I guess I'm just a cat farmer now

It was very hard for me to get rid of my last Jersey cow.  It left me feeling sad.  At least I still had the chickens, and consoled myself with that idea for a while.  But I never was chicken-crazy the way some folks are, definitely not in the way I have always felt about Jersey cows.  When I travel, the chickens are just something for somebody else to take care of:  they have to shut them up at night so varmints don't get them, gather the eggs, make sure they have food and water.  Not hard work, but the relatives around here all put in long hours at jobs in the city and it just makes one extra thing for them to do when they get home.  

I put the hens on Craigslist last weekend, but only got one call.  That guy thought he wanted them, but he found something closer to home.  I had them priced cheaper than any other chickens on Craigslist, and knew I'd sell them eventually.

Yesterday a local man on Facebook mentioned he wanted to add a few hens to his flock; I told him I had some for sale, and he came and got them.  I don't think I'll miss them too much, except for having the fresh eggs.  A next-door neighbor has hens, so perhaps I can buy eggs from her.  I sent her a message on Facebook, inquiring.  

We still have the Holstein steers we're raising for beef (they'll be butchered in October), and I have four barn cats.  That's the extent of my livestock, unless you want to count the horses that belong to Cora's parents.  I have all the advantages of horses with them here, and very few of the disadvantages.  I can't ride these days, but I can pet them if I've a mind to, and get a whiff of them (I love the smell of horses).  I can watch them running in the pasture.  Horses are some of God's most beautiful work.  

Lacking other critters to chore after, I have become more of a cat person than I used to be.  They eat in the barn, but they lounge on my front and back porches.  By the time I go outside to feed them each morning, they are waiting impatiently to escort me to the barn, as though I couldn't find my way without them.  

Mama Kitty left when I brought in the youngsters in mid-September.  She hated them, even ran when she saw them approaching.  Sometimes I wouldn't see her for a week or two at a time.  It's just in the last several days she decided to come home and stay.  Now she will even go in the barn to eat with the others, but everybody has to eat from a separate dish!  It's ridiculous.  I never thought I'd be chambermaid to a bunch of cats, letting them tell me what to do.  

I took about 15 pictures of Mama Kitty this morning while she was eating, but she has never been photogenic.  If she isn't eating, she will often run from the camera.  So what you see is what you get.

   

See how she deliberately looks away from the camera?  She always does this, whether she is eating or not.  

Anyway, I'm glad to have her back.  She's been a good, faithful mouser ever since she happened onto our property.

I will eventually get a dog, I imagine.  I would love to have a German Shepherd, but I don't want one in the house.  Cliff and I have discussed using an abandoned pen for a dog, letting it out, of course, when we are outside.  We'll see how I feel about this in a year.  Maybe the right dog will find me at the right time, like Mama Kitty did.

Peace.

Tribute to my Cousin

My husband, Cliff, was born and raised in the city, but as a kid his family visited relatives in a rural area.  He developed a fascination with tractors back then.  He recalls the first time he drove a tractor, an uncle's John Deere B.  The uncle rode along on the drawbar, no doubt to make sure the kid did things right.  

Cliff and I bought a place in the country not long after we married and of course, he bought a tractor.  John Deere came out with the 4020 around that time and he'd pull off the road and park just to watch a farmer plowing in the field. 

My husband says he first met Gerald at one of my family reunions.  We were newlyweds, and I imagine he felt somewhat awkward not knowing anyone.  He remembers Gerald being the one who met him as he got out of the car, introduced himself, and made him feel welcome.  

When we had our babies, Gerald and his wife were having babies too.  We'd travel north to visit them often.  The men would head to the shed so Cliff could admire the tractor and implements.  We women would compare babies.  

A time came when Gerald called and asked Cliff if he'd consider coming up for a couple of days to help him with the spring planting.  Cliff's dream had come true.  He was going to get to operate a big tractor. 

Gerald put Cliff on his biggest tractor, an Allis Chalmers D-19 with DUALS on it, pulling a spring-tooth harrow.  Cliff was beside himself with excitement.  Gerald was following behind him on the D-17, planting.  Cliff made too sharp a turn at one point, and the spring-tooth harrow hit a tire and climbed up on it, scaring and embarrassing my poor husband.  No permanent damage was done, though, and Cliff's dream of sitting on a big tractor and actually working a field had come true.

Gerald bought a motorcycle and started planning a long trip out west.  He invited Cliff to go along, as well as another cousin, Doyle.  I wasn't crazy about the idea, but tried not to pout.  They rode for days and saw all there was to see, coming back wind-burned and worn.  Cliff, back then, wasn't an early riser, but Gerald was.  Cliff said they'd wake up to see Gerald sitting there smoking his pipe, motorcycle loaded with his gear and ready to go.  Don't even think about waiting until the dew has dried off or the chill is out of the air, because time is wasting!  Then in the afternoon around four o'clock, when Cliff was ready to ride till dark, Gerald would announce, "It's time to pull in our horns and look for a place to stay."  

And they'd go get some bologna and beer and call it a night.

Meanwhile, Cliff had gotten enough of a taste of farming, hanging around with my cousin, that he wanted to try it himself.  We sold our little place at Oak Grove and moved within a few miles of Gerald to a rental house, hoping to get situated and find someplace to set up a small farm.  This was 1974, a bad year for farming, and we ended up going back where we came from within ten months.  But while we were there, Cliff got to help Gerald farm again.  This time Gerald's big tractor was a 1750 Oliver.  That was a thrill, Cliff says, because of the size of it.  You knew at a distance it was the 1750 by the noise from the transmission gears, he said.  Tractors are Cliff's passion:  He has a big Oliver tractor and an Allis Chalmers D-17 today because those are the ones he first fell in love with helping Gerald.  

But Gerald's passion has always been in restoring classic cars to like-new perfection.  He taught himself to paint and do the body-work and wiring.  He did the motor overhauls.  When he was done with a car, it was an unbelievable thing of beauty.

Gerald was a perfectionist in everything he did.  He built cabinets.  He could weld like a pro.  When he made up his mind to do something, it was done right.  He once built a huge blade from scratch that Cliff couldn't even believe, it was so marvelous in its perfection. 

Cliff carries Gerald's influence with him always, and speaks of him often, referring to him at times as "genius".  I hope and pray my cousin realized we held him in high regard and how much he has always meant to both of us. 

I leave you with a quote from my favorite movie, "It's a Wonderful Life":

"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

We are going to miss Gerald.  I hope he knew how we felt about him.  

Keep the light on for us, Cousin.

For the love of tractors (part 2)

We had lived south of Oak Grove for seven years when we decided to put our twenty acres up for sale and buy ourselves a farm in north Missouri.  Now, any farmers reading this will understand just how crazy this idea was when I tell you the year was 1974.  People were getting OUT of farming then, not getting into it.

Gerald and his wife found a place near them we could rent, so we moved with our cows, alfalfa hay, the tractor, and other worldly possessions to an old farmhouse near Coffey, Missouri.  Cliff got a job at a butcher shop in Trenton.  Now that we lived near Gerald, Cliff got to help him get his fields ready for planting again, but this time he REALLY did it in style!  Now Gerald's big tractor was a 1750 Oliver.  That was a thrill in itself, Cliff says, because of the size of it.  You knew at a distance it was the 1750 by the noise from the transmission gears.

Cliff went with Gerald to an Oliver dealer during that time to look at a 2255, but Gerald said it was too big for him; it wasn't long afterward, however, that he had one.  "What a horse!" Cliff said, mouth agape.  Driving that tractor, he later informed me, improved his manhood.  He only recalls running it one time, but what a thrill.

Cliff is having trouble establishing the actual timeline here, but at various times Gerald had other Olivers, a 1955 he still owns, and an 1855.  There's a reason you will always find an Oliver in Cliff's collection, and that reason is Gerald York.  He's also why we have an Allis Chalmers D-17.  

Gerald has always been a perfectionist in everything he does.  He's built cabinets and can weld like a pro, and when he makes up his mind to do something, it will be done right.  He once built a huge blade from scratch that Cliff couldn't even believe, it was so marvelous in its perfection. 

But Gerald's passion has always been in restoring classic cars to like-new perfection.  He taught himself to paint and do the body-work and wiring.  He did the motor overhauls.  When he was done with a car, it was an unbelievable thing of beauty.  You can go HERE to see an entry I did about the car above when he was still working on it.

Here's another prize-winner.

Cliff carries Gerald's influence with him always, and speaks of him often, referring to him at times as "genius".  I hope and pray my cousin realizes how much he really means to a city-boy gone country, and how important he has always been to both of us.  

I leave you with a quote from my favorite movie, "It's a Wonderful Life":

"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

We are going to miss Gerald.  He doesn't have much more time to live on this earth according to the hospice nurse.  I hope he knows how we feel.  

Keep the light on for us, Cousin.

How my husband's love for tractors turned into a passion (part 1)

Cliff was born in Versailles, Missouri, but he was raised in Kansas City.  His only ties to farm life were aunts, uncles, and grandparents in Morgan County.  We've been talking about his love of tractors this morning because I'm trying to document the journey of a city boy who becomes a tractor addict.   He's told me many times about his lifelong fascination with tractors, but I wanted details. 

I asked him, "What is the biggest tractor you ever drove before you married me?"

"Jim (an uncle) let me drive his John Deere B one time," he answered.  

"By yourself?" I asked.

"Yeah, but he was standing on the drawbar behind me."  Obviously Cliff wasn't very old at the time.

When we bought our first place, my dad sold us an old Minneapolis Moline with no brakes. so Cliff finally owned a tractor.  Then we bought an old Ford 8-N, a big improvement over the Moline, and later traded it in on an Oliver 550.  Now he was sitting in tall cotton!  About that time John Deere came out with the 4020, and a local farmer bought one.  One time Cliff saw the guy on his big tractor plowing a field and pulled over to watch.  He sat there so long, the farmer finally stopped and asked him if he needed something.  Cliff loved those big tractors with lots of horsepower.  He knew he'd never own one, or even get to operate one, but he enjoyed watching them at work.  

All my uncles were farmers, as well as some cousins.  My mom's side of the family got together often on various holidays.  Before I met Cliff, I used to complain about the conversations being boring at our Stevens family dinners because the men only discussed farm-related topics, especially tractors.  Hey, I was a teenager... what do you expect?  

Of course all this was right up Cliff's alley.  In his book, there's nothing more interesting than men talking about tractors.  At the first of these gatherings he attended, my cousin Gerald greeted him, introduced himself, and made him feel welcome.  Over the years, thanks to Gerald, Cliff's keen interest in tractors soared to new heights.  

When I had our babies, Gerald and his wife were having babies around the same time.  We'd travel north to visit them and compare babies.  Cliff always went outside to look over the tractors on the farm.  One spring Gerald asked if Cliff would be interested in coming up for a couple of days and helping him do some field work.  Cliff's dream was about to come true!

Gerald put Cliff on his biggest tractor, an Allis Chalmers D-19 with (get this) DUALS on it, pulling a spring-tooth harrow.  Cliff was beside himself with excitement.  Gerald was following behind him on the D-17, planting.  Cliff made too sharp a turn at one point, and the spring-tooth harrow hit a tire and climbed up on it, scaring and embarrassing my poor husband.  No permanent damage was done, though, and Cliff's dream of sitting on a big tractor and actually working a field had come true.

Gerald bought a motorcycle, so guess what?  We bought one too.  In fact, at that time a lot of our friends and relatives bought motorcycles.  Maybe it was something in the air.  We couldn't do a lot of riding together, since the kids were small, but sometimes our group would leave kids with grandparents and go for short road trips.  Gerald wasn't in on all this activity, but he was busily planning a big trip.

He invited Cliff to go along, as well as another cousin, Doyle.  I wasn't crazy about the idea, but whatever.  They went out west and saw all the scenery out there, and came back wind-burned and worn out.  Cliff, back then, wasn't an early riser, but Gerald was.  Cliff said they'd wake up to see Gerald sitting there smoking his pipe, motorcycle loaded up and ready to go.  Don't even think about waiting until the dew has dried off or the chill is out of the air, because time is wasting!  Then in the afternoon around four o'clock, when Cliff was ready to ride till dark, Gerald would announce, "It's time to pull in our horns and look for a place to stay."  

And they'd go get some bologna and beer and call it a night.

Meanwhile, Cliff had gotten enough of a taste of farming hanging around with my cousin that he wanted to try it himself.  

Stay tuned for the next installment.

Some recent Facebook connections

Everybody, including me, complains about Facebook:  too many political posts, too much complaining, too addictive.  All true, as it happens.  But wonderful things happen there, too.  I have reconnected with several people from my past, even a few from my grade-school years.  Recently a great-nephew, Todd, sent a friend request; I hadn't heard anything of him in years... since my mom's funeral, I believe.  In fact, when I first got the request, I struggled to think who it was, since I had forgotten his last name.  

Todd was always great at keeping in touch with my mother, and she thought highly of him and his family.  My late brother was his grandfather.  Now, a lot of my brother's family have been ramblers, moving from place to place, and I lost track of most of them long ago.  However, Mother, when she was alive, usually had some idea of where most of them were.  She was good at writing and keeping in touch with folks.  

After Todd connected with me, his sister Alisha sent a request, and later my niece, their mother Cheryl.  She and I messaged and caught up a little on what had been going on in our lives.  We talked about her mom, Wilma, who is still living.  She mentioned her brother Rod, who is a professional wrestler.  Say what?  When I was a teenager, I was quite the fan of wrestling, so this was fascinating to me.  

I remember my brother's two oldest children, Cheryl and Ronnie, quite well from when I was a child... I'm only five years or so older than Cheryl.  But I had not seen Rod, I believe, since he was nine months old.  I was expecting my first baby, and when Jack (my brother) and his family came to visit, his wife Wilma brought me the baby clothes Rod had outgrown.  That was the only recollection I had of actually seeing him, and he was just a few months old.  And he's a wrestler?  How exciting!  Cheryl said he needs to retire, but so far he's still going strong.  She told me he's on Facebook using his wrestling persona name, so I went looking, found him and sent a friend request.  I'm having a lot of fun seeing him make threats and such for those who want to take him down.  If you've ever watched wrestling, you know how that goes.  

From what I can tell, he may be one of the "bad guys".  In the old days, wrestlers sometimes switched from bad guy to good guy at the drop of a hat, so you never knew what to expect.  Rod said he sometimes wrestles in Kansas City, and I think it would be great fun to go see him.  I haven't been to a wrestling match in years.

Cora is napping, and it occurred to me that this story could make a blog entry.  So here you have it.

Peace.

Difficult times, with some good times thrown in

I'm in a bit of a funk lately.  This is normal for me in winter, but it's somewhat worse when you have a friend dying, suffering greatly in the process, and can't do a thing about it (I know, it sounds like I think it's "all about me", but I don't; I just feel so bad knowing someone is hurting to such an extreme).  Added to that is the political climate.  Even Cliff and I are in some disagreement about things that are going on in the country, although it doesn't lead to actual arguments.  We just see things differently, and I've learned to avoid the topics that cause dissension.  Each of us knows how the other feels, so there's no use discussing it anyway.  Maybe all the folk singers I've listened to for years have finally influenced me; I have certainly drifted in some of my political leanings.  And the answer, my friends, is STILL blowing in the wind.



When I'm with my daughter and granddaughters, I vent, and they understand.  I've fixed things so I don't see a lot of political posts from either side on Facebook, but there's no way to really escape this situation except to stick my head in the sand.  

Even though she recognizes the President on television, the little girl who comes to our house weekdays takes my mind off the world situation and brightens things up considerably.  It's so much fun to watch her growing and learning.  Last week I bought some cheap "instruments" for her:  a harmonica, a hand drum, a set of maracas.  Monday we'll have a tambourine.  Friday was a lovely day, so after her nap she and I went outside with our instruments and marched to the shop, where Cliff joined the procession.  We marched around the yard making our noises, singing "Old McDonald", having a good old time, although sometimes the kid felt it necessary to instruct us on how to hold our instruments.   When Cora arrives Monday, I already know the first thing she'll want to do is march.  She will have to learn that we old people can only do so much marching, and there will likely be a confrontation or two, but we'll all survive.  

I think she is going to grow up to be a hoarder.  Any toy or object that she has ever touched in this house is expected to stay in this house, in its proper place.  I went through the toy box a while back and dug out all the rattles and baby toys, bagged them up, and put them away to either give to someone with a baby or send to Goodwill.  The child is in a phase now where she plays with baby dolls all the time, dressing them and undressing them.  She went digging for the baby rattles one day, and I went ahead and got them out of hiding for her.  Her babies have been playing with them ever since.  

When I began working on her potty-training, my daughter loaned me a musical potty chair she'd had at her house for her grandchildren.  Cora out-grew it, learned to use the big stool, but still occasionally used the potty chair.  I mentioned to her that I was going to send it back to Rachel, and she protested.  Finally, on a day she wasn't here, I put it out of sight and later sent it home with my daughter.  That's been weeks ago, but one day last week she asked in an accusing tone, "Why did you send my potty chair to Rachel's house?"

We've taken chairs and toys she's outgrown to the garage, where Cliff will hang them on a nail on the wall.  But if she walks in the garage and sees them, she simply has to have them taken down immediately so she can play with them.  We bought an old rusty tricycle for her at a garage sale.  She never used it much, and when her mom brought a shiny new tricycle over and left it here, Cliff put it in the back of the four-wheeler to haul off.  We carefully kept her away from the four-wheeler while the rusty thing was loaded, because we knew she'd object.  One day while Cora and I were in the yard, Cliff drove by us to take the trike and other assorted stuff away.  She looked up after he'd passed us, saw the hunk-of-junk trike, and said, "Where is he taking my tricycle?"  I told her he was just going for a ride, but when he returned with no tricycle, you can bet I heard about it!  

Yes, she's a hoarder.

As you can see, that little girl is a ray of sunshine in a rather sad and sometimes broken world.  I know people get sick and tired of hearing us talk about her, but the truth is, she is the happiest topic we know of.

 Grady was sitting on my lap playing with the string on my hat.  Cora had Buttons, her favorite.  Unfortunately, Buttons has figured out it isn't always fun when she plays with him and runs from her most of the time.

 Cliff and the grandson were cutting wood to heat the shop.  Friday was pretty warm, although very windy, and we walked back to join them.  Our pond is little more than a giant mud-puddle, but it's fun to throw sticks in it.  Especially when there's still ice on the pond.

 She goes everywhere in a run.

The grandson saw me struggling to get down and sit on the ground with Cora, and kindly rolled this big hunk of tree over for us to sit on.  

Yes, she keeps me on my toes, but I happened across THIS ARTICLE that says perhaps keeping busy is the secret to keeping the brain from aging.  I'm not normally a "busy" person, but anybody in charge of a kid this age is going to be busy, like it or not.    

I was really enjoying the Keurig until...

Unfortunately, it stopped working after three months.  I called the number provided by them and was connected to a fellow who thought he could tell me how to fix it.  First of all, he asked what water we were using.  I told him our water goes through a water softener; I didn't bother to tell him that without the water softener, no coffee pot can take our super-calcium-laden water for more than a week.  Believe me, I learned this from experience.  I wish I recalled how many grains per whatever the content is, but just trust me: when the Culligan man tested it, he was shocked.  On the bright side, think of all the years I got my calcium supplemented by drinking water.

Turns out you are supposed to have a filter of some kind in place if you use a water softener, or else you can buy water.  Up until now, this whole Keurig experience has shown me two things:  1.  Fresh-made coffee every time is wonderful.  2.  Keurig requires very expensive coffee. 

The guy had me unplug the pot, plug it back in, dump out the water in the reservoir and refill it.  It still wouldn't work, so he said "Oh, did you use cold water?" and I said yes.  "I should have told you to use room-temperature or luke-warm water."  I filled it again per his instructions, knowing in my heart this was not going to make it work.  Oh, it came on and made some noise, but no water came out.  

Finally he gave up and said they'd send me a new pot.  I am to send them the K-cup holder part of my present one so they will know I'm not making up a story just to get a new coffee-maker.

I think we over-use the Keurig.  I doubt whether they were intended to put a gallon or so of coffee through that little pin-hole every day.  Fresh coffee is so good, we have actually been drinking even more than ever.  

It reminds me of the time Cliff and I bought a treadmill at Sears, so we could walk in wintertime.  Each of us used it for an hour a day.  Within a month, it needed fixing.  The guy who came to the house informed us these treadmills aren't designed for that much use; you have to go to a specialty place and buy a professional model.  

We returned it, because what good is a treadmill you can't use?  

I'm not buying a filter, and I won't be buying water.  I dragged the old Bunn out of the closet for the present.  When the replacement Keurig comes, we'll use it as we have been.  If it quits again in three months, we'll just have to get used to coffee as we've been drinking it for years.  Thats what I had this morning.  I can get used to it again.  

It's just one more price we pay for living in the country and using well water.    

I only hope our new bread-maker holds up longer than the Keurig!  

Gathering my favorite music

My daughter insists neither Cliff nor I will ever go into a nursing home, in spite of my orders that if I get to a point I don't know who I am or where I am, I would rather be in a nursing home.  My daughter-in-law is taking care of her mother in her home, and thanks to Facebook I've seen how this limits her activities.  I've also seen the heartache various people experience while trying to take care of someone who wanders outside at night while everybody is asleep.  I never want my children to give up years of their own lives to care for someone who doesn't even know them any more.  My daughter still insists she's not letting me go to a nursing home.  Who knows?  Maybe I won't have Alzheimer's.    

I've mentioned the Netflix documentary, "Alive Inside" on this blog.  I told Rachel about it, and she and Kevin watched it.  As we discussed it later, she said, "But Mom, how would I find the kind of music you like?"  

She has a valid point.  I don't know anybody who enjoys the same kinds of music, mostly folk, that I do... at least not as a steady diet.  I told her that if she couldn't find anything else, just play the old Church songs, and she said, "Oh yeah, I can do that!"

This morning I realized something:  I have a CD-storage album that contains MY kind of music exclusively.  All Rachel needs to do is hunt this album up, and she'll have her solution.  I never get these CDs out, because I listen to everything on Prime Music these days, or Pandora.  But these are my heart.

Chuck Brodsky

John Prine

Church of Christ music with no instruments

My Native American music, including one by Floyd Westerman

Loudon Wainwright III

And there's, of course, Ramblin' Jack Elliot, Pete Seeger, and others.  With this thought in mind, I realized I was leaving out a huge genre that most people don't know I like:  Music from the 1940's, the slower, dreamier ones.  So I just now ordered a CD set of songs that were popular around the time of my birth:  "I'll Be Seeing You" and others like it.  

My daughter said she would have to let me listen with headphones, because she has no desire to listen to my music.  That's fine, my hearing is going little by little anyhow, so I will probably hear better with headphones.  

Once in a blue moon they can throw in a little AC/DC and Bob Seeger, too.

Take that, dementia!  

Emmet Squash

I told this story for my Facebook friends; I think my Blogger buddies will enjoy it too.  

To begin, I must tell you that Cora has an active imagination and will pretend along with any scenario Cliff and I make up.  We like to claim responsibility for this trait, but I'm sure there are others in her life who have inspired her to make believe.  Why, we've talked about her dolls as though they are real people since before she understood what we were saying.  I will say something like this to her:  "You need to check on Tooter; she cried all night.  I think she has a cold."  Or this:  "David and his sister were fighting while you were asleep.  You need to talk to them."

She knows it's all pretend, but she will take up the game and keep it going until she gets tired of it, or as long as we keep giving her ideas.  

Yesterday she and I were playing with the Pla-doh fun factory at the kitchen table.  At the back of the table lay a butternut squash.  The idea came to me from nowhere to get a marker and make a face on the squash, so without saying a word, I did that.  Cora was watching closely, and asked, "What are you doing?"

I held the squash-with-a-face up where she could see it and said, "This is Emmet; Emmet Squash."

"Can I hold him?" she asked.  

  For the next hour, she played exclusively with Emmet.  She put him down for a nap.  She took him to the doctor.  She tried to make some legs for him with Pla-doh, but that solution failed miserably, although the brown toupee we fashioned was a success.  We put the Pla-doh away and I started making spaghetti sauce for dinner, but she went in the living room with her squash, talking to him constantly.  She even put a diaper on him.

Unfortunately, the diaper didn't fit too well.  It was one that Cliff had helped her fashion out of a Kleenex and some scotch tape for Tooter, who is much smaller than Emmet.  

We have so much fun watching this child pretend impossible things!  It's heart-warming to hear her in the other room chatting with all her doll-babies as though they were real. her lilting little voice almost musical with animation.

She's strong-willed and stubborn sometimes, and a picky eater, but she is the best medicine two old retirees ever had.

Oh, this bread machine!

First of all, had I realized how big a bread machine is, I might not have purchased it.  After reading many reviews, it seems this one isn't as big as most, but I live in a trailer house, remember, and my kitchen is small.  I won't be leaving this on the counter all the time, that's for sure.  But am I sorry I bought it?  No way!

Both of us have complained for several years about the fact that we can't find any bread in the store that is as soft and fresh as we'd like.  Something is being done to bread nowadays that makes all of it drier than it used to be, even if you happen to be in the store when the guy is there stocking the shelves with fresh loaves.  One of the main reasons I bought this (other than the fact it only cost $43) is that I wanted to see if I could make bread that would come out soft and fresh-tasting.  I figured if it did, I would make all our bread:  I'd take it from the machine, let it cool, slice it, put it it a bag, and store it in the freezer, taking out however many slices we needed from the freezer a couple at a time.  This is actually how we've been keeping store-bought bread, since the two of us can't shouldn't eat much bread.  

So I made a large loaf of bread yesterday, following instructions in the basic recipe that came with the machine.  I had read the reviews on Amazon, so I was expecting it to waltz around a bit on the counter, and sure enough, it did.  No problem, since I was prepared for it.  Evidently this machine isn't as heavy as the higher-end ones, which allows it to dance a little.

The machine was new and we love bread, so I figured we'd throw caution to the wind and enjoy our first loaf as soon as it was done... with plenty of butter.  The texture was so soft, Cora kept laying her hand on the slice I handed her just to feel the softness.  I've baked bread all my life, but never made any that was even close to that good (unless you count my cinnamon rolls).  Oh, and the recipes call for bread flour... I only had regular flour.  I can't imagine how it could be any better, but I'll buy some bread flour next time we shop, just to see.  

I'll just cut to the chase here and confess that between Cliff, Cora (she ate more than you'd think for a three-year-old) and I, we consumed the whole loaf by day's end.  

Yesterday evening I lectured myself and Cliff:  "If we want good-tasting, fresh bread, this is our only option.  But we can't eat a loaf of it every day.  If we keep doing that, we'll have to go back to buying our bread."  

So I made another loaf and bagged it up (I ordered some bags when I ordered the bread machine) to put in the freezer.  This is harder for Cliff than for me, since bread is just about his favorite food.  

I'm anxious to try other recipes, particular the ones for potato bread and oatmeal bread.  But obviously, I'll have to wait, or else I'll have a freezer full of bread waiting in the wings.  

Wish us luck, self-control, and all that.  We're going to need it.

Peace.   

Here's what I've been up to.

This morning I have bread baking, so the house is smelling great.  I bought my first-ever bread machine when I saw what a great deal (and great reviews) Amazon had on THIS MODEL.  It's over $100 at Walmart, but I paid $43.  As of now, it's still that price.  Missouri now requires tax on Amazon purchases, but I guess that won't break my budget.  

Cora is growing and learning.  I now have her five days most weeks rather than four.  She and I have discussed the months of January and February and I let her turn the calendar page to February.  I had a song playing on the Echo that featured a harmonica and told her we were hearing a harmonica.  Then I looked up a Youtube video of a man playing one.  Of course it next occurred to me she needed to actually see and handle this instrument, so once again I went to Amazon, found a harmonica for six bucks, and ordered it.  She may drive me crazy with it for awhile, but I know how to make things temporarily disappear if I find myself losing my mind from the noise.  My daddy played a "mouth organ" as he called it, but I could never figure out how to make a tune on one.  

Last Friday night the Knights of Columbus in Lexington had a fish fry we attended.  The food was great!  I always see people I know at these fish-fries.  We got there early, thank goodness, because the place was packed by the time we left, with a line extending out the door quite a way.  Terry, a friend I used to work with years ago, was there with her husband, so we sat with them and had a good visit.  I should say all of us but Cliff had a good visit, because he has such a problem hearing... even more so when there's a crowd of chattering people.  Terry and I used to get together and play our guitars and sing.  Those were the days!  We've also attended various church services together.

There's a new tractor club that's formed recently.  Meetings are in Buckner, just thirteen miles away, so Cliff wanted to check it out and we went to their meeting.  He's decided to try being a member of two tractor clubs at the same time, but we aren't officially joining this one until June, when they meet again.  Let's see if we can keep up with both clubs.

Sunday granddaughter Natalie and I went to see Stomp, which was very enjoyable.  Because the show started at 1 PM, Cliff and I didn't attend church (he's always wanting a break anyhow).  When I got back home I found out he had purchased another Oliver 550 tractor from a neighbor.  It was a good price because it's just been setting in a shed for years, but it has some better parts than the one Cliff is restoring.  So it'll be a parts tractor, and perhaps be a later project too.  

I'm gearing up for my trip to Cozumel, Mexico, by watching videos of the beach there and strolling around the streets on Google Earth.  It's just a little over a month before we go!

I'm sorry for the lack of updates lately.  Some mornings I lack motivation.  Other mornings when I feel I have to choose between blogging or 45 minutes of meditation, I choose the latter because I really hate to miss a day of meditating.  Once our little girl arrives, there's not much possibility of blogging.  I ride my exercise bike while she takes her nap.  She's a well-behaved, typical little girl who chatters constantly.  Lately she plays with dolls all day, dressing and undressing them, laying them down for naps, changing diapers, being their doctor... I don't know when I've seen a child play with dolls so much!

So there you have it.  All is well here.  

Peace.

Adding this later:  I've baked bread all my life, but the loaf I just made using the basic recipe that comes with the bread-maker is the best I've ever made.  We had bread for breakfast... me, Cliff, and Cora.  We all had seconds.  As I told Cliff, I believe I'd better pace myself with bread-baking or we'll end up fatter than we already are.  Cora could handle it, but alas, we can't.