Here's three and a half hours I'll never get back

I have noticed for a while that I "talk" better when I'm writing (or typing) than I actually talk out loud.  Obviously, when I'm writing the words, I have lots of time to get things right,with nobody watching or hearing.  When I blog, I have the internet to find the right word and then change things accordingly.  Just above, I tried several way to spell "obviously" and never got close to getting it right.  After trying three or four times, I used autocorrect to get it right.  Even then, I couldn't think what the word autocorrect was, so I asked Google this question:  "Why does my cell phone sometimes change a word?"

I could go on, but you get the picture.  If I want to have a conversation with someone, I can't say, "Just a minute, I'll get my computer."  

Last week Cliff helped me put new strings on my guitar.  I got them all tuned up and started to sing "Bobby McGee" and couldn't even remember the first line.  It is my favorite song to sing, and relatives know it's "my song".  It's one of the few songs I could sing without lyrics nearby.  When my grandaughter Monica was four years old or so, she was going somewhere with her dad; he had his radio on and Janis Joplin came on singing Bobby McGee; Monica said to her dad, "Why is that woman singing Grandma's song?"

I couldn't believe I've forgotten that song I'd sang so often.  I did google the lyrics and tried to sing it, but even then I made a mess of it.

So this morning I got a thought:  Maybe if I start writing the words, one line will lead to another?  Thank goodness I did manage to remember the first line.  And sure enough, I eventually got all of it without looking it up.  A couple of times I couldn't remember a word or line, so I'd leave space for it and go to the next line, which I remembered.  Sure enough, I got every word of it without looking up the lyrics.  

To make it harder, I was writing those words with my left hand.  Some of you may remember during the Covid years I learned to write with my left hand (barely).  I mostly abandoned the idea, and you're lucky if you can read it because it's the worst penmanship you will ever see, but here it is.

  And then, without reading the lyrics at all, I sang the whole song.  

I'm just glad to be here

When I started telling people I had dementia of some kind or other, I have seen several ways people respond.  In the beginning, all the older folks would tell me, "Oh, I forget things all the time; that's just normal."

They don't say that now.  I have days when I can't remember many common words, and names of people are almost out of the question.  They see it now.  Many folks say, "Oh, no!!" when I tell them.  Before Cliff took me to Church yesterday, I told him I had better not do much talking to people when I got there, because words weren't coming to me very well; some days are better than others.  

One relative said to me, "What a terrible thing to have happen!"

But here at home, I'm in my garden a lot, which is where I love to be.  I'm still reading books, although perhaps not as much as I did.  I am letting my husband help me out when we go shopping, because I can't be trusted to deal with money.  I tried using a credit card to pay for groceries, but last week when we came home, I couldn't find the card I had used to pay for groceries.  I still play Wordle, but I don't put it on Facebook any more because I often can't think of any words.

I am, for the most part, just living one day at a time and not worrying about the future.  Why should I let the end of my life get me down when I have had almost eighty years of doing whatever I wanted to do?  I've had a great run!  

I don't want to hurt anyone these days, and if I want to tell someone how much I appreciate them, I do so.  I have apologized here and there for things I have said and done.  I am now able to talk about Jesus even though others think he's a hoax, while still knowing that their beliefs seem as real to them as mine are to me.  I just thank God I am capable of believing.  

"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things.  Sufficient for the day is its own trouble."  Matthew 6:34

And yes, I am still, in this moment, just glad to be here.  I can hardly wait for the green beans from the garden that I'll have in perhaps two weeks.  I'm looking forward to baby goats that will be born in late September and early October.  I'm hoping against hope that the storm we are supposed to get tomorrow will actually come and soak my poor garden.

Life is still good.

Goats are working for Kansas City

For the third year, Kansas City has goats working for them.  I like the idea. 

A movie from long ago

Once upon a time in the mid-nineteen-sixties when I lived alone in my apartment in Kansas City, I first heard this song while watching a 1952 black-and-white movie on my not-very-big, black-and-white television. It has haunted me ever since, and often reminded me that even in the valley of the shadow of death, I am not alone, ever. It was a time when "method acting" was all the rage and it seemed to me the actors went overboard with their actions. That movie… "Member of the Wedding"... seemed very much over-active, but I have never forgotten the song.

If you want to see some of the over-acting, here is a longer version from the movie, a clip that leads up to the song.

You don't want to hear us old ladies singing

Four of my readers commented on my last post that I should have recorded our singing.  Ha!  In the first place, by the time I saw the comments it was over.  This was not a big event... there were five of us women.  Three of us are over 80 years old, and two of us have dementia.  Having not been together for maybe thirty years, probably more, we didn't all know the same songs, a couple of the guitars weren't all in tune, and neither were our voices.  It was really more of a homecoming, and I loved it.  We did much more talking than singing.  Lorraine said she is going to have us over again soon.

With that said, I have a silly true story to tell you.

Cliff can't sleep laying down in a bed any more, so I have the bedroom to myself.  There is a bathroom in there, thank goodness, because if I thought waking up four times to pee was bad, it's even worse now, because I'm on a water pill for edema.  

The toilet is right beside the bathroom sink.  I sat down and heard strange noises coming out from under the sink, where we keep our towels.  I was probably in there six times through the night, and every time, something was moving, and it sounded like it was eating something.  We have an occasional mouse, and we have mouse traps and/or mouse poison where they are needed.  But I've never had a mouse whose teeth could be heard clacking every time I was in there, all night long.

I'm not afraid of mice.  But I figured this was something bigger, and I did not want to see what it was.  Rats scare me, not that I've ever had any in my house; and what if something even bigger had made a way to come up from below the trailer house?  Obviously, I had little sleep that night.

I'm usually up at four; Cliff sleeps until seven or so in the morning.  So as he got up, I said, "Go open the doors under the sink in the bathroom; there's something in there, and I can tell it's eating something."

What would there be that would keep chewing on our towels and washcloths all night?

Well, here it is: my husband had put one of those sticky things that we put down in places that spiders like, and a mouse was stuck on it, chewing on it and trying to get away.  He was still alive.  Cliff took care of him.

What a night.  By the time I got out of bed, I was picturing a pack of rats in there.

Most people never see a mouse or spider in their homes.  We just happen to be on the other side of the track, and as long as we can control them somehow, we're happy.  There's nowhere else I'd rather be than living right here, in a trailer house that's seen better days, with my garden and goats and a place to walk in the pasture.

And now you know how the other half lives.

I am excited

I used to occasionally have the pleasure of sitting with folks who played and sang country music: different groups, at different times of my life.  People who just simply loved to sing with others.  Most all of them had guitars, and I had a whole family of next-door neighbors who were always ready to sing around their son's piano fifty years ago; their daughter has a little country band these days.  I learned to play guitar in a group of people who went to church where my family did;.  For a time I sang in a quartet of like-minded ladies;  we would practice once or twice each month, then take our songs to sing to people in old folks' homes.  One way or another, I have always felt a desire to sing with folks, just for the fun of it.  By the year 2000, that had long become a thing of the past.

I am not a social person, and I never have driven a car except when I was supposed to be learning to drive in school; the teacher said he'd let me pass if I promised to never drive again, and I haven't (true story, and he said it in front of the whole class).  So that limited me, because I had no way to get around any people who sang.  I have sung at three different churches in our town because if I attended for awhile, someone would say, "Do you still write songs," or "Didn't you used to sing?"  I'd tell them I hadn't done that for a very long time; but they always kept after me to sing at church, and I would do it, mainly for the opportunity to sing the songs I have written, knowing that those songs will never see the light of day after I die.  But I would much rather have had some people to get together with, and sing just for the joy it gives me.

About a year ago, an old friend I worked with in the 1970's came to visit.  She said she still had some old tapes of me singing, and listened to them all the time.  She said she was in some stage of dementia, and I told her, "Welcome to the club."  She was one of the people in the groups I sometimes sang with when we worked together.  She wanted to get together again, although she said she can't play guitar or sing any more.

That's the last I heard of that, likely because of her failing memory, until a couple weeks ago.  Terri called me and said another lady we used to sing with, Lorraine Ramey, wanted us to come and relive the old days of making a joyful noise.  Her husband was a very good singer and guitar player who loved bluegrass, but he died quite some time ago, way too soon.  

Well, today's the day.  I hardly ever play my guitar alone at home any more, unless I'm tuning it up to take it to church.  So yesterday I got it out just to see if I could even play it.   The thing about this sort of gathering is that you don't have to be good:  If you miss a word or two, or hit a wrong chord, nobody cares.  And by the way, there is as much talking as there is singing when folks get together like this.  

That wonderful lady in Buckner has given me the best gift I could possibly have received.  A singalong!

One more time with feeling, friends, so take it from the top.  This one is bound to be the last one, so let's give it everything we've got.  

with apologies to Kristofferson, may he rest in peace, for me messing with his "One More Time With Feeling" lyrics.

Feeding the goats

With the billy goat in the pen with my lady goats, I didn't want to tie them out to eat grass.  For one thing, when I go to the pen, they all three come to the gate; I don't want the billy out because he isn't used to being tied up, and he would be the first one out the gate if I tried to get the girls out.  He is strong!

They always have hay to eat, but I like them to have grass from the pasture.  There's quite a bit of clover growing tall out there, so I decided to pick the clover for them, putting it in a bucket, and taking it to them.  I found out I could get a bucket full in ten minutes, packing it down tight, and decided to do that twice a day.

Twice a day they see me going to the pasture and yell at me to hurry up (in goat language).  Twice a day they eat every single bit of it.  I reach up over the fence, turn the bucket upside down, and the clover falls on their heads, which makes a silly picture for about 20 seconds until it all falls off of them. 

I sure hope one of their girl babies looks like their daddy; I really like his coloring.  I intend to milk one of the mamas for awhile, just so I can have some goat milk.  Cliff won't drink it, but I will.  It's been a long time since my milking days, and I can't wait. 

Here's what's happening in the garden

Yesterday I didn't go for a walk, and yet, my Fitbit said I made 14,868 steps.  I tilled the garden and put the few plants I bought Thursday at Colonial Gardens in my own dirt.  All the plants that can be planted early were 40 percent off.

Celery, simply because I've never grown it before 

Tomatoes, four different varieties.  I'm trying to find tomatoes that can "fight the blight".  I have two new varieties coming from Burpees that are supposed to not ever have blight at all.  I'll believe it when I see it.  These were full price, not 40 percent off

Berries are doing well.

Red Cabbage, 40 percent off

Strawberries looking good

onions and potatoes

I'll have more fun outside today!

Goats

I hope everyone had a happy Easter.  Two inches of gentle rain that came Saturday and Sunday was just what the doctor ordered for my garden.  The rain also helped the morel mushrooms to grow.  I can't look for them any more because of the hills and hollers on our property where they grow... I'd kill myself... but our grandson and his wife bring them to us.  Actually, if I can't go look for morels myself, it takes a lot of the fun out of eating them; hunting morels is like a treasure hunt!  But Arick has supplied us with enough that we've had mushrooms for dinner three times now.  And I will say that I don't miss all the ticks that are after my blood in the spring.

Cliff and I finally went and picked up a billy goat to breed our two girls.  The lady I bought my goats from loaned him to us for 45 days, and would you believe that my younger doe was coming in heat when we got him home?  Her mother, though, was just in heat on Good Friday, so it will be a little over two weeks before she is ready again.  As young goat bucks go, he's a good-looker, and very tame.  Of course, there's the smell of a buck, which is like no other smell on earth; I'll be glad to have that gone when he leaves.

His owner is wanting to sell him, and she told me to spread the word.  However, I don't know any people who would pay what she wants for a tiny goat.  All of hers are registered, but I don't really care about getting mine registered.  I have Thelma's papers, but not her daughter's. 

It will be interesting to see how many babies come out of my two goats.  Merck Veterinary Manual has this to say:  Gestation length in goats is 145–155 days (average 150 days) and can be affected by breed, litter weight, environment, and parity. Generally, first-kidding does have one or two kids, and in subsequent kiddings, triplets and quadruplets are not uncommon.

My dog Gabe had his operation Tuesday to get the melanoma out of his lip.  I did not ask the Vet if it would come back, although I imagine it will.  With the state I'm in lately I have learned to live one day at a time, and not worry about what the future holds.  I've learned not to make plans but to enjoy the moment, and I am closer to Jesus than I have ever been.

That's a good place to be.

Who let the dogs out?

Missouri weather and garden things

Every year I hear people around me talking about the strange Missouri weather; one day we're wearing shorts, the next day it's snowing.  All of us mention it, but we actually expect it, because it almost always goes that way in March and April.  We talk about our allergies.  Some folks think changing weather causes colds, but that isn't true.  The way you get a cold is from somebody else's germs.  However, allergies feel like a cold sometimes.

Already this spring has given us a couple of 80° days, but this week has highs in the fifties, and possibly 29° Sunday night.  If there's frost, I may not have any peaches this year, since the peach tree is in bloom now. 

All the seeds I planted will be able to stand some cold, and they are doing well.  I was really surprised to see the asparagus was coming up a few days ago, some as big around as my thumb!  I'm not supposed to harvest them for two more years, but if I'm still alive next year and still have half my mind left, you can bet I'll be eating some anyway.  I've never grown asparagus before.

All the radishes are up; about half of the spinach and pea seeds have germinated.  Oh yes, and all the onion sets are up.  In the past week I have carried many, many buckets of goat manure to the garden for fertilizer; I never imagined two tiny goats would give me so much poop!

The grass is green and growing from the few times we've had a little rain, and yesterday I tilled most of the rest of the garden to mix the fertilizer into the soil.  Thanks to the  tilling I've done, my fitbit tells me I made 12,538 steps, so there was no need for me to go for a walk yesterday.

The grandson had a couple of long dog leashes he wasn't using, the kind that lets dogs have plenty of space to run and yet they are tied up so they can't run away.  They are now goat leashes.  When both Arick and his wife are at work, their two dogs can be put up in their barn kennel and I can tie the goats out to eat grass.  They were tied out yesterday for more than an hour while I was tilling, and were eating all that time.

That's it for today.

Unique and Butch

Old men love old tractors.

That's the grandson trying it out.

Tuna Noodle Casserole

When I signed onto my blog this morning and saw the last post I made, the sight of that picture of the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook took me back to one of the simple recipes I used over and over, especially when I was working away from home all day: Tuna Noodle Casserole.  We all loved it, and I'll bet I made it almost once a week.

I should mention why I had that cookbook, though.  My sister had one.  I thought she was the best cook next to my mom and my Aunt Ruby that I knew, and I often saw that cookbook opened up on the counter when she was cooking or baking.  In later years, not so much; many of her later recipes were shared with her by others.  I'm pretty sure the cookies she makes for all her grandkids and great-grandchildren was a recipe her son's elementary teacher made for her students at some point.  Larry liked it so much, he brought home the recipe.  I have many of her recipe finds, including one she saw in the Kansas City Star on Dear Abby.  However, Abby put meringue on it.  My sister Maxine and I don't like meringue, so we put Cool Whip or whipped cream on it instead.  But I digress.

I just figured if Maxine used that cookbook, it should make me be as good a cook as she was.

Anyway:  Now that I've thought of it, I just have to make Tuna Noodle Casserole for dinner today.  It's frugal and easy, as long as you have some canned tuna in the house.  I have several of those Better Homes books from different years, and there are some variations in each.  I remember when I was working in the 80's, I often used a recipe that had me using Campbell Cream of Mushroom soup or Cheese soup for the sauce, so I could serve it quicker.

I asked Cliff how many years he thought it's been since I've made tuna noodle casserole; he had no idea.  I doubt I've made it since the last century ended, though. 

I can't wait.  I think we'll have peas with it.

Welcome to the once-a-week blog

Having not one thing of interest to talk about, I decided to show you what my daughter put on Facebook that made my day. 

Rachel Fierro is  feeling peaceful with Donna M. Wood.

Stsdoronpea90M7t2l16h1:t 43hMm7l iP8a49t1c90h0cramtm6  3394u  · 

When I was growing up, this was what the word "cookbook" meant to me. It never occurred to me that any others existed. When mom cooked, this was open on the counter.

I got mine out to make gumbo today and memories came flooding in. Mom's cookbook was dirtier than mine. Not because I'm a more tidy cook (ask Kevin) but because she cooked every day, multiple times a day. I bet she's had more than a dozen editions, too.

She didn't make the processed stuff that I have often served for convenience, she made food with real ingredients and real care. The ingredients were often even grown in her crazy-large garden.

Thanks for the love of cooking, mom.

----------------------------------------

One thing that made me smile was the several "likes" from some of her childhood friends from school, some of whom had eaten things I made at one time or other.

Unbeknownst to me, I was going to hear something a couple of days later that wouldn't be good news, so it was nice to have something like this to think about while I digest the bad news.  We took my dog Gabe to get his usual yearly appointment yesterday.  Our vet looked in his mouth to check his teeth and just happened to see something else in his mouth:  A melanoma.  

He said he wanted to remove it as soon as possible; there's a good chance that will be all he needs to live a long life.  I scheduled that.  I asked how much it would cost, and he said probably $250 to $300, which is doable for us.  I took the news pretty well yesterday, but this morning I woke up at 2 o'clock and realized that there's a chance I'll lose my almost eight-year-old Schnauzer to cancer.  I finally got out of bed an hour later.

He goes on walks with me.  If I would allow it, he would sit in the chair with me 24 hours a day.  If he lived to be twenty years old, it wouldn't be enough time to suit me.  If I pet one of my cats, I have to pet him at the same time, because he's so jealous of them.  

I just hope the vet gets it in time for me to have a few more years.

Gardening again

I am tired, but it feels good to know I have a good start in the garden.  The noon dinner dishes haven't been washed, and right now I don't know if I'll get to them until tomorrow.  Cliff has been working on the neighbor's tractor all day and finally got it started for the first time since he's had it.

I don't usually plant all my potatoes on St. Patrick's day; every year I mention here that my father sometimes planted some on St. Patrick's day, but planted more on Good Friday because that is always in the right moon sign for below ground crops.  I think most people just toss the whole seed potatoes in the ground; Cliff's sister used to live in Wisconsin and worked in the potato fields.  She said that's how they did it.  But I like to do certain things like my parents did in their garden because that's what keeps our elders alive in our life after they leave the earth.  It's the same when I'm cooking noodles (thanks, Mother) or cinnamon rolls (Hello, Grandma).  So I cut pieces of the potatoes, with two eyes in each piece like Mother did and put them in the row six inches down and twelve inches apart.  This year the seed potatoes were pretty big, so I did another one of my mother's tricks: I saved the parts of the potatoes that had no eyes to cook tomorrow, even though I had plenty on hand.

  My father believed in the moon signs, but not in the zodiac.  However, I googled it out of curiosity last Friday and saw that today happens to be a good day for below ground crops on all fronts:  the zodiac and the moon... and as a plus, it's also St. Patrick's day!  I don't really believe in the signs, but I did it just for fun.  If anyone is interested, you'll find the signs HERE.

The cats

I haven't mentioned the cats lately.  Butchie is still a loudmouth and wants me to let him let him in and out often.  I like to argue with him:  He meows loudly while sitting at the door, and I tell him "NO!"  Often he will give up and go take a nap on a chair, or on the seat of the stationary bike.  Actually, Unique is the one who first decided to nap on the bike, but Butch watched for awhile and decided to make it his bike.  Cliff often has to make them get off so he can ride.  

Both cats are getting better about not clawing furniture, and they seem to be learning they can only sleep on two different chairs.  They still want to play in both bathrooms, and try as I might, I don't always shut the bathroom doors.  Unique used to like to tear up the plastic liner in our tubs or play in the commode water, but she watched Butch and learned his favorite trick, which is to climb in the sink and take the little draining thing out, then take it to the kitchen and play with it.  As I was sitting here telling this story, Unique came to me carrying that thing.  It's a game to them, and they want me to know they've won again!

They still spend a lot of time in their back porch.  We have warm weather right now, and they like to climb up the cat tree to look out the window, which I am now keeping open for them.

Butch and my dog Gabe are fast friends now, and they wrestle almost every day at some point.  The dog doesn't bite, and the cat doesn't use his claws.  In the following video, they were wrestling on top of the heat register on a chilly day to see which one would get to warm up.

Oh, and one more thing:  It's time to start the garden.  I planted a few early vegetables yesterday.  Today I'll do some more tilling.

Look where the kids are now.

Shopping for groceries

The only things we do to get off our property are these:  going to one of our doctors, going to get groceries, and when Cliff takes me to church, two miles away; he takes me, then comes back to get me.  

We have a Costco card, but we only go there when we are already in the immediate area so Cliff can visit one of his doctors.  We don't buy much there, but it's an interesting place to go anyway, and they feed you along the way while you are shopping.  It's only a bite at each place, but I get to try things I never eat at home.

I do get excited when Price Chopper has meat of any kind on sale, though.  Today there's a three-day sale starting, and they have chicken breasts for $2.49 a pound.  I hope to bring home around 10 pounds, which I will divide and put in the freezer.  And there's butter for $2.99; they will allow me to buy three for that price, thank goodness, because I only have one pound of butter left, and I really want to make the oatmeal cookies my family loves, now that I have an oven that works properly.  I'm also out of eggs, and the cookies I make demand three.  Unfortunately, there will be no eggs on sale, but my family has gone without cookies too long.

These days Cliff  helps me shop; otherwise I will miss something on my list.  Two old heads are better than one.  We've always done most of our shopping at Walmart, and my dear husband really doesn't enjoy it, but he knows I need his help.  He is happy to be in Price Chopper, though; he thinks it's a "fancy" store, compared to Walmart.

I've been buying 80/20 ground beef at Price Chopper for a long time, but I have noticed lately there is water in it.  It tastes fine, I suppose, but when I see the water going up into the air as steam before I can see the 20-percent fat, I know that must be happening so they can sell me some water with my beef.  I'm thinking about going up the hill and getting all my ground beef at the local butcher shop, less than a mile down the road.  It costs  $6 a pound if you buy 10 1-pound-packages, but it is all beef with no water.  

The only other thing I have against Price Chopper is the smell of rotting fish.  They don't sell rotting fish, but they don't clean under the floor of the cooler that lets them show off their meat to customers.  I know this because Cliff once worked at a grocery store in the meat department for a short time.  When there wasn't anything else to do, he cleaned under that "floor"; he said the stink was unbelievable. 

Well, this is grocery day for me, and we'll be going to Price Chopper AND Walmart.  Wish us luck.    

I seldom worry these days

Well, here I am, no worse for the wear from talking about dementia.  I realize I have it, but I feel just like I always have, it's the same old me.  I do what I want to do and don't do what I don't want to do.  I talk to Jesus and take one day at a time.  At my age, I could die in my sleep any given night.  I could have a stroke or heart attack and maybe I'd get over it... but maybe not.

I live one day at a time just like all of us do.  If you are looking ahead at what terrible thing might happen, you will ruin the rest of your life.  Please don't pity me.  I am still enjoying my life on this earth.  This day is all we have.  So don't expect me to worry.  I might be gardening any day now.  I'm looking forward for the grass to grow so I can walk my goats out to the pasture to eat.

I have a devotional book I just love; there is a page for each day of the year, usually just one or two paragraphs.  It's astonishing how many times the words I see are exactly what I need.  The author always puts the scriptures at the bottom, so you know where her ideas come from.

The words for today were perfect.

 

Cooking with a worn-out brain

There are many methods of figuring out you have dementia, but there is a time when you realize it's true.  In my case, that time was in July when we had relatives here:  I was fixing dinner and suddenly didn't know what to do... about anything!  I'm being very careful about cooking these days, because I have a few times left a very important ingredient out of the recipe.  For instance, forgetting the bananas in banana bread.  

Every morning before Cliff, the dog, and the cats are awake, I go into another room, read a portion of the Bible, and pray.  I pray for Keith across the highway, who is in a wheelchair due to a stroke.  I pray for Janice, and her daughter who is probably in her sixties and has had several strokes and is in bed most of the day:  Imagine being a caretaker for a child of yours when you are 86 years old.  I pray for friends taking care of foster children, and pray for anyone else who is a good foster parent; so many of those children are broken vessels.  I couldn't do it!  When I'm done praying for others, I ask God to help me with my day, things like:  Help me that I don't make anybody sad today.  Help me in the kitchen, especially when I'm cooking, so I don't leave the oven on or forget to check the timer.  This morning I told him I was going to make a pumpkin pie, and asked Jesus to help me do it right.  Now, I'm not preaching to anyone here, or trying to sound "holy".  That's one reason I don't say a lot about my faith.  But I am not embarrassed to mention my walk with Him.

I went directly to the kitchen and made the crust, then started mixing the pie filling.  I consider pumpkin pie the easiest pie to make, because you just put all the ingredients in and stir them up.  (By the way, it took me three tries before I spelled "easiest" properly; that's why it takes me so long to do a blog entry any more.)

Yesterday I mentioned the eggs I got from the Amish last weekend and told Cliff I still had a few store-bought eggs to use before I used the good ones.  Cliff really likes fresh eggs, and asked if the yolks were a bright orange.  I told him we'd have bacon and eggs for breakfast and see!  All these eggs are very small, so instead of putting two eggs in the pie, I put two of the Amish eggs and the last one of the store eggs.  I put them in a cup, then thought, "I'll take a picture for Cliff, to let him see the difference."

And that's how easy it is for me to make a mistake when I'm cooking.  I put the pie in the oven and started the timer.  About three minutes later, my eyes landed on the cup with three eggs in it, and I felt like crying.  I had done it again!  Then I wondered if I could just pour it out of the crust, since it really hadn't started cooking; I knew it would be a messy situation, but I figured it shouldn't ruin anything too much... just the outside edge on half the pie.  

I got the ingredients out and started pouring everything back in the bowl, mixed in the eggs, and poured it all back into the crust.

And believe it or not, I said, "Thank You Jesus".

I'm baking again

The first morning after we brought my used kitchen stove home, I made biscuits.  The second day, we had meatloaf.  On the third day, I made cornbread to go with our pinto beans. 

This is the fourth day, and if I can make myself get out of my easy chair, I might make some raisin/oatmeal cookies.  

We have had some nice weather over the last week.  I took my walk four days, and might go again today; yesterday I walked almost two miles in the pasture.  I two days ago I went to the garden and started getting the trashy dead plants from last year piled up to burn or take away; it really felt good to be working in the garden.

By the way, the entry right before this this one was a repeat from 2010; apparently some of my readers thought it just happened, although at the top I said it was from 2010.  Sorry about the confusion.

Now I have to decide:  Shall I go walking, or should I make cookies that will cost me five bucks for the tiny eggs that were supposed to be large eggs, according to the words on the carton, and over a dollar and a half for the butter? 

Maybe we'll just eat those Oreos I got on sale last week.  

An entry from 2010

When my daughter was about four years old, she went through a time where she was having frequent nosebleeds; I don't really know why; perhaps because, like most little kids, she picked her nose.  Usually I'd have her lie down and be quiet, and the nosebleed would stop.

One day, though, the profuse bleeding would not stop, and I became worried; I called my mom and asked her to pick us up and take us to the local doctor, who had just opened up a clinic in Oak Grove.  Once Rachel and I were in an exam room, younger-than-me Doctor DeBlase came in, asked what the situation was, and rather gruffly showed me where to apply pressure to my daughter's nose (up around the bridge of her nose, I believe).  Then he stated, "Anyone can stop a child's nosebleed; it's not hard."

And he went on to another exam room to see another patient.

I sat there obediently holding on to Rachel's nose for at least forty-five minutes; when he finally returned, he said, "OK, you can stop.  It should be all right now."

  
As soon as I took my hand away, the nose started gushing again.  "Ha," I thought, "that's what you get for being so short with me."  He then cauterized a place inside my daughter's nose, which stopped the bleeding. 

 
Down through the years after that, there were various doctors we patronized, but I always remembered that young smart-aleck who had tried to brush me off.  
As old age approached and I realized I needed a regular family doctor, I went back to Oak Grove Medical Clinic, but I chose Dr. Deblase's partner as my physician.  No way was I going back to that punk who had been so rude to me thirty years earlier.  It never occurred to me that the man might simply have been having a bad day. 

 

Then my husband had a four-way heart bypass, and I said, "Cliff, I think you should use Dr. Deblase as your primary-care doctor now; he's had a heart attack himself, and I think that would make him more sensitive to your needs."

  
Oh my goodness, how glad I am that I came up with that idea, because Dr. Deblase was as sweet and caring a man as you would ever want to meet.  On our visits, we'd swap motorcycle stories:  the good doctor rode a Harley, we had our Honda.  He regaled us with stories of riding to Sturgis, and told us of times he shipped his bike to the west coast so he could ride out there.  His wife didn't really enjoy riding, he told us.

  
One time we were discussing Cliff's Lipitor (don't ever stop taking it, he said) and Doc talked about a new study that hinted at some possible new benefits of the drug; he looked at Cliff and said, smiling, "We're going to live forever!"

  
Unfortunately, he was wrong.  A couple of years ago, he woke up one morning and couldn't feel his legs. 

 
I never saw Dr. Deblase after he was diagnosed with brain cancer, but I inquired about him when Cliff and I visited the clinic; I could tell by the answers I was given that he was going downhill.  Yesterday Cliff was scanning through a two-week-old copy of The Odessan and saw the obituary; even though we had expected the news for some time, it hit us like a ton of bricks.  

I've spent some time reading the doctor's guest book; he left his mark on a lot of lives.  Dr. Joseph Deblase, you will be missed more than you'll ever know.  You were a prince among men.  Rest in peace.  

Another good day

We recently found out our car insurance we've had for many years was going to go up by $200, making us pay over $700 every six months.  Cliff hasn't had an accident for many years, and we don't go on long trips.  I googled a couple of things about car insurance and landed on a page that said, "Get an auto insurance quote." 

Cliff was outside in the shop, so I couldn't ask him it I should do it.  Finally I just decided to do it; the worst that can happen is I start getting a lot of phone calls for awhile.  

Thirty minutes later I got a call from a lady offering to see if State Farm could help us.  From what I told her about our insurance, she said she thought she could save us some money.  I told her to give me her phone number and I'd have my husband call her.  Then I went to the shop and told him about what she said.  When I mentioned she was from State Farm, he said, "My nephew Scotty's son sells State Farm insurance, so if I'm going to get that, I'll get it from him."

After our noon meal he made the call, and signed up over the phone.  We will save almost $200 every six months.  It's still a lot, but I'm happy.

I'm getting back to my walking now.  Starting back after the cold and snow was very painful, but this morning it has started getting easier.  Oh, and when I reached the spot where my cabin in the woods used to be, I saw an eagle flying over the riverbottom just north of our place, probably looking for a rabbit or mouse to eat.  I love seeing eagles.