Moving...again

We have been living happily in Middlebury for the last thirteen years. For the last three years we have rented this house at 402 W. Berry Street. It has been a tough three years, but the highlight has been living here, so close to downtown that we can walk down two blocks to our bank, a restaurant, a hardware store, and a few other great places. We can walk a couple more blocks and be at one of the greatest parks in the area, Krider Gardens. We live only a block from a leg of the Pumpkin Vine Nature Trail. I have so loved living here, and I will miss it greatly.

Many of you know that Jay lost his Dad in October. We had just had lunch with him at Olive Garden for Jay's birthday the Saturday previous to the week that he died. It's still hard to believe that he went so fast. At any rate, Jay's Dad and his wife, Edna, were living in one of the duplexes that are now part of the estate that he left behind. Edna is moving out and we are moving in. We may have to rent it for the first couple of months, until the estate gets settled. But, when the estate gets settled, we will be living there for free. In our situation, free is good.

Another advantage to this move is that it will be closer for me to get to work. I will be able to go home over lunch. I'm excited about that. I'm also happy about the idea of having Krull Cabinets again. My husband built all the cabinetry in the duplexes. I have missed having Krull Cabinets while I have been in Middlebury, though we had them briefly in the basement kitchen in the house on County Road 35.

I know that the move will bring some welcome changes to our situation, financially and otherwise. But, oh, how I will miss my dear Middlebury! I will miss being so close and in such a safe environment that I can get up in the morning while it is still dark and walk for an hour, and never feel threatened. We will live close to a number of shopping areas in Elkhart's north side, but I will not feel safe to walk to these areas due to the traffic count and just the general crime rate in Elkhart. I will find a place to walk, but it may be an indoor spot.

This is Andy and Tricia surprising Grandpa at what will soon be our front door.

Anyway, moving is always an adventure. I have to find homes for a lot of items I can no longer keep because of space considerations. It's a good thing we downsized when we moved here, but we need to super downsize now!

Baking Goodies

It doesn't surprise anybody who knows me, but I love to cook. I also love to bake. It's a good thing that I have a job and can't devote more time to these two hobbies, because I also like to eat the things I cook and bake. I would be "roughly the size of a barge." As soon as it turns cold outside here in northern Indiana, my oven gets a workout. There are apple pies made from fresh picked, locally grown apples. There is pumpkin pie, sometimes made from pumpkins from my own garden, but not recently. There are dozens and dozens of cookies. There are cakes and brownies.  I think my favorite thing to make and eat around the holidays are my homemade crescent rolls. They have a ton of butter in them, so no wonder they melt in your mouth. I got the recipe from a cookbook my mother-in-law gave to me a long time ago called "Nutbread and Nostalgia" which was put together by the Junior League in South Bend.  You have to use real butter in the rolls, not margarine. I suppose they are mostly bad for your health, but they are oh so good in your mouth!

Another thing that I really love this time of year is home made beef stew. I think if I were going to overeat, I would rather overeat savory foods rather than sweet ones. I usually fill up on a meal and don't have room for dessert. Beef stew is like the ultimate comfort food for me. For some reason, it always reminds me of my mother. She is the one who taught me how to make it. I don't have a recipe. It turns out a little different every time, yet consistenly yummy! When it is cold outside, there is nothing as wonderful as coming into the house and having the savory fragrance of beef stew greeting me from atop the stove or in the crockpot. It's still good a week later. (Insert words of nursery rhyme here..some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot nine days old!) I am hungry now, and it's only 9:00 a.m.!
At any rate, this is the time of year that I kick the baking into high gear. There has to be a turkey, at least that is what I think there has to be. Sometime during the season, even if I am not hosting the gathering, I have to roast a turkey. There have to be the crescent rolls. I have made two batches already this season. We need at least three kinds of cookies. There are the chocolate chips, the peanut butter with chocolate kisses, and there should be cookie cutter cookies decorated with colored frostings. Tricia will want my pumpkin swirl cheesecake with the ginger snap cookie crust. I want pumpkin pies and almost always, pecan pie. Those are just the basics for the season. I somehow find time to do all of this from the end of November to the beginning of December. Well, I feel I have to do this. IT MUST BE DONE!

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Summer on the Flip Side

Our county fair is almost over, and so is July. Face it, folks, we are on the back side of summer. There is still plenty of time to enjoy it, I hope! I just wanted to call your attention to the fact that we are on the slippery slope into fall. None of us would mind fall so much if it weren't followed by winter. I always start thinking about that this time of year, maybe because of my melancholy trend.

It's all good, though. I love every season, for some reason. I love summer because we get to run around with no clothes on...I mean, barely! At least we get to fore go the coats and hats and scarves and sweaters and even stockings! I love the fresh vegetables and watermelon and strawberries. I love family reunions, county and state fairs. I love, love, LOVE Indiana tomatoes! I love fall because of the rustic colors in the woods and the fields. I love the cooler days and even cooler nights. I love seeing the farmers in the fields, harvesting. I love the fall parties. I love winter because I have always enjoyed snow, and I enjoy it even more when I can go ski on it. And cold, if you are dressed for it, can be enjoyable, believe it or not. (Just not extreme cold, with blowing, drifting snow. But we won't think about that right now.) And I love spring for the fresh air and increased sunshine, flowers, and just the end of winter/beginning of summer.

No matter what time of year it is, I think we should all always observe it to the best of our ability. Too many times, we get wrapped up with work or business and we forget to pay attention to the day. Me! I am so guilty of this. I dread something that is going to happen tomorrow, and I forget to enjoy today! I forget to tell the people I love that I love them. Intensely! I forget to make my surroundings beautiful. I forget to make my co-workers feel brighter. You know, sometimes we are the sunshine, and we forget to turn on our rays! SHINE PEOPLE! Let's shine!

So, here we are on the flip side of summer, and I just wanted to remind you, again, to make every day count!

Newsies

Every morning since about the middle of May, I have been getting up around 3:15 a.m. For two hours, it was more in the beginning and always more on Sundays, I am on a race against the clock to get my newspaper route delivered. I roll out of bed, take care of bathroom duties, take my thyroid pill, pull on some underclothes, pants and a shirt, and I leave to go down to Harding's Friendly Market to sit in the car and wait for my papers to arrive. When they get there, I thank the driver and wish him a good day, take my papers to my car and bag them and put them in a box. I deliver some South Bend Tribunes, but mostly, The Elkhart Truth.

Most days, out on that route so early in the morning, I feel like some sort of sub-human. My husband thinks I have the anointing to do this job. But, honestly, it's just a job. I'm only doing it for the money. And it isn't much money, either. It really isn't much once you deduct the gas mileage and wear and tear on the car. BUT, it is extra money. It's money we would not have if I didn't get up in the morning and go do this. (Sometimes I think I must just be crazy to keep doing this.) I don't really like getting up so early in the morning, but it beats staying up at night working at Meijer's or waitressing after I leave from my other day job.

You do not meet many new people when you are doing a paper route. You hardly have any human interaction whatsoever. If you do, it isn't likely to be pleasant. Earlier on when I was still learning the route, I met Mr. Grumpy Pants. He was waiting, barefoot, by his mailbox in one of the subdivisions where he lives and I deliver.  I smiled and handed him his paper and said, "Good morning!" He just scowled and said, "You sure are late with your papers." I apologized, "I'm sorry. We received them an hour and 15 minutes late today." He didn't say anything else, he had already turned to go back to his nice, comfortable chair to read his newspaper, I guess, before I could even finish my apology. His real name is...oh, it doesn't matter; he will forever be Mr. Grumpy Pants to me.

I did meet one very nice lady while delivering papers. Her name is Lucille. One morning, while I was out delivering the papers to the retirement center where she lives, she was waiting for me. By the time I get there, it is usually 5:15 to 5:30 a.m. She was waiting because she wanted to correct me. I had been told early on in the delivery process, to just leave the papers for the retirement center at the front desk and leave. Lucille explained to me that not every resident that was receiving papers there was a spry as she was. (Lucille walks with a cane. She told me she can "race right along.") Many of the residents are quite handicapped. If I leave the papers at the desk, she told me everyone else helps themselves to the paper, whether they subscribe or not. Sometimes the true subscribers never even see their papers. She insisted that I must walk them around to every room. She walked me around and showed me what rooms all the six newspapers were to be delivered to. She was there every morning after that for a few weeks. She would smile when I came in and tell me "Good Morning." I would smile back and say, "Good morning, Lucille." That was so nice, I felt a little more human, then. But I felt sorry for her, getting up so early every morning and waiting for me to get there. I told her one morning that she didn't have to do it. She said she didn't mind, but one day soon after that, she wasn't there anymore.

Anyway, I am going to try to keep this up for a year. Some days I get quite tired of it all. If someone complains because I am late with the papers, I lose $2.00. I only get 16 cents to deliver each paper, every single day. I try not to give anyone reason to complain. But I don't control when the papers get there, I can't deliver them until they are delivered to me. And sometimes they are delivered to me quite late! Jay helps me on Sundays. Until recently, though, he has had a job that he had to leave for before I would get done with my route on the weekdays. I learned to do it by myself and have gotten pretty quick at it. So, I'm a "Newsie", for now. Think of me, if you are ever awake at 3:15 a.m., and you get to roll over and go back to sleep for a few more hours!

Folk Tales

Upon pondering what I might next write on my blog, I realized that I have always loved folk tales. You have heard them; stories passed on from generation to generation, usually meant to teach a lesson, but, sometimes, just to entertain.

This is the story of Sleepy the Donkey. When I was a girl, I had an undying love and desire for horses. I had an imaginary horse named "Candy". Since she could be anything I wanted, being imaginary, she was actually a flying horse. My parents knew of this affection for horses of mine, but we were too poor to own a horse. When there are five children in the family and sundry dogs, (Dad raised beagles) you have more important things to spend money on than trying to keep a horse.

One day, Dad packed all of us into the car. We were "going for a drive".  Out in the country, Dad pulled into a house near a railroad crossing. Someone lived here that Dad worked with, and he wanted to stop and talk for a few minutes. This was going to be cause for patience on the part of the rest of us. Little did I know what he had up his sleeve. He came back to the car with his friend leading a little donkey. He didn't seem so little at the time, really. But I have seen pictures since, and he was little. The friend explained that this was Sleepy the donkey.

Now, you must understand something. Our Dad was a rather stern and unaffectionate man when we were young kids. He was very quick to discipline us, if we were out of line, and you knew you did not sass or talk back to Dad. He never said "I love you" in words to us. But that day, my Dad was trying to show me that he had my desires in mind. Yes, the donkey was for all of us kids, but I always thought of him as more MINE than any of the others.

Sleepy was the most contrary animal. Dad's friend had explained they named him "Sleepy" because he had a trick of faking sleep when he did not want to be ridden. That wasn't his only trick. If we wanted to ride him, there were lots of tricks we had to watch out for. He kicked up both heels if you came near him with the bridle. You had to avoid walking behind him. He bit if you weren't watching. But we were all determined enough, we rode him!

One day, my brother, David, and I wanted to ride the donkey. We got him bridled, and we decided that, instead of riding him around the farm yard, we would let him out and ride on the driveway and maybe out in the (harvested) bean field. We always rode bare back, there was no saddle. My brother got on and I climbed up behind him. Sleepy took off. He would not be guided. He ran off to the back yard and was running toward the clothesline to run under it so he could wipe us off his back. But we were clever enough to duck. As soon as we both ducked down, Sleepy slammed on the brakes, and we went tumbling down his neck, over his head onto the ground. Mom was standing there and she got a laugh out of that, after she saw we were okay.

Another trick of Sleepy the donkey was to walk over to a fence or by the side of the barn and walk so close as to try to crush the rider's leg between the fence or barn and his body. I would always pull up the threatened appendage when he would do this. But of course, that put me off my balance if he decided to buck, which he did, sometimes. I was thrown from his back more than once.

Another day, I was out in the barnyard riding the donkey by myself. On bright, sunny days, it was just the thing to do for entertainment. On this particular farm, there was a loose piece of fence that served as a makeshift gate between the barnyard and the middle pasture. You could pull the fence across the opening and fasten it to the barn. That fence was shut, but the donkey had worked his way under it so many times that it was pretty easy for him to walk under it, when he didn't have a rider. He decided to go under it that day with the rider on. I was wiped off and fell WHUMP flat on my back. It knocked the wind out of me and I could not breathe. I started to panic because I couldn't breathe or make a sound, and I thought that I was going to die. I finally got a breath, and then I got mad at that donkey. I caught him and locked him in the barn for his crime!

There was many an episode of escape for the donkey. The fences on the farm we rented were fraught with holes and bad posts, and our donkey was a regular Houdini. One night he got out and went trotting around the neighborhood. My Dad got home from his second shift job, when one of the neighbors called to inform him that Sleepy was in his yard. There was another donkey and two ponies that lived the next farm down, and that was where Sleepy was visiting. Well, Dad went off to try to catch him. Several times he would get within reach of catching him and the donkey would spin and kick up his heels and take off.

The situation was serious. If the donkey ran out in traffic and someone hit him, Dad knew he would be liable. He reluctantly came back to the house and got his twelve-gauge shot gun and went donkey hunting. Very early the next morning I heard Mom and Dad in the kitchen talking quietly over coffee. Dad was telling Mom something about he "shot him several times" and "finally, he just gave up." I got up and went into the kitchen to ask what had happened, and Dad told me the whole story. When it became light, I went to the barn. My donkey had bullet holes all over. He had blood dripping from many wounds. I began the task of washing him and picking out buckshot. But, you know, that ornery donkey survived that episode. He wasn't really any worse for wear. The fences got patched. I think he never got out again after that.

One day a guy came by the house. He had been to our neighbor's and traded a pony for his donkey. He wanted to trade us a pony for a donkey, too. I don't know what he wanted with our old, contrary donkey. But a pony was a lot closer to looking like a horse, and the trade was made. That was the last I knew of "Sleepy the Donkey." Then began the adventures of "Fury the Pony". But I will save that for another day.

Ode to Mowing

  My dad gave us a used mower, which I am very thankful for. The grass in our yard gets pretty tall. Our landlord doesn't like it if we go for a week without mowing. And, besides, I think mown grass looks good.  But I was mowing pretty shortly after I received the new mower and I started thinking about Shakespeare. Why is that? I don't know when I started doing this, but sometimes when I am doing something mundane, I like to picture historical figures doing these same things. I guess that it is a form of entertainment to me. So, I think of Abraham Lincoln changing dirty diapers. I think of Florence Nightingale and Julia Roberts doing dishes. I sometimes think of Albert Einstein sitting on the toilet, maybe with diarrhea. I don't think I'm weird to do this. I bet there are other people whose minds work this way.  (But, if not, it's okay.)

    Anyway, I was thinking of Shakespeare, and wondering if he ever had to mow a yard. I don't even know if they had such machines as mowers back in the 1500's. I decided that he did not ever mow. Maybe he pruned hedges, or rose bushes. I am almost certain that he pruned rose bushes and almost as certain that he did not mow yards. I believe that if he had ever mowed a yard, he would have somehow worked it in to one of his writings. He would have had "The Ode to Mowing" or maybe a sonnet. But he didn't. He did mention a rose in one of his writings; "A rose, by any other name..."

   I am convinced that Shakespeare would have written about mowing if he ever did mow. See, when you are out there mowing grass, you have all this time to think. It doesn't take much thought to cut grass, at least, not the way I do it. So you push the mower and you think of other things. (Like the question, "Did Shakespeare ever cut grass?") You think about what you did the week before. You think about how all this rain we are having this spring makes the grass grow faster, and that makes you have to mow more. You think about the fact that it is going to rain for the next three days, and the grass is going to grow again, and you will have to mow it again. How futile is mowing! (I think this would be the first and maybe the last,  line to Shakespeare's "Ode to Mowing".)

   Just saying.