20+ years of marriage have me wondering if my dear husband really knows me. By all means, he does have some items down to a tee. For this my dear husband, I am eternally grateful. I adore you and feel blessed by your presence.
BUT, warnings beware for you loving husbands out there who venture to the grocery store. STOP! Think about this brazen while well-intentioned move. What may seem like a wise decision at first, might get you feeling a bit unappreciated at the end.
I often wondered whether or not my spouse actually "hears" me when I am speaking either directly to him, or making comments to an experience we're sharing together. I start with the comment, and if after 2-3 vocalizations, I am met with no response or even more contemptible, a grunt or non-committal, "uh-huh" or "yeah" - I begin tossing out one liners. "I am pregnant, I maxed the credit card, I bought a new car, I'm moving to the beach". If there is no indication that the one liners are absorbed, it is then that I stand over my partner of life and turn off the power to whatever distracts him.
Today hubby announced he was going to the local Wal-Mart to buy a BBQ. This is a great purchase since we enjoying having grilled food. Ah, good hubby, good man. As with Target, our local Wal-Mart is a "Super" as well. I love this perk as having a grocery store and retail store in one is a great fun.
My goal, while the man of my dreams was shopping for the epitome of testosterone, a grill - was to complete my domestic Sunday chores - ah fresh laundry, watch a bit of House Hunters International, and put my face on, walk the dog, etc. I figured that John wanted to wander the world of wacky Wal-Mart. Surely he'd return before grocery shopping, or even attempting such a feat.
I was wrong. Wrong on so many levels. If after 20 years, one is not capable of completing grocery shopping netting items that both partners enjoy - well, then...off with your head!
John purchased Haagen-Dazs Gelato. Ok..impressive. He knows I love Haagen Dazs. Oh, big party foul - Sea Salt Caramel. This is disturbing for me. It proves my point - the one I mentioned early on at the beginning of this. You know. The one where I stated the plain and simple fact that I may speak but that doesn't mean John hears or listens. I had purchased a pint of Ben & Jerry's salted caramel cored ice cream. I made a point of telling John that while I do love caramel - the salted stuff simply is NOT for me. Upon putting the fresh pint in the freezer, I played it low and asked, "Oh, are you trying the gelato"? He told me it was for me. You never want to hurt delicate man feelings.
So, with a deep breath, and keeping in mind that John is a truly sensitive soul, likely to take all this personally..."John, did you even hear what I said the other night when I told you that I did not care for the salted caramel"? I will not mention that Lemon Meringue pie - another item I don't care for. Who knew!
The grill looks nice by the way.
About Me
- anniemac
- My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Friday, June 13, 2014
Before the Swiming Pool
Summers were my favorite season when I was a youngster growing up in the San Fernando Valley. There was a big solo screen movie theater on Reseda Blvd./Devonshire St. I recall being mesmerized by the rated G film, "Island of the Blue Dolphins", based upon an alleged historical event of a Chumash Indian girl escaping Anacapa Island, and to what is now Santa Barbara, CA.
There were bike rides to McDonald's, for a hamburger, fries and vanilla shake for the ungodly price of $3. We lived on Yolanda Ave./San Fernando Mission Blvd., right below Tampa Street and Wilbur Avenue. There were bike rides everywhere now that I recall. An easy 10 minute ride got you to Alpha Beta and collective allowances, between 4 kids, the first work as a team could get you a bag of Oreo Cookies and a coke. We even used wooden laundry clips and playing cards from one of mom's bridge sets and attached them to the spoke of a wheel to get that real motorcycle sound.
It was the days of street lights; knowing freedom until those light came on. As we grew older, they could be timed to a tee, and punishments became almost nil. You could have all the friends you needed within walking distance or a short bike ride. There were not the high crimes and misdemeanors that have turned almost any neighborhood in the Valley to a target for little kids and allowed gangs or pedophiles to run the show.
One summer, 1975 if memory serves me correct, my parents put an in-ground swimming pool in the backyard. Suddenly, we were going to be the most popular house on the street; at least back then I thought so. We weren't the only house, but one of a few. May to the end of June was a giant dirt hole, followed by disgusting cement/re bar hole that seemed to take forever to finish. Finally came the day of spraying the plaster, placing the tile and then another agonizing 72 hr wait until everything "set". The unveiling of the solar blanket could not come quickly enough. But when it did, there was no stopping us. 4 kids and their friends from the neighborhood took turns launching themselves from the diving board, and performing the hi tech cannonball on unsuspecting observers.
I enjoy looking back before the pool and greenish blond hair my mother was always trying to rectify on my toe head, from the over chlorinated pool at Northridge Park. The days of the sprinkler. The days of running through the sprinklers playing "tag" and avoiding a missed pile of dog poo on a very wet lawn. Then came the fun "Has-bro" hose devices that with one easy application would turn the garden hose into a whirling yellow headed monster or a "Slipn'Slide" where at least one kid sat out the remainder of a summer due to hitting a camouflaged sprinkler head or broken arm. But, man those crazy devices were fun.
Sometimes I wonder if kids today realize the joy of summer vacations, BBQs, camping trips with tents, trips to the beach house, fort building, tree climbing and waiting for the sound of the ice cream man. Life before the pool.
There were bike rides to McDonald's, for a hamburger, fries and vanilla shake for the ungodly price of $3. We lived on Yolanda Ave./San Fernando Mission Blvd., right below Tampa Street and Wilbur Avenue. There were bike rides everywhere now that I recall. An easy 10 minute ride got you to Alpha Beta and collective allowances, between 4 kids, the first work as a team could get you a bag of Oreo Cookies and a coke. We even used wooden laundry clips and playing cards from one of mom's bridge sets and attached them to the spoke of a wheel to get that real motorcycle sound.
It was the days of street lights; knowing freedom until those light came on. As we grew older, they could be timed to a tee, and punishments became almost nil. You could have all the friends you needed within walking distance or a short bike ride. There were not the high crimes and misdemeanors that have turned almost any neighborhood in the Valley to a target for little kids and allowed gangs or pedophiles to run the show.
One summer, 1975 if memory serves me correct, my parents put an in-ground swimming pool in the backyard. Suddenly, we were going to be the most popular house on the street; at least back then I thought so. We weren't the only house, but one of a few. May to the end of June was a giant dirt hole, followed by disgusting cement/re bar hole that seemed to take forever to finish. Finally came the day of spraying the plaster, placing the tile and then another agonizing 72 hr wait until everything "set". The unveiling of the solar blanket could not come quickly enough. But when it did, there was no stopping us. 4 kids and their friends from the neighborhood took turns launching themselves from the diving board, and performing the hi tech cannonball on unsuspecting observers.
I enjoy looking back before the pool and greenish blond hair my mother was always trying to rectify on my toe head, from the over chlorinated pool at Northridge Park. The days of the sprinkler. The days of running through the sprinklers playing "tag" and avoiding a missed pile of dog poo on a very wet lawn. Then came the fun "Has-bro" hose devices that with one easy application would turn the garden hose into a whirling yellow headed monster or a "Slipn'Slide" where at least one kid sat out the remainder of a summer due to hitting a camouflaged sprinkler head or broken arm. But, man those crazy devices were fun.
Sometimes I wonder if kids today realize the joy of summer vacations, BBQs, camping trips with tents, trips to the beach house, fort building, tree climbing and waiting for the sound of the ice cream man. Life before the pool.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Words of the Screen - Speak to Me
As I look through my blog catalog, I saw my last entry was in December, 2013. Far too long to be away from an activity that brings so much joy to my heart.
During a recent trip home to CA to visit my son, friends and the beach, I made a point of borrowing one of my husband's cameras. He was so excited to describe how to use the camera; perhaps he ponderered the idea - a protégé in the making? I should have taken notes.
Alas, I'm still on the Ansel Adams back burner - if I could tackle turning the device on - I just might capture a prolific moment in the day of the life of...
A stroll on the Port Hueneme Pier was splendid as usual. The ocean's serenade was like that of an opera. The characters had their places on the stage; each aria pitch perfect. And then I came upon the finest voice in the grand show - the dog.
This scraggly fellow let out an occasional moan, followed by a gruff "ruff" . Fisherman were on the north and south side of the pier, and when a fish was hooked, "Hallelujah" could be heard above the roar of the waves. The rough sailor of a dog took it all in stride, as if he were the maestro of the entire production, directing each musician to take their cue.
While I am certain my husband is relieved at my decision to put down the camera, I do, however, hope he will be happy to read that I am in front of the keyboard again, pouring out a word or two, and letting my imagination run away from time to time.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Ghosts of Christmas Past
Truth be told, this is not my favorite time of year. Shoppers assaulting each other over games and tech products, Santas in abundance, screaming children, stores stocking Christmas products even before Halloween is over and often times, party goers simply nipping at the Magical Rum Punch just a wee bit too much.
But, this year I thought I should dig deep into my Grinch Bag and pull out some little bit of happy memories and jot them down.
I like to think of the Wonder Years, Rudolph, Frosty and Charlie Brown as having all been somewhat modeled after the Gartlan years on Yolanda Avenue. A "wonder" we didn't kill each other, someone always had a "red nose", someone had a chill, but then suffered a "meltdown" and finally, a little Christmas tree and Snoopy came to the rescue.
The 60s were an adventure. I was whole-heartily convinced my parents were on some sort of fashion-interior decorating acid trip when they initially purchased what was probably back then, stylish and smooth furniture. You know the type...avocado green shag carpet, some sort of bizarre yellow ...was it Goldenrod...not to be confused with GoldenSeal, although I suppose if my parents were into the smoking of the herb, they might confuse their furniture with a really warped trip. No, my parents were the epitome of the all American 60s family, right down to the Plymouth station wagon in hideous yellow, with no air-conditioning, and my Dad's hunter green Ford LTD with an AM/FM radio.
My dad Peter was one hell of an excellent man. Always dapper in his business suits, running out the door to sell real estate in the San Fernando Valley, and Mom packing lunches and sending us off to school. We even had Carmen, the nanny, who I still hold with deep affinity. There were swingsets, slides, fort building, a swimming pool, a dog and a cat. There were raucous fights between siblings, time-outs, "go to your room", "you're grounded" moments that still waft in and out of my recollections. Some pretty awful, some pretty awesome.
Christmas was a 50-50 deal to me. Some memories I have are terrible. I still feel the scars today, and it's affected my interpretation and general dislike of the holiday. But, then there are the golden moments, where the dreams of a little girl come true, and joy moved me more, just as they do today.
We had our traditions. Every family does. We were into the St. Nick Day, and the giving of an ornament for the tree marking that particular year. The purchasing of the tree; I suppose some Rotary tree lot, or church sponsored deal. The tree trimming was completed by the whole family to start with, followed by the lackluster appearances as we got older. And then there was my parents' Epiphany Parties after the holidays.
We had a fairly nice sized living room which you did not dare enter without good intentions. A white sofa, a few nice chairs, a piano, fireplace and a ....HI-FI! My Dad would turn on the record player and load up Bing Crosby's White Christmas, still one of my favorites. And in the corner of that green shag carpeted room, my parents would place the Christmas tree.
Always above 6 feet, although not too much, the delivery of the tree was a grand day. It's as though you just knew Santa was lurking somewhere; maybe the backyard, in the attic, the garage, the side yard. He was somewhere. Although a staunch, Irish Catholic family, we still have some Santa tossed in with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. My mother had a lovely crèche which was fun to unwrap from a box held together with twine, and over-sprayed with fake snow, Christmas tree lights that no doubt had seen better days, and loads of ornaments. Some years it was the tinsel all the way around, other years it was the dripping type tinsel, that was forever being pulled at by the immensely obtuse and completely too heavy, Kirby vacuum cleaner. Thankfully, as far as I can recall, there never was flocked trees. I tend to imagine that being odd since we lived in southern California, and it rarely snowed.
Dad really had a thing for Christmas. He'd make it a Saturday task to hang outdoor lights, and then move inside for decorating. He'd always buy some extra boughs of tree branches. After the tree was decked from head to toe, and even sometime leaning from one side or the other, Dad went to town on the rest of the house. He would take snippets from the extra boughs, and before you knew it, the place looked like a Douglas Fir walked right in the house and exploded. Little twigs of green, tucked into the corner of a frame, or on a shelf. The stuff was everywhere. I still wonder, but never can recall asking, what Christmas was like for my dad when he was a young lad in Ireland. I guess that's on the "shoulda, coulda, woulda" list.
If we were really committed to it, the family would do the Christmas eve Midnight Mass, and then were allowed to open ONE gift before retiring for the night. This habit was easier, when we were older, but as kids, we never seemed to get past 10p.m.
Usually Santa made his appearance sometime after midnight, and one of us would wake up the other kids, and 8 eyeballs would pop open in the wee hours...0400 to see what Santa had left. I think back now to how I might have reacted if a bunch of kids appeared at my bedside telling me to wake up. My parents handled it in stride.
There was the Dolan and Waggoner families who would come for the Christmas dinner, the stories shared over a fantastic meal prepared by my mother, who, quite possibly, made the best sweet dinner rolls shaped in a Christmas tree ever. Turkey, trimmings, dessert. It was a gut busting event. Dad had a thing for Almond Rocha, so by dinner time we had either eaten too much of that, or See's Candies, and became sick off candy cane overdosing. And no Christmas ever passed in our house without first being required to attend Mass.
I still recall counting out change in Bullock's Department Store, at the foot of an escalator, so I could buy my Dad a bottle of British Sterling. We never did the little red ship cologne, but went big on the sterling stuff. There were times spent telling Santa about Barbie dolls, toys, electric rollers, perfume, and the popular but unrealistic, new car.
Sometimes I dream of being able to go back to those memories and actively re-live them. But, like all things past, you visit them a bit, put them away in a box, and tie it with twine until the next Christmas rolls around.
But, this year I thought I should dig deep into my Grinch Bag and pull out some little bit of happy memories and jot them down.
I like to think of the Wonder Years, Rudolph, Frosty and Charlie Brown as having all been somewhat modeled after the Gartlan years on Yolanda Avenue. A "wonder" we didn't kill each other, someone always had a "red nose", someone had a chill, but then suffered a "meltdown" and finally, a little Christmas tree and Snoopy came to the rescue.
The 60s were an adventure. I was whole-heartily convinced my parents were on some sort of fashion-interior decorating acid trip when they initially purchased what was probably back then, stylish and smooth furniture. You know the type...avocado green shag carpet, some sort of bizarre yellow ...was it Goldenrod...not to be confused with GoldenSeal, although I suppose if my parents were into the smoking of the herb, they might confuse their furniture with a really warped trip. No, my parents were the epitome of the all American 60s family, right down to the Plymouth station wagon in hideous yellow, with no air-conditioning, and my Dad's hunter green Ford LTD with an AM/FM radio.
My dad Peter was one hell of an excellent man. Always dapper in his business suits, running out the door to sell real estate in the San Fernando Valley, and Mom packing lunches and sending us off to school. We even had Carmen, the nanny, who I still hold with deep affinity. There were swingsets, slides, fort building, a swimming pool, a dog and a cat. There were raucous fights between siblings, time-outs, "go to your room", "you're grounded" moments that still waft in and out of my recollections. Some pretty awful, some pretty awesome.
Christmas was a 50-50 deal to me. Some memories I have are terrible. I still feel the scars today, and it's affected my interpretation and general dislike of the holiday. But, then there are the golden moments, where the dreams of a little girl come true, and joy moved me more, just as they do today.
We had our traditions. Every family does. We were into the St. Nick Day, and the giving of an ornament for the tree marking that particular year. The purchasing of the tree; I suppose some Rotary tree lot, or church sponsored deal. The tree trimming was completed by the whole family to start with, followed by the lackluster appearances as we got older. And then there was my parents' Epiphany Parties after the holidays.
We had a fairly nice sized living room which you did not dare enter without good intentions. A white sofa, a few nice chairs, a piano, fireplace and a ....HI-FI! My Dad would turn on the record player and load up Bing Crosby's White Christmas, still one of my favorites. And in the corner of that green shag carpeted room, my parents would place the Christmas tree.
Always above 6 feet, although not too much, the delivery of the tree was a grand day. It's as though you just knew Santa was lurking somewhere; maybe the backyard, in the attic, the garage, the side yard. He was somewhere. Although a staunch, Irish Catholic family, we still have some Santa tossed in with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. My mother had a lovely crèche which was fun to unwrap from a box held together with twine, and over-sprayed with fake snow, Christmas tree lights that no doubt had seen better days, and loads of ornaments. Some years it was the tinsel all the way around, other years it was the dripping type tinsel, that was forever being pulled at by the immensely obtuse and completely too heavy, Kirby vacuum cleaner. Thankfully, as far as I can recall, there never was flocked trees. I tend to imagine that being odd since we lived in southern California, and it rarely snowed.
Dad really had a thing for Christmas. He'd make it a Saturday task to hang outdoor lights, and then move inside for decorating. He'd always buy some extra boughs of tree branches. After the tree was decked from head to toe, and even sometime leaning from one side or the other, Dad went to town on the rest of the house. He would take snippets from the extra boughs, and before you knew it, the place looked like a Douglas Fir walked right in the house and exploded. Little twigs of green, tucked into the corner of a frame, or on a shelf. The stuff was everywhere. I still wonder, but never can recall asking, what Christmas was like for my dad when he was a young lad in Ireland. I guess that's on the "shoulda, coulda, woulda" list.
If we were really committed to it, the family would do the Christmas eve Midnight Mass, and then were allowed to open ONE gift before retiring for the night. This habit was easier, when we were older, but as kids, we never seemed to get past 10p.m.
Usually Santa made his appearance sometime after midnight, and one of us would wake up the other kids, and 8 eyeballs would pop open in the wee hours...0400 to see what Santa had left. I think back now to how I might have reacted if a bunch of kids appeared at my bedside telling me to wake up. My parents handled it in stride.
There was the Dolan and Waggoner families who would come for the Christmas dinner, the stories shared over a fantastic meal prepared by my mother, who, quite possibly, made the best sweet dinner rolls shaped in a Christmas tree ever. Turkey, trimmings, dessert. It was a gut busting event. Dad had a thing for Almond Rocha, so by dinner time we had either eaten too much of that, or See's Candies, and became sick off candy cane overdosing. And no Christmas ever passed in our house without first being required to attend Mass.
I still recall counting out change in Bullock's Department Store, at the foot of an escalator, so I could buy my Dad a bottle of British Sterling. We never did the little red ship cologne, but went big on the sterling stuff. There were times spent telling Santa about Barbie dolls, toys, electric rollers, perfume, and the popular but unrealistic, new car.
Sometimes I dream of being able to go back to those memories and actively re-live them. But, like all things past, you visit them a bit, put them away in a box, and tie it with twine until the next Christmas rolls around.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Queen of the Double Wide on Wheels
Sammy Kershaw serenaded the country audience back in the '90s with "Queen of My Double Wide Trailer", and I found myself astonished as to who might want to live in a trailer park. Those were the days when I was more of a snob.
Words that come back around to take a large chunk out of my ass - a big bite ... here I sit, in my RV, in a trailer park, writing about this very topic.
We bought a RV in March, 2013. Our condo recently went under contract, and hopefully will close at the end of November. We've been living in very rural North Routt County, Clark, Colorado since Father's Day weekend. Off grid has been an adventure. No internet, no cable. Water being brought in, rather than just turning on a faucet. It's been a reality check, but a great reality check.
So, when winter came knocking a few weeks ago, the logistics had to be reconsidered. In an area that easily sees up to 500 inches + of snow, living in the back 40 was not going to be very wise. We moved in to town this past weekend, and smack dab in to the KOA campground. A real life trailer park.
Looking around at the diversity of RVs, I am blown away. You have the hippie stoner dudes who live in a small Streamline; I'm not sure how they all fit in there. Next to them, a large 5th wheel Voltage with 2 slide-outs; I believe they are hunters, as I have not seen them since we arrived, and it's rifle season. Last night an immense 5th wheel rolled in, pulled by a semi-cab, with license plates from Montana; a real palace - 3 slide outs. They stayed one night.
Today 2 friends from ski patrol moved in. One has been coming here for 11 years, and filled me in on the skinny as to who lives here during the winter season. He told me about some couple who own a million dollar rig, are also "swingers" and were on the hunt for people to swing with them - that sounds like the people I envisioned to living in a trailer park.
I'm still a snob, although I've mellowed over the years. A trailer park will do that to you!
Words that come back around to take a large chunk out of my ass - a big bite ... here I sit, in my RV, in a trailer park, writing about this very topic.
We bought a RV in March, 2013. Our condo recently went under contract, and hopefully will close at the end of November. We've been living in very rural North Routt County, Clark, Colorado since Father's Day weekend. Off grid has been an adventure. No internet, no cable. Water being brought in, rather than just turning on a faucet. It's been a reality check, but a great reality check.
So, when winter came knocking a few weeks ago, the logistics had to be reconsidered. In an area that easily sees up to 500 inches + of snow, living in the back 40 was not going to be very wise. We moved in to town this past weekend, and smack dab in to the KOA campground. A real life trailer park.
Looking around at the diversity of RVs, I am blown away. You have the hippie stoner dudes who live in a small Streamline; I'm not sure how they all fit in there. Next to them, a large 5th wheel Voltage with 2 slide-outs; I believe they are hunters, as I have not seen them since we arrived, and it's rifle season. Last night an immense 5th wheel rolled in, pulled by a semi-cab, with license plates from Montana; a real palace - 3 slide outs. They stayed one night.
Today 2 friends from ski patrol moved in. One has been coming here for 11 years, and filled me in on the skinny as to who lives here during the winter season. He told me about some couple who own a million dollar rig, are also "swingers" and were on the hunt for people to swing with them - that sounds like the people I envisioned to living in a trailer park.
I'm still a snob, although I've mellowed over the years. A trailer park will do that to you!
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Idiosyncrasies of Men
A recent conversation with my brother had me thinking that he had figured out the female race. Oh, how wrong he is!
As I sit here at The Clark Store, plugged into my lifeline, otherwise known as the free wifi table, I can easily overhear the guys' take on life. Oh how I wish my brother was here.
4 men, all with coffee or cokes, grubby clothes from shoveling shit - all types of "shit" and an odor or cow poo and mud, are discussing today's issues. They are the champions of the world, or so they think. It's enlightening to hear the conversations that range from moving big piece of wood with a skid steer, to family visits, how the "little lady" NEEDS their help for chores around the house, doctor visits, the price for a head of cattle, sharing pictures on their smart phones, sports scores, shooting bear, outfitters in town, killing, preparing, seasoning and then eating bear. They are also discussing who pulled which tag for where, who has the BIGGEST, ha ha.....elk. I'm loving it. Oh, and don't forget the guy who just killed the "biggest moose I ever saw, down in Soda Creek".
I know where all the great hunting spots are now; not that I really care to know. I'd rather hunt democrats. But, in case you need to know...down near Ted Turner's ranch, boy scout ranch, Cimarron, soda creek, brown's park, 20mile. Of course, if you're not from the Rockies, these locations might need a Garmin to locate.
I love my brother dearly. Aside from being my brother, he is my friend. But he is slightly clueless when it comes to how he perceives women vs men. These 4 ranchers at the table next to me are even sharing recipes as to the proper way to make jerky; while one even laments that he has never heard of a jerky cutter.
Even more entertaining, is one young buck talking about how "tight his AR-15" is. What would an old fashion man party be without gun talk. But then again, Steamboat did just host a female gun shoot.
Life is good, and every once in awhile it's very, very informative to hear how the opposite sex perceives the never ending battle between the sexes.
As I sit here at The Clark Store, plugged into my lifeline, otherwise known as the free wifi table, I can easily overhear the guys' take on life. Oh how I wish my brother was here.
4 men, all with coffee or cokes, grubby clothes from shoveling shit - all types of "shit" and an odor or cow poo and mud, are discussing today's issues. They are the champions of the world, or so they think. It's enlightening to hear the conversations that range from moving big piece of wood with a skid steer, to family visits, how the "little lady" NEEDS their help for chores around the house, doctor visits, the price for a head of cattle, sharing pictures on their smart phones, sports scores, shooting bear, outfitters in town, killing, preparing, seasoning and then eating bear. They are also discussing who pulled which tag for where, who has the BIGGEST, ha ha.....elk. I'm loving it. Oh, and don't forget the guy who just killed the "biggest moose I ever saw, down in Soda Creek".
I know where all the great hunting spots are now; not that I really care to know. I'd rather hunt democrats. But, in case you need to know...down near Ted Turner's ranch, boy scout ranch, Cimarron, soda creek, brown's park, 20mile. Of course, if you're not from the Rockies, these locations might need a Garmin to locate.
I love my brother dearly. Aside from being my brother, he is my friend. But he is slightly clueless when it comes to how he perceives women vs men. These 4 ranchers at the table next to me are even sharing recipes as to the proper way to make jerky; while one even laments that he has never heard of a jerky cutter.
Even more entertaining, is one young buck talking about how "tight his AR-15" is. What would an old fashion man party be without gun talk. But then again, Steamboat did just host a female gun shoot.
Life is good, and every once in awhile it's very, very informative to hear how the opposite sex perceives the never ending battle between the sexes.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Government Shut Down - Get A Pet Instead
It's been a long two months since I have written anything on my personal blog. I have been devoting my time to my husband's blog site (www.mollydogimages.com) and also traveling a bit before the snow flies. Truth be told, it's already begun its flight. Ugh, the white stuff - which I disdain. I suppose residing in the Rocky Mountains has something to do with the weather that follows fall. Silly me.
Living off grid has advantages and disadvantages. Peace, tranquility, unencumbered lifestyle - you get all this and more when you reside in your RV, on a piece of property. However, the down side, if you were to even consider it such would be the small toilet, small stove, the amazing one gallon shower, no Internet, television, cable reception, etc. Mix it all together, and I believe it balances everything out in the long run.
The government shut down. I've been just ready to explode over this news. One of the things that irks me more than anything is that Congress, the Senate and THE POTUS are still receiving their paychecks, while other government workers are being furloughed. Can anyone recognize the hypocrisy of that one? In states like Utah, where multiple National Parks are located, a force government closure will deeply resonate through the pocketbooks of those who rely upon tourism that comes from nature's ample parks. Even here in Colorado, we've been affected. The closure of Trailridge Road means that those who were nearly wiped out during the recent flooding are pretty much stuck with very, very limited ways to escape. Up until the government closure, at least some of those stuck in Lyons, Drake, etc were able to utilize Trailridge Road. No more. Does anyone in Washington, D.C. even listen or care about the "little person" suffering? Does the wooden headed Nancy Pelosi or Harry Reid care an ounce for those who are without fresh water?
So, I've been away from my own blog for 2 months. During that time, I enrolled in school. I'm taking small steps to further my medical career. I am the oldest person in my class. That's okay with me. With age comes experience, and perhaps an ability to add something to the subject at hand.
While away from life in general, I've been surfing the 'net more often and come upon many, many rescue sites for animals. I've always had a yearning; somewhat of a mythical draw towards animals. They love unconditionally, they do not judge. Everyday has the potential for something new. I love it. http://www.vrcpitbull.net/dog/ , Is one of my favorite websites along with http://bestfriends.org/. If dreams could come true, I'd love to work for either of
these organizations. Their mission statements are a near to exact of my sentiments towards life.
Look into the eyes of this happy little creature , named Brinkley, that lives at www.villalobos.com in Louisiana, and tell me his little smile doesn't bring instantaneous relief to a heavy day.
Or this handsome man, named Douglas who lives at www.bestfriends.org in southern Utah. There are close to 1500 animals at this red rocked sanctuary, and they are always looking for volunteers. Having spent a few volunteer visits to Best Friends, I never felt more loved. There were special cats and dogs that just captured my heart. In fact, when our beloved Mac dog died, we had him buried at Angels Landing, within the shade of red rocks on the Best Friends' grounds. The place is magical.
So, while the government dicks around with our future, I try to look at it one day at a time. To see deer in our front yard, or simply helping a small bird who flew into a glass porch door, we look at the marvels of the animal kingdom, and almost can forget what is happening around the rest of the work.
Living off grid has advantages and disadvantages. Peace, tranquility, unencumbered lifestyle - you get all this and more when you reside in your RV, on a piece of property. However, the down side, if you were to even consider it such would be the small toilet, small stove, the amazing one gallon shower, no Internet, television, cable reception, etc. Mix it all together, and I believe it balances everything out in the long run.
The government shut down. I've been just ready to explode over this news. One of the things that irks me more than anything is that Congress, the Senate and THE POTUS are still receiving their paychecks, while other government workers are being furloughed. Can anyone recognize the hypocrisy of that one? In states like Utah, where multiple National Parks are located, a force government closure will deeply resonate through the pocketbooks of those who rely upon tourism that comes from nature's ample parks. Even here in Colorado, we've been affected. The closure of Trailridge Road means that those who were nearly wiped out during the recent flooding are pretty much stuck with very, very limited ways to escape. Up until the government closure, at least some of those stuck in Lyons, Drake, etc were able to utilize Trailridge Road. No more. Does anyone in Washington, D.C. even listen or care about the "little person" suffering? Does the wooden headed Nancy Pelosi or Harry Reid care an ounce for those who are without fresh water?
So, I've been away from my own blog for 2 months. During that time, I enrolled in school. I'm taking small steps to further my medical career. I am the oldest person in my class. That's okay with me. With age comes experience, and perhaps an ability to add something to the subject at hand.
While away from life in general, I've been surfing the 'net more often and come upon many, many rescue sites for animals. I've always had a yearning; somewhat of a mythical draw towards animals. They love unconditionally, they do not judge. Everyday has the potential for something new. I love it. http://www.vrcpitbull.net/dog/ , Is one of my favorite websites along with http://bestfriends.org/. If dreams could come true, I'd love to work for either of
these organizations. Their mission statements are a near to exact of my sentiments towards life.
Look into the eyes of this happy little creature , named Brinkley, that lives at www.villalobos.com in Louisiana, and tell me his little smile doesn't bring instantaneous relief to a heavy day.
Or this handsome man, named Douglas who lives at www.bestfriends.org in southern Utah. There are close to 1500 animals at this red rocked sanctuary, and they are always looking for volunteers. Having spent a few volunteer visits to Best Friends, I never felt more loved. There were special cats and dogs that just captured my heart. In fact, when our beloved Mac dog died, we had him buried at Angels Landing, within the shade of red rocks on the Best Friends' grounds. The place is magical.
So, while the government dicks around with our future, I try to look at it one day at a time. To see deer in our front yard, or simply helping a small bird who flew into a glass porch door, we look at the marvels of the animal kingdom, and almost can forget what is happening around the rest of the work.
HAVE A GREAT DAY - GO PET A DOG, SCRATCH A CAT'S EARS, OR LISTEN TO NATURE.
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