, as we were all excitedly preparing for VBS--Wayman for his regular position in the carpenter's shop, Ada Lou for helping in the bakery--the report came in that he had pancreatic cancer. Plans came to a slow, stunned, stop. Of course we told him we were getting other crafts, not to worry. We'd be ok...but he had committed to build a craft for the children, so he stayed up one night and made the pieces for sixty cedar candlesticks--a sweet-smelling project that brought smiles to the faces of those too young to understand at what cost he had made them, or why he cared for others when he was facing the ordeal of chemotherapy.

Today, Adalou called for help in getting Wayman to the hospital, and I watched him half-walking in Pastor's arms, half being carried out to the van. His wife and his daughter followed closely behind--all of us moved with our arms and hands opened as if we could catch him should he fall--I wanted to help. How I wanted to help! But my hands were too weak--we all were too weak to hold him.

This afternoon he died quietly in the hospital surrounded by the family he loved. . . and the news is going out. People sit quietly and don't know what to say...

...about a man whose life gave witness to the hours he had spent in his shop, creating intricate and excellent projects, and conversing with another carpenter--One who visited the earth briefly long ago, One whose hands are not too weak to hold our beloved friend Wayman.

Old Farm Houses

My favorite photo subjects just sit there and let the sunlight play all over them: Old farm houses--especially old farm houses with a windmill. I really can't resist taking pictures of them. Here's one I discovered Saturday not too far from home. It was sitting so quietly on the corner that I actually missed it the first time I drove by, but the cotton crop caught my eye on the way back and...voila!

My International Traveler Returns

He's actually using the garment bag for a pillow.
I think he has got a little jet-lag. What do you think?

It Helps That I'm a little Obsessive

Honestly, I don't think I could keep doing my morning hike and exercise if I didn't have little obsessive tricks to keep me going.

Every morning--well at least five days a week--I follow this routine. It gives me a certain sense of accomplishment--or maybe just smugness.

1. I start early. It's essential if I don't want to collapse in the heat and puddle into a little pool of melted ambition. Besides, if I start early I can see doves and hear them--cooing high on steel gray lines against the pinkish sky.




2. I walk to the courthouse--about a mile away. listening to music, and occasionally--by certain houses--slowing down to pray.















3. I always admire the courthouse--especially the clock tower. If you look closely you can see a spiral stairway inside. One day I want to climb it...just to be able to say I've been inside the clock, rather like the Mt. Everest experience of a small town, sedentary soul.








4. I climb these stairs--10 times. Evens are diagonal, odds straight up and down, threes and sevens I climb backward--
using a whole new set of muscles I assure you.

















5. When I get to the gym, I head for that circle of dragons
and exercise on each one--usually fifty times--
sixty if I'm ambitious, forty if I'm exhausted already.
Then I weigh, drink a glass of water and leave.
(yes, in that order. Why jeopardize my hopes and dreams by weighing that extra glass of water?)

















6. If I have gained weight, I punish myself
by climbing these ghetto-looking stairs.
















7. If I have lost weight, I reward myself by
strolling around this fountain.
(Every little psychological trick helps, ok?)
















8. As I pass by the other side of the courthouse,
I run stairs again. Of course there had to be a
matching set on the East side. These are sunnier.
Lively music helps.














9. I walk home quickly. Sometimes Carina calls
and we talk on the phone.
It's the next best thing to walking with someone.

10. Slapping mosquitoes: There are several deadly passages through mosquito ambush points like this one. I've found that while speaking softly doesn't do anything to remedy the situation, carrying a stick helps. Originally, I started carrying one to ward off annoying dogs, but it works well as a swisher.




11. Saying hi to Melvin and his dog, Pistol Pete.
Melvin is 84 years old, and has lived in this
county all his life, so, really, he's a fixture,
like the courthouse. I encounter him at the
end of the walk just as I return home to
drink a cup of coffee and catch up on facebook.

Wedding Frenzy

In nine days, my son, Elijah, is getting married here in our church to Marie, who lives in the city, two hours away. Fourteen days after that, his cousin, my niece, Cordelia, is getting married in that same city. I'm trying to calmly get done what needs to be done and make lists for Elijah of things he has to do: Car in the shop, electricity switched to your name, deposits paid, gifts bought for the groomsmen, brides bouquet.
Claye is the maid of honor for Cordelia, so there are fittings. Zay and Mim are the ringbearer and flowergirl for both weddings. My sister, my daughter and I are singing in Cordelia's. There is rehearsal dinner planning, apartment/moving helping, cake recipe finding, lodging locating, insurance switching, lawn mower lending, etc. etc. etc. I filled the car with gas three times this week. It's insane. It's a beautiful fuss, though, and if I'm going to be going crazy for my children, this is a great reason.

All that to say: I haven't been blogging much lately. There'll be time for this later.

Skunk Saga Finale

Happy birthday to my fearless hero, who single-handedly, at the advice of poison control, crawled under our house last night, wearing coveralls, goggles, a spelunker's head lamp, and a painter's mask (where is your apocalyptic gas mask when you actually need it?) and collected the sixty five mothballs I had flung under there to expel a skunk, but the fumes of which were expelling us!

Driving into Storm Clouds

As we came home from Texas we drove into this beautiful storm. Fortunately, the rain didn't start until we pulled into town. We would have made it home completely dry...but then we wouldn't have had time to stop and take these gorgeous pictures.

Skunk Saga Continues

Well Mr. or Mrs. Skunk disappeared for two days--not a footprint, not a nibble at the trap. I stuck a small, easily movable stone in the vent opening, just to prove that the critter was gone. It stayed there. We were singing: "Hallelujah--skunk's gone away!" until Monday morning.

I arose early and took my walk, returning just in time to see the city "animal control guy" moving the trap. He had decided that the skunk had abandoned his comfortable home under our house, but had to be in the area, so he set the trap by the trash can and left. In a couple of hours I checked the vent, just to gloat. Alas. The stone was missing entirely. Thinking the skunk had pushed it in, I assumed he had taken up residence in his old quarters. For all of five minutes it depressed me, but I recovered nicely and decided it was time for me to stop letting the city guys solve the problem for me and go on the offensive.

On the advice of a good friend from church--who shall remain nameless --I bought a box of old fashioned moth balls, the kind you smell when you open an old trunk in your grandmother's attic. They told me skunks don't like the smell, so they could be scattered in the doorway of a skunk's castle, and work like a wafting curtain of repellent. I didn't want to put them in the vent, however, because it might drive the skunk further under the house, so I decided to throw them under the house from the access door that opens onto our basement stairwell. Cautiously, lest I surprise a skunk, I eased the door open and flung mothballs as far as I could throw them under the house. I may have thrown more than the recommended dosage...maybe...ok, probably. Well, a skunk's a skunk and we have a wedding in two weeks. He had to go! Right? So, I walked around the outside perimeter of the house and dropped a couple in every vent, where they were trapped between the screen and the outer vent. Finally, I emptied the white dust out of the box, right in the creature's doorway. In other words, since he had made our home his castle, I would poison the moat.

"What's that smell?" asked Claye a couple of hours later.
I sniffed. "Mothballs. It's probably just the trash where I discarded the box."
I carried it out to the dumpster.
Still, the smell persisted.

In a couple of hours, Turtle returned home and opened the basement door. He was hoping to visit the "man cave"--a tiny little den where we put the television and all the camping gear so he can have peaceful evenings madly changing channels to his heart's content and falling asleep in the rocking chair while he watches the history channel.

"Whoa! Are you trying to poison me? What's this smell?"
"Mothballs"
"In here?"
"Um. Under the house."
I had forgotten the holes in the access door and the smell was overwhelming.
Grumbling something about why hadn't I consulted him, he stopped up the holes with a couple of old rags and we thought our problem was solved...or at least would dissipate before we returned from Texas on Tuesday night.

It didn't. This morning, when I woke Turtle at five thirty so we could go pick up the U-haul to spend a day moving a son to his own place and a daughter back home, he complained of a bad headache. The house smelled heavily of mothballs, and the basement was noxious. We couldn't do anything about it, in view of the day's tasks, so we all drove out of town. The guys had to deliver a piano, heavy dresser, and couch to Elijah's new home. (He and Marie are getting married but that's another story). Claye and I drove down to her apartment and spent the morning packing the kitchen and the closets into boxes and bins. When the guys arrived, around noon, we loaded everything, cleaned the apartment, turned in the keys and followed them home.

Meanwhile, Elijah, taking advantage of the hours on the road, had called poison control and explained the situation. They advised us to remove all the mothballs, air out the house, and be prepared for nausea, respiratory problems and headaches.

Arriving home, around four o'clock, we immediately flung open the windows and turned on the fans. The house aired while we unloaded into the garage and carried boxes and furniture up to the attic.

Here I sit typing the entire story on the computer while Turtle hunts for a gas mask, goggles and a flash light.

Somewhere...a skunk is laughing.

Skunk Saga

Well the city guys came out yesterday and set a trap in front of our skunk's front door. He was supposed to smell the food pellets, follow them into the box, be trapped by the falling portcullis, and rest contentedly without spraying anything until they get here to take him away.

Supposed to...
This morning the trap still looked like this.
I'm beginning to think our skunk is a Mrs. Skunk, and maybe there is a whole nest of skunklets under there. Won't that be nice if they all detonate right before the wedding?
People would remember that one for years.

That Old Skunk

Last night, we were determined to block the skunk's gateway to the underworld of our house, so Turtle went into action. Loyd stayed around after VBS, staking out a position in his vehicle and helping us watch for the creature's departure. Turtle watched from inside the den. Loyd saw the skunk first as he crossed our yard--keeping well within the shadows of the fence--and dove into the underbrush of the creek across the street. He called Turtle on his cell phone and my fearless protector went into action with a heavy slab of wood, two stakes and a sledge hammer. He pounded the stakes into the ground, being careful not to mess up my flower bed of pampered petunias, and slid the board between them and the house. "There," he said, reassuringly, "That'll keep him out."

This morning, just before sunrise, I heard noises by the back door. The skunk was actually trying to get into the house, nosing at the door and scratching at the glass for all the world like a pet dog. I waited until he moved over toward the trash can, then stepped outside and got his picture.

"Foiled!"
He raised his tail.
I retreated into the house and waited until he trotted off around the corner of the garage before I dared to leave for my morning walk. I imagined that he would hide in the woods, or under a swooping juniper bush in the front yard.

But I badly underestimated the fury of that skunk.

When I returned from my walk, I saw Turtle walking around outside, talking on the phone. Immediately, I thought someone had died. Thankfully no. He was talking to city hall to see if our town had an animal control unit because our uninvited resident, Mr. Skunk, had attacked the portcullis, thrown down the stakes, and gained access to the castle dungeon.






Hmmm. Now what?
My petunias are highly offended.

The Skunk

There's a skunk under my house. Yes, you read right, a real skunk.
Last evening as I was getting ready for bed I got a call from Loyd, one of the elders in our church, who was the last to leave the building after our evening VBS.
"Hey, I was driving by your house and guess what? I just saw the prettiest little black and white kitty come from your flower bed and head toward the creek."
It took me a minute to ponder why he would call me over a kitty. I'm allergic to cats, but one in the yard is no problem. Then it soaked in.
"Ok, I'll stay in."
"No. I think he has a nest under your house. Are you sure there's not a hole somewhere there?"
"Well, I don't think so. All the vents are sealed off."
"You'd better check. Skunks can get in through very small holes. Right now he's gone, so it'd be a great time to seal any holes you see."
So I dressed and went outside. Sure enough, there was a little hole at the bottom of the vent to the crawl space where a brick was missing. I found a brick that was more or less the right size, then piled more bricks over and around it for good measure, went back into the house and went to bed. This morning just before six, I checked the vent before I took off for my morning walk. The bricks had been moved; the little skunk hole was open again, so I know he's under there.
I don't think I'll vacuum the bedroom today; don't want to startle anything.
After he leaves on his nocturnal prowl tonight, I'll pile a mountain of bricks or cement the space.

Odd Things #13

My sister sent me this picture of something odd. It's actually a mural, but why would you want it there? Maybe the owner also owns a book store, or maybe it's the parallel to those antique photos with stern-faced ancestors proudly holding possessions, the most popular of which are books. At any rate, I'd rather advertise my love for books I've read than for a sports team I've never played for.

Odd Things 12 Smoke Tree

This is my neighbor's tree, so he told me the correct name. I was calling it pink fuzzy stuff...but it does rather resemble smoke.

Odd Things #11 Secret Message

I've solved it: It says "Curtains for OU".
So I'm guessing they are really OSU fans.
...as the saying goes "with fans like these...who needs bad press?"

Odd Things # 10 Oddly Beautiful

So how did they get it to produce all those shades of color?

Canning Apricots

When I found myself with two sinks full of very tasty apricots, I decided to make some jelly...or preserves or jam or conserves--something like that. First, I cleaned, cut and pitted. Then I tried to find a good recipe. Since my cookbooks all had widely varying ideas, I consulted the ultimate authority: the internet. There I found more recipes--no two the same. Some said to mash them and boil for a minute, others to dice them and boil them for twenty five. Some measured the apricots by cups, others by pounds. All required a lot of sugar, but even there the recipes didn't agree on the amount. It seemed odd to me that warnings on every recipe advised following it exactly or....YOUR JARS WON'T SEAL.
Well, I had no way of measuring the already boiling apricots, so I just guessed at all of it, adding stuff here and there. While I was careful to properly clean the jars and handle the lids, I wasn't particularly careful about all the other instructions.
Guess what? They all sealed anyway, and I now have 13 pints of wonderful apricot jam, and two quarts of apricot syrup for waffles. It all tasted wonderful...SO I'm writing my own recipe, of course, to add to the mish-mash on the internet.

Step One--Pick good apricots. If they taste bitter when you eat them fresh, they will make nasty tasting jelly.

Step Two--Clean the apricots in cool water to wash off ants and such. Cut off really bad spots and take the seeds out.

Step Three--Heap a large pan full of apricots and set it on the stove. (One site said don't use an aluminum pan because the acid would react and make the jelly taste metallic. I'm not sure it that's true, but I used a steel pan, just in case.) Add a half cup of water or less if you want to, put the lid on and cook it on low until it boils. Stir it a lot. Mash the apricots with a masher if you feel like it. It'll give you something to do.

Step Four--When the apricots boil, add about four pounds of sugar. Stir until you see that they are thickening somewhat. Let them keep boiling with the lid off so you can watch.

Step Five--add some lemon juice, or condensed orange juice from a frozen concentrate, or both if you want to, or neither. It doesn't matter really.

Step Six--add some vanilla or almond extract, or a little cinnamon, or all of these or none.

Step Seven--Skim off some of liquid on top, particularly if you seem to have a lot. Save this for waffle syrup. It's really good and if you have enough, can a jar of it too.

Step Eight--Add one or two boxes or bags of pectin (Sure-jell or another brand). (If it's the powdered kind, dissolve it first in a little water or juice from the fruit) (Or just pour it into the pot and stir until it's all melted--whatever.)

Step Nine--Stir, Stir, Stir until it reaches a jam-like consistency. Don't let it scorch!

Step Ten--Pour it into the sterilized (or just washed in the dishwasher) jars, being careful to fill them almost full--leave about 1/4 inch only--put the lids on, tighten the rings.

Step Eleven--Turn all the jars upside down for five minutes. (One of the recipes warned me that there would be dire consequences if I skipped this so I dutifully turned all mine over and, sure enough, they all sealed--but so did the syrup, and I hadn't turned it over.)

Step Twelve--Turn all the jars upright, listen for a faint pop, watch the jar lids to make sure the convex bubble in the lid turns concave, tighten the rings again. Label the fruit. Take a picture. Go write a blog entry.

Mim's Tower Sculpture

She made this all by herself using "found" materials. No, of course she is not weird. she is just my grandchild. We love art in this family. Besides, it has a lovely sense of balance.

Odd things # 9 High Voltage Detention Camp

"Round them up. Gotta keep those transformers in place. Extra-terrestrials, I suspect. Make them form lines. Don't get close to the antennae!"

Giant Lightning Rods

For several years during high school and college, Elijah worked at the local Farmers' Cooperative, more commonly referred to as the Co-op. Some of the time he was in and on top of the grain elevators, which were accessed with ladders and dangerous, grated "man-lift" elevators; in and out of boot pits, which had to been cleaned of all last year's rotting wheat before the new wheat could take its place; and in and out of storage bins, where the temperatures could reach 130 degrees, and frequently did. After harvest began every year, however, his job was to stand on top of these freight cars and direct the grain-filled, slanting spout to a trap door in their roofs. Cloudless days were trying, because of the unrelenting heat. Cloudy days were better, unless, of course a storm was brewing in the West. On one particular day, I watched the clouds roll in and listened to the storm warnings with trepidation. Knowing that the Co-op guys would work every minute until the storm actually hit--because grain is precious and the farmers were almost frantic about getting it into a dry place before the rain--I did what any self-respecting mom would do and called my son at work to make sure his supervisor would properly value his life. He was standing on top of the car, as usual.
"Don't worry, Mom", he said, "We see the storm coming. I'm sure we'll close down when it gets close."
Of course I didn't stop worrying. In fact, I worried more. Short of driving up there and demanding that they call off work, what could I do? Pray, of course. Doesn't every mom?
About thirty minutes later, the rain began to pour.
He called from the office.
"Hey, Mom, I almost got struck by lightning!"
"Are you ok?"
"Now I am, but it was pretty impressive. First this huge cloud came streaking in just like a bird flying over us. All of a sudden my head felt funny. I reached my hand over my head and felt that all my hair was standing straight up. So I turned loose of the spout and dropped flat to the roof of the car. Then I crawled to the edge and jumped off. It hit right behind me and the thunder was really loud."
"But you're ok now? You went inside, right?"
"Well, I crawled back up, raised the sheath on the spout, pushed it off and lowered the rope so they could put it back where it goes."
"You what?"
"Well, I couldn't leave it in the train like that. By that time it was pouring rain."
"No kidding."
"Aw. Don't worry, Mom. I'm fine now."
"You're not going back up there in this?"
"No. We're just finishing up some things and I'll be home."
And he was.
And he doesn't understand why I worry so much.
It's a mom thing.

Oddity #8-Melting Staircase

Someone left the water running and now the staircase is melting!

Oddity #7 A Tragic Day at the Track

It was the big race. Everyone came from miles around and camped beside the track. Bike and scooter companies provided water to the competitors and boosted morale to a fever pitch. Loud music couldn't drown the cheering of the crowd. Suddenly tragedy struck: A bike and scooter collided. The dreadful impact caused them to fly into the stands and hit a fan!





Detective Wuggins first Case

Odd Things #6 Which is it?

Odd Things # 5--Beware of the Dog

This is actually a sad picture, because the crosses were put there after a traffic accident killed four people near here, but--next to the "beware of the dog" sign on the fence--it looks like quite a serious warning against trespass.

Odd Things #4: Decorated Box Car

Where do the homeless graffiti artists who live under railroad bridges get the detailing equipment to paint this way? And what does it mean? Is it a: "Romeo loves Juliet" or simply some Sudanese obscenity that unsuspecting photography buffs post on their blogs?

Odd Things # 3: I Guess they aren't Using this door anymore.

It's pretty hard to walk through this tree. In a few years...well ...