Gold Country Meets Big Sky

Family Fun Night

2012-01-16T17:41:00.000-07:00

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, said some homilious person of yore. And most definitely, Jack has had all work and no play for quite some time now. Since we are the unabashedly wonderful family that we are, we decided to help him out, and bring a bit of surprise fun into his life.

It's called The Daddy Quiz: How Well Do You Know Your Children?

Shamelessly ripped from John's birthday party, this quiz gave Jack an opportunity to earn prizes for his loving children as he answered questions about them. Once in a while, just to make things fair, he got to earn a matching prize. After all, unlike SOMEONE ELSE'S quiz, we didn't want the actual contestant to leave empty-handed.

The early questions were fairly easy, things like, "Name the complete birth date of each child." He got each one right, or at least very close. Why, there is hardly any difference at all between 1967 and 1997. They quickly got much harder, though.

Q: Which one of your children fell dramatically during a race in the backyard, and what kind of race was it?

A: Damon, potato-sack.

Q: How old was Tiggy when she learned to say the Lord's Prayer?

A: 6? 5? 4? Let's get some help from an audience member! (Correct answer: 2. "Ow Foddah with owt in hebben, hawwowed be Dy name. Dy tingdom tum, Dy wiww be done, on erf ath it ith in hebben.")

Q: Which one of your children, unsatisfied with the number originally issued to them, tried to create their own brand-new orifice?

A: Devon. (There was no hesitation - Devon is the correct answer to almost every question involving grievous bodily harm.)

Here and there during the quiz, we threw in a few questions from the children about How Well Do You Know Our Mommy? After all, Mommy needs a few prizes of her own.

Q: What does Mom call it when you send all of us away and the two of you stay home together?

A: Peace and quiet? (Correct answer: Mommy-Daddy Date Night.)

Q: How long have you and Mom been married?

A: Long pause. Several minutes go by.

Hint: This is an easy answer. It's always Damon + 9 months.

A: 10?

Damon: HEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Correct answer: 15 1/2.)

Then we got to the superglue series.

Q: Which one of your children superglued their fingers together on the way home tonight?

A: (slumped with head in hands) Devon.

Q: Which one of your children got superglue inside their mouth?

A: Tiggy! (I was actually kind of surprised that he got this one right. I would have thought the answer was still "Devon".)

Q: Which one of the children took an extra-large container of superglue, tried to glue tweezers to their fingers so they couldn't lose them, spilled the superglue on their fingers, got a paper towel to wipe up the excess glue, glued the paper towel to their fingers, got nail clippers to try and clip off the excess glue and paper towels, and got the nail clippers stuck to their fingers, then took fingernail polish remover to try and remove the nail clippers, paper towels, tweezers, and glue, but got the lid of the nail polish remover stuck to their fingers???

A: (swaying and muttering rhythmically, make it stop! Make it stop!) Oh, yes. Damon.

The prizes, as a whole, leaned heavily toward the After-Christmas-70%-Off Theme. The children were thrilled, and so was Jack. (Though he tried to conceal his excitement with humorous little comments like, "Did I sleep through the whole year, and now it's Christmas again?)

It was inspiring, truly inspiring. I have already let Tina know that I need her help to come up with a full-family version. It may take us a little while to save up prizes. Upcoming opportunities include the After-Valentine's-Day-70%-Off Theme, and the After-Easter-70%-Off Theme.

I can't wait!

Noni Beth

The Greatest Gift

2011-12-31T00:10:00.002-07:00

None of us are rich, monetarily speaking. None of us have ever, for example, dived beneath the Christmas tree and found the keys to a fancy new car. Or even a new car. Or just a car.

No expensive jewelry, costly perfume, cutting edge electronics, designer clothes...none of those exotic gifts that grace so many homes this time of year. We can't afford them, it's true, but even if we could, I don't think we would. For us, the greatest gift doesn't automatically mean the most expensive. In fact, the less wealthy we all are, the more creative our gifts become. Most cost very little, and some nothing at all!

In our crowd, you can never go wrong with edibles, many of them tenderly home-made. I personally like them best for the children, since even if - okay, when - they throw the wrappers all over the floor, they get picked up and cause no further mess till the next year. Some gifts are both edible and thoughtful. Last year, I found a place to order Jack his favorite kind of veggie ribs, and he was thrilled. This year, Mom found him a couple kinds of BBQ sauce based on popular soda flavors. We have no idea yet what these bizarre creations taste like, but we all had a good laugh imagining the possibilities.

Books, usually used and nearly always vintage or hard-to-find, are also popular. Mom just got Damon two books by Peter Hathaway Capstick, an extraordinary hunter and author. The fact that I have been trying to get my hands on those books myself is pure coincidence. Anyway, there is nothing wrong with a multitasking present. And Tina got the hilarious photo essay, "101 Uses for My Ex-Wife's Wedding Dress".

Caleb got Damon and Devon each a pair of hockey skates (used, of course), and John got his mom a snuggie. It will come in very handy if she can just get the time to sit down.

Then there are the 'special' presents. Most often snapped up in thrift stores or on clearance racks, these chance finds are both inexpensive and perfectly suited to the recipient. Tina got me a lovely soft blue sweater, and a vibrant purple hat/scarf/gloves set. I had been meaning to get myself an adorable winter hat, better suited to a delicate bus driver than the full-face ski mask (aka bank robber hat) I wear to shovel snow.

Mom found me a couple of VHS movies that I remember fondly from my childhood. That does not make them vintage, no matter what the item description might say.

"Bag 'em, Danno!"

Mom received a cute little gadget whose purpose at first escaped her. Sewed from lacy, acid-washed blue jeans, it's a hanging tube that holds plastic bags. You know, those bags from the grocery store that you always see in the Man Harming Wildlife documentaries, because so many get thrown away rather than re-used. Well, around here, those plastic bags play a vital role in the containment of certain, ahem, hazardous waste by-products from an anonymous incontinent family member. (We'll call him Strandpa.) Now Mom can dispose in style! I'm sure the garbage men will be grateful.

There was a new category of gifts under the tree this year, with only the cost of wrapping paper. Let's just say it takes re-gifting to a whole new level. Basically, you liberate - a nice way of saying "steal" - the person's stuff, and then give it back to them.

Tina used to play a version of this game with our brothers when she was little. First, she would steal a whole bunch of their stuff. Then she would open a store, and charge them actual cash money to redeem their own belongings. Upon complaining to Mom, they were told to play nicely with their sister. It was a nice racket. They are still bitter.

The gift version is a little kinder and gentler, since there is not actually a price attached. A few weeks before Christmas, Tina found one of Devon's favorite toys, a plastic parachute man with a working parachute. He had lost it several months before, and it had slipped my mind to give it back once it was found. An honest mistake. Really.

When Devon opened it, he was pretty blase. "Auntie, I already have one of these." We all began snickering as he turned it over and over to inspect it more closely. "And mine is blue, just like this one."

The roar of laughter nearly drowned out Tina as she told him, "Yours looks just like that one, because that one is yours."

And then Tina found out that she was not the only one who had caught re-gifting fever.

Oh, goody. Here's my platter.

This looks familiar, too.

She didn't mind a bit. When it comes to presents, she's always been a quantity over quality kinda gal. If you gave her a pack of licorice, she'd be happy. If you gave her the same pack, with each piece individually wrapped, she'd be thrilled!

Caleb got his own little surprise, too - the Bible he had forgotten at church only that morning.

Wow. Thanks, Uncle Jack.

Jack had already gotten an uncharacteristically pricey gift for me - a dishwasher. After 3 1/2 years of washing entirely by hand, I had gotten used to doing dishes the same way as when I was a kid. (Minus spending hours flicking giant bubbles in my dishwater.) However I can promise you that it will not even take me .07 seconds to adjust to having a dishwasher again. The kindness, thoughtfulness, and love that prompted it will stay with me all year. There are a few, a very few presents you just can't find at the thrift store.

Every now and again, though, the opportunity comes along to give The Gift - that one perfect present that a beloved family member has been longing for, and just hadn't been able to get. This year was Tina's turn. She had always wanted a rock garden.

Jack had been telling her for a while now that he was getting her rocks for Christmas, and that is what he did. With some help from children and small cousins, we collected rounded stones from a field, left there several thousand years ago by a passing glacier. Wrapping them was a family collaboration.

Jack and Damon helped...

...and so did Potto.

It's hard to believe how well his fur has grown back!

The finished rock garden.

Tina was thrilled. You can see the joy all over her face. But hey, some of them were individually wrapped.

No, wait..........there might be something else.......................................

I SMELL A CAMERA!!!!!!!!!

Each year, I think we do a little better at capturing the true spirit of The Greatest Gift. This season isn't about selfish gratification, price tags, or credit card bills. It's about family togetherness and love. The bonds we form with family and friends give honor to the greatest gift of all, when God sent His Son to earth, to become ours now and forever.

Emmanuel, God with us.

Praying for God's peace to guide us as we enter the new year,
Noni Beth

Christmas Eve Morning

2011-12-25T23:12:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I mentioned Grandpa. He's still ticking, though some days the boundary between death and life stretches pretty thin. This is another in a long string of "Last Christmases" he has stuck around for, each one better than the last, though each one finding him weaker and less alert.

Living in Death's shadow for so long has left us with a few oddities, not that we were so normal to start with. What follows, though it happened to land on Christmas Eve this time, is fairly typical of several days out of every week.

See, Grandpa has now been diagnosed with two, count 'em - TWO fatal conditions. One is his heart, where one or more unnoticed heart attacks left him with only a teeny tiny bit of living heart tissue. We found out about that more than a year-and-a-half ago, The doctor said there were no statistics for men Grandpa's age with a heart so bad, as they were all already dead. He said that, if Grandpa were 50, he would give him a year to live.

Then, a bit over 6 months ago, Grandpa was additionally diagnosed with some kind of blood cancer. I forget the name, but basically, the problem is in his bone marrow. His marrow produces blood cells, but the cancer prevents an increasing number of them from maturing. Those "toddler cells" end up clogging up more and more of the production line, resulting in anemia that just keeps getting worse. The doctor said the life expectancy is usually six months.

So now, Grandpa has outlived both his original year, and his six months. He has grown worse and worse, now bedbound and unable to walk. He regularly almost dies, but somehow finds the strength to soldier on a little longer.

Hospice was going to babysit Grandpa for a few hours, long enough for us to take part in the third Christmas program this month. We had already practiced all the songs for the community Christmas program, so everything was perfectly ready.

Until nearly all of us got sick.

By the grace of God, our dreadful colds hadn't impaired our singing voices, so after a few days of concern, our part in the program remained intact.

Until Grandpa tried to die. Again.

On the way out to the car, he lost consciousness before ahem, spoiling his lovely new Christmas outfit with a round of nausea. As usual, his will to live prevailed, but his trip to town had to be cancelled. So did our tenor part (Mom), and the pianist for two of our three songs (also Mom).

All's well that ends well, even if a few modifications had to be made. Our trio became a duet, I played for the kids' song, and our quartet became a lovely reading about the birth of Christ. The other families at church participated beautifully, and then, and then....

The Luau.

I think it's fairly safe to say that luaus are few and far between out here on the plains, much less vegetarian luaus. It was a worthy feast, indeed, and everyone enjoyed it, except Mom.

Tina took some home for Mom, so she would have enjoyed it, except for one thing. She had just reached the stage of sickness where she lost her sense of taste. "Mmmm, mmmm," she exclaimed bitterly. "Christmas texture."

My heart was sad for her. Very, very sad. Not too sad to keep me from chewing my way through every blissful second.

After all, SOMEONE needed to enjoy it.

Too sick to have adventures,

Noni Beth

A Christmas Soliloquy

2011-12-23T20:11:00.001-07:00

Hey, don't knock my poinsetta! You wouldn't look so great with frostbite, either...

As with most of our holidays, Christmas has its roots in paganism. Just as bunnies and eggs are firmly attached to Easter, so are Christmas trees and Santas linked in our minds to the festive winter holiday season.

Some folks choose not to celebrate or even acknowledge Christmas, because of those pagan origins. I have no objection whatsoever to anyone who lives up to the leadings of their conscience.

My own personal belief is this:

It's always the right time to take advantage of any opportunity to turn people's minds to heavenly things. It's always the right time to teach our children how to give...to be unselfish. It's always the right time to bind the hearts of our family together with thoughtful gifts.

Crass commercialism would like to see Christmas as one giant extravaganza, with each person trying to outdo the next in lavish gifts and skyrocketing credit card bills. The hustling and jostling in the world's malls is far removed from the simplicity and beauty of the story of Jesus' birth.

And Mary brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

As the Christmas season washes over you, take time to remember the One who humbled Himself, was born as an impoverished infant in a borrowed shelter, and who lived and died to save us from our sins.

The story of Christ's birth can only be fully understood when viewed through the story of his death. His death only makes sense when we see it through His resurrection. His resurrection points us to the awe-filled day when He comes again, this time as Eternal King.

It's always the right time to talk about Jesus.

Lunar Eclipse

2011-12-10T07:33:00.001-07:00

Just before the end, the moon sank below a pesky cloud. The next total lunar eclipse is scheduled for Tax Day - April 15, 2014.

Sunrise today is at 7:38 am, and sunset at 3:59 pm, thus making this the shortest day of our year. Incredible as it seems while this early in winter, our days will actually get longer from here on out.

Star of Wonder

2011-12-07T08:53:00.002-07:00

Not quite two weeks ago, Damon 'disappeared' for a couple of hours. Of course, being the experienced mother that I am, I knew where he was. And having been something of a daredevil myself, I simply listened for screams instead of calling him down.

Next thing you know, our roof was decorated with lights. That was typical enough, but he had also tried to decorate our antenna in the shape of a tree. It looked amazingly arboreal, right until an anonymous family member we shall call Rina said, "Your house looks like a church."

And it did.

No matter how many times we looked at it, the tree had permanently become a steeple. At least until Jack decided to do something about it. Last night he came home with a small box and handed it to Damon. The boy about did cartwheels - it was an adorable little star for the top of his stee- um, tree.

Later I went out to look at it. Apparently some assembly had been required, since the adorable little star dwarfed the 'tree', and nearly our house. The beacon is visible from outer space.

I tried to take a picture of it for you. Standing in the cold, shivering, is not the recommended way to hand-hold time exposures of 1-3 seconds each. In general, hand-held is not the recommended way to do time exposures at all, but (ahem, Sweetheart) NO ONE HAS GOTTEN ME A PINK TRIPOD YET.

What else can you do with an impossible situation? You just have Fun with Time Exposures AND Zoom Lenses Simultaneously. Seriously, I think the shivering even helped.

Until the next adventure,
Noni Beth

Loaves and Fishes

2011-12-03T15:59:00.001-07:00

I wasn't even supposed to preach today. It was Jack's week. I didn't mind, though, and since I'm doing a long series on the Old Testament, I didn't even have to come up with a subject - just go on to the next story. For a brief time I did consider preaching on a passage in Matthew that really impressed me during my worship, but finally decided to continue with the series.

This week's sermon was Child of Promise, about the birth of Isaac, the miracle boy. Of course it leads very naturally into a comparison with the birth of Jesus, also the Miracle Boy. It was a beautiful power point presentation, complete with Bible verses, applicable quotations, and tons of pictures to keep the kids interested. Hey, adults like pictures, too, but kids like them most.

Since I wanted to be on time, I got ready a half hour early and dashed over to help with Grandpa so Tina could get done early enough. (She was giving me a ride to church, as I am short a vehicle just now.) Fortunately, most of the work was already done, so I stood there looking gorgeous in my new outfit from Tina, and held Grandpa's clothes in case anyone needed them. "Saul," Tina called me, snickering. (From Acts 7:58.) To save time, I called Tiggy and asked her to pack my computer and cord, so we would be ready.

The trip in to church didn't go very smoothly, either. Ultimately, we had to turn around almost there, and meet with Mom to disgorge two passengers. To spare anyone embarrassment, I will call them Mevon and Merafina.

With not much time to spare, I began to assemble the electronics to hook up the power point. Computer? Check. Cord? Cord?

Cord?

Um, Tiggy, where did you put my cord? The stunned look on her face and involuntary 'o' of her mouth told me all I needed to know. Suddenly I felt like that kid with his nose pressed against the glass, and no way to get in and reach my precious sermon.

With a hasty contemplation, I realized there was no time to reconstruct my intended sermon. It was too much information, taken back and forth from several sources, and scattered over numerous chapters in the Bible. I just am not that good. What I needed was something simple. Something I could just stick to one place, go through bit by bit, and have ready in 15 minutes or less. Something very much like....that passage in Matthew.

Maybe I did pull a Jonah by not picking that in the first place. Maybe I ignored the quiet prompting of the Holy Spirit, asking me to share the lessons from the feeding of the 5,000. Whatever the case, God mercifully brought me back around and dropped me off at Ninevah, thanks to a missing power cord.

The sermon went well, much better than I deserved. And yet, that's what the lesson was all about. Jesus could have created an opulent banquet, there in the middle of the desert. The people could have feasted on dainties and delicacies. Instead, Jesus turned to the people - asking what resources they had to offer.

It wasn't much, just one boy's lunch. Bread and fish, the usual dinner of the poor folk. But placed in the hands of Jesus, it became enough to feed 5,000 men plus women and children, with 12 baskets left over to share.

That happened to me today. Left with the electronic equivalent of about a half a loaf and no fish, I was sunk. With my inadequate resources in the hands of the Master, they grew to fill the need.

And I have my next sermon done already...

Death on the Prairie

2011-11-22T17:04:00.001-07:00

or

I Can't Feel My Arms Any More

It was Jack's bright idea, more or less. He saw an infomercial for an intensive fitness program, hot on the heels of his doctor telling him that he needed to get back into shape. She had a nice little chart in her office, ranging from Very Underweight to Grossly Obese. I am much too kind to tell you where exactly he fell within that scale. Suffice it to say that even I was surprised. (I am also much too discreet to tell you exactly where I fell within that scale. I'd rather tell you my age. It's 39. And a half.)

Being the wonderful wife I am, I ordered the program before he had the chance to, and it arrived at the end of last week. We were both very excited, and I even put the pull-up bar together so he wouldn't have to. Since the program has six days of hard work, and a seventh day of rest - sound familiar, anyone? - we started on Sunday.

Oy!

Dizzying rounds of push-ups and pull-ups followed each other in quick succession. Since Jack hadn't yet mounted the pull-up bar, we did air pull-ups. Even with that major advantage, we still keeled over just past the half-way mark. I was pretty sure I would never move my arms again. You can imagine my dismay when Jack noticed later that, not only did we quit early, but we entirely missed the Ab Ripper. Gaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!!

Last night was leg exercises. Though nowhere near the level of the video, I enjoyed this one much more. After a whole summer of brisk biking, even going up steep hills in high gear to give my muscles an extra pounding. Jack has not been riding bicycles. He made it to 27 minutes before collapsing on the couch, swearing he would never walk again. I nearly had to carry him to bed.

(In case any of you are familiar with this well-known 90-day program, let me just assure you that I will be substituting other stretches in on the days they recommend yoga.)

Tonight is Shoulders and Arms, followed by...yep... the Ab Ripper.

Maybe we will at least watch it this time.

Painfully yours,

Noni Beth

PS Even for someone of my customary gregariousness, it was too much of a stretch to post "before" pictures in a completely public place. Especially THOSE "before" shots. For those of you who are my friends on Facebook, you will find the "Before" album visible to friends only. Any of the rest of you who would like to see them can email me at you_neak@yahoo.com.

Stay tuned for periodic updates on our progress. Do not hold your breath for video. There won't be any.

I Prefer to Remember Them the Way They Were...

2011-11-08T14:48:00.000-07:00

They were so cute! So adorable! So HAPPY!

For those who have not seen The Rest of the Story, click below:

Bob

Larry

See if I trust Tina with any more of my vegetable friends! >:(

In the Quiet, Misty Morning

2011-11-05T16:28:00.001-06:00

In the quiet, misty morning,
When the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows hush their singing,
And the sky is clear and red,

When the summer's ceased its gleaming,
When the corn is past its prime,
When adventure's lost its meaning,
I'll be homeward bound in time.

A mother of three busy children has little time for solitude or reflection. You can imagine how delighted I was when my fond expectations were realized, and ~part~ of my school bus trips each day contained large helpings of both peace and quiet.

The early morning rides were glorious! Leaving shortly after sunrise, driving dramatically through the misty morning, while the sky was clear and red.... simply gorgeous. Simply silent.

I leave town headed east, the sun shining on my face, a rainbow of clouds streaking the sky ahead and above. A set of hills - the nearest thing we have to a mountain - rises in my path. I climb it effortlessly, glancing enviously at the abandoned air force base at the crest. At one time, nearly 100 children came from the base to Westby School. Now, it lies abandoned and still, old buildings wearing the ravages of time. Except for the giant concrete tower, the edifice I most envy. How I would love my own concrete tower!

From the air force base, the road drops down the other side, curving past the turnoff to Skjermo Lake (pronounced SCYARE-mo), and winding narrowly between two lakes, brightly reflecting the colors of the sky. These lakes are fairly new, left over from the spring floods that never quite went away. Waterfowl throng the liquid paradise, large numbers swimming right up next to the road, then curving off in a flying fantasia just ahead of my approach.

Sheer magic.

After several mornings, Devon asked if he could ride along with me. I said yes, if he got up early. I expected that to be the end of it, but to my surprise he bounced out of bed, ready on time. My personal suspicion is he slept in his clothes to improve his efficiency, but the results were impressive.

As we pointed our enchanted yellow chariot into the rising sun, Devon began firing off comments and questions faster than an auctioneer in a hurry. The plethora of lexicon bubbled up, finally spilling out the windows and trailing behind the bus as we drove.

The next morning, he brought his baritone.

Oom-pah, Oom-pah-pah, Oom-pah, and ever time we went over a bump, OOOOGAH!!!

Oom-pah, OOOOOOGAH, Oom-pah, Oom-pah-pah, Oom-OOOOOOOGAH!!!!!!!! We went over a lot of bumps.

I made him put the baritone away shortly before the first stop, and then the auction began again. One phrase stood out in the dizzying blur of sound. "Wow, Mom - it's so interesting to come with you in the morning. Now I know just what you go through!"

I smiled to myself. No, Devon, you don't quite know what I go through.

Oom-pah.

If you find it's me you're missing,
And you're hoping I'll return,
To your thoughts I'll soon be listening,
In the road I'll stop and turn,

Then the wind will set me racing,
As my journey nears its end,
And my path I'll be retracing,
Till I'm homeward bound again.

~ Marta Keen

Mr. Safety

2011-10-28T22:17:00.001-06:00

If you know Jack, you also know that he is a stickler for safety. No matter where he is or what he's doing, safety is uppermost on his mind. All the children in the family, (and perhaps even some of the grownups), have gotten catchy little lessons (lectures) from Dad/Uncle Jack/Sweetheart/Mr. Safety.

So I was rather surprised to get a phone call from him today, while he was working at the church. "Um, Dear, I have some bad news for you."

Great. What did I do now? Casually, "Oh? What is it?"

Hesitation. "I need to go across the street."

Across the street is not generally a good thing when you are at the church. Across the street can either mean the public swimming pool, or the hospital. At the end of October, with temperatures below freezing every night, it's pretty safe to rule out the pool.

Across the street is where Mom had to go 2 years ago when she got food poisoning while she was at the church. To completely acquit the church, the food poisoning had nothing to do with the location. Mom imported her own nearly-deadly bacteria. After some hours, when she was too weak to resist, we imported her nearly-dead carcass to....across the street.

It turns out that Sweetheart, aka Mr. Safety, had been cutting on the wall with his knife. Despite previous lectures he had given on the subject, he was not wearing work gloves. Despite previous lectures given by every father on the planet when handing their son a pocketknife, he cut toward himself. It went something like this.

Cut. Cut. Cut. Hmmm, I notice that I am cutting toward myself. Perhaps I had better cut away from....Aieeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

It was quite a gash. Thankfully, the slight slant to the angle kept it, barely, from hitting deep and important things like nerves and tendons. Nothing wrong with his clotting factor, either. By the time an hour was up and he got to see the doc, it was stuck so tightly that she couldn't open it even to check and make sure it was clean. Good thing he washed it while he had the chance!

A line of handy stickum, technical name of Dermabond, plus one band-aid, and he was back working on the church again, without even needing stitches. Oh, and a tetanus shot, cheerfully administered by the same nice lady that gave Devon most of his rabies vaccinations.

Being the loving, loyal, and above all HELPFUL wife that I am, I made him a special sign. I'm sure he will want to display it prominently in his office.

ACCIDENT FREE

FOR

DAYS

He can thank me later.

Random Bear Goes to School

2011-10-01T15:37:00.006-06:00

Who is Random Bear? If you don't know, click here.

Early one morning, Random Bear woke up and decided to go to school. Technically, he had been bearnapped, but still he wanted to get an education.

Random Bear rides the school bus for the first time ever!

On a fascinating side note, one of the ladies at the school shed a bit of light on Random Bear's possible past. She said that, when they were very small, her brother and sister each had a bear just like him. They had won them as prizes at the fair. One was colored just like Random Bear, and the other was a bright color. She had not thought of them in years, and felt very nostalgic to see their identical twin cousin.

He's a big boy now!

Random Bear goes to class.

Random Bear learns about anatomy, and...

Eats in the cafeteria.

Drinks do not go so well.

Random Bear is glad to be back "home" after a tiring day at school.

Keep a sharp eye out - there's no telling where he'll show up next.

Bits and Pieces

2011-09-23T22:18:00.001-06:00

A few humorous anecdotes to turn up the corners of your mouth.

We don't celebrate Halloween, so I'm always trying to come up with tactful but humorous ways to express my lack of Halloweenity to all the people who ask. Today on the bus, one of the young gentlemen asked what I was going to dress as for Halloween. I thought for a moment before replying, "A bus driver!"

**********

Have you been wondering what happened to Elsie, the adorable calico kitten that I got to hold before Tina? I left the poor baby wailing in the darkness with only food to comfort her, since Jack had said absoLUTEly no more cats. When he got home that night, I showed him the blog post, including the photo Devon took of me holding Elsie.

"You mean you can HOLD her??? Pick her up? Well, go get her and bring her in!!!" She has been inseparable from the house since then. She does have the naughty habit of going to the bathroom in my FLOWER POTS, which makes my eyebrows turn down alarmingly. So today I gave her a litterbox filled with potting soil. So far she has snubbed it, so Tiggy suggested planting some basil in it. Dat little girl is a smart cookie!

**********

Damon had a report due this week, from his field trip to Medicine Lake. (A brief digression: if you have not read the early blog posts, Medicine Lake is a wildlife refuge. This time of year it's a birdwatcher's wonderland, since our part of the country is where the western and eastern flyways intersect. It's even on the birding.com top 200 birdwatching spots in North America.) He decided to do it the hard way, to "save time". Of course.

He could have painstakingly re-typed his final draft. It might have even taken him several hours. Instead, he decided to use Windows Voice Recognition/Speech to Text software. And he got done in a fraction of the time it takes an elephant to reach full gestation. See, he would say what he wanted his report to read, and the speech to text program would recognize his voice and translate it into nearly every word in the English language besides what he actually said.

His Waterloo arrived in the form of the innocuous sentence, "The cooks made us sandwiches." The program just couldn't wrap its little binaries around the word "sandwiches". After 20 or so tries, Damon had improved it to read, "The cooks made us pan with sheep." After a jillionty more tries, he finally gave up after it read "sand" and "witches".

**********

Tonight's final storylet is brought to you courtesy of Potto. I have mentioned to friends that Potto and a home office don't mix well. Today was the best example of that I have seen yet.

First thing this morning, Jack was on a business call before he even started to get dressed. With bare legs, he sat there, chatting along. "Well, that way won't work, but I have some ideas for how we can OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ~stop it!!!~ fix it for you anyway."

The sudden, deafening, high-pitched cry of pain would have given famed soprano Jenny Lind a run for her money. The Swedish Nightingale, and the Native American Morningshriek.

Potto, neglected and abandoned and alone, had crept up near those alluring bare legs. No one, no one at all, would pay any attention to him, and he is very small. Finally, he sprang into a daring leap, both front paws catching and holding on the top of Jack's thigh. There he hung, hind legs dangling like a wind sock in the doldrums, until I dove to his rescue.

No, Pottoes and home offices do not belong together. Not at all.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Can't Hug Every Cat

2011-09-08T22:49:00.001-06:00

Inspired by the Youtube spoof, "Can't Hug Every Cat", Tina decided to start her "CAN Hug Every Cat" campaign. I don't want to spoil her version of the story, so I will just say that I was drafted to help with some of the photos.

Ironically, as the photo session ended, a series of pathetic mewls came from the bushes. A frantically lonely little calico, just driven away from its mother, cried and cried for someone to love it. And then proceeded to spurn every attempt to bestow it with all the adoration and attention it so fervently desired.

It was getting quite dark in the shadows,

but I didn't dare use flash as I stalked the cat-huntress. Arms held wide, she called it again and again. "I want to hug you! I will put you on a rainbow!"

No use. The baby just wouldn't come. So Tina had to find out the hard way that regardless of how adorable, no, she CAN'T hug every cat.

But I can.

Is It Just Me?

2011-09-05T20:36:00.000-06:00

Or does everything look like Potto?

There! That's better!!!

The Clothes Make the Cat

2011-09-05T08:53:00.000-06:00

Epidermis

2011-09-05T01:11:00.003-06:00

The Sphynx breed, also known as the Canadian Hairless Cat, had kind of a rough time getting going. When I saw Epidermis at a cat show back in the 80's, I had no idea she was such a rarity. Most of them died; the males didn't want to breed, and when they did, the females usually lost the litters. It took years of patient breeding to establish the breed, and round out the gene pool enough to have strong cats. What a lot of work! As Tiggy said, it didn't take any effort at all for us to get our own 'Sphynx'.

Some of you have already followed the adventures of Potto Turken. If you haven't, you should click on THIS. Potto had a startling case of Feline Pattern Baldness after being sick. Yesterday, his FPB went from startling to downright appalling. A victim of cruel misfortune, Potto now faces the winter with less fur than you would need to knit a cardigan for a hummingbird.

Sent to our home for specialized care, Potto only needed a cursory examination for me to see that he needed something. Fur! Even in the mild cool of early morning, he huddled and shivered all over his human companions. It was truly pitiful.

So, in the absence of Potto's own natural splendor, I have begun crafting him his own beautifully crocheted Bald Place Warmer. It's even ~nearly~ the same lush shade of gray.

The Coat of Only One Color is nearly finished. By tomorrow he'll be able to wear it. Or perhaps tear it ungratefully to pieces and eat it. Only time will tell.

Back soon,

Noni Beth

The Wheels on the Bus Don't Go Round and Round

2011-08-23T12:07:00.000-06:00

"So," Jack asked me as I walked back in the door this morning, "do the wheels on the bus go round and round?"

He asks me that all the time. I don't always frown at him and sourly reply, "No."

Tina had just called. Her tone dripped with smarm as she called to ask me, "Did your bus break down?" "I don't know what you're talking about," I replied haughtily. She laughed, not fooled a bit. She knows very well that the other two routes are nowhere near mine.

Almost back into town, the bus suddenly quit as I was driving down the road. No punkity punkity, Just....gone. Things started beeping and flashing. Come on! This is only my second day!!!

The superintendent was only a few seconds away by radio, and he had already arrived with another bus by the time I had my reflective triangles deployed. (In case you don't know, that's really, really fast.) And poof, the kids were to school in plenty of time, despite the unforeseen circumstance.

It turned out to be out of gas. Now, let me be very clear. I checked everything. I double and triple checked some things, most especially including the fuel gauge. And my gauge read all the way full. I would testify to it in court, except...

When the superintendent returned the bus to me, filled and topped off, he pointed out that the "E" and "F" are in the opposite position from what most vehicles have. Once I looked at it, I suddenly wasn't quite as sure. With the needle right across the "E", it could very well have looked like an "F". The Malfunctioning Gauge Theory, tempting as it is, was probably incorrect. Ok, more than probably.

I now have my school-issued gas card. As Jack says, "Mr. H says don't be afraid to use it."

Sheepishly,

Noni Beth

Me and My Little Bus

2011-08-21T22:53:00.001-06:00

Friday I got my bus, my very own bus.

The day before, the school superintendent had shown me the bus that would be mine, and arranged with me to pick it up the next morning after football practice. Even though I worked most of last week, emotionally it just didn't count since that was a regular vehicle, not a BUS!

Excitement caught me up as I walked out to the parking lot and climbed inside. The sights and smells of all the bus-ness wrapped me in their warmth. It was time to make it mine.

The previous driver was much taller than me; I could barely reach the pedals. So I scooted the seat way forward, and checked the mirrors. No surprise - many of them were off kilter. No problemo. I knew exactly what to do.

It took several hops in and out of the bus before I had everything readjusted to my satisfaction. There! Time to go. I picked up the key out of the cupholder, stuck it in the ignition, and started the bus. Its gentle humming made me smile.

Just before putting it in gear, I glanced down to the console, where the previous driver had left antibacterial wipes. Wipes? That didn't make any sense; MY bus didn't have any wipes. Mouth agape, I looked out the right-hand window to where my bus sat, cold and still.

Um, sorry, John.

I re-readjusted all the mirrors the best I could, and scooted the seat back. Way back. I turned off the bus and put the key back in the cupholder. As quietly as possible, hoping no one was watching from any of the office windows, I crept humbly around to the spot where my bus, my actual bus, waited for me.

Then my bus and I skulked home.

Ready for tomorrow,

Noni Beth

Hi Ho, Hi Ho! Eventually to Work We Go

2011-08-15T08:57:00.000-06:00

Can you hear me now?

August 14

Jack woke me up right after I dozed off. “Do you think we’re slanted?” No, of course I didn’t. I yawned and went back to sleep.

The view from our tent

By morning I had changed my opinion. I don’t care how flat that ground looked when we put the tent there, it tipped at some point. Undoubtedly a supervolcano lurks down there somewhere. I saw all about them on a documentary; how they make bulges, lumps, and slants in the earth below the unsuspecting humans.

Jack woke up in pretty good shape, not creaking and groaning like before. For Some Odd Reason. He quickly got ready and took our guests back to start working, while I was still trying to stand upright. Our kids stayed to help me break camp.

Step 1: Eat Breakfast

How to break camp: 1) Eat breakfast. Take your time, after all one member of your household is already serving the community on behalf of the entire family.

Step 2: Take a Hike

2) Go for a hike. Not a long one, but you can’t leave Makoshika without at least looking over the edge into the canyon. And maybe dipping over the edge. Just a little.

3) Pack and load everything. 4) Police the camp for trash. Some of it is yours, but not the cigarette butts. You can feel very good about yourself, since in a way that’s community outreach, too.

Step 3B: Balance on the Edge of the Fire Pit and Watch Everyone Work

Step 5: Go for Another Hike

5) Go for another hike. You’ve earned it.

Step 5B: Locate Makoshika Cap Rock

No More Pictures - Please!

Don’t worry. We worked very hard, once we got there. We helped paint a house purple, the lower sections, anyway, then moved on. For some reason no one wanted to take Devon up on his fervent offer to paint from the tops of the ladders. Clancy stayed in the car and rested, since following Devon around for two hours in the forest gave him nearly as much exercise as he’s had in his whole life.

From there we visited Jack for just a minute, where he was helping sheetrock someone’s kitchen wall. After that, we went to the bridge project.

When we heard they were painting the footpath railing of a bridge, we pictured this dainty little thing spanning some miniscule creek in the city. Instead, it was the bridge across the Yellowstone River. They had less than 200 feet to go, and were about to run out of paint when Jack got done and came to take us home.

Part of the bridge - even with a wide-angle lens I couldn't get it all at once.

After a trip to the Triceratops Park (aka Hollecker Lake) to let our hot, stinky little workers go swimming, we made the trip home. Right now we’re parked at the post office to get the mail, less than half a mile from electricity, running water, and our very own bed. And with a mattress, Jack and I each have the same amount of padding. No sharing possible.

No more camping, at last.

WHERE ARE MY SHORTS???

Can you hear me NOW?

A Happy Reunion

Getting Farther Away from It All

2011-08-14T21:25:00.000-06:00

August 11

Jack and I awoke first. When Devon awoke a few minutes later, he began talking in all caps, even though he was whispering. “HEY MOM, DAD, GUESS WHAT??? WHEN I WAS ASLEEP I THOUGHT I WAS IN MY OWN BED, AND THEN I WOKE UP AND THERE WERE TREES OVER MY HEAD AND WE WERE CAMPING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” That boy needs to get out more.

One of the main reasons we had chosen a campground so close to the freeway was my special music for church. I didn’t want to show up to sing for the out-of-town guest speaker without being clean and sparkly.

After showering, ahhhhhh, I put on my beautiful flowered dress Tina had just gotten me, and the little blue jacket with the embroidered flowers. Something seemed a little different than the other time I wore it, but I didn’t give it much thought till walking back to the campsite. It just seemed………..drafty.

Maybe I hadn’t pulled it all the way down. I tugged and wiggled to make sure it was on right, but it didn’t help. Finally I asked Tina, “Do you think this shrank when I washed it?”

The shrill cackling was less than reassuring. As she saw the elegant knee-high slits, now all the way up to… well, never mind…her mirth increased. “You looked like a Flowered Jungle Woman, hahahahahaha!”

It’s very unkind to laugh at someone and mock them without offering any solution, so as soon as she could catch her breath, Tina offered to let me use her extra outfit. She is the soul of consideration. The only price I had to pay was graciously overlooking the snickers, chortles, and guffaws that flowed my way. For hours.

On the bright side, I got to be clean, sparkly, AND clothed when I sang.

In the afternoon, everyone else went to Makoshika to hike. I just drove back and forth between the hiking trail and Glendive. Not that I am bitter.

Upon arriving back at our campsite, something so bizarre happened that I can hardly still believe it. Part of our group, and several friends, a total of 8 people, were standing in our campsite, quietly talking. We had just gotten back, and were chatting for a few minutes before going our separate ways.

The proprietress rode up on her ATV and started yelling at us, literally yelling. We had parked our car in the wrong place, and our friends’ car wasn’t back in their spot yet. There were too many people in our campsite, and they needed to leave. We had spilled out of the confines of our allotted space.

When I apologized for inadvertently breaking the rules, asked what our allotted space was, and pointed out that, since there were no lines or boundary markers anywhere, that it was hard to tell, she became even more irate. At one point, our friend, a sweet, soft-spoken lady who is prayerfully considering a move to Glendive, asked her, “There are only 8 of us here, talking quietly. Are we not allowed to do that?”

The lady yelled at her, too. “You get out of here! Go back to your tent and STAY THERE!!!!!!”

I finally asked if she would just return our money so we could go somewhere else. She furiously refused. When Jack got back, we packed up and left, $22 poorer and with nothing to show for it but hurt feelings and ringing ears.

Tina, Laura, and our friends, all came with us to set up our new camp at Makoshika. We got to borrow Damon’s and Tiggy’s friends for the night, too, and they each set up their own tent in our remote, gargantuan space. Boundary lines were no question there. We couldn’t have taken up all the space to the next camping space if we had tried. And really, we did try.

Blessed fellowship, campfire, a mellow guitar, roasted marshmallows and smores, scorched veggie dogs,

one veggie dog all but incinerated

before its triumphant recovery

…the evening passed all too quickly.

The night before, most of the padding hadn’t been enough for the Princess and the Pea, so this time he got it all. After all, he’s much more delicate. And this time, we found ourselves lulled to sleep by the wind in the pines.

Camping, at last.

Getting Away from It All

2011-08-14T20:56:00.001-06:00

August 12

For the last several weeks, the children have been eagerly counting down the minutes until The Great Camping Trip of 2011. The brilliance of the plan was that Friday and Sunday were to be devoted to community service in the town of Glendive, MT, and thus the children were actually looking forward to….work. It doesn’t happen often, so I reveled in their anticipation.

I rose early, with several hours of work still to do. We hoped to leave shortly before lunch, arriving down there in plenty of time to put in several hours of hard labor for the community outreach weekend. It really shouldn’t be a surprise by now. Things did not exactly go according to plan.

First Jack had to go to Grenora, ½ hour away. That was great—I wasn’t quite ready anyhow, and that would give me some cleaning time as a bonus. And sure enough, by the time he came back, I was pretty much ready. And Plan #2 was already shot down in flames.

Jack had just received a phone call from John John, and had to go do community outreach by himself. John John had gotten stuck in the mud over an hour from home, and needed to be pulled out. Even more cleaning time. I was perfectly content, but Tiggy—who had wanted to leave at 6 am—was in danger of rupturing something.

At long, long, long last, we drove away at 6 pm, loaded and ready. Well, except for one thing. We still had to retrieve Damon (Jack forgot him and had to turn around) from his friend’s house, about a 30-minute round trip off our route. When I got out of the car to photograph a barn, Jack decided to play one of his usual little stunts, and drove off just as I reached the car.

Most days I’m game for a little fun, so I ran extra dramatically to keep up. Since my camera still hung around my neck, there was even a photographic record for posterity. Eventually he let me back in the car, but not without several more false stops and starts.

Then we left. No, then we went to the grocery store. THEN we left. Yes, we really did.

So our first day of camping consisted of setting up our tent in the dark and collapsing, exhausted, into our sleeping bags. Jack, or the Princess and the Pea, as Tiggy and I called him, towered above me, since I gave him most of the padding. He’s much more delicate, after all. And as we drifted off, stars twinkled through the netting above our heads, and the sounds of heavy traffic filled our ears.

Camping, at last.

Compass in one shoe, magnets in the other. Why???

Serafina Surprise

2011-08-12T13:44:00.000-06:00

There's a Nupboard in My Cupboard

2011-08-09T00:03:00.002-06:00

Even the most genteel lady has to, once in a great while, visit the small room with the porcelain shrine. She just won't admit it, and will scarcely believe that others might make similar visits, too. And once said genteel lady has had several children, she may even have to dash for said room with unseemly haste. Once you young ladies have children of your own, you will understand the full gravity of the situation.

Yesterday I was dashing, for no particular reason, you understand, when I happened to find myself in the bathroom. "Oh look," I noted as I flung myself toward the object of my fervent attention. "Devon left his little toy snake from Vacation Bible School in the tub. Someone might get scared, ha ha."

Just then, the toy snake made a dive for the drain of the tub, and I was the one who was scared, ha ha. Not scared enough to scream - growing up with my brother David had ground most screams out of me already.

There was Irving, the Mexican Red-legged Tarantula, so tame we let him walk all over us. He developed a strange psychological problem toward the end of his days, and started throwing his abdominal hairs all around with his hind legs. This normal defense mechanism was carried to excess, till he more closely resembled Telly Savalas than Liberace.

There was The Dead Box, infamous home of scads of dermestid beetles. Located in the back 5, it was easy enough to avoid. An occasional whiff of decomposition and decay might occasionally waft by, but nothing worth screaming about.

The Dead Pit might not have been worth screaming over, but it was always good for a gag or two. A local farmer threw all his dead things down into a deep, waterlogged pit, from which David would joyously harvest them, chortling over all the money he would make selling their skulls to the science store. The twin lambs he once collected were so ripe I made him ride home standing in the open side door of the van, holding the plastic bag on top of the car so there would still be oxygen left in the passenger compartment.

Then there was the Tokay Gecko, one of the most aggressive reptiles that isn't a monitor lizard. One time it attacked me, sinking its teeth so firmly into my sweater that I finally had to clear the room and take the sweater off. Back went the lizard, sweater and all into its cage, where it eventually let go. Not even one scream.

The dead things in the freezer occasionally got me. Unwrapping some tasty-looking foil package to find a fish or snake might wring a squeak from me, or maybe even a small screech. What made it worse was, having been absolutely forbidden by Dad to keep dead things in the freezer, he had to camouflage his little disobediences to keep them safe. I paid the price.

The grand prize winner, the one that left every window in the house quivering, was the dead turtle. For whatever unknown reason, David had shoved it in the top compartment of the little half-size fridge, without any covering at all. When I opened the door a short time later, the reptile corpse leaped out of the fridge and hurled itself at my toes, or so it seemed at the time. In case you can't tell, yes, I am still bitter.

So it would take something more stupendous than a tiny snake in the tub to truly frighten me, though having it thrash around trying desperately to escape was a distraction from the job at hand. I yelled, hollered, and banged on the wall, but it was still a while before anyone answered.

Finally Tiggy opened the door to see what I wanted.

"Here," I said, already holding the frantic green animal out to her. "Let it go outside."

Tiggy froze. Her eyes bulged. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHGHHH!!!!!!!!!!" Apparently Tiggy was the one who was scared, ha ha.

After a moment she recovered herself. "Mom!" she protested calmly. "Don't do that!" And she took Greenracer out to freedom.

Later, she tried to tell Jack that she hadn't really screamed, but had only said chidingly, "Mom." Too bad for her there were witnesses. Everyone in the house was deaf, plus 78% of the residents of Westby reported hearing the tornado siren at 4:27 pm.

The radio station may not have had any idea why the alarm went off, but Greenracer sure did. His long journey through the town's sewer system was over.

Now checking all plumbing fixtures before use,

Noni Beth

PS Of COURSE there are no pictures. Don't be silly.

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

2011-08-08T23:22:00.000-06:00

It would be hard to say how my bus test could have gone any better. Maybe by remembering that the funny little part is the "steering box" rather than the "steering doohickey", but that's about it. Oh, and I don't think "brake thingamabob" is part of the manual, either.

The maneuvering was an unqualified triumph. Each of the three exercises I did, backing the bus up in different patterns, was done perfectly and in one shot. The last one, called an alley dock, I had to back the bus up at a 90 degree angle to my starting position, and stop with the rear end within an 18" margin. I got it to where I thought I was pretty close, and hopped out for one of my allowed peeks. Just to make sure.

I met the instructor walking toward the front of the bus, already carrying most of the cones. "You got it," she beamed.

Then we were down to the drive test. The kind superintendent had already shown me where the main track ran through town, so I was ready. Determined not to crash or run over anything, I followed each of her directions. "Have you already been driving school bus for a while?" she finally asked. "You seem so comfortable."

"No, just a truck," I blushed modestly, grateful beyond words she hadn't seen me less than an hour before.

Back in May, I got to go for a short test drive in one of the short buses. At the end of 20 or 30 minutes, I was getting pretty comfortable with it, if I took my test right away. It didn't work like that, and to make matters more interesting, the bus they rented in Glasgow for my test, was a large school bus. With scads of bells and whistles the other bus didn't have, and almost all the gauges and switches mixed up. I had about an hour before the test to memorize the new placements and procedures.

Finally, the superintendent suggested, "Why don't you take the bus for a spin around the parking lot?" Then he went back inside.

On my own! I checked the gauges and switches, checked them again, put the bus in gear, carefully released the parking brake, and took off. It was great! The wind ruffled through my hair as I pulled forward. The wind ruffled my hair. Something was wrong.

GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH the door!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Woops, just lost my passengers.

With a hasty glance around to make sure no one was watching, I snatched the door shut.

Note to self: When taking test, make sure door is closed.

Since I passed the test in the big bus, painstakingly shutting the door even sometimes when I didn't have to, I now have my passenger bus endorsement, as well as school bus. That means I could even drive a Greyhound bus if I wanted. (Which I don't. Even though the blogs would be to die for.)

If there was a slight shrill edge to my laughter as I thanked the instructor for the compliment, I'm sure no one noticed but me. And just when I thought life couldn't get any better than passing the exam, the kind lady in the office took a new picture of me to replace the one from a few months ago where I resembled a golden retriever just sighting a duck.

Two weeks from today I will be on duty, whether as a route driver or an alternate. Stay tuned for an update next week.

Keeping my doors shut,

Noni Beth