Woo hoo, we escaped to the big city!

This is what our country roads looked like when we left the house this morning. We had to make a stop in Oak Grove to get gas.

QuikTrip was very busy, with people waiting in line for a pump.

It's very painful to fill up our pickup; it has two tanks, and gets ten to twelve miles per gallon; now you know why we don't use it often.

Over sixty-one dollars. Nice.

At least I-70 is dry.

Sam's Club wasn't crowded.

There was no other place to put our stuff; good thing I didn't buy much.

Then we went to Smokehouse Barbecue.

We had deep-fried cauliflower dipped in Ranch dressing

and split a sandwich. After all, celebration was in order: we survived cabin fever!

The country roads were looking much better on our way home.

Thanks, Cliff, for taking me away.

We finally got out of the house

The roads are treacherous, but our old pickup is a four-wheel-drive. Even with half-worn-out tires, it took us up the hill to our daughter's house in style. Rachel took this picture of us arriving; notice Hawkeye, the wonder dog, running around the front of the pickup to greet me. I'm pretty sure if you asked Rachel and Kevin to name the best dog they ever had, they'd say Hawkeye. How many dogs will howl at the slightest suggestion, just to entertain his people?

Speaking of best dogs, someone got the impression from my previous entry that I was calling Suzy a terrier. Believe it or not, when my sister-in-law bought her at a pet store, they claimed she was part terrier; I don't think so. I always figured she had some sort of spaniel blood in her, but you know how it is with mutts: you never really know, unless you're personally acquainted with their parents.

It was good to get away for the first time in three days, and our daughter lives less than two miles away. They still had plenty of Christmas junk food, and Rachel made some hearty soup from a home-made soup kit someone gave her for Christmas.

I don't know what it is with me, but after I've eaten dinner, around one o'clock, I get really sleepy. It doesn't matter where I am, even on the back of the motorcycle; my eyes get heavy and I fall asleep (that sounds more dangerous than it is). So yesterday I reclined on Rachel's couch and drifted off as usual. I awakened to snide remarks about my snoring, my husband telling them I always snore like that, and my daughter saying I sounded like her coffeepot.

Oh well, I got my nap in, didn't I? I can take the abuse.

If Cliff thinks we can safely get out in the pickup today, I'm wanting to go to Sam's Club. We'll see how things go. Those of my readers who have tried both, I'd like to know whether you prefer Costco to Sam's Club, and why. I'll make a poll on my sidebar, but would appreciate hearing the reasons for your selection in the comment section of any entry.

I took the Christmas tree down yesterday; there were so many needles on the floor that my Dyson got plugged up several times, but we finally got the worst of them. I'll leave my Avon Christmas plates up through the month of January, because I enjoy them so much. I'll also continue using holiday mugs for that length of time. Then I'll remove all traces of Christmas until next year.

I wanted to put a nice, wintry picture on the header of my blog, and I'm happy with the picture of Sadie running toward me down in the "holler"; however, I have tried every color of the rainbow for the wording on there, and nothing works very well. White seemed to show up better than any other choice, but it's not really satisfactory either. Until I change pictures, that will have to do. I changed where I put my usual quote because it was totally illegible on that particular picture.

Cabin Fever

Normally, there's very little that prevents me and Cliff from taking our daily walk, rain being the main hindrance. We've gotten out there in single-digit temperatures, and as long as our hands, heads, and necks are well-swaddled, we're fine.

Yesterday, though, with the wind blowing and temperatures in the low teens, we skipped it. Today if the wind isn't present, we'll probably walk, even though it's only three degrees. Forcing myself to get out there and "just do it" seems to help my mood. I'm one of those people who tends to be somewhat depressed in winter, especially when it's bitter cold. I'm a prime example of someone with Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Something about cold weather makes me want to cook things that really aren't so good for us, and then I eat too much of what I cook and get depressed with myself. Of course when my husband, who has heart issues, eats along with me because after all, it's what I cooked, I feel guilty.

So yes, I'm a mess. Somebody know a good shrink?

Meanwhile, my dog doesn't understand why we don't go for our walk on days like yesterday; she follows me and Cliff around, whining under her breath. If one of us gets out of our chair to go to the bathroom, she's right at our heels in hopes we're getting ready to walk.

I turn her out by herself more than I used to, so she gets some exericise: she's gotten well enough acquainted with all the neighbor dogs that they bore her, which means she isn't so likely to follow them off. She's learned to bark at the door when she wants in, which is pretty cool; she barks twice in succession and waits for me to let her in; if I take too long, she goes to the other door.

She seldom stays out more than an hour, and seems to stay close to home.
Our neighbor across the fence shoots a deer or two every year, and he dresses it himself. He leaves the skin, feet, and other useless parts in his yard to rot. Sadie has discovered these delights from time to time; I think my daughter's dog, Hawkeye, has been a bad influence: he's always on the lookout for goodies when he visits. I'm sure Sadie would never think of playing with carrion otherwise.

Now I really can't complain, because my dog shouldn't be on the neighbor's property; if they want to live with rotten deer parts in their yard, it's their business.

Yesterday evening I called Sadie home and she came prancing, proudly bearing the lower part of a deer leg with the hoof intact. She was in heaven, I tell you. I told her to drop it, and got her in the house. Then I put on my coat and went out to retrieve the nasty prize. Trouble is, it was so cold I didn't want to walk all the way to the disposal place, so I put it just inside our garage and closed the door. It's freezing in there, and I figured I'd feel more inclined to get rid of it with the dawn of a new day.

Yeah, right. I'll get to it before the next big thaw.

I'm back in the present now

I can only submerge myself in my mom's old keepsakes and pictures for so long before the house begins to look like a dumping ground and I turn into a zombie. So I've stopped dividing and boxing pictures for awhile. I've scanned until I'm sick of scanning, and I've taken the boxes and totes back upstairs. At least I've begun the task; after a few weeks break, I'll take it up again.

By the way, there are other old pictures on my AOL journal that I didn't show here, if you enjoy strolling down memory lane with me.

Trouble is, except for the weather, there's not much blogging material right now. Winter drags along. At my age, I should be thankful when time's passage slows, because my life is flying by.

This morning my Bible reading included this prayer by David: "Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered, and that my life is fleeing away. My life is no longer than the width of my hand. An entire lifetime is just a moment to you: human existence is but a breath."

My days aren't bad now, just unstructured. We're not eating right. Because of the weather, we're not going for our daily walk. The two local granddaughters have spent the better part of two days here, since school has been canceled due to slick roads here in the boonies. They're no trouble to have around, at ages 10 and 12. These days they don't even argue that much, and when they do, one reminder will stop them.

I want to ride Blue again. I want to go for a motorcycle ride. But the fact that I've been unable to do these things for so long will make it even sweeter when I finally can.

Here's an excerpt from a letter my Aunt Mary wrote to my mom in 1945:

"I got me a new gasoline iron on Sunday; imagine that! It is second-handed but she said she just lit it up just three or four times. It looks just like new."

Now to me, a gasoline iron sounds dangerous. I googled to find out what I could and got this picture.

Then I read a bit about the history of the iron.

Which shows you how stir-crazy I really am, since ironing is strictly taboo around here.