The Adventures of Mother Nature

A rant not disguised by my camo

2012-01-25T05:44:00.001-06:00

I have to do this. If you think you're sexist, change blogs now.

If you think this blog should not be used to promote equality, change blogs now and call your local EEO office.

If you thought you had the cooking channel, change blogs now and check your search bar- this has never been a cooking blog!

Just after Christmas, when some of my non-outdoor women co-workers were comparing gifts from their hubbies, I was definitely the odd man out. Sorry, odd woman out. Odd seems to work for me.

I was the only one who had received a gift that was a 'non-traditionally-female' gift. Not jewelry. Not frilly sweaters. Not flowers, candy or perfume. No stuffed teddy bear.

I got camo snake boots. I considered this to be a good thing. A very good thing. But the comments among the coffee klatch gave me the impression they were :
a- not impressed
b- did not consider the gift a 'girl gift'
c- in fact, they considered it a 'guy-gift', which made it even worse than not being a 'girl gift'
d-unable be impressed because it was not in their realm of comprehension as a gift a girl would love.

But, I try to cut them some slack. They don't understand my compulsion to be outside at all. In fact, one of them asked me why I hiked. There is no why. It just is.

That's why I was in complete sympathy with, and quite proud of my friend who posted her feelings about women who pretend to promote the outdoors, but are instead promoting gender inequality and - God help us -promoting products with their boobs, not their Beretta, their Browning, or their Benelli. They support with sexual stereotyping the idea that outdoor sports are guy things to do.

In a beautiful, clear, and pointed blog, Gretchen, aka Wild Woman has said exactly what needed to be said about this.

Thanks, Gretchen, and I think it's time to push this a little farther. Tomorrow, in the midst of the cubicle collective, as I stand by the coffeepot, I'll be wearing the snake boots. They'll look great with the sweater and pearls.

May you always have Happy Trails and adventures to boot!

Blue, Blue, I'm so blue

2012-01-23T06:27:00.001-06:00

It's hard to believe that only a week ago I was at the Blue River, watching the trout fishermen try for a new state record (which, by the way, is unofficially a 10 pound rainbow. I didn't know rainbows came that big).

My adventure companion was at the wheel, always a somewhat dicey proposition. Philoboy believes that "4-wheel drive" means if it has 4 wheels you can drive it anywhere.

So you can imagine his glee when he saw the road covered in water. Fortunately, we were in the truck, and not my girlyman Civic.

See the guy sitting on the big rock? The road bed is right behind him, under that flowing current.

Philoboy enjoyed driving through the river so much that he found excuses to turn around and do it again. And again. And again, until The Whee said "Haven't we been here before?"

uh, yes, we have. Twice.

We scouted out the Blue for another run in the kayaks. It had a little more water than our last trip, but still needed a couple of inches to get over some drags and make the falls more interesting. Philo was ready to try it, but I opted out, instead choosing the role of photographer, because I really, really wanted to get a picture if he broached his boat again while suspended in his spray skirt.

He backed out when he heard my reason for wanting to wait downstream. I don't understand his lens shyness.

Instead, we went away, to wait and play another day. But I'll be taking a waterproof camera, just you wait and see.

Happy Trails, and may the thought of adventure never make you blue!

Don't make me go all Wapanucka on you...

2012-01-20T18:59:00.000-06:00

The Whee is one of the best traveling companions a person could ask for, now that she's not in diapers, wears socks, and can pack her own bag.

I think she might have started packing her own bag around 18 months, ready to get the heck out of this backwater. She also routinely shed her socks and diapers, which is why we didn't allow her to get the heck out of the house much.

She hasn't, however, yet been weaned from her bottle. We're working on it.

We enjoy scintillating conversation as we travel. We talk about things like clothes made from alpaca wool dry faster than clothes made from merino wool. This is important information to have when you're wet and cold from a tippy kayak and a bad river launching spot. I don't know why alpaca dries faster, I just know it does, and that I am now and forever will be a devotee of alpaca wool. amen.

The When went all the way to Wapanucka with me. Say that last sentence three times real fast.

I've always wanted to go to Wapanucka. Seriously, I mean it. Why are you laughing? Note the attractive and dry alpaca wool sweater I am wearing in Wapanucka.

Wapanucka is Native for "Hey knucklehead, stop that before I rap you with this antler."

I thought you needed to know that. Seriously.

As we were headed home and I was shifting from holiday happiness mode back to mean ol' mom mode (i.e. nagging about clean rooms and feeding the cat) The Whee interrupted me to say,

"If you don't stop I'm gonna go all Wapanucka on yo ***."

After I stopped rolling on the floor, I wondered- why was that so funny? I don't know, but I know it's in the family lexicon now.

And I try not to nag, because, lordy me, no one wants to see The Whee go all Wapanucka.

Happy Trails, and may your adventures take you all the way to Wapanucka!

Can't take PAF anywhere

2012-01-17T19:30:00.000-06:00

Me 'n the family went for a little outing this weekend, enjoying the fabulous moderate January temperatures before the Ice Gods return to munch on the power lines.

We all went- me, The Whee, Philoboy, and Philoboy Action Figure, lovingly known as PAF or "hey you, short plasti-guy!"

We took the kayaks and ambled on down south to the Blue River and Pennington Creek area.

We started at Pennington Creek to get warmed up, so to speak.

The Whee, looking stylish, stuck close to the bank looking for bear.

Philoboy, looking dashing and adventurous, went scouting for places to test his meddle. Or was that my patience?

Philo had just received a delightful piece of equipment, courtesy of his lovely wife, for which he has been longing. Clarification- he's been longing for the equipment, not the wife. At least, he hasn't mentioned the wife longing as much as he's mentioned the gear longing.

Philo got a spray skirt for his kayak. For those of you deficient in skirt education, it's a neoprene cover that fits around your waist and over the hull of your boat, to keep the water out. When you put it on, it looks like a skirt, thus the name. No way is Philo putting on a skirt for any other reason.

But said skirt gave our hero a false sense of security, the feeling of invincibility, and he thought it necessary to test the tippability of his LiquidLogic. The boat name was the only logic in this course of action.

For the record, let me say that spray skirts really work. They keep the water out, even when your boat is underwater with you in it. They also keep you snugly in your seat when your boat flips over so that you are now dangling securely upside down in the murky depths. And wondering "what the hell just happened and why aren't I getting to the surface?"

By the time Philo figured out he needed to pull up his skirt

*smirk*snicker*snort*sorry

I was starting to be concerned that he wasn't surfacing and was fly-wheeling my way to him when he burst up, sans eyeglasses, sans stocking cap, with a crazed look on his face. He's kind of partial to breathing.

He now knows exactly how far he can lean his kayak over before it flips. I asked him to demonstrate again. He said something about how long could I stay underwater...

But then PAF, who doesn't have an original bone in his body, thought it would be funny to do the same thing.

Uh, PAF- there's one thing. You don't have a spray skirt on your boat.

And so our action-figure hero promptly sank to the bottom, which resulted in The Whee 'n me launching an all-out rescue and salvage mission, which resulted in my being up to my thighs in gooey muck.

"I swear, PAF. If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do it, too?"

Don't answer that.

Happy Trails, and may you flip over the idea of adventure.

In the name of science

2012-01-14T09:46:00.000-06:00

Finally. It's done. It's turned in. It's out of my house. This is both good and bad.

I'm talking about The Whee's science fair project, which has taken up a good part of our lives the last two months, including holiday break. Now that it's done my living has been restored to a living room, rather than a balloon stomping wasteland. That's good.

It's bad because it was cool to see her involved in such an intensive, long-term project. It's good because I get weekends back just in time to start grading papers again.

It's good because it ultimately forced me to don a wetsuit and regulator and become an underwater photographer, and I'm finally getting more comfortable with that whole breathing-out-bubbles thing. It's bad because I am (so far) a terrible underwater photographer. I have a bit of trouble not being buffeted, bounced, bowled over, or bobbing about while trying to take a picture.

It's good because I was so engrossed in taking pictures and watching her bulldog balloons underwater I forgot to be panicked about the possibility of drowning.

It's bad because it was a film camera, ergo crappy pictures made worse by film, and exacerbated by the fact that I have somehow managed to un-install the scanner software on my computer and cannot find the disk to re-install it. Therefore, I cannot make them digital. Arwk.

But it was a successful experiment in that she learned several things:

Yes, if you take a balloon deep enough, it gets compressed.
It's hard to get a balloon underwater. Balloons have a fear of drowning too, and they fight back.
It is possible to drag a balloon to its death underwater. It will die because you were holding on to the stem, and the buoyancy forced it upward, ripping off its stem. You will feel like you killed it. You did.
You can stab it with the cool dive knife you got for Christmas. You are again guilty of murder, but you enjoyed it more.
To get the balloon to the bottom of a 12' pool unharmed you must put 16 pounds of lead weights on your weight belt, wrap your arms and legs around the balloon and release any possible buoyancy from your BCD (buoyancy control device). The balloon will roll you over, and fight to get free as you try to sink.
It's very hard to get a tape measure around a balloon when you are stuck to it like a juice-sucking squid. If you release even one finger off the balloon it will shoot to the top like a flounder chased by a shark.
People begin to look at you funny when the surface of the pool is covered in balloons and your underwater bubbles are shaped like curse words.

The Whee has mentioned that next time she'll vet the competency of her film crew better. I'm happy to learn I could curse underwater and not drown.

Experiment deemed a success.

Sleep well

2012-01-10T12:54:00.000-06:00

That blog title above should really read: sleep? welll... For some reason, I think I sleep better by moonlight, under the stars, out in the open, and/or far away from work and stress.

Sounds like a no-brainer, right? I also think I sleep better with a comfy sleeping pad, but like a lot of people, I have a tendency to fall off my pad sometimes (this is not to be confused with being off my rocker).

I found a great tip in Backpacker magazine this week- check it out at cool tips.

The week of new and news continues. I learned a dear friend is moving away to the Buckeye state BOOOOO- I might have said in a moment of weakness that I've always wanted to see Ohio. It has a team called OU, I think, but it's not the right team.

And our outdoor awareness program G.O.N.E. (Get Outside Now and Everyday) is about to get a lot bigger and noiser than just the outdoor activities for women. Now we'll be taking kids into the outdoors for a variety of experiences. It also means I'll be taking donations of gently used sleeping bags and filling my attic!!

Happy Trails and sweet dreams of adventure!

New stuff in the New Year

2012-01-08T06:44:00.002-06:00

This week has been a week of new and news.

The Whee has a new haircut and color. Who is this lovely young lady and what you done with my contentious toddler?!?! I fear that you think you are going to grow up and leave me. You are mistaken...

I've attempted to start new life in the house. Plant life, not human life. No more giving birth to any more humans, thank you. Or aliens or anything else. Epidurals rule, saggy skin does not.

These little green houses-sorry, I can't help myself-hold potential peppers, per Philo's preferences, 'cause you can never have too many heartburns- I mean jalapenos.

I figured after my smashing success with an apartment garden and the peas that grew with no real sunlight, I can surely coax something green into existence in all the wonderful southern exposure windows in the current house. If not, my city recycles plastic...

And then newsflash, at least the news that enters my strange little world, I learned that steel wool burns. So of course I had to try it-

it burns ok, not as well as vaseline-impregnated cotton balls, but if I were lost in the woods after a big cast-iron cleaning party I'd give it a shot as fire starter.

And I'm sure my neighbors didn't think it at all odd that I had balls of steel wool strewn all over my yard and walked around lighting them. Contained pyromania, I say.

So that's all the news that ain't here in Sooner City. What's new with you, besides the date on your checks? (The Whee just asked me what I meant by that. She's a debit card baby. No refunds).

Happy Trails, and may you always find new adventures!

A pro shop holiday

2012-01-06T05:41:00.001-06:00

After Christmas, Philoboy had to exchange a pair of jeans he received as a gift. Apparently his wife thinks he's become a big fatty, because the jeans were two sizes too big. Maybe she was allowing for all the pecan pie he'd eaten...

But said wife, being the kind and understanding person she is, offered to stand in the gawd-awful long return line for him, while he perused the fishing supplies. Martyr that he is, he refused.

Good enough. Said wife offered, was refused, so said wife (me) is off the hook to explore the wonders of Bass Pro Shop. heh heh heh

While all this marital posturing was taking place, the Whee was chillin' and watching other folks, some of who were also engaged in marital... posturing. You can really get to know a couple when you watch them in a sporting goods store.

I hate clothes shopping unless it's furry, camo colored, intended for hiking, or keeps me afloat. Therefore, it made perfect sense to me to wander around with this hat and a missile silo-sized bucket of cheese puffs. I'm not sure that really makes sense. I'm not sure this whole paragraph makes any sense.

When one is a parent, one must be careful to model good behaviors for one's children. The Whee was paying careful attention to parental behavior...

For some reason, when people saw us coming they drew their children closer to them. Hid behind the kayaks. Stepped up next to the hunting knives.

Going to these type of stores with me and Philo is a study in linguistics and advertising research. Check out the sign to the right. Is the seat for qualified butts or does it qualify your butt? These are the profound questions I have to explain to my child.

We can't go to Bass Pro without talking to the catfish. Who is whispering sweet nothings to whom?

"Hey, you don't have whiskers! Do you pluck?"

"Wait, come back!!"

"Cheese puffs, ewww. Come back when you have some minnows."

I don't know, looks like pretty good bait to me. I hope Philo doesn't have to exchange his jeans for a bigger size after eating all these...

Happy Trails, and may you become a pro at finding adventures!

These boots are made for walkin'

2012-01-04T05:58:00.001-06:00

When I returned to work after the much-needed and delightfully lengthy holiday break, the buzz in the breakroom was all about "what did you get for Christmas?"

I suffered a moment of confusion, thinking I had landed back in the 7th grade, which was hell year for me, and I broke out in a sweat thinking someone was going to stuff me into a locker.

Once I realized the time warp was all in my head, I was able to join in the repartee.

"I got boots," I said.

"ooooh," they squealed in unison. "Uggs? Stilettos? Furry ones?"

Another shudder as I flashbacked to 7th grade...

"Snakeboots," I said excitedly.

**** long silence***

***more long silence***

"You mean snakeskin boots, don't you...? Those are expe-e-e-e-ensive!"

"Nope. I mean snakeboots. Kick-butt, up-to-your-knees, ward off the fanged critters snakeboots. For hiking."

"uh- did your husband think you wanted snakeSKIN boots?"

Nope- my wonderful hubby knows his outdoor gal quite well, knows her addiction to hiking, and her paralyzing fear of all things slithery. He knows the way to a girl's heart is Gore-Tex and camo.

"Here," I offered. "Try some of my dried tofu trail mix."

The breakroom emptied so fast you would have thought it was 5:00 o'clock.

At least I didn't have to worry about being stuffed into a locker....

Happy Trails, and may you be up to your boot tops in adventure!

A warm and toasty new year

2012-01-02T06:10:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year!

I hope it's off to a great start. Great starts include breakfast, in my book, so I was pleased to find a quick, easy and delicious treat to make for New Year's Day, after we all stayed up waa-a-a-a-y too late the night before.

This is genius. Open a package of crescent rolls, separate them, brush with butter and sprinkle with a mixture of sugar and cinnamon, roll 'em up, bake, brush the tops with more butter and sprinkle with more cinnamon sugar, serve and then get your hand out of the way before you lose some fingers. I barely got to snap the picture before they were gone.

My living room is toasty too, warmed by a thoughtful aunt who made us a delightfully colorful quilt for Christmas. Thanks, Aunt Penny! It looks great on the cedar chest. It's been even better than a kaleidoscope to keep me busy-examining all the pieces of fabric to discover each pattern and color.

Here's hoping the coming year is soft, warm, colorful, delightful, delicious, easy, interesting, sweet, flavorful, restful, comforting, comfortable, and full of loving family and friends.

Happy Trails in 2012!

Just normal holiday expression

2011-12-31T06:05:00.002-06:00

Christmas is a big deal around here for me and my girls. So big that we start planning for it about June, and finish up on New Year's Day, not because we want to finish but because Philo threatens Grinchly bodily harm if we don't stop singing carols.

Another lovely part of Christmas is to invite unsuspecting guests to your celebration, and then take them out back and shoot them. Yep, that's the way we like to celebrate.

Catch 'em. Kill 'em.

This year's victim was Daughter #1's sweet boyfriend, Jose. I like Jose, he's smart, funny, cute, and not a real great shot with a nerf pistol. My kind of guy.

"Hey Jose, it works better if you look at your target..."

jeesh, look at Bond, Whee One Bond, going after people.

ok, maybe Jose actually was a pretty good shot and we ganged up on him...

"Hands up, I'm taking you in, buddy."

Make a break for it, Jose, I think you can outrun her!!

Mission accomplished. Let's invite someone else to dinner...

Cheers and Happy New Years!

'Twas the night before...

2011-12-27T08:45:00.000-06:00

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring very far from the couch.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were dressed all snugly in red, too big for the sleigh, too old for their bed!

While Dad in his Festivus, without a ball cap, really was wishing he'd taken a nap!

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my cider to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, grabbed my shotgun and hid all my cash.
The moon was quite bright in spite of no snow, and it gave the lustre of -duh-moonlight to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature kayak, a Prijon, the kind I hold dear.
With a little old paddler, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his little boat came, and he whistled, and chuckled, and addressed us by name;

"Philo is tired, he's been up for a while, but he's still wrapping presents and giving a smile.
Mother Nature has not fired her gun, this is quite good, steel shot is not fun.
The Whee is excited, she can't go to sleep, tuck under the covers and don't you dare peek!
Daughter #1 in will soon fly, and the noise and buzz will mount to the sky."

So up to the house-top the sleek craft now flew,
With the deck bag full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard up on top, the sound of a chubby man land with a plop.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in neoprene, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all waterproof, right down to his boot.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a flashlight he held tight in his teeth,
because you need light when you sneak like a thief.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
that grew in the winter when he watched too much telly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And he brought many goodies from the cold Kayak shelf;

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
We discussed the best color for Kayaks-of course it was red.
He went straight to his work, he did not procrastinate
And filled all the stockings, he couldn't be late.

And using the special life jacket with the air hose,
Giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his craft, and grabbed his long paddle,
It was kind of a tight fit due to his kinda large middle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he stroked out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

Preparations on the Eve

2011-12-24T07:03:00.001-06:00

When Santa comes to our house late on Christmas Eve, he expects cookies. Fresh, homemade, delicious, not-entirely-nutritious, beautiful cookies. So the Whee and I try to accommodate Santa's wishes. He is, after all, bringing presents so if he has pastry preferences the least we can do is try to meet those cookie criteria.

So we mixed. And rolled. And cut. And baked.

And iced. And decorated. And decorated some more. Delicately decorated. Decorated without decorum. Decorated without regard for deliciousness.

We painted, created, invented, and brushed our way to a huge platter of delightfully decorative, delicious cookies.

And then we sampled. We sampled the ugly cookies, the cookies without decorations, the misshapen cookies, the cookies that looked like they belonged on the Island of Misfit Toys.

And the next thing we knew, the platter was full of nothing but crumbs. I'm pretty sure if Santa has nothing but crumbs to go with his eggnog, we're gettin' nothin' but soggy cat litter under the tree.

Operation Emergency Cookie Refill is under way. Send something to spike the eggnog.

And have yourself a Merry little Christmas!!!

The Christmas Cat

2011-12-22T06:28:00.000-06:00

Ash Kitty has appointed himself as the Keeper of the Christmas Stash. Every day, and all night, he curls up in his spot on the the quilt box, next to the Christmas tree, and guards the gifts. This is his "I'm alert to intruders" look. It looks a lot like his "I ate too much kibble" look, but he's big into subtlety.

This is actually preferable to his stalking and killing all the glass and feather birds on the tree.

Ash Kitty thinks the Whee is the best gift he ever received. She cuddles him, whisks him away when Philoboy starts to pick on him, sneaks him tidbits to eat, and plays fetch. What more could a Christmas Kitty want?

In fact, I think Ash Kitty is the picture of peace and good will toward men.

All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, Christmas has it all.

You go, Girl.

2011-12-20T07:04:00.000-06:00

We interrupt our regularly scheduled Christmas cheer to bring you a gear review.

CAUTION- THE FOLLOWING BLOG IS OF A VERY SENSITIVE AND PERSONAL NATURE.

IT'S ALSO VERY GENDER BIASED. Ladies only.

Please send your children out to play, preferably not in the streets, and send Hubby to the grocery store with a very long list. You will not want them looking over your shoulder for this one.

Next-think of every piece of 3rd grade scatological humor you can, run through them mentally, shake it off.

Now-imagine yourself in a room full of strangers and someone starts talking about their personal hygiene. Go ahead and get that nervous giggle out of the way.

Last- if the words 'pee' and 'urine' bother you, switch to another blog now, and come back next week when I'm talking about what Santa left under the tree.

Because that's exactly what I'm going to talk about. Not Santa-the other stuff. Backwoods provided me with this piece of gear to test and review. There might have been a slight smirk when they handed me the bag. This might be one of the hardest reviews I've ever done, but the equipment -ahem- stands up to anything I've seen.

I'm talking about the GoGirl F.U.D. (female urination device). It comes in a tiny tube, girly pink, but the outside doesn't really give you a hint of what's inside.

When the Backwoods manager asked if I would review this, I assumed it was a hygiene system meant for "pack it in, pack it out." I envisioned bags that super-sealed so you could pack out your personal waste.

This is not the case at all.

The GoGirl is a device that allows women to urinate standing up.

I'll give you minute to get back in your chair and stop your head from spinning.

WHY WHY WHY would I want to pee standing up? I work very hard to not be anything like a man.... This was my thought when I read the instructions, especially when the the package insert and the website kept talking about venues like concerts. Was I going to pee in the sink if all the stalls were full?

This was getting me nowhere. I approached it from a different angle-when would I not want to squat?

I'm an outdoors kind of gal- squatting when I camp and hike is... normal. natural. But what if, as I encountered on the OHT in Arkansas, there was nothing but solid fields of poison ivy, two feet high? Standing up might be a good thing.

I don't attend a lot of concerts, but I have been to the State Fair, a tractor pull, and a donkey milking. Sometimes the restrooms at those events aren't the cleanest, but I can hover pretty well above the seat. Except for that year when I tore up my knee. There was no walking, squatting or hovering, or bending that knee in any way. Being able to stand up in front of the toilet would have been a really good thing.

OK- I was starting to see the application now.

But what finally sent me to the side of being a believer was traveling with Philoboy in the Travelin' Van.

Philo and my dad share a lot of characteristics (they say you always marry your dad- which makes me shudder but we'll do psychoanalysis another day). They both love to read, argue, debate and be right. All the time. They also have similar modes of travel- stop at every diner that has pie, even if they're only 10 mile apart, but never, ever, stop for a potty break.

Because of this need to get to the next slice of pie, more than once as a child I used a big ol' Sonic cup for a restroom in the back seat of the big ol' Buick. My dad was also a good driver who didn't use the "punch-and-slam" method of acceleration.

Fast forward to life in the Travelin' Van, which is lurching down the highway in western Kansas because Philo is driving. And there. are. no. bathrooms. Or reststops. Or trees. Not even a small shrubbery.

ME: "I'm going to the back and pee."

-Van lurches-

PHILO: "You're what?!?!"

ME: "I'm going to the back and pee into this juice bottle. Just drive."

-Van leaps forward-

PHILO: You are so not going to pee in this van. What if you miss?

ME: "I won't miss. A- I'm a professional. B-I have this cool new device. C- If I do miss, I'm be standing over your sleeping bag anyway. The stink of the bag will mask the smell of the pee."

-Van brakes-

ME: (Slightly loud and irritated voice) "If you keep driving like that I might miss! For gosh sake put the cruise on!"

I return to the front seat.

PHILO: "You didn't throw the bottle out the window, did you?"

ME: "No, I put it in your backpack."

-Van lurches-

Seriously- the funneling device worked perfectly in conjunction with the bottle. The medical grade silicone cleans easily. I would like it better if it was camo colored. It comes with a storage bag, but the bag's not very substantial so I ended up putting it in a ziploc.

I now keep a GoGirl in both my truck and the Travelin' Van. It will make it into the Christmas stockings of some of my more germ-phobic, stiff-kneed and married-to-the guy-who-won't-pull-over friends and family.

To see a video, and learn more about the GoGirl, visit the Go-Girl website.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

2011-12-18T09:41:00.000-06:00

This weekend we made our annual pilgrimage to the Downs Family Light Show just down the road a piece from our town. It's the second year in a row that we've gone, so it's now officially a tradition.

The Downs family does this strictly for their own enjoyment and the enjoyment of the community. The show is totally free, although they do take food donations, all which go to the Regional Food Bank.

If you want to know more about the 13 miles of lights and 9 miles of extension cords - yes, I said MILES of cords- read about it
here

And because you can't really appreciate the full effect of millions of lights synchronized to holiday music unless you can hear it, I asked my computer to work magic and put the video here. I acknowledge that my girl DELL is the boss.

You watch the show while sitting in your car in a field in front of their house. If you can, watch it a couple or three times- the messages broadcast in lights during the intermission are hilarious, and they change from one intermission to another.

If you are able to visit the show, it's 72nd and Cedar Road in Noble, Oklahoma. Bring some canned goods for the food box, some hot chocolate to sip while you watch, and as many friends as you can cram into your car.

Peace and Goodwill.

How does your holiday go?

2011-12-16T06:23:00.000-06:00

Are you ready for the holidays? Is it just another stressful rush, or will it be a time of regeneration and rest?

Have you made wise decisions with your shopping budget?

Is your abode comfy, cozy and a restful retreat from the holiday hubbub, or does the mess have you climbing the walls?

Did you leave some change in the bell-ringer's bucket and give them a smile? They're volunteers, you know.

Have you made provisions for the small creatures outside your home?

Is the pantry stocked, the faucets covered? Are you ready for the advent of horrid weather that traps you in your house for days at a time? Do you have games to play, and a corner or room for each family member when there's been a tad too much togetherness?

Are you grateful for each kindness from strangers? Are you paying it forward?

Most of all, are you pausing a moment to remember the reason for the season?

Happy Trails, and may it always be the season of adventure for you!

Frig'n phobia

2011-12-14T06:55:00.000-06:00

I don't do New Year resolutions, but I'm all about lifestyle revolutions. This past year I've worked really hard on eliminating and mitigating some of my fears and dislikes. In the fear category-swimming, or being in the water in general, unless it's on a cruise ship.

In the dislike category, first place goes to cold.

I have Cheimaphobia - fear of cold (Frigophobia)

I also have Pagophobia - Fear of ice or frost

Or maybe I just have Cryophobia-the fear of extreme cold, ice, or frost. This fear can be triggered by living in a harsh climate, or by a prior bad experience in cold. In my prior experience, any experience with cold is a bad experience. I admit to being a weather weenie.

And now I will also need treatment for my addiction to surfing the web looking for phobia words.

Thanks to my darling children, I have discovered a cure, or at least a treatment for some of my phobias. If it weren't for my girls scuba diving, I never would have known how delightfully warm a wet suit is, and that it makes you buoyant. When your middle name is leadweight, buoyancy is important information..

So now that I'm the proud owner of a wetsuit, and I've actually proven that I can swim the length of the pool several times while on top of the water, my favorite outdoor activity has been enhanced. Kayaking can be done in the ...yes... the cold.

So that's exactly what I did this weekend. I left the house well before sunup...
(And no, there's really only one moon for the planet I live on. Blame the second one on camera reflection.)

When I pulled into the lake, it was a scene from another world. Eerie, quiet, low sensory input. My kind of world.

Everything around me was dressed in the icy finery of winter.

Shivering when I launched, I pointed my 'yak toward the sunrise, the colors warming with me as I paddled.

And then-

my morning stillness was shattered by a shotgun blast over my shoulder and awareness dawned; the gate to the boat ramp was locked not because the lake was so low, but because it's duck hunting season. No boats on the water, stay out of the way of shot spray.

I'm pretty sure I made a wake as I hauled bulk back to shore. Good grief, Charley Brown, I nearly got my self shot searching for some solitude.

After a mere 25 minutes on the water, I was forced to become a landlubber again. This sent me back into the arms of my computer to serach for a phobia term for "fear of duck hunters".

The best I could find was Antidaeophobia - fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you (fictional, from Gary Larson cartoon).

and
Hoplophobia - Fear of firearms

So, blogging being one of the eminent domains of neologisms I created my own phobia:

Hopalongtodayphobia-fear of being hit with steel shot while sitting your kayak in a dirty lake.

Happy Trails, and may your never be afraid to go find adventure!

A good end or a good beginning

2011-12-12T06:05:00.000-06:00

I had a most successful weekend. It was successful because it was full of successes. Philoboy might say that's begging the question or some other nonsensical philosophical mumbo jumbo, which is why I don't let him read my blog drafts.

These are the successes of my weekend:

I finally got my lazy parts out of bed early enough to go kayaking at sunrise, in the cold, only slightly ahead of the duck hunters. This was success because my lazy parts outnumber my ambitious parts.

I scored a pair of new Merrell hikers for only $45. This is success because normally Philo takes exception to my shoe addiction, even if I found them at a third of normal retail, but since it was for hiking, he couldn't say anything. Shoes $45, spouse biting his tongue-priceless.

The Whee did a lot of the baking for her band bake sale all by herself. This is a success because a) I didn't have to do the work OR clean up the kitchen, and b) I can go off to the Appalachian Trail for six months and feel confident my child is self-sufficient enough not to starve while I'm gone.

Happy Trails, and may all your adventures be a success!

The Hanging of the Green

2011-12-11T06:09:00.003-06:00

It's winter. My garden is not producing anything edible, unless you count frozen earthworms. I haven't gone that 'au naturel' just yet. I'm in search of green, leafy foods.

I'm tempted to live on pumpkin coffee cake and hot chocolate in the winter, but I'd like to be able to fit into my kayak next spring, so I'm limiting my hot chocolate intake.

I'm also in search of greens for the house decor. In particular, I'd like some of these greens:

I've heard you can make tea from these, but I haven't tried it yet. More adventures to come!

These gorgeous needles are not Okie needles. They're Colorado needles, and trust me, they look a heck of lot better than the Okie ones I'm seeing around here.

I am now accepting all offers of a plane ticket to Colorado to gather greenery with which to decorate my house and porch. If it's a one way ticket, that's ok too, I'll decorate in the spring!

Happy Trails, and may you be pining for adventure!

Time Warp sleigh

2011-12-09T05:54:00.001-06:00

I have finally dug through enough tubs in the attic to begin finding old photos. You remember photos from film? Kinda crinkly? Tend to fade? Not on the computer so you can't photoshop Aunt Grace's booze bottle into a rolling pin? All the dirty little secrets of family history preserved until age fades them and you can re-write history...

No booze here, only a baby. A baby who is now a busy corporate executive. A baby who objects when I treat her like a baby. I don't care- she will always be my baby, even when she's all wrinkly and saggy. I can hear her gagging from here.

One cold winter's eve, a thousand years ago, when I apparently didn't have enough to do, I made a wooden sleigh from plywood. And painted it. I'd pay a lot of candy canes to have that much free time now.

And the sleigh sat by the fireplace filled with presents, until.....

The next year it was filled with a baby! A four-month old baby who looks like she's been hitting the eggnog pretty hard.

The next year the baby was big enough to kiss the reindeer. Or maybe she's about to bite his nose off, I'm not sure which.

Apparently I still had some free time-enough to make a reindeer. I need to find that time and creative ability. I think the Grinch stole it.

The next year the baby was almost as big as the sleigh, and the momma took the picture and then hid behind the Christmas tree and boo-hoo'd because her baby was a little girl and not a baby anymore.

Brace yourself, there's several more tubs of photos to go through and another child that appears in the pictures. You have nothing else to do till Christmas, right?

Happy Trails, and holly jolly holidays!

Brrr scapes!

2011-12-07T10:01:00.000-06:00

Just because it's a whopping 23 degrees outside, I thought I'd share some icicles with you! This Kansas KaleidoScape was taken my first winter in Kansas. I'm hoping for snow, not ice, this winter.

I've named this 'Scape, but I'd like to hear your ideas for a title on it!!!

S & H Santa

2011-12-05T06:54:00.003-06:00

Are you 'mature' enough and nostalgic enough to remember S & H Greenstamps? They looked like stamps-duh-and you received them at the grocery store and a few other merchants when you made purchases. You saved them up, then pasted them into little books and took them to the Green Stamp store to redeem them.

The Green Stamp Store was an emporium of wonder and fascination. Small appliances, household items, gadgets, even furniture. And no money required; you just paid with those little books. They were an excellent way to acquire items in a time when money was tight, which was pretty much always, as I remember.

When I was ten, my grandmother gave me this Santa for Christmas. She had, of course, procured him at the S & H stamp store and I remember thinking it was kind of an odd gift for a 10-year old.

But like Clara in the Nutcracker, I gave me little man a hug, and kept him safe by my side for many evenings after Christmas. He made a great night light to read by. After that, he resided in my closet for many years.

Fast forward ten years. My grandfather passed away the year before and Grandma had learned to cope with paying bills, understanding insurance, and having coffee by herself every morning.

I dropped by a couple of weeks before Christmas, and asked where her tree was. She always erected a tiny tabletop model.

"Oh, it doesn't seem worth it, with just me here. I don't think any of the kids will be here this year, they're all going elsewhere."

"I'll be here!" I told her. The rest of my family was all elsewhere too. So I dragged the well-worn tree out of the box in the closet, and set it up in the living room while we visited. There were only a few ornaments, and a string of lights shaped like redbirds.

I asked her what she got in her stocking when she was a kid, "Good gracious! We never had stockings, we were too poor!" Stockings are my absolute mostest favorite part of Christmas. I couldn't conceive a Christmas morning without a stocking full of surprises.

When I returned on Christmas Eve, there were no-bake oatmeal cookies and hot chocolate made from scratch. My Grandma knew my weaknesses. I brought with me a felt stocking I had created from scraps. On the front was a felt gray-haired granny, glasses and apron intact, as close a representation of my grandmother as my not-an-artist self could make. It held lotion, candy, and I don't remember what else.

I thought Grandma might cry. At first I thought it was because the granny on the stocking looked a little deranged, and maybe she felt I was assessing her readiness for an institutional vacation. But, no. "I've never had such a thing." I took it that she meant having one was good thing.

It was the first time I felt like a real adult. I had used my own hard-earned money, had gone out shopping with the intention of making someone else happy. It was weird. It was wonderful.

It was weird for both of us. I was used to being the recipient. She was used to taking care of everyone else around her. When the roles were reversed it felt strange. And it felt good. For both of us.

S & H Santa has moved with me a dozen times. He always has a central place, and requires only a yearly dusting and hug to restore him to his glory of four decades ago. Somehow along the way I inherited the string of cardinal lights too.

And each year when Santa finds his place for the holiday, I'm reminded that
the best gifts don't come with big price tags, they come from the heart.

Happy Trails, and Happy Holidays!

Kissy Fish Christmas

2011-12-03T06:08:00.031-06:00

The Whee has her own Christmas tree in her room. You may consider us a house full of elves, so it might not really surprise you that the Whee has her own tree. But The Whee did not inherit the Christmas Excess gene- she only wanted a tree because it matched her room. Or maybe she wanted the blue room to match the tree, I forget which.

The tree is so her- and so her room. A touch of zebra. A reminder of scuba. A lot of blue. A dinosaur. Everyone should have a T-Rex on their tree. Nothing says Christmas like a T-Rex with a mouthful of marshmallow Santa!

And a kissy fish. This looks like me every time I see The Whee. I get a little bug-eyed, and pucker up. My baby girl is just so kissable, And huggable. My tadpole grew from a cranky, colicky, don't-touch-me baby into a huggable, kissable, adorable young lady. I like the 12-year old version really well. I get a lot more sleep with the evolved Whee.

Happy Trails, and may the thought of adventure never make you blue!!

I thought I taw a putty-tat

2011-12-01T06:26:00.002-06:00

Ash Kitty is so happy to have the Christmas tree up. He would like to leave it up all year long. He feels like a tiger in the jungle, stalking around the branches of the tree, seeking ornaments to bat, smack, munch, or swat.

In keeping with the whole Mother Nature/outdoor theme of my life, the tree is decorated with pinecones, berries, and birds. Lots and lots of birds. Owls. Cardinals. Doves. Birds with real feather tails.

Those are Ash Kitty's favorite. He sneaks up on the tail-feather birds, and pounces on them, inevitably pulling them off the tree, and coming dangerously close to toppling the whole thing.

I don't have the heart to stop him. He feels so manly, so feline, when he's yanking out their feathers one by one. So every year, he kills a few more glass birds, and I buy a few more glass birds. He's family, after all, and I tolerate the idiosyncrasies of the rest of the family.

Help! Call the Audubon Society, I'm endangered!

Happy Trails, and Happy tails!