I once set a bed on fire

Now that I have your attention....
When I was a child in Iowa, we lived directly across the road from the local blacksmith and his family.  The road was evidently a dividing line for school districts, because the Mitchell boys attended a different one-room school than I did.  
It was December, and my mom and I were going to go with the Mitchells to see the boys' school Christmas program; we went over to their house a little ahead of time.  The kids and I wandered upstairs to play while our parents were visiting.  As was true of all the old two-story houses of that day, the upstairs wasn't heated and it was really cold up there.  
In the 1940's and '50's, lots of folks had lights that hooked over the top of their their headboards, so if they wanted to read in bed, or simply have a light close at hand, there it was.  I've scoured the Internet looking for a picture of such a light, but didn't find one like I remember.  If you are my age, perhaps you know what I'm talking about.   
Anyway, there was a headboard lamp hooked onto the bed the boys shared, and I got an incredible idea:  light bulbs put out heat, so why not turn that lamp on and put it under the covers so that when we returned from the program, the boys would have a nice warm bed.  
I have no idea why I had such concern for little Lloyd and Gary.  
They returned, after the program, to a smoke-filled house and a smoldering mattress; I remember seeing it on the lawn the next day, black and smelly, where it had landed after being shoved out the window.  
Looking back, I'm sure the kids must have told their mom it was my bright idea to put the light under the covers, but nobody ever accused me; and I went around carrying what I thought was a dirty little secret inside me for a long, long time.

This is the school I attended in Iowa

A little bit of link love and some thank-yous

I love my readers and commenters:  so many of you follow this mess that's called a blog, and actually seem to enjoy it.  Even better, you talk back to me.  
I've picked up a new reader living in one of my favorite parts of my favorite state (next to Missouri):  Yeah, Colorado.  He lives at Canon City, near the Royal Gorge.  The thing that amazes me about the guy is that he's eighty-nine years old, and blogging.  You might want to go visit Sam and say hello.  
One of my longtime regular readers, Dee from Tennessee, suggested a blog to me, and she was SO on-target with this one.  If you like old-time Appalachian folk music; if you like old-timey things in general; or if you just like to visit a nice, peaceful blog where nobody is pushing their agenda on you, you'll like "Blind Pig and The Acorn".  
Oh, and a Wyoming reader invited me to visit her farm if Cliff and I make it to Montana; she says they have a Ford tractor for Cliff to check out, and a part-Jersey milk cow I'll want to meet.  
I love this blogging thing!  Thanks to my readers who leave comments and give suggestions.  You are more than I deserve. 

Sadie, on ice

Cliff went walking with Sadie Sunday while I was preparing our Superbowl meal; he was tossing a stick for her, as usual, and threw one at the frozen pond... which turned out not to be so frozen, because Sadie broke through.  No harm was done.
Today, knowing that with the temperature at 14 and the windchill at 1 the pond was frozen solid again, I decided to see if I could trick Sadie into sliding on the ice.  This time the ice is smooth as glass, and it took three tries before I managed to get the stick where I wanted it, away from the banks.  She obviously remembers the incident from Sunday, because she was extremely cautious about setting foot on the ice.

Despite the cold temperature, Sadie and I had a great time out there for forty-five minutes.
My daughter left a comment saying I should tell my readers that the pond is only about two feet deep, just in case someone thought Cliff had put her in danger.  Believe me, if Sadie HAD been in danger, Cliff would have dived in; he knows how much that dog contributes to my happiness, and when Mama's happy... well, you know the rest.  
I did once have a calf drown in a very shallow pond because once he had broken through the ice, he was trapped there.

It's even too cold to suit the dog

It's ten degrees, with a strong wing blowing.  In other words, totally miserable.  
I went in the bedroom to get my clothes for the day, and Sadie got out of her bed and shook like she always does, just to make sure there's plenty of her super-fine dog hair in every corner of the room.  I asked her if she wanted to potty, and she went to the door.  
I hadn't even gotten the door closed before she did her "bark-bark" to signal that she wanted back in.

I looked through the ice-glazed glass of the storm door, and there she stood:  wanting in without doing what she had been sent out there to do.  It had been fourteen hours since her last trip outside, for pete's sake.  So I commanded her sternly, "Go potty!"

I must say, she completed the mission in record time, and was quickly back at the door saying, "Bark-bark!"

This cabin fever is obviously getting to me; I've resorted to sharing pictures of my dog peeing.  How could I have sunk so low?
Actually, I need to back away from the computer; there's a flurry going on at another blog, and I can't stay away from the comment section there.  The blog entry isn't interesting at all, but the comments?  Wow!  (Sorry, I won't link to it; I'm keeping my nose clean.)

Muck boots

Shortly after Christmas, I bought a pair of Muck Boots; it turned out to be one of the more timely purchases of my life.  A few days later, influenced by the sheer happiness those boots had brought me (and six inches of new snowfall), Cliff decided to buy a pair for himself, even though he had a problem with paying almost $100 for rubber boots.  Unfortunately, Kleinschmidt's was sold out by then.  Everybody in the surrounding four counties wanted their feet warm and dry during this old-fashioned winter we're having.
So, when we'd take our daily walk and hit the downhill parts, I'd trod firmly through the snow and ice while Cliff slid.  On the few days we had some thawing, he'd come back with wet feet and muddy shoes, listening to me rave about my Muckmasters.
The other day we were in the area, so we went back to Kleinschmidt's and found Muck Boots aplenty.  They had wisely restocked; I'm sure they're making a fortune on winter boots this year.  
Cliff was also in need of steel-toed work shoes for his job, so we dropped a bundle of money there that day; but let's face it, when a man his age is still working at a steady job, he needs decent shoes.


Now, normally when we're in Higginsville, we go to the best Pizza Hut in the world and enjoy their buffet, but that doesn't fit in with our trying to shed a few pounds.  So we browsed the aisles of Orscheln and then stopped by Vahrenberg Implement, so Cliff could pay $13 for two teeny-tiny items for his 1855 Oliver.  Good grief, whatever is in those little bags must be made of gold!  
And then we came home and warmed up a low-fat version of chicken gumbo, which we like almost as well as pizza anyhow.  


I'm still playing with the new format: thanks to Meesha, I'm doing better; he's the one who told me to either make the pictures smaller or the words bigger.  Since you can click on the small pictures to make them bigger, this works for me.

more snow

Just guessing, I'd say we have two inches of new snow.  I actually welcome this one, because the last snow we received was so wet, with temperatures above freezing much of the time, that the world was looking gray and dingy.  Now it's lovely out there, and still not terribly cold.  
We had a great game day.  I knew I had gone over my calorie limit, so imagine my surprise when I got on the scales and found out I lost two pounds since last weigh-in (and yes, I do know there's nothing more boring that somebody else's diet).  Slow and steady wins the race.  My goal weight is not what all the charts say I should weigh.  I just want to get back under 170, so I set my goal as 165.  Perhaps once I get there I will decide to try for more loss; we shall see.
I'm not a big football fan, but on Superbowl Sunday I always feel I should pick a team, so I chose the Saints; my granddaughter, Natalie, was the only other person with me on that decision, and I celebrated their victory with her as if I really cared who won.  
Grandson Arick worked yesterday, but he came by for chili after he got off work, and watched the Superbowl with us.  If the Montana trip pans out, he might go with us; that way he could do part of the driving.  He's never seen South Dakota, so we're wondering if we should extend the trip and lay over there a couple of days, since it's on our way.  
That's all I have for this morning:  over and out.  

Sir Loin says, "Have a nice day."

Yes, my chili is healthy

BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS CHILI

(low fat)

12 ounces ground beef or turkey

1 cup chopped onion

½ cup chopped green sweet pepper

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 14 ½ ounce can tomatoes

1 15-ounce can dark red kidney beans, rinsed and drained

1 8-ounce can tomato sauce

2 to 3 teaspoons chili powder

½ teaspoon dried basil

¼ teaspoon pepper

cayenne pepper to taste

1. In a large saucepan cook ground meat, onion, sweet pepper and garlic till meat is brown and onion is tender. Drain fat. Stir in undreained tomatoes, kidney beans, tomato sauce, chili powder, basil and pepper. Bring to boiling; reduce heat. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Makes about five cups (4 main-dish servings).

Nurtrition facts per serving: 308 cal, 11 g total fat (4 g sat fat), 53 mg chol, 755 mg sodium, 31 grams carbo, 9 g fiber, 26 g protein

daily values: 17% vit A, 66% vit. C, 6% calcium, 29% iron


Actually, my version is much healthier because I use my own canned tomatoes (no salt); and I cook my own dry beans (no salt). 

Our Superbowl Sunday plans

We won't be having many munchies here today; Cliff really wants to lose the excess baggage; I'm making a feeble effort myself, and let's face it, munchies are the bane of any healthy eating plan.  Oh sure, you can do carrot sticks and celery, but unless you dip them in something fattening, they're not very appetizing.  
Rena, Cliff's sister next door, is coming over to watch the game.  So is the son-in-law, with my granddaughters; my daughter is out of town on a business trip.  
Son-in-law is also trying to shape up a little.  
So I opted to make hamburger soup and chili.  Both of those are healthy dishes.  For dessert I made squash bread and a crustless squash pie.  I'm making corn bread, too.  Obviously, those who don't exercise portion control are in trouble; but at least I've tried not to make things too terribly tempting.  
What I'd love to do with the chili, but won't, is make chili pies... you know, with Fritos and cheese and sour cream.  Pardon me while I wipe the drool off my chin.    
I might make some popcorn with my microwave popcorn popper, keeping butter to a minimum.  That'll give us something to snack on during the game.

A trip to Orscheln

Since Cliff and I were in Higginsville anyway, we went to Orscheln.  There's a bigger, bettter Orscheln store at Richmond, across the river.  But that isn't where we found ourselves, so we shopped the crowded aisles of the one that was handy.

These farm-and-home type stores fascinate both of us; we just split up and find something to suit our own interests.  

We parked beside this truck.  The dog wasn't tied in there.  When I got out of our pickup, she got as close as she possibly could, wagging her tail.  So I patted her on the head and told her she was a good dog.  She smiled and stayed in the truck bed.

Can spring be far behind?  In a month or so, they'll have baby chicks in stock, too.

Garden seeds!  There IS hope!

I told you the store was crowded.  In this area, you can get food for whatever animal you own.  We get sweet feed for horses to feed Bonnie-the-Jersey-cow.  It's cheap, and she loves it; I'm not feeding for production.  

At the price of five for a dollar; I picked out ten packets.  Those others I showed you earlier were $1.59 a package.  Of course, there are more seeds in those, but I get these cheap ones to play with in early spring.

I've always wanted a Purple Martin house; these were on sale, so I got one.  I'll still need to buy a pole.

This metal bench was $99; I sat on it to rest my knees and decided I really, really wanted it.  After all, the pickup was sitting out there; all we had to do was load it up and take it home. 

After some thought, though, I realized we really didn't need it, and sadly, we left it behind.

Cliff tried on a coat from the clearance rack, but it didn't fit him.

I'm playing with the new Blogger format here, so forgive me if the pictures look all helter-skelter on the page.  The first time I posted the entry, there were big spaces between pictures and it was a total mess; we'll see what happens this time.  I won't blame Blogger, though; I'm just too lazy to read the directions.  I'd probably do better going back to the old way, with all the pictures in the middle and the words beneath them.

Cliff and tractors

Cliff needed some new work boots, so we headed for Kleinschmidts, as always.  We've had some snow, but not as much as counties over the state line in Kansas.  Main roads are clear; it was our little stretch of gravel road, and our sloping driveway, that kept us from taking the car.  The old pickup has had more use this winter than it had in the previous five years.  

If you have a farm and we come to visit, do not pass go; do not collect $200; take Cliff to see the tractors, because until he's seen them, you won't have his full attention.   Then take me to see the cows.


So, Cliff and I are driving north on 13 highway, and I see him rubbernecking.  That can only mean one thing:  he sees a tractor.

You can count on Cliff slowing down for all tractors along the roadside.  The funny thing about this one, though, is it's a raggedy old Oliver that's been sitting there for the better part of a year.  Every time we pass it, Cliff says, "I wonder if that's a 50 series," or "I wonder if it's gas, or diesel."  Or, "Haven't they sold that thing yet?"


"Look at it," I'll say to him, "Who would buy that old hunk of junk?"
But today I said, "Why don't you stop and see?"  


As it happened, he was already in the process of turning around before the words were out of my mouth.  


He approached it thoughtfully and circled it a couple of times.  I've seen this little dance so many times, I have it memorized.   He looked the tractor up and down.








He got a phone call from his cousin, but he kept on checking the tractor out while they talked.


What you need to know about Cliff is that he doesn't intend to buy this tractor; he only wants to know everything possible about it.  He never tires of looking at tractors.  Even old rust-buckets like this one.  

I've been thinking

Yes, I know.  That's a dangerous situation.  
Certain recent events have triggered a memory of my first years on the Internet.  I believe it was 1998 when we got our first Gateway computer.  I had no instruction, and I learned a lot of things the hard way.  For the first week I had the thing, I was turning it off the wrong way... you know, I wasn't going to "start", "turn off" or whatever a PC says; I've already forgotten, after only a couple of months using a Mac.  
One thing I certainly did not intend to do was enter a chat room; I'd read all the horror stories:  People being abducted, tortured, killed.  No way, not me.  
I believe I was on the Christianity Today website when I saw a place to click for chat rooms.  How bad could a Christian chat room be?  I clicked, and I was hooked.  
For a loner like me, it was the perfect way to communicate:  I could have friends over and not worry what they thought of my old house with the roof leaking in the bathroom.  I didn't even have to worry about whether my house was clean!  And if I didn't like what they had to say, I could turn them off.  
The website offered several chats for different interests:  women's chat, men's chat, and others.  I finally settled on the "Christian's Fifty Plus" room.
For a couple of years, it was perfect.  Everybody seemed to like me; a guy with the screen name "Havok" taught several of us some basics about computers, telling us about keyboard shortcuts and such.  I went to my first chat room reunion in Dallas.  I was going to hitch a ride with my friend Wilona, in Arkansas, but I'd never met her "in person", and Cliff was sure I was going to be abducted, tortured and killed; so he took me.  By the way, when he met Wilona, it was love at first sight.  To this day she is one of his favorite people.  
Somewhere around 2001, I believe, things in the chat room took a turn.  Suddenly not everybody liked me.  Looking back, I think the problem was that I spent way too much time chatting ("tatting", as my then three-year-old granddaughter called it).  I imagine some people got tired of me being there for every. single. conversation.  Whatever the reason, catty remarks were made by a handful of people, and my dozens of friends decided to defend me.  This led to people taking sides, and it became an all-out war.  Yes, I'm talking about adults, many of us "seniors" and most of us "Christians".  Christians are human too, you know.  
I left the chat room, never to return; but I think the war went on for another six months before AOL finally closed the chat room, for reasons having nothing to do with the fighting.  
I gravitated to message boards and found out the situation is  pretty much the same on those as it was in the chat rooms.  
Then I discovered blogging, and it has been the perfect medium for me.  I can interact with others as much as I like; if they get tired of me, they can choose to stay away from my little home on the Internet.  If they get hateful in the comment section, I can delete their comments.  Considering so many of my foes from the old chat room are floating around in cyberspace somewhere, it surprises me that I don't get more rude comments.  I often wonder if any of them have found their way here, and whether they still judge me in the same harsh light as they did back then; I wonder if any of them would tell me why they turned against me, if we were to meet. 
I know several of my allies from the old room read this drivel.   
All of these memories were brought back by a poem I had occasion to dig out of my archives yesterday.  I was never satisfied with the first couple of lines of the thing, but I've been too lazy to change them.  I wrote it after leaving the chat room behind me.

I DO NOT CHOOSE TO FIGHT

Donna Wood July 23, 2002

I was my mother’s only child, so I grew up alone.

I had no one to tussle with, as puppies with a bone.

You might think that’s a blessing, or consider it a blight,

But in a confrontation, I just do not choose to fight.

When dogs of war surround me, I will always walk away;

I do not care that others agitate, or join the fray,

With passing time, I’m sure we’ll figure out who’s wrong or right.

But meanwhile, I have things to do: I do not choose to fight.

My friends may love the battle, and all choose to bend the bow:

I never studied weaponry. Such skills, I do not know.

But God has often stood for me, with power and with might.

With such as He assisting me, I do not choose to fight.

In one quite recent “smear” campaign, I answered not a line.

Why stoop down to their level, when the battle is not mine?

I have a thousand songs to sing, and poetry to write.

Why would I waste my energy? I do not choose to fight.

Let others have the medals, and let others fight this war.

I’ll save my strength until I find a cause worth fighting for!

I have a purpose to my days. My slumber’s sweet at night,

My sins have been forgiven, and I do not choose to fight.

  

Hard times and windfalls

I realize it isn't the wise thing to do, but we have always aimed at having a good-sized income tax refund.  Yes, we're letting the government use our money, and we're not getting paid any interest on it.  Whatever.
Actually, these days there's no need for us to have a large refund.  Thank God we aren't living paycheck to paycheck like we used to.
I guess we want that big refund for old times sake.
We had no health insurance at all, for much of our married life.  Cliff worked for a small, family-owned butcher shop; there was one stretch when the boss told Cliff, "I'll supply your insurance out of my own pocket; it's cheaper that way than paying for insurance for your family."
He ended up paying for our son's month-long hospital stay when he broke his leg and had to be in traction; as far as I remember, that was it.
We were amazingly healthy, and it was a good thing.   
For three years, we had great insurance, while Cliff worked for R.B. Rice.
Our kids were both gone from home when R.B. Rice moved to Tennessee, with Cliff and me in our forties.  We went totally without insurance during the years after he lost that job.  Scary.
We've always maintained good credit; it's been a priority of ours to pay our bills.  There were years I don't even know how we did it.
During those lean years, the one thing that often bailed us out was that income tax refund.  After a winter of buying propane, after real estate and personal property taxes coming due, that check was like manna from heaven.
We'd watch the mailbox eagerly, and what a joyful day it was when that wonderful check arrived.  It usually came on a Saturday for some reason, and we'd hop in the car and go buy Cliff three or four pairs of Levis: enough to last him until tax time the next year.  We'd call our propane company and have the tank filled, and actually pay when it was delivered.  We might even take the kids to McDonald's as a treat; we didn't ever eat out, because there was never extra money to do that.
Now it's just me and Cliff, and for now, we're making ends meet pretty well.  But it's the memory of how welcome that refund used to be that keeps us going for a large refund every year.  Even if we're not, at present, going through hard times.

Thinking ahead

Cliff subscribes to a couple of Oliver tractor magazines; when he asked me yesterday how far it would be to Clarinda, Iowa, I couldn't help but wonder why.  See, I spent the first eight or nine years of my life in Taylor County, Iowa; I was born in a hospital in Clarinda.  
I could think of no reason why Cliff would want to go there.  
"Well, it's north and then west... maybe 150 miles or more from here," I said.
Checking Mapquest just now, I found out it's one hundred sixty-one miles.  Hey, I was pretty close, considering I've only been there once since I was a kid.  
So then Cliff tells me there's some sort of Oliver tractor show or swap-meet up there in March.  
I was excited.  
"Hey, that's great!  We can look up some places from my childhood."
"What are you talking about," Cliff asked me.  "You don't know anybody up there now."  
"Yeah, but I want to drive through Guss, where the telephone office used to be.  I want to see if Hampell's store is still standing, and I want to know if there's anything left of the blacksmith shop that used to be across the road from the switchboard house, the one Alvin Mitchell owned."   
Cliff just shook his head, but I think he's figured out it's a good thing that I want to go; that way it isn't all for him, and nobody has to be convinced.  
He's such an optimist, he thinks there's a possibility we could make it a motorcycle trip.  In March.    
Haaaaa!!  What planet is he living on?  Winter is NEVER going to end. 

This picture was taken in front of the switchboard house in Guss.  I remember that house, and the front porch where we'd sit on a hot summer night listening to the radio:  boxing matches sponsored by Gillette and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.  
You didn't want to sit close to Daddy when he was listening to boxing.  He really got into it.  
I know the house is no longer there, because I went on a trek up there with my nephew, his wife, and my mom several years ago, so we could take pictures for my sister's fiftieth anniversary.  But I just want to see the area one more time.  
Thanks to our GPS, I don't think we'll have trouble finding it.  
I'm excited.

America Eats, and it's raining money

The oldest grandson drops by at least once a week; if the TV isn't on, he'll grab the remote and start watching "The History Channel", which is one I had never checked out before; it didn't sound interesting to me.  Bleck.  History.
But after he'd been here and left, we'd turn on the TV later, still set to the History Channel, and often see something really fascinating.  So now I've gotten in the habit of checking the programming every day, just in case.  If I see something about guns or cars, I set it to record on the DVR, because I know Cliff will like it.  He's also fascinated with how things are made, and the machinery it takes to make specific things.
So this morning I saw there was an all-day marathon about how American food developed over the years, and I made sure they'd be recorded.  Cliff was ready for work a little early, so we started watching an episode about the history of potato chips; it's fascinating, really!
Of course, we're being very careful of what we eat at present, so the timing wasn't good.  Even though I'm not hungry at all, I now find myself craving potato chips, onion dip, Fritos, Cheetos, and Sun Chips.  Why?  Because I saw how they're made, and I want them all!  
As luck would have it, I'm in the boonies with no access to junk food, so I'm safe.  But I really hate it when a seed is planted like that, because you never know when it's going to rear its head at some hungry moment.  
On another note:  I've mentioned this on Facebook a couple of times, but I have to share the fact that IT'S RAINING MONEY at our house.  No, we haven't won the lottery; it isn't a flood, just scattered showers.  But it seems as though the stars are aligned in the right moon, or whatever the astrologers say.  
We always plan on getting a big tax refund, so that's no surprise; but we're getting back more than usual this year.  
Then there was a loan to family members who have been paying us regularly each month; their ship came in, so they paid what they owed in full.  Nice!  
I put a couple of things on Craigslist today, and it looks like one item is already sold ($250); I'll know for sure in a couple of hours.   If that person doesn't show, I have another who wants it.      
So, I went to the mailbox a while ago and there was, lo and behold, a check for $500 from the holding company that owns the place where Cliff is employed.  I knew he was still on his way to work, so I called his cell and asked, "Were you expecting a check from your company's owners?"  
He was flabbergasted when I told him the amount.  I started reading the scanty information on the stub, and saw this:  "Unreimbursed Medical".  
I remember we had a $500 co-pay four years ago when Cliff had his heart surgery, so maybe that's what its about.  
All I know is, it's raining money, and I'm turning my umbrella upside down.  

How about a nice, boring entry?

I recently moved my radio/CD player into the computer room, and I've been experimenting with various stations.  My husband, who is allowed to listen to his radio at work, told me some time back about Delilah; I've found her to be a delightful alternative to evening television when there's nothing to watch but reruns.  Of course, my favorite kind of music is American folk, and you don't get much of that on most radio stations.  I could bring my Grace Internet radio in here and listen to my preferred music with no commercial interruptions, but I go to sleep listening to that; so it stays in the bedroom.  
One thing I've discovered about myself:  I can only stand noise for so long before it begins to irritate me... even if that noise is my kind of music playing.  
On another note:  Last summer I decided to get some much-needed dental work done.  I consulted with the dentist, we agreed on what needed to be done, and the plan was submitted to my insurance company.  They turned it down, because I had gone, on my own, to an oral surgeon and gotten a tooth pulled.  Evidently that constitutes a "pre-existing condition" in their book.  
I don't know what finally persuaded the company to help me out, but in January I got a call from the dentist's office saying the work had been approved.  Finally!  
So I went for another consult, since so many months had passed, and made an appointment to start getting things done.  
Cliff said it'll be a whole new me, the way I'm getting body parts re-shaped and replaced.  He suggested I go ahead and get the knees done too; I told him not to get pushy, because I might run away if I get new knees.  
Our income tax refund should arrive in a few days.  Cliff and I will split that money:  his half goes into his tractor fund; mine will go, this year, to the dentist, because our dental insurance really isn't all the great.  I'm thankful we have it, though; it pays half of the total cost.  
Friday I will get my hair cut; I always know it's time when we're in the car going someplace and Cliff asks, "Did you comb your hair?"
My kinky hair looks pretty good without any effort on my part, as long as I keep it short.  
I set out to do a boring entry, and I do believe I've succeeded.  If you're made it this far and are still awake, congratulations.