The Voice, that lives in my head, followed me out the door as I was headed for the garage. It had grabbed a piece of chewing gum and was noisily chomping by the time I opened the garage door. Once inside, the Voice donned a long wool trench coat and began to do the cat walk between rows of tables still covered with items from the previous weekend's garage sale.
"Nice coat.", the Voice quipped.
"Ummm." I answered between closed lips. I knew what was coming.
"And you thought this made you look taller?", the Voice asked in mocked sincerity.
It was too early in the day to engage the Voice's wit, so I chose to ignore it.
The garage sale had been a huge success, but there was still a lot of things left over. Having decided that less is actually more, I vowed that once I brought all the stuff out of the house, it was not going back in. The task that lay before me was to box up what was left and donate it.
I was holding a large colorful serving bowl, looking at it, when the gum chomping grew louder. The Voice was peering over my shoulder, "Get rid of it.", the Voice said between chomps.
"But."
"But what?"
"But what will I put potato salad in?", I asked.
"When was the last time you made potato salad?", the Voice asked and then made a large gulping sound as it swallowed the gum.
"Two years ago." I answered
"Say good bye to the dish." The Voice wandered off, occasionally stopping to look at some other treasure I had decided to part with.
I let out a long sigh. One like Mother used to do, the one that always drove me crazy when she did it. The Voice, as usual, was right, I did not need the dish or anything else that was left.
I grabbed a cardboard box and a stack of newspapers and began packing away the bowl, plates and glasses. The Voice had shed the coat and was busy rummaging through a box of door knobs. After the fourth box was filled, I heard the Voice giggling.
"What's so funny?"
"The flower bench!", the Voice responded. Its giggles had become full blown bursts of hysterical laughter.
I tried to stifle a smile. The flower bench. The flower bench I had so painstakingly put together with the old ornate cement blocks from the front porch, that were left over after the remodel. I had toiled long over that bench, making four stacks of two blocks each, to be filled with potting soil. Then I rimmed the top of each stack with a wooden frame and laced the stacks together with long boards, set on edge, to make a bench. The bench was over sixteen feet long and graced the sidewalk by the front of the house.
Our young friend, whom my daughters refer to as their brother, had offered me the use of his four-wheeler and trailer. I thought it was a splendid idea to be able to load the trailer with household wares rather than make numerous trips back and forth to the garage. Although I can put a forty foot long school bus in reverse and back it into a single parking space, I never mastered being able to back up an attached trailer. Knowing this, I decided to just pull the trailer down the sidewalk until I was even with the front porch steps. What I forgot was, the trailer tires were on the outside of the trailer and therefore wider than my intended path. By the time the four-wheeler and I reached the front of the flower bench, the trailer tire had reached the back of the bench. The whole thing went over like a stack of dominoes. I had to join the Voice in the laughter, it was funny.
When I had boxed up all I could for one day, the Voice asked me what I had learned from this experience. "That is the last garage sale I will ever have.", I answered.
"Besides that?". The Voice was being serious now.
"That I need to learn to back up a trailer."
As I walked off, I heard the Voice let out a long sigh.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Stewed
This morning I was talking to a bug. It was a fly. Actually, it was a huge ma-honkin fly that was about the size of the end of my thumb.
It was buzzing around the window over the kitchen sink. I thought about getting the flyswatter and putting it out of its misery. I thought about the huge mess it was going to make on the glass.
I said to the fly, "If you would just calm down, I'll take you outside."
The fly immediately stopped buzzing and stood perfectly still. I looked at it, waiting for it to start its mindless frenzy, trying to get to the light beyond the glass. It never moved. I walked to the cabinet and retrieved a shot glass then picked up a piece of note paper laying on the counter. The fly was still waiting.
I placed the shot glass over the fly, slid the paper under the glass and headed to the back door. Once outside, I lifted the glass and the fly took off, headed east. It didn't get very far and then turned back and hovered in front of my face. In its tiny bug voice, it said, "Ya know what's ironic?"
"No, what?" I answered, not giving much thought to striking up a conversation with an insect.
Still hovering and buzzing, the fly spoke again. "Irony is getting bit by a spider while cleaning out a closet for a yard sale two days before winning the lottery and three days before dying from the spider bite." The fly flew around my head before heading east again. I watched until its form was lost in the distance.
An encounter with a philosophical fly, just my luck.
It was buzzing around the window over the kitchen sink. I thought about getting the flyswatter and putting it out of its misery. I thought about the huge mess it was going to make on the glass.
I said to the fly, "If you would just calm down, I'll take you outside."
The fly immediately stopped buzzing and stood perfectly still. I looked at it, waiting for it to start its mindless frenzy, trying to get to the light beyond the glass. It never moved. I walked to the cabinet and retrieved a shot glass then picked up a piece of note paper laying on the counter. The fly was still waiting.
I placed the shot glass over the fly, slid the paper under the glass and headed to the back door. Once outside, I lifted the glass and the fly took off, headed east. It didn't get very far and then turned back and hovered in front of my face. In its tiny bug voice, it said, "Ya know what's ironic?"
"No, what?" I answered, not giving much thought to striking up a conversation with an insect.
Still hovering and buzzing, the fly spoke again. "Irony is getting bit by a spider while cleaning out a closet for a yard sale two days before winning the lottery and three days before dying from the spider bite." The fly flew around my head before heading east again. I watched until its form was lost in the distance.
An encounter with a philosophical fly, just my luck.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Things That Go Shut In The Night
Having not watched a movie for a very long time, my husband and I considered renting one. I scanned through the endless list of titles, stopping now and then to check on the subject matter. It seemed most where ghost filled horror stories. I wondered why this was and then it dawned on me. Ah yes, it's October, the time for all things spooky.
We have been waiting, sometimes impatiently, for this month to arrive. October is the month of Runtly's birth. The small, tiny, runt of the litter, that I worried would not get enough nourishment due to the fact he was only about half the size of his six other siblings.
Runtly, the Jack Russel Terrier (aka terrorist). The fast as a speeding bullet, white streak of lightening, who rips through the house at breakneck speeds. The four legged living steel ball from a pinball machine that boings off of any stationery object. The dog, with one floppy ear, who now stands taller than his mother. The "Jumpin' Jack Flash" of the canine world who can leap five feet, straight into the air, with little effort. The animal who can give the "What?" look when he is found on top of the chest of drawers, the top of the spiral staircase, the stack of boxes in the basement, the kitchen island. The relentless fetching machine, that we used to keep track of how many times he would bring back an object. The animal who sheds so profusely that there is nothing left that is sacred to the hair of the dog. The earmuff stealing, catch me if you can, critter who seems to think I need more exercise. The animated shredding machine who has discovered toilet paper tastes so much better after it has been pulled off the roll and strung through the house. The "I can sit in your seat before you do", as you are descending into the chair, ball of perpetual motion.
Runtly will be one year old this month and we were foolish enough to think he would begin to calm down. We do not see this happening any time soon and have been assured that even at ten years of age, this breed will still be going strong.
It has been eight years since Mother passed away. Since that time, I have delved deep into research of the after life. One of the things I have found to be a common thread in my studies is, there is no sense of time, as we observe it, on the other side of the veil. This seems to give our dearly departed a unique view of past, present and future happenings.
One of the many experiences we have had, since Mother passed, was with the toilet seat lid. My husband has spent his entire life surrounded by members of the opposite sex. He learned early on, the dire consequences for leaving the toilet seat up, but, he never shut the lid to the seat. No one in this household ever did.
On several occasions, in the wee hours of the night, we would find the seat lid down. We would discuss this toilet phenomenon and finally decided it was Mother's way of showing us she still had a sense of humor.
I have since come to the conclusion it was a sign. Perhaps even an omen of things to come because the toilet bowl has become Runtly's favorite place to drop whatever toy happens to be toy-of-the-day. This is usually some object that sinks. I have found him hanging over the edge, peering into the bowl with his head cocked to one side, pondering the most ideal way to retrieve it.
Things that go shut in the night now apply to all hours of the day.
We have been waiting, sometimes impatiently, for this month to arrive. October is the month of Runtly's birth. The small, tiny, runt of the litter, that I worried would not get enough nourishment due to the fact he was only about half the size of his six other siblings.
Runtly, the Jack Russel Terrier (aka terrorist). The fast as a speeding bullet, white streak of lightening, who rips through the house at breakneck speeds. The four legged living steel ball from a pinball machine that boings off of any stationery object. The dog, with one floppy ear, who now stands taller than his mother. The "Jumpin' Jack Flash" of the canine world who can leap five feet, straight into the air, with little effort. The animal who can give the "What?" look when he is found on top of the chest of drawers, the top of the spiral staircase, the stack of boxes in the basement, the kitchen island. The relentless fetching machine, that we used to keep track of how many times he would bring back an object. The animal who sheds so profusely that there is nothing left that is sacred to the hair of the dog. The earmuff stealing, catch me if you can, critter who seems to think I need more exercise. The animated shredding machine who has discovered toilet paper tastes so much better after it has been pulled off the roll and strung through the house. The "I can sit in your seat before you do", as you are descending into the chair, ball of perpetual motion.
Runtly will be one year old this month and we were foolish enough to think he would begin to calm down. We do not see this happening any time soon and have been assured that even at ten years of age, this breed will still be going strong.
It has been eight years since Mother passed away. Since that time, I have delved deep into research of the after life. One of the things I have found to be a common thread in my studies is, there is no sense of time, as we observe it, on the other side of the veil. This seems to give our dearly departed a unique view of past, present and future happenings.
One of the many experiences we have had, since Mother passed, was with the toilet seat lid. My husband has spent his entire life surrounded by members of the opposite sex. He learned early on, the dire consequences for leaving the toilet seat up, but, he never shut the lid to the seat. No one in this household ever did.
On several occasions, in the wee hours of the night, we would find the seat lid down. We would discuss this toilet phenomenon and finally decided it was Mother's way of showing us she still had a sense of humor.
I have since come to the conclusion it was a sign. Perhaps even an omen of things to come because the toilet bowl has become Runtly's favorite place to drop whatever toy happens to be toy-of-the-day. This is usually some object that sinks. I have found him hanging over the edge, peering into the bowl with his head cocked to one side, pondering the most ideal way to retrieve it.
Things that go shut in the night now apply to all hours of the day.
Monday, October 5, 2015
The Sausage Angel
Every morning it is the same ritual. Egg sandwiches for breakfast. I fix my husband a sausage, egg and cheese sandwich and I have bacon on mine.
The sausage is round patties that I cook up in advance, then heat them in the skillet. While the eggs cook, I cut the sausages in half because two round patties do not fit well on a slice of bread. I place two of the halves, round side out in the upper corners of the bread. Then the other two halves are placed rounded side in on the rest of the exposed bread. This makes a somewhat angel shape, thus the name, a sausage angel.
The next ingredient is the cheese. It is a large round slice of cheese that I also cut in half, one for each sandwich. I have discovered that to use a whole slice usually ends up with a lot of melted cheese dripping out of the bottom of the sandwich. I take this half slice of cheese and break the outside corners off of it, this leaves the half looking like an odd shaped triangle of cheese.
I take the two small corners and place them on the top edge of the sausage angel's wings. While I preform this, I say to myself, this is the armor of God, faith and truth. I then place the triangle piece of cheese over the rest of the sausage, pointy side up, the breastplate of righteousness. The angel and my husband are now ready to face whatever the day may bring to them.
The recent news has been filled with yet another tragedy. Many young lives snuffed out, seemingly, way before their time. A senseless act of desperation brought about by a troubled mind.
There is much outrage and calls for more gun control. There is talk about certain religious groups being targeted for their faith, in a land where their faith has reigned supreme.
We live in a society that pushes our youth into things beyond their scope of understanding. We push them to make decisions about their future before they are teens. We enter them in beauty contests when they are hardly out of diapers. We make sure they are in every sport available and spend countless hours on the road or sitting in the stands, cheering them on. We sign them up for dance, gymnastics, wrestling and a plethora of other activities and work two jobs to pay for it. We want to keep them busy, so we cater to their needs. We want them to be well rounded in numerous subjects. We want them to be successful. We tell them they are special, and they are, but.......
While we are doing all this, we are forgetting something. We have forgotten that we are all in this scheme of life together. We are spending too much time focusing on individualism instead of community. We are letting precious lives slip through the cracks because we have the mind set that being the 'top dog' is the only way to be. We are not taking the time to take that kid who is odd, smelly, has head lice, comes from a poor, messed up family, under our wings and letting them know they are special too. We are not telling them that they have a purpose, that they are just as much a child of God as the next person is.
We all have a guardian angel, but they cannot interfere with free will. It is written that we know not when we entertain angels, so with that in mind, we should be watchful of the way we treat others. Just one small act of kindness can make a huge impact on someone's life.......maybe even fixing them a sausage angel.
The sausage is round patties that I cook up in advance, then heat them in the skillet. While the eggs cook, I cut the sausages in half because two round patties do not fit well on a slice of bread. I place two of the halves, round side out in the upper corners of the bread. Then the other two halves are placed rounded side in on the rest of the exposed bread. This makes a somewhat angel shape, thus the name, a sausage angel.
The next ingredient is the cheese. It is a large round slice of cheese that I also cut in half, one for each sandwich. I have discovered that to use a whole slice usually ends up with a lot of melted cheese dripping out of the bottom of the sandwich. I take this half slice of cheese and break the outside corners off of it, this leaves the half looking like an odd shaped triangle of cheese.
I take the two small corners and place them on the top edge of the sausage angel's wings. While I preform this, I say to myself, this is the armor of God, faith and truth. I then place the triangle piece of cheese over the rest of the sausage, pointy side up, the breastplate of righteousness. The angel and my husband are now ready to face whatever the day may bring to them.
The recent news has been filled with yet another tragedy. Many young lives snuffed out, seemingly, way before their time. A senseless act of desperation brought about by a troubled mind.
There is much outrage and calls for more gun control. There is talk about certain religious groups being targeted for their faith, in a land where their faith has reigned supreme.
We live in a society that pushes our youth into things beyond their scope of understanding. We push them to make decisions about their future before they are teens. We enter them in beauty contests when they are hardly out of diapers. We make sure they are in every sport available and spend countless hours on the road or sitting in the stands, cheering them on. We sign them up for dance, gymnastics, wrestling and a plethora of other activities and work two jobs to pay for it. We want to keep them busy, so we cater to their needs. We want them to be well rounded in numerous subjects. We want them to be successful. We tell them they are special, and they are, but.......
While we are doing all this, we are forgetting something. We have forgotten that we are all in this scheme of life together. We are spending too much time focusing on individualism instead of community. We are letting precious lives slip through the cracks because we have the mind set that being the 'top dog' is the only way to be. We are not taking the time to take that kid who is odd, smelly, has head lice, comes from a poor, messed up family, under our wings and letting them know they are special too. We are not telling them that they have a purpose, that they are just as much a child of God as the next person is.
We all have a guardian angel, but they cannot interfere with free will. It is written that we know not when we entertain angels, so with that in mind, we should be watchful of the way we treat others. Just one small act of kindness can make a huge impact on someone's life.......maybe even fixing them a sausage angel.
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