Honey, Grab Your Jug!

September 28, 2025

In my ongoing quest to figure out the best way to manage my osteoporosis, I had an appointment with an endocrinologist. She ordered blood tests of all sorts, plus a 24 hour urine collection to look at my calcium levels and such.

That sounded like a good time.

For this test I was given a big orange jug and a white plastic “hat” that was to go on the toilet to catch my output and transfer it to said jug. Careful instructions were given to keep the jug refrigerated and to not go directly into the jug. Got it.

I planned to do this little project on Sunday, figuring I’d do chores around the house and stay close to my refrigerated receptacle. Then I would hit the lab first thing in the morning and proudly present my yield to the lab tech.

Well, the weekend this was planned coincided with the opening weekend of deer season. We had a great time on Saturday, but did not fill our tag. Merl knows of my Sunday plans, but on Sunday morning he says, “Hey, how about we get an ice chest to put your jug in and go hunting?” I enthusiastically responded, “Heck yes!”

I told Merl, “There are very few men that would say ‘Honey grab your jug and let's go hunting’ and very few women that would be excited and willing to do so!” Just another example of how we’re meant for each other!

I opted for a red solo cup instead of the cumbersome “hat” as my vessel of choice to capture what I would produce out in the woods. We sang Toby Keith's “Red Solo Cup” song with our own custom lyrics, and no, we didn’t get a deer, just lots and lots of laughs.

P.S. All my results came back normal. My doc emailed me, “All your tests are within normal ranges. Let me know if you have any questions.” Well, yes, I do. Now what?

High Country Sky

This poem reflects my thoughts last Saturday morning on my walk. As I was experiencing it, I made mental notes then put those notes in my phone for later. I knew I had the urge to write about it, but was definitely feeling like it was a poem. Once I started it all just flowed. That was cool. It took about a half hour total, so I felt quite accomplished. Funny how stuff gets in my head and HAS to come out like Jade nosing my leg to take her out for a walk...which is where this all started... 

HIGH COUNTRY  SKY

I walked out in the morning with my dog at my side,

The sun dazzled and teased me and said, “Look at this sky!”

This is the color of blue that paint chips wish to be;

The sparkling clear blue of a baby’s eyes.

“Look at these clouds!” Prompts the sun again.

Made for a storybook where a child sees animal shapes;

Perfectly serene, gentle, just happily passing the time.

(The sun is clearly relishing in its contribution to this enchanting scene.)

So I sank deeper into awareness…

The Hyacinth that greeted me when I left my door,

So fragrant and deceptively alive despite their plastic dollar store appearance.

Those daffodils that just shed an inch of snow,

Still standing, defiant and proud.

This country road with a small stream trickling,

Frogs calling back and forth in their secret code.

A hawk screeching as it flies from its nest and another answers it.

“Idyllic”, I think is the unfortunate cliche to describe it,

But I can think of no better descriptor.

Again the sky and clouds capture my attention and the sun calls me back:

“Remember…?”

It seems it’s a memory I can’t quite touch.

“This is the kind of sky you see in the high country”, it hints,

“You’ve seen it before; you’ve experienced its magic before.”

It’s there, the feeling this sky brings to my conscience;

More than once, and always a perfect day in nature:

With Dad, wading up Nelson Crick fishing for Brook trout, 

Eating salami sandwiches and ripe peaches at a fire lookout.

With Merl, the smell of dusty roads and two-stroke fuel,

Vistas hastily viewed from the oval opening of a motorcycle helmet.

At Greyhorse Valley, yes, this one stands out --

He and I off-roading in the pickup to a primitive campsite; 

Gorgeous and remote, surrounded by true wilderness. 

I’ve got a firm hold on that memory now, it’s all there;

My senses feel that day and it captivates me for just a breath.

A brief stint of time travel that touches my grateful heart.

Idyllic…that word again, but how else do you describe days like these?

That sky! Those clouds! And the sun so pleased with itself!

Merl and I at Greyhorse. A can of chili beans heating on the fire. 6.26.1983

Busted Ghosts

 We had the pleasure of having our grandsons overnight recently. We enjoy just watching (all our grandkids) explore the property, find things to mess with, get filthy, tussle a little with each other, poke a stick in a hole, etc. just exactly what kids need to be doing. 

We started out our morning with freshly made warm play dough, and during our play the boys discovered the Fun Factory toys (thankfully I had two of them):

K decided these were most definitely ghost traps, and the cookie oven was clearly the containment unit. The boys transformed instantaneously into the Ghostbusters. Armed with these devices and donning their backpacks--now proton packs, out the door they went on little boy adventures of the finest kind!

At the last minute I remembered I had a set of walkie-talkies, and gave H a quick hands-on training. It does take a little coordination. He caught on to the push-to-talk part easily, but the release-to-listen part was a bit trickier much to his big bro's frustration. They seemed to work it out fairly quickly, however. 

Bonus equipment was a small, palm sized FM radio with an antenna that I found at Walgreen's and put with my collection of  toys. K was fascinated by it, and not only enjoyed playing music from various stations, but the antenna was unmistakably a built in PKE meter!

We designated our little storage shed into the fire station at K's insistence. OBVIOUSLY one needs a place for the containment unit to be secured. If you're going to spend time and resources catching ghosts you can't just have them contained without security and supervision. They are known for their mischievousness and sneaky escapes after all!

Towards the afternoon, I was given a walkie-talkie and told I was now "Janine" and would be dispatching the calls to the Ghostbusters team. 

I took my job VERY seriously, not wanting to let Slimer get away with his naughtiness such as spewing ectoplasm on some unsuspecting soul. I've never come across ectoplasm but I'm guessing it's fairly repugnant. There is also the concern of having someone be possessed, haunted or severely spooked by other apparitions on the loose. In the last instance, we would have to deploy the Team with wet wipes and undergarment replacements at minimum. This is important work, people!

I spent a good part of the afternoon radioing in locations and suspected sightings and watched the two heroes trek over hill and gravel pile to bring back the offending specters. 

Late in the day, I radioed to the Ghostbusters who were now holed up in the fire station with a bag of chips for sustenance. It was an urgent call from an elderly lady at 4th and Main with something unholy in her basement. However, the response back was, "We're taking a break. You'll have to send the B Team." Reluctantly, I alerted the B Team and hoped for the best! 

It seemed the hours and hours of Ghostbusting was winding up. And to be honest, trying to talk in a nasally New York accent was wearing on me as well. I did a quick scan of my "successful grandkid playday checklist" and saw that these crucial items were met in abundance:

• Memories made
• Immunity boosted through dirt exposure
• Imagination stimulated
• Creative play mode engaged
• Physical exhaustion achieved

with bonus points for:

• Sibling play without fighting

Plus all the ghosts? Completely BUSTED!