tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47259239726297275802024-03-05T11:30:15.239-05:00Country Life with Country WifeA blog about homesteading, homeschooling, and gardening, with a dash of humor and sprinkle of sarcasm. Also a lot of ranting about...um...everything. (All opinions expressed are my own and do not reflect those of my employers, clients, fellow homesteaders, or the world at large.)Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.comBlogger401125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-25888794859000277972016-03-07T20:04:00.000-05:002016-03-07T20:04:45.915-05:00Spring!I know I haven't posted since the holidays. I'm bad like that. <br />
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Life has been busy, as usual, and I've thrown myself wholeheartedly into my new job. It's amazing!<br />
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I guess you could say I've been bringing my work home with me...<br />
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My living room certainly looks like spring, doesn't it??<br />
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And now, the PEEPERS ARE PEEPING!! This is the first time this year, and I'm so thrilled to hear them that I have the windows open. It's almost 60 degrees outside right now anyway. Wohooo! Spring!!Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-62927396922424338132015-12-26T20:07:00.001-05:002015-12-26T22:34:12.987-05:00My first Empty Nest Holiday: a Silent Night<br />
Edited, because wine = typos.<br />
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This year, Little Sis opted to spend Christmas with her Special Person and their family. That left myself and Eöl at home...alone for the holiday.<br />
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I'm pretty sure Eöl's holiday wish was for peace and quiet. Not only were there no kids in the house, I lost my voice. I'm pretty sure I left it on the table, but when I looked, it wasn't there. Lost. Lost, I tell you.<br />
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Anyhoo...it's been a different, but still nice, holiday.<br />
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We went for a hike in the unusually warm temps and sunshine Christmas Eve.<br />
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We saw perfect fairy landscapes...<br />
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Roses that think it's time to put out new growth...<br />
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Brown Eyed Susans still in bloom....<br />
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And even honeysuckle bushes with new leaves.<br />
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It *is* December, and this *is* Ohio, right?<br />
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We had a fun evening of wrapping presents, because we are still having Christmas here, complete with ham, family, fun, and fruitcake. We are just having it a week later, to give me time to recover my voice (I know I left it here somewhere!) and to give Little Sis a chance to have her own adventures.<br />
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While she is away, we are in charge of The Velociraptor, who decided to lay on the wrapping paper, wiggle around, and generally get in the way.<br />
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And this sad state of affairs...I dropped a present I'd purchased for Eöl. Egads! The horror!!<br />
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We did exchange one gift, saving the rest for our "official holiday". The one I'd intended to give him was the one I dropped...egads again!...but thankfully I had a backup. Anyway, this is what happens when alcoholics...I mean Wine Connoisseurs...shop for each other.<br />
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The poor Velociraptor misses Little Sis...and is still in my way...<br />
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Then, on Christmas morning, we slept until noon. Yeah, that never happens, even with teens in the house. Instead of cooking for just the two of us, we went out for Chinese food. Eöl looks very serious about this meal...<br />
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All in all, not so bad. But I'm looking forward to next weekend: kids, grandkids, presents, noise, hubbub, hooplah, and hopefully my voice back.<br />
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Happy Holidays, everyone!!<br />
<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-89338452606717830282015-12-11T21:07:00.000-05:002015-12-11T21:07:18.609-05:00Silly goose<br />
So much is going on in the world right now that is frightening.<br />
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Bigotry and hate speech are suddenly ok with many.<br />
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Well, maybe certain people were ok with that lot all along, but they knew better than to spout that stuff in public. They knew their coworkers, friends, and relatives would look at them with disdain and disgust. They knew it was a sign of poor breeding and lower socioeconomic status.<br />
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But now, well, there's some idiot trumpeting around like a mad goose, honking all about banning Muslims, deporting Mexicans, making rude comments about women and belittling anyone that dares disagree with his point of view.<br />
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This foul fowl is one percent of the one percent, so if he can say it, it must be ok for Joe Trailer Park to spout all this stuff he's thought all along. Now his friends won't realize he was raised by rats in a dumpster, no siree, now that the rich say such things. In fact, he can soon admit the real reason he's never agreed with the current administration, and it really does have nothing to do with economic policy.<br />
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Nope, Joe is a bigot, through and through, but was never vocal. He kept his rebel flag belt buckle, but he took that stupid sticker off his truck after some woman told him off at a red light. (She was scary.) He had plenty to say with a few drinks in him, but that courage comes cheap and no one respects it. Now folks will have to listen, have to understand that the reason this country is not as great as it once was...he's not sure exactly when that was or how it was so great...is because too many people are different than him. <br />
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Oh, and of course because those different people are probably terrorists. Terrorists that shoot up schools...no, wait, that was a white male. Terrorists that shoot up theaters. Oh, wait, also a white male, dressed as the Joker. Terrorists that shoot up clinics where women seek affordable health care...oh, no, also a white male.<br />
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Well, hmmm.<br />
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Suddenly, Joe is not so sure about what he doesn't like. He knows that trumpeting mad goose is going on and on, honking and honking about all these things, but he's realized something:<br />
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You can't spot a terrorist, or a mad goose, just because of their color, their religion, nationality, or their gender.<br />
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Joe, no longer a small minded bigot, now thinks for himself and is respected by his peers. He invites them all to Christmas dinner. He is serving goose.<br />
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-37257114351280843502015-10-29T20:51:00.001-04:002015-10-29T20:51:10.101-04:00Happy Halloween! Um... I mean Happy Trick or Treat?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's Trick or Treat time here in Ohio. And though I've probably blogged about it before, I'll say it again - our village is the best place to trick or treat. Even adults dress up, and after trick or treat there's a parade and a costume contest. It's like HalloweenTown or something.<br />
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Tonight was pretty windy and cold, and I took teens instead of little ones, so I ended up roaming around on my own and looking at the adorable costumes. <br />
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But as great as the experience is, I find it odd. Here in Ohio, at least in our area of Ohio, Trick or Treat is almost never actually ON Halloween. Not only that, but it's TIMED. As in, you have one hour to trick or treat. At the end of that hour, if you are still trick or treating, I suppose you turn into a jack-o-lantern or something...or probably people just stop handing out treats.<br />
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The kickoff usually falls about 5 or 5:30 p.m., which is really hard for working parents that need to rush home and dress the kiddies. The day, as far as I can remember, is always on a weekday, also, which means a school night for most children, and a work night for most adults. Not the best time for that sugar binge. The trick or treating is generally wrapped up at dusk.<br />
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To people that have always done it this way, it seems normal. And there are advantages: you can trick or treat your own town, then visit a neighboring town on their trick or treat night, and so on. Our first year in Ohio, the kids trick or treated about five or six times. <br />
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However, for those of us that grew up with a more conventional Halloween that, for example, fell ON Halloween, the whole thing seems odd. As a kid, we didn't even start trick or treating until dusk, and we'd go for as long as our little legs could hold out, or until people started turning off their porch lights. (Turning off that light is the universal sign for, "We are out of candy. Bug off.) Then we would stay up late sorting our haul, while our parents looked it over for dangerous items (and took some of their favorites from the pile).<br />
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I remember being sad when I outgrew trick or treating. <br />
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That's another thing: why do people get so upset when teens trick or treat? So what if they are teens?? Sometimes it's nice for them to have a chance to still be kids, and not expected to be grown up before their time. (My teens didn't trick or treat today, but enjoyed walking around and watching the costumes.)<br />
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What's the custom in your area?<br />
<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-69149568490485023742015-10-24T15:59:00.001-04:002015-10-24T15:59:31.285-04:00And....she's back!!After a hiatus, Country Life with Country Wife is back. I did so much writing for the column, Country Life with Candace, that I really didn't have time to get to blogging in addition to my other writing. So, if you feel you've missed anything, just search RichlandSource.com for Country Life with Candace.<br />
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I've recently taken a new position as coordinator of a Teaching Garden with a local non-profit. It's an amazing garden, and a total bonus that I get paid to work there, teach others to garden, and help encourage self-sufficiency and entrepreneurship. If you are curious, you can read a little about it <a href="http://www.richlandsource.com/life_and_culture/a-little-magic-in-the-garden/article_e943053e-7146-11e5-82bb-3faf0fdc93c0.html">here</a> in my final column.<br />
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I'll be back to blogging, and I try to keep up with my<a href="https://www.facebook.com/countrylifewithcountrywife"> Facebook page</a>, so be sure to stop in and give it a "like".<br />
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So....what's the weather like where you are?<br />
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We've had our first freeze already (around Oct. 16), which came the day after our first frost. We even had some snow flurries that weekend. My home garden is done for the season, but the work garden has a nice selection of cole crops still growing strong.<br />
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Today is a rainy, windy day, and I feel a bit under the weather, so I'm enjoying a rest and watching the leaves fall.<br />
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-77416711835459521592015-06-11T05:40:00.000-04:002015-06-11T05:40:15.769-04:00Ugh. Mornings.I've never really been a morning person. Sure, I like watching the sun rise and the sky turn pink, then blue. I love hearing the birds sing. I love the smell of early morning.<br />
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But not EVERY morning.<br />
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I like sleep. I like staying up late.<br />
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But right now, I'd give about anything to just go back to bed. Instead, I'm off to the office...after I down a gallon of coffee and take a shower, of course. Can't go out in public with bed head, right?<br />
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I suppose it is nice, as I sit here getting ready for work and watch deer and rabbits in the yard. Thankfully, they are mostly in the clover and not in my garden.<br />
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My garden, by the way, is minuscule this year. Teensy, even. It's just weird to have grass and clover where I once grew food. I don't think I like it much.<br />
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But what's a gal to do? I only have so many hours in the day and so much energy. Gardening has to be cut back in order to make time for working on the house - stuff is actually getting done, by the way. Hoping to get mowing and even some painting done on my day off this week.<br />
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Yeah, it could happen.<br />
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After I catch up on my sleep.<br />
<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-21198450949135252942015-06-11T05:34:00.004-04:002015-06-11T05:34:51.221-04:00Mulch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yes, I will write about anything. <a href="http://www.richlandsource.com/life_and_culture/mulch-ado-about-planting/article_67e6492a-0f07-11e5-a11b-eb451879822b.html">Even mulch.</a></div>
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-74073325501906768212015-05-25T08:13:00.001-04:002015-05-25T08:13:37.153-04:00More column linksIt's spring, and that means things are busy at the farmstead. With my return to work over the last couple of years, things have really gotten hectic. It's hard to keep up with mowing, planting, housework, and writing all at once.<br />
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But I bet I'm preaching to the choir, right? We all have busy lives and many of you that read here are likely working toward some kind of self-sufficiency. Unless you are just stopping by to say, "Look at what this crazy woman is doing now," which is fine. Having an audience for my insanity just makes things more fun.<br />
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The column is doing well, and I am thoroughly enjoying the adventure.<br />
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My recent columns have included advice on growing <a href="http://www.richlandsource.com/life_and_culture/squashin-it/article_d5fb0fac-fe47-11e4-8ab2-fb75b8e79402.html">squash</a>, the office <a href="http://www.richlandsource.com/life_and_culture/office-strife-or-dandelion-wars/article_05941a50-f980-11e4-9677-577a01f6ea1b.html">Dandelion Wars</a>, and of course the awesomeness of <a href="http://www.richlandsource.com/life_and_culture/chickens-eggs-and-more/article_682d138c-f260-11e4-a01f-3b613eeb5138.html">chickens</a>.<br />
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Most columns are reminiscent of things I've discussed here, and even include pics from the blog, so many of my faithful readers (both of them) may be familiar with the topics already.<br />
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It's a lot of fun to bring in a new audience, especially a local one. The Dandelion Wars column was very popular, with folks choosing Team Dandelion or Team Emerald Lawn, but I owe that to our amazing social media guru, who posed the question of team loyalty via Facebook.<br />
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Check out the columns, and if you have any great ideas for an upcoming column, leave a comment here at the blog. Feedback is always welcome!Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-82481949415868508522015-04-29T19:06:00.001-04:002015-04-29T19:06:13.495-04:00Complete with audio - this week's column!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.richlandsource.com/life_and_culture/what-does-the-fox-say/article_451cf52c-edd5-11e4-be19-afe2f0c8a344.html">Click here for this week's column!! yay!!!</a></div>
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-53136381226789869872015-04-22T18:11:00.003-04:002015-04-22T18:11:57.322-04:00Drum roll, please.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I can't believe how excited I am about this!! You can tell by all the exclamation points!!!!</div>
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I am now an official garden columnist for a local news site!!!</div>
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(Yes, that's me....name and all. My secret identity...sigh...)</div>
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All of my faithful readers (both of you)....come, read, share!!</div>
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Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-18544078790163667712015-04-16T20:35:00.002-04:002015-04-16T20:35:58.368-04:00Changes on the way...So you may have noticed a few things are different. More details to come soon, I promise!! Big stuff on the horizon!!<br />
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-63128848828223927072015-03-11T13:03:00.003-04:002015-03-11T13:03:23.109-04:00I'm not addicted...I can quit whenever I want<br />
My seed addiction is under control. I swear! I haven't bought any seeds this year!!<br />
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Ok, that's actually because when I was in the store, they didn't have anything interesting. And because I just haven't had time to sit down and page through the seed catalogs as much as I'd like.<br />
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I have a list, though.<br />
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But the garden is going to be so much smaller this year (she says through clenched teeth).<br />
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I've said that every year, and ended up expanding most years instead of reducing. Last year, we took the size down a bit by using smaller beds instead of one giant one.<br />
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This year, there's no choice but to reduce the garden. This summer we plan to crack down on the home repairs and improvements, and we really can't tackle that and tend a huge garden. <br />
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We still have plenty of produce put up from previous years, which helps, but of course we want our garden fresh goodies. And if I don't get to play in the dirt, I just may go insane.<br />
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I'm already having plant withdrawal. I plan to get some seedlings started this weekend, but nothing like my past adventures.<br />
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Nope, this year will be just a tray or two. **gasp** I feel faint just saying that.<br />
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It's just a small break. Just one year. Just a few months...Just one season....<br />
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I will never survive. You'll find me in the *former* garden space, lying in the dirt, twitching.<br />
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-54206469615597998212015-02-13T00:52:00.000-05:002015-02-13T00:52:53.279-05:00Random blog vomit<br />
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<li>I have been awake for 20 hours.</li>
<li>I haven't slept more than 6 hours in a row all week.</li>
<li>I think the leprechaun on the Lucky Charms box is staring at me.</li>
<li>I can't eat Lucky Charms. They are not gluten free.</li>
<li>I miss real bread, real cake, and any baked good not made with rice flour. Good lord deliver me from rice flour. </li>
<li>I just finished an assignment. I'm sure when I read it tomorrow, I will be horrified. As tired as I am, it's probably nursery rhymes or gibberish. </li>
<li>It is really cold here.</li>
<li>It's February. It's Ohio. Why am I surprised? </li>
<li>I know what Frost Quakes are. Do you?</li>
<li>I once ate cereal from a box of Wheaties with Bruce Jenner on the front. I'd proudly do the same today....except the gluten would kill me.</li>
<li>I like to crunch ice cubes. Other people hate that. What's wrong with them?</li>
<li>Now I think it's time to go to bed before I start babbling. Oh...too late.</li>
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Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-27452553937865079552015-01-29T00:21:00.002-05:002015-01-29T00:21:43.885-05:00Poppin' Tags<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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First of all, for those of you that don't get the "poppin' tags" reference in the title:</div>
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(Language warning: F-bombs and more await...)</div>
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Mad props to Macklemore for making thrift store shopping cool. </div>
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I've been a thrift store shopper for years. My favorite shopping quote has always been "a true shopper never pays retail". </div>
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It's about more than the price, though. Thrift shopping is recycling at its best. There was a time, not so long ago, when clothing was worn til it wore out. My grandmother made quilts out of her old dresses, and saved all the buttons in a tin. Those quilts are dear to me because each quilt square is a memory: I remember her wearing the red dress with an anchor pattern, the blue dress with white polka dots. And that tin of buttons? Not only did I play in it, counting each button or looking with amazement at some really odd ones, but so did my kids. </div>
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A lot of people are horrified at thrift store shopping, and feel its gross to wear used clothes. Ever rented a tux? Used. Slept in a hotel bed? Used. So, really, it's not so gross. Besides, I'm a homesteader, and anyone that's ever shoved their hand into a dead chicken is not so easily grossed out. </div>
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Years of living the homesteading lifestyle, with no use for dress clothes, left me with a closet full of Carhartt and flannel. Once upon a time I owned dress clothes, but every closet purge depleted the stock until none were left.</div>
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And then I went back to the office world.</div>
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I've been slowly rebuilding my "corporate wear". Our office is "dress casual", so things like khakis are fine. Freelancing, I wear whatever the occasion demands, but can usually pull off a nice pair of jeans and a dressy top.</div>
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Thrift store shopping is like playing bingo, sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you don't. I've been to the shop, which is about the size of your average Target, and not found a single thing that fit. Then there are days when I hit the jackpot and bring home a bag of goodies.</div>
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I just had one of those jackpot days...</div>
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The haul included 16 tops (some were for Little Sis), six pairs of dress pants, two dresses, a prom gown (also for Little Sis), two skirt-suit combos, a hat and scarf, four shirts and four pants for the grandbabies, and 7 books. Most of the clothes were designer; the Jones New York suit retails for over $200. I paid $2.50. The grand total came to just under $70. The prom gown was $10, the most expensive item, but a bargain nonetheless.<br />
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Now to find a place to put it all...<br />
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-30958533997470884462015-01-26T21:54:00.000-05:002015-01-26T21:54:01.228-05:00Ch-ch-changes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sorry..that's my favorite version. What can I say, I love Shrek.<br />
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But yeah, changes. I was just finishing a tweet...seriously...and I realized, wow, things really have changed.<br />
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CountryWife has gone from a sort-of-secret blog to something I'm proud to share with the world. And me, the gal who eschewed all social media, has, thanks to her job, embraced Facebook and yes, even Twitter. <br />
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Get ready...any minute the other three horsemen of the apocalypse will appear...<br />
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Yep...there's one now....<br />
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Anyhoo...<br />
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A few years ago, the woman carrying the chainsaw, with sawdust in her hair, would have chased you around the yard while laughing maniacally if you dared suggest she would one day be wearing dress clothes and pantyhose again.<br />
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Dress clothes, a gym membership, and fuel oil. What has the world come to??<br />
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Oh look...another horseman of the apocalypse approaches...<br />
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It's not like I never use the chainsaw anymore. I do. I just don't *have* to. Fuel oil, after years of wood burning, is like magic. Seriously, it's some kind of voodoo. Just push a button and the house gets warm.</div>
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I feel like a city girl.</div>
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But it all goes to show that we never know what life holds in store. I love writing for a living, and editing, too. Sure, some days it's stressful, with deadlines and standing in the cold to get a story, but it's fun and interesting, too.</div>
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My goal now is to find balance. I don't want to be the career girl. But I don't want to be a slave to my farmstead, either. I want to spend my free time in the woods, or dressing as a fairie for Ren Fests, or just having a quiet cup of coffee. I want to work on the house and have a *reasonable* garden...although I'm still working out what falls under "reasonable".</div>
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I could never give up gardening or homesteading or writing...I just have to make room for it all.</div>
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Balance. </div>
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(Yes, it's my blog, and I can abuse the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellipsis">ellipsis</a> as much as I like, thank you very much.)</div>
<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-30875516701021680112015-01-23T22:42:00.002-05:002015-01-23T22:42:42.390-05:00How much is that 'possum in the window? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This little guy was sitting in the patio window, just hoping to come inside. Nope, I'm not silly enough to put my fingers that close to him without a forcefield...I mean window...between us.<br />
<br />
The following night, the GIANT 'possum made a stop in the same spot. I never would've known Big Mama was out there, except she <i>stood up and scratched at the window.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I wonder if they know I was the <a href="http://countrylifewithcountrywife.blogspot.com/2014/04/mud.html">slayer of their kinsman</a> when he invaded my chicken tractor? Should I worry that, perhaps, they are seeking revenge? * panics* Will I be eaten in the night by a hoard of angry marsupials??<br />
<br />
*shrugs* Oh well, it would be a cool way to go, right?<br />
<br />
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<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-11545441316817130912015-01-17T20:06:00.002-05:002015-01-17T20:06:35.282-05:00Seeeeeeeds!!!Quick...save me from myself! It's so hard not to go buy more seeds!! <br />
<br />
Like I need any...I still have a whole chest freezer full of seeds. <br />
<br />
But...but....<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Walmart is fully stocked!! How awesome is it that they replaced the Christmas stuff with seeds?! I don't think they used to put them out so early...but you don't hear me complaining!!<br />
<br />
This means it's spring, right??Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-25805556054639538882015-01-11T19:15:00.000-05:002015-01-12T09:29:40.786-05:00Must...not...buy...more...seeds....<br />
Finally, a quiet morning and free time to look at seed catalogs.<br />
<br />
"Oooh, look at that!" exclaims Eöl, "Blue potatoes! They are blue in the middle! And purple! They also have purple!"<br />
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<br />
<br />
This is the man that wouldn't eat pasta sauce made from yellow tomatoes, because, as he so delicately put it, "It looks like dog vomit."<br />
<br />
The same man wants blue and purple potatoes, as if he'd ever even take a bite of Barney colored mashed potatoes, or fries that are the color of Smurf. **rolls eyes**<br />
<br />
Still, we spent a pleasant morning perusing the seed catalogs, gazing longingly at pictures of fresh produce, new tomato varieties, and strangely-Frankenstein-like grafted creations. One was called "ketchup and fries" and somehow grows potatoes and tomatoes from the same plant. I'm not sure how that's supposed to work, since you can't dig out the potatoes without killing the tomato plant, but it was interesting to imagine.<br />
<br />
We've resolved to cut back on the garden size, at least by half. I had so much just go to waste last year, because I was so busy, and we were gone a lot. But as we flipped through the pile of accumulated catalogs, I honestly wonder if we will cut back, after all.<br />
<br />
I think I have a sickness. <br />
<br />
All I can thing about right now is starting plants. There's been plenty of sun, so I wouldn't need plant lights. I would, however, have to start them indoors. It's just too cold outside, even in the greenhouse. We'd had a mild winter up until this point, but we are making up for it right now, with well-below-zero windchills and temps in the single digits. Blech.<br />
<br />
I would need to take down the Christmas tree. Yeah, I know, it should already be down, since Christmas was, well, <i>last year</i>. But the box we store the tree in is full of firewood, and Little Sis really enjoys the twinkle lights, so the tree is still up. Oh, and we all had the flu and I am lazy, which are the real reasons.<br />
<br />
Once the tree is down, I'll have to scrub down one of the folding tables that is currently in the greenhouse. And I do mean <i>scrub</i>, because I don't want any hitchhiker hatchlings roaming the house, if you get my drift.<br />
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<br />
In the words of <a href="http://theoatmeal.com/">The Oatmeal</a>:<br />
<br />
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<br />
But we know how I am, and I won't be able to stop with just one table of seedlings.<br />
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<br />
No, I have to cover every available surface. I'm a sick, sick person.<br />
<br />
I even brought up doing the farmers' market, just for a couple of weekends, just to sell plants. <br />
<br />
I need help.<br />
<br />
I honestly wonder if I have the self-control to cut the garden back. I don't know. <br />
<br />
I honestly don't know....Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-85700099205166487382015-01-08T16:02:00.000-05:002015-01-08T16:02:26.917-05:00One of "those" people...Sorry, it starts with an ad, and you need to be over 18 to view 'cause of the F-bomb, but look:
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="288" mozallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="https://secure.hulu.com/embed.html?eid=_3ieSxXZjFIqmqY6YfPbHw&partner=southpark&sourceUrl=http%3A//southpark.cc.com/clips/ben022/gluten-free-mkay" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="512"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
For those of you unfamiliar with the show, Mr. Mackey is the gluten free zealot, and Mr. Garrison is the "oh-shut-up-already" guy.<br />
<br />
I used to be more like Mr. Garrison, not falling for fad diets or believing in easy fixes. Now, I fear I sound like Mr. Mackey, and don't you just want to smack that guy?<br />
<br />
As I've said, I had a few issues, mainly the joint pain, and had given up on finding a solution.<br />
<br />
A friend told me that her joint pain was terrible before going GF. Doctor visits saw no results. Her story sounded so much like mine that I thought it was worth a try, at least. No painful injections or expensive medications, just avoiding gluten. How hard could it be?<br />
<br />
Of course, I didn't start out with, "I'm gluten free and I feel fantastic." I started with, "I'm gluten free and I'm STARVING!!"<br />
<br />
It's a bigger change than I would've thought, cutting those delicious wheat carbs from my diet. <br />
<br />
This isn't the kind of diet that you can cheat. You can't be casually gluten-free and expect things to change. I understood that. I've given up a lot of foods I love, just to be rid of this agony. I've been extremely careful, or at least tried to be.<br />
<br />
There have been times, however, that I have not thought, "Oh, that may have gluten," because it was just something I never considered...like a flavored coffee. The results of "getting glutened" that time were so miserable that I thought my appendix had ruptured. I'll spare you the gory details.<br />
<br />
I started the GF adventure in August.<br />
<br />
The first thing I noticed, other than being constantly hungry, was that, three days into the diet, I got into the shower, glanced down, and realized there were <i>bones in my feet</i>. I hadn't seen said bones for quite some time, thanks to the unexplained swelling that had given me feet Miss Piggy would be proud of. Suddenly, it was gone. Poof. I had never once suspected gluten was the culprit in the swelling. Now, I know when I've accidentally consumed gluten, because the swelling will come back for a few hours, sometimes longer depending on the amount.<br />
<br />
Slowly, some of the joint pain vanished. My shoulder stopped aching, but had been replaced by such a bad pain in my hip that I really didn't notice the shoulder was better. I think part of the hip pain was caused by a pinched nerve in my back, but I don't know for sure.<br />
<br />
Then, I realized just the other day that my hip had stopped hurting. Just when I wondered if I would ever be pain-free again, if I was doomed to be in agony at a fairly young age. I had found myself envious of anyone that could move around freely. <br />
<br />
And now, five months into the diet, I feel almost myself again. I can move!! I can bend!!! I can climb stairs, and better yet, I can<i> descend stairs</i> without agony. Those of you with hip or knee pain know what I'm talking about.<br />
<br />
So, I hope you will all forgive me, now that I have become one of <i>those</i> people, talking about how great this diet is. If it bothers you...well...it's probably the gluten, m'kay?<br />
<br />
<br />Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-27046309918411638762015-01-03T11:56:00.003-05:002015-01-03T11:56:22.798-05:00The Secret Society of the Gluten Free<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m originally from the south. We coat everything in flour
and deep fry it. We bake pies with flaky homemade crusts, thick cobblers
overflowing with berries, fluffy dumplings, and gravy so thick you could cut it
with a fork.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In other words, we revel in gluten; but not anymore, at
least for me. Severe joint pain and a few other issues have left me searching for relief, thus I venture down the path of the gluten free (GF).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been an adjustment, especially when it comes to eating
out. I feel as though I have joined some sort of underground group – The Secret
Society of the Gluten Free.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I call it that, not because we are a silent group. No, we will
vociferously ask for our GF options. I use the term because, when asking for a
gluten-free menu at a local restaurant recently, the waitress glanced around
furtively, leaned over, and said, in a low voice, “I’ll go find you one.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When she returned to the table, she slid the menu across to
me as if she were passing top secret documents that would soon self-destruct. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I commented on the oddity to my husband, after the waitress
had ventured off to pass along government secrets to the Russians at the next
table. Then I glanced down at the menu. “Oh, look,” I said, “it’s in code.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ok, it wasn't really in code, but the laminated 8 ½ x 11
inch piece of plain white paper, with small but simple black type, required a ludicrous
amount of cross-referencing with the regular menu. The GF menu also included
the standard “I hope you know you are going to suffer some cross-contamination,
and probably explosive diarrhea, for having the unmitigated gall to eat out”
warning as well as instructions for the restaurant staff on preparation of the
somewhat dry and boring gluten-free options.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rice, I might add, was listed as a non-GF food. Rice.
The added seasonings were apparently rife with gluten.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stuck closely to the menu, and specified more than once to
the waitress that this was a GF meal. Having served as spy-for-a-day, she’d
lost interest in the whole GF affair and jotted the order down as if it were no
big deal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Four hours later, my feet were swollen, usually the first
sign I've had gluten. Thankfully, I missed out on the explosive diarrhea.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At another restaurant (you’d think I’d learn the dangers of
eating out, wouldn't you?), I was lectured by a friend that restaurants were
taking pains to train their staff in the dangers of cross-contamination for
celiac patrons. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s not been my experience,” I tell her, yet she firmly
stuck to her belief that all servers were wise to gluten.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The waitress arrived to take our orders, and I asked if
there was a gluten-free menu (probably locked in the vault). No luck. So I
inquired as to which menu items were gluten-free.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Um, that’s yeast, right?” she replied, as I gave my friend
an “I told you so” eyebrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I even had to explain that no croutons could touch the
salad. “No, I can’t just pick them out,” I firmly told the disbelieving
waitress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am so tired of salad.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a world where travel is common and eating out is a social
thing, it’s hard to avoid restaurants. Even at my job, a regular team luncheon
is expected. It’s difficult to explain that one can’t simply just order a salad
(Did I mention I’m sick of salad?) and trust that it’s free of gluten. (What
are those crumbly things?? Are those artificial bacon bits?? What’s in that
dressing?) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m tired of explaining whether or not I have an “official”
diagnosis, and what happens if I eat gluten. Personally, I don’t want to
explain my intestinal issues, and I’m sure the surrounding diners don’t want to
hear about it while they are enjoying their warm yeast rolls, pies, cakes, and
other gluten vehicles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for second-hand gluten, or cross-contamination, it’s
frustrating. Try insisting that your friend or co-worker not pass that plate of
rolls across your plate, or eat that sandwich while standing close enough for
crumbs to fall into your very plain salad. (Lettuce is evil and if I eat any
more I will find myself delivering Easter eggs.) Of course everyone thinks you
are overreacting and just being cranky because you don’t have enough carbs in
your diet. Never mind trying to explain
the issue of needing a separate toaster.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was told by one person that they gave up gluten for a
while and felt amazing, but explained that was most likely due to the fact they
gave up drinking and sugar, as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Whoa, now, let’s not get crazy,” I replied. “I’m not trying
to deprive myself. There are plenty of gluten-free alcohol options. And sugar?
That stuff’s gluten-free. I will eat it right out of the bag.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not some kind of nut case, you know. Pass the wine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-52651417906436820902015-01-01T18:44:00.000-05:002015-01-01T18:44:45.675-05:00A new year dawns...I was going to say something about the highlights of this past year, but I'm so stoned on cold meds that I can't remember most of it. Not saying it like it's a bad thing, though.<br />
<br />
The loss of dad was probably the low point, but I did learn a valuable lesson from his death: Live every day to its fullest. Even Little Sis is saying YOLO a lot more now. You know it's poignant when a teen says it.<br />
<br />
This was not my best garden, and we've decided to trim it by at least half for this season. We want to do more landscaping and just travel and have fun, rather than be tied down to the homestead at planting, harvest, and everything in between. I guess an 8,000 sf garden is still impressive, right?<br />
<br />
I went back to work in 2013 as a freelance writer, and picked up an in-the-office-position of Assistant Editor in 2014. It's been an adjustment, and part of that is me having to realize that I can't be all things to all people. Remembering to take time out is important. Getting caught up in the workaholic thing that I can be, not so much.<br />
<br />
I went to my first Ren Fair a couple of years ago, but this year was the first time Eol and I have gone together. Dressing up as elves/fairies is somewhat addictive and definitely fun. Ren fairs themselves are addictive, but going in costume and having kids come up and ask for wishes, well, you just can't beat that. My fairy wardrobe is growing steadily and we are looking forward to this year's Ren fairs, for sure. It's a great excuse to travel AND play dress up.<br />
<br />
I'm seriously considering leaving my tree up until next Christmas. Getting a head-start on that whole holiday thing, ya know?<br />
<br />
This random post has been brought to you by the flu, antihistamines for sneezing, meds for coughing, and sinus pressure relief. Please overlook typos because the letters keep running around the page making faces at me.Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-18770444022069737082014-12-31T11:48:00.000-05:002014-12-31T11:48:26.016-05:00*cough*fever*coughGreetings, and welcome to flu season! Please prepare yourselves for the journey of a lifetime. You'll enjoy randomly hacking up a lung, watery eyes, rapid-fire sneezes, and aches throughout your entire body.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
A lucky few will get the bonus of a completely stuffed-up nose that will run constantly. Stuffed-up and runny at the same time? Some people get to have it all!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Speaking of having it all, how about a body temperature high enough to toast bread, while you shiver uncontrollably and feel like you are standing naked in Antarctica. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since your head is going to be all stuffed-up and fargly-bargly, we'll throw in some dizziness at no extra cost!!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All that mucous must of course be accompanied by a sore throat. You'll have the advantage of talking with the stuffed-up accent of the truly ill, while everything you hear will sound as if you are underwater. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The only solution is to fill yourself with random cold medicine, thereby giving you the wibbly-eyed dog look.</div>
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Ugh. Hope your New Year's Eve is better than mine!</div>
Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-69163264964128081462014-12-26T23:22:00.000-05:002015-04-16T20:23:57.104-04:00This is what happens when you die: a tearstained and irreverent memorial to my dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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As Miss Argentina so eloquently put it, "This is what happens when you die. That is what happens when he dies. That is what happens when they die. It's all very personal."<br />
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It is, indeed, personal. As is the mourning. Some people cry, some people laugh. My family, in the face of my father's recent passing, did a lot of both. We made inappropriate jokes. We discussed putting his ashes in a boot. We cried, held each other, and considered propping him up to give out Halloween candy.<br />
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My dad was a smartass; he always had a quip on the situation at hand. He always had us laughing, or at least rolling our eyes and chuckling. No subject was taboo, no joke too risque. His sense of humor never left him, no matter how sick he was.<br />
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My dad had been on dialysis for nearly four years. He had survived several heart surgeries, was diabetic, had lost part of a foot, and used a wheelchair and a walker. He'd been in and out of hospitals, and each time we prepared ourselves, thinking this would be it, he wouldn't be coming home. And each time he surprised us, assuring us he was "just too mean to die".<br />
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"Too ornery," we all said, laughing as he cracked jokes about hospital food and gowns that were open in the back.<br />
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As a result of his resilience, his death took us all by surprise.<br />
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On the morning of my dad's passing, all three of us kids were working. I was closest, so when I got the call from mom, I was the first to arrive. I was shocked to see a police car in the driveway, lights flashing - but probably not as shocked as the poor officer was when I barreled through the door, nearly knocking her down, and flew into my mom's arms.<br />
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The officer was polite, and backed out of the room to give us privacy. It was only after hugging my mother fiercely for a few minutes, leaving copious amounts of snot on her shoulder, that I realized...my dad was <i>still in the house.</i> Right there. On. the. bed.<br />
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The squad (emergency medical services) had come and gone. <i>And my dad was still there.</i><br />
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The officer came back into the room to finish paperwork, and shortly afterward, my sister-in-law arrived. Cue a rewind: trample officer, get snot on mom's shoulder, look shocked at realizing that dad <i>is still there.</i><br />
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The whole situation is not something one thinks of. For most of us, our experience with death is a sort of after-the-fact situation. We attend funerals, express our condolences, and we go on with our lives. We never think about how the body got to the funeral home or who transported it. We don't know about the coroner or police or the rest.<br />
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The officer had, once again, stepped out of the room to allow the family privacy. This time, she returned with a second officer, who explained that, as dad had died at home, they needed to take a picture for documentation.<br />
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The officers were very gentle in their explanation, and sensitive to the family's feelings. They asked us to step out of the frame and took a few quick photos. Then one of the officers mentioned that he'd heard us discussing cremation, so he offered the information that one funeral home in town does the cremation for them all, and he'd be happy to contact them for us.<br />
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The officer also informed us that, due to dad's health and medical history, the coroner had "signed off" on the death and would not be at the scene.<br />
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"Wait. What? Coroner?" I thought, but then I realized, of course the coroner would be called in the case of any death, especially those that occurred at home unexpectedly.<br />
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Wow. I never really thought about all this.<br />
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The officer also informed us that the funeral home would be responsible for removing my father. Mom asked if they could wait until my brothers made the trek from work, and the officer assured her that it would take some time for the hearse to arrive.<br />
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The officers, it turned out, were required to stay on scene until the funeral home representatives arrived. What, I wonder, did they think would happen if they left? Would we auction off spare parts to the highest bidder? Perhaps a macabre puppet show?<br />
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The hearse arrived, of course before my brothers. Two tiny girls came in. It didn't occur to me at the time that these 100 lb gals were expected to lift my dad. Dad was not a small guy.<br />
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Mom asked them to come back once my brothers had had a chance to say goodbye. They were gracious and agreed to come back, wrote down our names and my dad's name, and gave us a list of things to bring to the funeral home.<br />
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My brothers arrived separately, along with another sister-in-law, and each new arrival set us all off again, crying, snot, and the works.<br />
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While waiting for each new arrival, those of us in attendance would reminisce about dad's sense of humor, and yes, we really did talk about how he had recently joked that, should be die, he'd like to be propped up to hand out Halloween candy. As he passed away just before Halloween, we talked about it (No, we weren't serious, so don't get your panties in a wad).<br />
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At long last, we were ready for the funeral home to take dad away. My brother asked if he should call for pick up. I caught myself snickering, thinking it sounded like he was calling for pizza, and I obviously wasn't alone when he continued, in his best Beavis and Butthead style, "Pickup or delivery?"<br />
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See how we are?<br />
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My brother made the call and gave his name. I had the most ridiculous moment of panic in realizing that, while he was on the phone, I'd forgotten to let the funeral home know my brother had the same name as my dad. What if they thought we were pranking them? Suddenly I was laughing, picturing my dad doing his Monty Python impressions.<br />
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At last the funeral home reps returned, the same two girls. They assured us they could handle it, but I'm pretty sure my brothers helped as the rest of us took my mom outside. <br />
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They brought dad out under a quilt, which was an unexpected, though nice, touch. Too much television had me picturing a body bag. The gals had left a rose where dad had been, also a nice touch but a tearful one.<br />
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We went to the funeral home the following day (They don't open the place just because you pass away on a Sunday. Go figure.) to make arrangements and say goodbye. There was to be no public viewing and no services, just as dad had requested. <br />
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After discussion of the shocking price list (not that this funeral home was any more expensive than the next, mind you), dad's arrangements were made. <br />
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Among the items listed to bring to the funeral home were a photo for the obituary. No one really felt up to skimming their phones and computers for one, so we chose one that was framed on the wall at home. I suddenly realized why some people have some not-so-great obituary photos, cropped from family photos or blurry action shots. I even saw one once of a guy holding a string of fish, but now that I think about it, if that's how he lived, and how his family remembers him, then good for them for staying true to his character.<br />
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I have announced that, morbid as it sounds, Eol and I will take photos of each other every year, and pick the one we want with the obit, should we perish in that calendar year. <br />
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The list, though, is something everyone should know about. Now. While you are not under the stress, and copious amounts of mucous and used tissues that follow the loss of a loved one. Get this stuff together, in one spot, and save some stress later. This is what the funeral home asked for, though I find some things a bit superfluous:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Date of birth</li>
<li>Place of birth</li>
<li>Social Security Number</li>
<li>Mother's maiden name</li>
<li>Father's name</li>
<li>Occupation</li>
<li>Information for obituary (nothing wrong with writing it up now. You can be <a href="http://www.today.com/health/dad-reveals-himself-be-spider-man-funny-touching-obituary-1D80336807">Spider Man</a> if you want.)</li>
<li>Picture for obituary.</li>
<li>Life insurance information.</li>
<li>Veteran discharge papers (DD214)</li>
<li>Clothing for the deceased, including underclothing and shoes. (Shoes?! I forbid anyone to bury me in shoes! WTF? Where am I going to walk that I would need shoes?? Is this in case I am a zombie? In case I get to boogie with MJ....?)</li>
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<li>Glasses, if worn regularly (because I may need to read something, and of course I always wear them in my sleep...sheesh)</li>
<li>Dentures (because how can you eat delicious brains without them!)</li>
<li>Additional 30 photos for video tribute (optional)</li>
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Some of this is optional, but the funeral home will need the place/date of birth, parents' names, etc for the death certificate. Your life insurance info they need in order to bill directly. If you don't have enough life insurance, it could be an issue. </div>
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Speaking of cost, a cremation runs about $2500, at least in my neck of the woods, without the visitation and all that other jazz. </div>
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Most people plan to wear a suit. My dad wore a Superman shirt, because he was our hero. Suits were not his thing.</div>
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Because he was cremated, we opted for the "alternative container". The salesperson avoided, at all cost, the use of the word "cardboard". Dude, you put my dad in a giant shoe box. Sure, it's got some sort of wood-grain contact paper on it, but it's still a shoe box. We can say cardboard. It's ok. He would've appreciated the joke. </div>
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Mom picked out the urn, and yes, we really did joke about the old boot. The funeral home rep said that one person brought in a polished Harley Davidson motorcycle fuel tank for their loved one's remains. I thought that was pretty cool, and dad would have really loved that, as he always wanted a Harley. Wish we'd thought of that.</div>
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We had a small family viewing, which was hard because we had to say goodbye all over again. The funeral home supplied teddy bears for each grandchild (even the grown ones) and great-grandchild, plus one bear to be placed with dad by the kids. It was a sweet gesture.</div>
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Christmas was tough without him. There was no one here to make pickled eggs for or buy silly Duck Dynasty merch for. </div>
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You may think I'm cruel or disrespectful, blogging and joking about my father's death. Him, he would have loved being the topic of a blog post, and would've said to kiss his ass if you didn't like it.</div>
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Raising a glass to you, Dad, 'cause I know you are rocking the afterlife. We miss you.</div>
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Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-6591047322906760642014-10-05T21:32:00.001-04:002014-10-05T21:32:18.132-04:00A comment on the weather...Um..what the heck, Mother Nature??<br />
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Yesterday, October 4, it SNOWED.<br />
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Picture me at the office, where the windows don't really reveal a lot other than tires and feet, as Big Sis phones to ask if she's lost her mind, or is it snowing.<br />
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"You're on crack," I reply. (See how nurturing I can be?) "It can't be snowing. It's just now October," I say.<br />
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"Yep, freezing rain or something," says a coworker, as I go to open the door and peek outside.<br />
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By the time I'd left work, stopped at the grocery story, and wheeled my overflowing cart into the wind, it was <i>pouring </i>some sleet/freezing rain kind of voodoo mixture. What. The. Heck.<br />
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It was a balmy 40 something out. Why was it snowing/ sleeting/ pooping ice cold things from the sky??<br />
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I loaded my car with groceries and ice pellets. Well, the pellets stowed away, actually, and then transformed into blobs of frigid wetness, soaking grocery bags, the upholstery, and my clothes as I shivered and cranked up the heat. Unloading groceries packed in wilting paper bags is not fun, by the way.<br />
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Winter. It's coming. I'm moving south.Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4725923972629727580.post-54085805892216223032014-09-18T20:50:00.001-04:002014-09-18T20:50:13.023-04:00Winter. Blech.I don't even want to think about winter. Ever.<br />
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But now the temps are dipping, the leaves are falling in earnest (poor earnest, stuff happens to him all the time), and I'm pretty sure we've had a light frost, judging by the state of the garden.<br />
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Then, I see something shared on Facebook, that evil, time-sucking vortex of idle chit chat and random facts, that said this winter is predicted to be "catastrophic". Erm. What??<br />
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Last winter...well, you were there. It was cold. Miserably cold. As in the devil-wears-a-fur-coat-cold. <br />
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This winter may be worse, I'm told. Um, no thank you. Please pass the spring with a side of sunshine and I'm sorry but I'm currently living winter-free and will absolutely not do well if I partake of said winter, thank you very much.<br />
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So..yeah..winter. More snow than ever seen this century, I hear. Power outages, snowed-in, can't get to walmart kind of snow. Sigh.<br />
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Time to stock up firewood. I have *no* time to cut wood, and I'm hoping my firewood guy can deliver. What a year to decide to go back to fuel oil, right? So we are hoping to double up, getting the firewood first and the oil second, if we can even get any oil after last year's shortages.<br />
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If this winter turns out to be a false alarm, fine. The wood will keep. In fact, I'm perfectly willing to hand over all that wood in exchange for a mild winter of nothing below 60 degrees. What do you say, Mother Nature, do we have a deal?Country Wifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672669122242456408noreply@blogger.com2