After hearing two stories today of people close to me suffering through days of power outages over the weekend due to the big windy storm that hit us here in northern California, I started reminiscing about the ones I've lived through. I know "lived through" sounds dramatic, but, sheesh, when you have kids going out of their minds in boredom and are cooking yet another meal on the wood stove, it does seem like life and death. Or maybe I'm just a wimp; that's a possibility too.
One time in particular stands out for me. We live in the Sierras and it seems that sometimes even the threat of a snowflake knocks our power out, so we're kind of used to going a few hours or even most of a day without power on a fairly regular basis during the winter. We keep our Coleman lanterns at the ready on top of the fridge and the kids sleep with their flashlights.
This one year in particular we were hit with a ton of snow all at once right before Christmas. It was incredibly festive. We even cross country skied in the backyard. Of course the power went out. No big deal, until it stayed out for 5...longggg...days.
I was working at the time at our historic town's little general store, which was a small 100 year old building with almost no windows. At first it was humorous to hand customers a flashlight to do their shopping with as they came through the door. On day 3 it wasn't funny or cute anymore. I felt like I was a coal miner, so dark and dreary were my days cooped up in the little store.
I saw everyone's humor diminishing, from "isn't this kind of fun and rustic", to "please just put us out of our misery". Many folks were trying to make crazy deals with anyone who had a propane hot water heater to finagle a shower. We had a friend who was the housekeeper at a local inn and she got us in one of their little chalets for a shower. People really get rather desperate when they haven't had a proper bath in several days. And oh, how incredibly good it does feel to finally get that hot shower!
Well not only did I have crazy-bored kids, a dreary and dark place of work, and the challenge of cooking meals on the wood stove, I also had a 30 gallon tank of tropical fish I was trying to keep alive. I would scoop water out and pour it back in several times a day to keep their water aerated and I also started heating up river rocks on the wood stove and putting them in the water to keep the temperature up.
Finally Christmas eve dawned and still no power in sight. The last report we'd heard was that a major line was down somewhere deep in the woods and crews were still trying to get to it through the drifts of snow. My Christmas spirit was fading fast. I had had to look at my dark Christmas tree for 5 days and it was just making me more depressed. The thought of facing Christmas morning without our tree lights was just too much for me to bear. That night we left to go down to the next town and get a decent meal and the kids happened to ask what I wanted for Christmas. I said "I want the power to come back on!"
When we returned that evening and pulled into the driveway, we could see the tree lights sparkling at us through the windows. The kids shouted, "You got what you wanted for Christmas!" and indeed I did. To the average person it was the restoration of modern conveniences, but to me it was a Christmas miracle which was the restoration of my Christmas Spirit!
And none of my fish died. The end!
Showing posts with label Dumb Luck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dumb Luck. Show all posts
Monday, January 7, 2008
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Turkey Talk
I won a contest! I'm so excited! Our local news website recently ran a contest to name a wild turkey hen that has been hanging around the shopping center in town. The prize was a $20 gift certificate to the local coffee shop where she is seen most often.
Okay so you're dying to know the winning name aren't you? My suggestion was Cranberry. I had a feeling when I submitted it, that it may win. Of course, some of the names I was competing with were, Butterball, Strutin Stuffin, Drum Stick Walking, and Little Golly Gobble. I don't mean to be rude, but how could I NOT win? Hee, hee.
So here's a picture of my turkey, Cranberry. I am going to try to go visit her soon, since now I'm practically her owner.
When I got the email telling me I had won, husband suggested I call them and say, "Thank you, she was delicious! What? You mean the turkey wasn't the prize? Oops!" Yeah, he thinks he's pretty funny sometimes.
Okay so you're dying to know the winning name aren't you? My suggestion was Cranberry. I had a feeling when I submitted it, that it may win. Of course, some of the names I was competing with were, Butterball, Strutin Stuffin, Drum Stick Walking, and Little Golly Gobble. I don't mean to be rude, but how could I NOT win? Hee, hee.
So here's a picture of my turkey, Cranberry. I am going to try to go visit her soon, since now I'm practically her owner.
When I got the email telling me I had won, husband suggested I call them and say, "Thank you, she was delicious! What? You mean the turkey wasn't the prize? Oops!" Yeah, he thinks he's pretty funny sometimes.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Snake Charmer
My sister and I have always been snake lovers. Well actually we're just all around critter lovers. From the cute and cuddly to the big and slimy, we both are crazy about "all creatures great and small".
When we were young we would often catch little blue belly lizards, frogs, toads and water snakes. Our poor dad is one of those people who cannot stand the sight of a snake. It just really gives him the heebie-jeebies, and here he was blessed with two little girls who thought bringing a slithering reptile in a coffee can into the house was more fun than Barbies any day. I can only imagine how many times he must've jumped out of his skin coming across one our precious pets.
Mom, on the other hand was more like us. In fact she had a couple toads who lived under our house that she was quite fond of. One day some neighbor boys were playing in the yard and took one of these toads. Well, Mom caught wind of it and she was pissed! She was especially upset to think of what these boys might do to her toad. She immediately got on the phone and called the boys' mother. As Mom told it, the poor woman on the other end of the phone got an earful from her, as Mom demanded, "Your boys took my toad and I want them to bring it back right now!" We lived in a very small town, so the crazy toad lady episode was probably the scuttlebutt for some time afterwards.
Well, I can be a bit anal about the reptiles in my yard too, and it's good to know I come by it honestly. I do not let the kids play with my little frogs that live in the flower beds unless they are just going to handle them gently and put them back. I am also on the alert when I see one of the cats messing with something, and have saved quite a few snakes from a torturous death. I always get a thrill from holding a snake and feeling it slither through my hands--yes, I have the crazy toad lady's genes.
A few weeks ago the kids came running into the house all excited to tell me there was a rattlesnake in the yard. I figured that it probably wasn't, and that I would be saving a garter snake from the cat again. However, when I reached the front steps and saw Mike poised with his shovel, I had a feeling the kids knew what they were talking about.
As I got closer I could see the little guy trying to hide under the wooden border that separates the lawn from the driveway. He was obviously a rattler, though he wasn't rattling at the moment and I couldn't help being completely fascinated by him, and crouched down to observe him a bit closer. He was the coolest snake ever, and to think I was lucky enough to have him right in my front yard! I was apparently the only one who felt this way because about this time Mike lifted his shovel up and said, "Now everybody step back." This caught me off guard. What? He can't be serious. He wants to kill it? I tell him, "You can't kill it!" And now he was the one caught off guard. As he processed this bit of information, I could see the realization hit him that he should've just killed the dang thing and shown me the beheaded body.
I tell him he needs to find a bucket, get the snake into it and take it out to the forest and set it free. He is beyond thrilled to hear this bit of news, but reluctantly heads to the garage to find an empty garbage can. Isn't it amazing what a guy will do for a woman? He is able to get the bucket and a long stick and he very carefully starts jabbing at my sweet little snaky friend. My little friend is not happy about this and starts rattling like crazy. I've never seen a rattler this close up. Wow, it's so cool!
It only takes Mike about 3 tries to get him in the bucket. He has a look of relief on his face and is ready to take my little serpent for a walk. I tell him, "Wait! I have to get a picture of him!" and I rush to the house to get my camera. I'm pretty sure I saw Mike's eyes roll back into his head at this point. After a couple photos and a few more admiring glances I let Mike take him across the street and out in the woods where he can be safe from shovel-wielding maniacs.
I think this is a great lesson for the kids. They got to see what a rattle snake looks and sounds like and they also learned that just because you're afraid of something that you don't need to kill it. I tell the kids that they need to be careful around animals that can harm them, but if it's possible to save the animal, you should. After all, these creatures have a place in nature too.
Mike also learned a lesson that day. I think it goes something like this: Act first and tell the crazy lady later, or be prepared to spend your afternoon pretending to be Steve Irwin.
When we were young we would often catch little blue belly lizards, frogs, toads and water snakes. Our poor dad is one of those people who cannot stand the sight of a snake. It just really gives him the heebie-jeebies, and here he was blessed with two little girls who thought bringing a slithering reptile in a coffee can into the house was more fun than Barbies any day. I can only imagine how many times he must've jumped out of his skin coming across one our precious pets.
Mom, on the other hand was more like us. In fact she had a couple toads who lived under our house that she was quite fond of. One day some neighbor boys were playing in the yard and took one of these toads. Well, Mom caught wind of it and she was pissed! She was especially upset to think of what these boys might do to her toad. She immediately got on the phone and called the boys' mother. As Mom told it, the poor woman on the other end of the phone got an earful from her, as Mom demanded, "Your boys took my toad and I want them to bring it back right now!" We lived in a very small town, so the crazy toad lady episode was probably the scuttlebutt for some time afterwards.
Well, I can be a bit anal about the reptiles in my yard too, and it's good to know I come by it honestly. I do not let the kids play with my little frogs that live in the flower beds unless they are just going to handle them gently and put them back. I am also on the alert when I see one of the cats messing with something, and have saved quite a few snakes from a torturous death. I always get a thrill from holding a snake and feeling it slither through my hands--yes, I have the crazy toad lady's genes.
A few weeks ago the kids came running into the house all excited to tell me there was a rattlesnake in the yard. I figured that it probably wasn't, and that I would be saving a garter snake from the cat again. However, when I reached the front steps and saw Mike poised with his shovel, I had a feeling the kids knew what they were talking about.
As I got closer I could see the little guy trying to hide under the wooden border that separates the lawn from the driveway. He was obviously a rattler, though he wasn't rattling at the moment and I couldn't help being completely fascinated by him, and crouched down to observe him a bit closer. He was the coolest snake ever, and to think I was lucky enough to have him right in my front yard! I was apparently the only one who felt this way because about this time Mike lifted his shovel up and said, "Now everybody step back." This caught me off guard. What? He can't be serious. He wants to kill it? I tell him, "You can't kill it!" And now he was the one caught off guard. As he processed this bit of information, I could see the realization hit him that he should've just killed the dang thing and shown me the beheaded body.
I tell him he needs to find a bucket, get the snake into it and take it out to the forest and set it free. He is beyond thrilled to hear this bit of news, but reluctantly heads to the garage to find an empty garbage can. Isn't it amazing what a guy will do for a woman? He is able to get the bucket and a long stick and he very carefully starts jabbing at my sweet little snaky friend. My little friend is not happy about this and starts rattling like crazy. I've never seen a rattler this close up. Wow, it's so cool!
It only takes Mike about 3 tries to get him in the bucket. He has a look of relief on his face and is ready to take my little serpent for a walk. I tell him, "Wait! I have to get a picture of him!" and I rush to the house to get my camera. I'm pretty sure I saw Mike's eyes roll back into his head at this point. After a couple photos and a few more admiring glances I let Mike take him across the street and out in the woods where he can be safe from shovel-wielding maniacs.
I think this is a great lesson for the kids. They got to see what a rattle snake looks and sounds like and they also learned that just because you're afraid of something that you don't need to kill it. I tell the kids that they need to be careful around animals that can harm them, but if it's possible to save the animal, you should. After all, these creatures have a place in nature too.
Mike also learned a lesson that day. I think it goes something like this: Act first and tell the crazy lady later, or be prepared to spend your afternoon pretending to be Steve Irwin.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Good Night Nurse!
So I was out helping take care of Dad this weekend who is recovering from bladder cancer surgery. They took his bladder out so now he has an ostomy bag. Apparently they took out his sense of modesty as well, which must be housed near the bladder in the human body.
I'm sure giving Dad a modestectomy was a minor mistake they made during the surgery and they thought we wouldn't notice that his modesty was now gone. But we did. Dad doesn't care who sees his stuff now. He just wanders around in an open robe and nothing else. He also has the habit of dragging along a big bag of urine with him. Eventually he could use his ostomy pouch which can be hidden under clothing, but for now he likes the heavy duty, industrial sized bag, because it doesn't need to be emptied but once a day. You've heard of people who seem to have a bladder the size of a watermelon and never have to pee? Well this bag is the medical version of that. It's very convenient for those who don't want the hassle of using the restroom, but for the rest of us it can be a bit distracting during meals and polite conversation.
It was my intention to go out and be of help; do laundry, fix meals, clean house, and keep an eye on Dad, giving my sister a much needed break. The first thing Dad wants to do is take a shower. Mind you this is his first shower in 6 weeks. He's pretty determined about it, and Tracy and Dave have already installed the needed equipment in the shower for him. I ask if he needs help, as it is clear to me now that I've already seen everything so I might as well help him wash it too. He declines, and on one hand I'm thinking that's good, because he needs to become independent. On the other hand it scares me to death that with the combination of soap, water, and his unstable physical condition at the moment, he'll hurt himself. He heads for the bathroom and I listen to every sound coming from behind the door. For the next 11 1/2 minutes I'm a nervous wreck. If he slips I'll feel terrible for not insisting on helping him. Finally I hear the water shut off and hear him shuttle off to his bedroom. All is well. Thank you Lord.
Then he calls out for me. So I rush back to the bedroom and he tells me not to go in the bathroom. What kind of doom awaits I can only imagine, but then he explains that he had forgotten to put the shower curtain inside the tub and got water on the floor and didn't want me to go in there for fear I would slip. He'd just as soon wait for the water to evaporate rather than put me out, but I tell him it's no problem and go start the clean up.
Well, he got quite a bit of water on the floor. A good 1/2 inch or so over the entire floor, plus the counter, the mirror, the toilet paper and the unsuspecting box of Kleenex also saw what a hand held shower head is capable of when it's not being restrained behind a curtain. It was quite a sight, and how he made it out of the shower and waded through the wetness on the linoleum without killing himself will be one of life's perpetual mysteries.
Oh, and I think your modesty regenerates. It must, because women lose theirs all the time during childbirth, but somehow it comes back. Here's hoping Dad's modesty is on the return. Soon.
I'm sure giving Dad a modestectomy was a minor mistake they made during the surgery and they thought we wouldn't notice that his modesty was now gone. But we did. Dad doesn't care who sees his stuff now. He just wanders around in an open robe and nothing else. He also has the habit of dragging along a big bag of urine with him. Eventually he could use his ostomy pouch which can be hidden under clothing, but for now he likes the heavy duty, industrial sized bag, because it doesn't need to be emptied but once a day. You've heard of people who seem to have a bladder the size of a watermelon and never have to pee? Well this bag is the medical version of that. It's very convenient for those who don't want the hassle of using the restroom, but for the rest of us it can be a bit distracting during meals and polite conversation.
It was my intention to go out and be of help; do laundry, fix meals, clean house, and keep an eye on Dad, giving my sister a much needed break. The first thing Dad wants to do is take a shower. Mind you this is his first shower in 6 weeks. He's pretty determined about it, and Tracy and Dave have already installed the needed equipment in the shower for him. I ask if he needs help, as it is clear to me now that I've already seen everything so I might as well help him wash it too. He declines, and on one hand I'm thinking that's good, because he needs to become independent. On the other hand it scares me to death that with the combination of soap, water, and his unstable physical condition at the moment, he'll hurt himself. He heads for the bathroom and I listen to every sound coming from behind the door. For the next 11 1/2 minutes I'm a nervous wreck. If he slips I'll feel terrible for not insisting on helping him. Finally I hear the water shut off and hear him shuttle off to his bedroom. All is well. Thank you Lord.
Then he calls out for me. So I rush back to the bedroom and he tells me not to go in the bathroom. What kind of doom awaits I can only imagine, but then he explains that he had forgotten to put the shower curtain inside the tub and got water on the floor and didn't want me to go in there for fear I would slip. He'd just as soon wait for the water to evaporate rather than put me out, but I tell him it's no problem and go start the clean up.
Well, he got quite a bit of water on the floor. A good 1/2 inch or so over the entire floor, plus the counter, the mirror, the toilet paper and the unsuspecting box of Kleenex also saw what a hand held shower head is capable of when it's not being restrained behind a curtain. It was quite a sight, and how he made it out of the shower and waded through the wetness on the linoleum without killing himself will be one of life's perpetual mysteries.
Oh, and I think your modesty regenerates. It must, because women lose theirs all the time during childbirth, but somehow it comes back. Here's hoping Dad's modesty is on the return. Soon.
Monday, October 1, 2007
The Baptism
So Shelby had her baptism on Sunday. In the LDS tradition, kids are baptized when they are 8. It is the age of "accountability". It is thought that they are unable to commit sin before this age. Eight is the age when kids should be able to distinguish between right and wrong and be "accountable" for their actions.
Anyhoo...Shelby got to choose the songs for her baptism, and we had 2 women from our ward that she's close to give talks, Sis even said the opening prayer (as a side note, Sis can sure project-as in speak loudly enough for all to hear. I really admire her. I have the wimpiest voice ever. I'm glad Sis loves drama. I really think it's a calling for her. Plus she doesn't get nervous about speaking in front of a group---darn her self confidence anyway!) Oh, and the current Miss Calaveras County sang a solo at the baptism which was very cool too.
Shelby had to be in a white jumpsuit for the occasion, which the church provided, and my friend made sure to tell me to find some white underwear--she emphasized to be sure that Moo was in white from head to toe. The day before we were lucky enough to find completely white undies at Sears. Not as easy as it sounds. Nearly every pair of girls' underwear has either Dora or Bratz or Disney Princesses on them, and if not that, they at least have pink elastic on the waist band. So I was very proud of my find, and feeling pretty confident.
So right before Shelby goes in to get dressed in her jumpsuit I realize she has blue pony tail holders in her French braids. (One of my friends suggested French braids so we wouldn't have to hassle with drying her hair afterward, plus it insures that everything goes completely under during the baptism preventing the dreaded "do-over"). Yikes, my heart sunk. This was going to mess up the whole plan. But, someone was looking out for us because as luck would have it, Nat wanted her hair braided that morning too, and in an uncharacteristic move, wanted two braids (she usually insists on one and only one!) and in an equally uncharacteristic move wanted white pony tail holders instead of her standard issue pink ones. When I looked down and realized that Nat had white pony tail holders, it was like the clouds parted and the sun shone down and the angels started singing! Halllelujah! (Maybe you have to be a mom to get that excited about pony tail holders) And to prove that it was truly a religious experience I didn't even have to bribe, threaten or cajole Nat to lend them to her sister for the baptism. Yay!
Shelby was a little nervous about the baptism, and a little uncomfortable being the center of attention, but it all went well, and she was happy afterwards.
Anyhoo...Shelby got to choose the songs for her baptism, and we had 2 women from our ward that she's close to give talks, Sis even said the opening prayer (as a side note, Sis can sure project-as in speak loudly enough for all to hear. I really admire her. I have the wimpiest voice ever. I'm glad Sis loves drama. I really think it's a calling for her. Plus she doesn't get nervous about speaking in front of a group---darn her self confidence anyway!) Oh, and the current Miss Calaveras County sang a solo at the baptism which was very cool too.
Shelby had to be in a white jumpsuit for the occasion, which the church provided, and my friend made sure to tell me to find some white underwear--she emphasized to be sure that Moo was in white from head to toe. The day before we were lucky enough to find completely white undies at Sears. Not as easy as it sounds. Nearly every pair of girls' underwear has either Dora or Bratz or Disney Princesses on them, and if not that, they at least have pink elastic on the waist band. So I was very proud of my find, and feeling pretty confident.
So right before Shelby goes in to get dressed in her jumpsuit I realize she has blue pony tail holders in her French braids. (One of my friends suggested French braids so we wouldn't have to hassle with drying her hair afterward, plus it insures that everything goes completely under during the baptism preventing the dreaded "do-over"). Yikes, my heart sunk. This was going to mess up the whole plan. But, someone was looking out for us because as luck would have it, Nat wanted her hair braided that morning too, and in an uncharacteristic move, wanted two braids (she usually insists on one and only one!) and in an equally uncharacteristic move wanted white pony tail holders instead of her standard issue pink ones. When I looked down and realized that Nat had white pony tail holders, it was like the clouds parted and the sun shone down and the angels started singing! Halllelujah! (Maybe you have to be a mom to get that excited about pony tail holders) And to prove that it was truly a religious experience I didn't even have to bribe, threaten or cajole Nat to lend them to her sister for the baptism. Yay!
Shelby was a little nervous about the baptism, and a little uncomfortable being the center of attention, but it all went well, and she was happy afterwards.
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