Did You Know That Story?

Taps has always been a favorite of mine. I suppose it comes from many years in Bluebirds and Campfire Girls then years as a Girl Scout leader and camp counselor. Even as a little bluebird we sang it at the end of every meeting, and what camp would be complete without taking down the flag in the beautiful light of dusk to the sound of taps being sung by a strong group of girls dirty with trail dust, fish slime, and campfire ash, but happy and satisfied?

So those of us here at Vicktory Farms will be joining in the Moment of Remembrance at three o'clock. But at nine thirty we will sing taps as we retire the colors for the day.

In 1862 Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was near Harrison's Landing, Virgina. In the evening he heard the moanings of a soldier, so he personally went out into the gunfire on his belly and dragged the wounded young man back to his encampment. When he reached safety he then realized that the soldier who had died was a Confederate soldier, but when he looked at the face he recognized it as the face of his own son whom, as far as he knew, was studying music in the South.

He tried to get a full military burial for his son but because the son was of enemy status the father's request was granted only partial. He was only allowed one bugler and in need of music, the father handed the bugler a scrap of paper from his own son's pocket with a few song notes scratched upon it. Those song notes? The notes of Taps.

That my Dear Reader is the hardship of war; the high price of civil freedom, preservation of unity, and relief of the oppressed.


When you are being patriotic today, please remember some flag etiquette. In a nut shell the flag should not be shown disrespect by touching the ground, being held or flown inappropriately. It nor a facsimile of it should be worn as clothing or carried as a bag. The likeness of a flag should not be used as advertisement, or on napkins, paper plates or such as would be discarded after temporary use.



I find it amazing how many times the flag code is blatantly broken, not just at protests and by unpatriotic citizens but by those who claim to be intense lovers of what the flag stands for. I'm not talking about the hard to remember details like does the union go to the right or the left when hung on a wall, but the stuff that is obvious like clothing, napkins, tablecloths and the like printed to look like the flag. Drove my dad nuts and it drives me nuts, that in our efforts to be ultra-patriotic we end up actually making a mockery of the flag and its beauty. And then by doing so, sully the memory of those who have fought and died beneath its grand colors.

Four Calling Birds

On the fourth day of Christmas
My True Love gave to me,
Four calling birds...

The four men who wrote the four gospels calling us to Christ.

Before I head out to prune my second tree today, I thought I would share a favorite verse from each of the four gospels.

From Matthew 8:8 The centurion answered and said, “Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof. But only say the word, and my servant shall be healed.

As a child I said these words, or ones very much like them, every day (except Saturday) just before receiving communion. It is so true for all of us, we are not worthy of Him. Like John the Baptist we are not worthy to loosen his sandal straps, we are not worthy to ask for the healing like the woman who touched his cloak, like the centurion we are not worthy to have him come into our home no matter how grand. But He speaks and we are healed by His word, He speaks and enters not only our home but our lives, to forgive and heal. And what a healing it is, drenching, refreshing, restoring, from the great first healing to the daily on going healing of His word to our soul.

From Mark 10: 29-30 I tell you the truth, Jesus replied, "no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children of fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (home, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields - and with them persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life.

I have indeed received more than a hundred times as much already in this present age, just in knowing Him more fully. If He had only given me Himself it would have been enough, but he has given me brothers and sisters that are far deeper than flesh and blood and continually adds to my family when I least expect it, always making room in my heart for just one more. Blood may be thicker than plain water but it is nothing compared to the living water and those who truly live there.

Luke 22:30-31 Simon, Simon, Indeed, Satan has asked for you, that he may sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, that your faith should not fail. And when you have returned to Me, strengthen your brethren.

This is my verse, if I was inclined to have a tattoo, I would put a rooster on my foot, so that every time I went to step out I would remember, who I was and who I am now. I am a Peter. I knew Christ, dwelt with Him, ate with Him, walked with Him, proclaimed Him, but then out of fear I denied Him. How exhilarating to my soul, to know that not only does my Savior save my very soul but He has prayed specifically for me.

This verse has also been the source of great comfort when I feel more compelled by my concern for the brethren than others feel I should have. When others, called to other things, in their zeal have tried to convince the entire body to become feet like them I return to these words that I know are mine and I am encouraged.

In the same way these words pull me up short time and time again, stopping me from what I think I would like to do, what would please others, and causes me to re-attend to what it is my Christ has set before me. To listen to the Holy Spirit's lead that I may do it as unto the Lord himself.

John 10:16 And there will be one flock and one Shepherd.

The things we think divide us are not as great as He who calls us together in His name.

You and I are the flock, the church. We do not go to church, we become the church, the one and only church. And we have but one Shepherd. All others are His brothers and co-laborers but He leads the flock. And some may very well be coyotes, feeding off of His flock. But we are not to fear because He has an awesome night vision scope and can see through the darkness.


Dear Reader it was very hard to pick just one from each gospel but I hope that I have given you a little more insight as to what makes me tick. I pray that you think of the verses you would pick if you were asked - hey consider yourself asked! I would love to do a lot of reading either here in my comment section or on your blog. What are your choices from the four calling birds? What do they sing to your heart?

PS Another feast day: The feast of Holy Innocence or the feast of the Holy Family today, maybe one feast for the first half of the day and one for the second half. Hug your children, hug other children, remember those who do not have a childhood because of the sinful world, pray for them. Luke 17:1-2 Jesus said to his disciples: "Things that cause people to sin are bound to come, but woe to that person through whom they come. It would be better for him to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around his neck than for him to cause one of these little ones to sin.

I knew I could get just one more favorite in today! Have a blessed day, a really truly blessed day, do not be sad, let your heart not be troubled, He who Is has us in His hand!

St. Lucia, Santa Lucia, Saint Lucy, However You Say It, It Means Great Buns!

Dear reader I pray that you are taking full advantage of this season. That you are breathing in deeply all that this time on the calendar can mean. Advent, waiting and preparing. Waiting and preparing for the feast day of Christmas, the Christmas season that the feast day ushers in, and the preparation of what all believers look forward to everyday, the return of Christ our King.

Today, Saturday, was St. Lucia Day

And this is our household's current St Lucia impersonator, Elisabet. Yes, she is wearing a crown of real ivy and a red ribbon, but we long ago dispensed with the artificial candles. Batteries, even double a's are heavy when you have to wear eight or so on your head. And the real candles, like the young women in Sweden used to wear? Lets just say I am not as brave as those moms were. I just want my coffee and rolls.

And Bet really did them up this year! She still made them in the traditional s shape with a raisin in the loops of the s. But when we bit into them we saw that they took some extra time and care. She had made a long skinny rectangle, spread a cardamom spice and sugar filling, rolled it up like a snake and then made the coil.

Maybe she will make them again, take pictures and put it on her blog.

St. Lucia was actually Christian martyr in Italy at the turn of the fourth century. Sweden became especially fond of her because of her connection to light and her feast day set on the longest night of the year (according to the unreformed Julian Calendar) good ol' Wikipedia has a good article on her. But you should search around for some more sites that can tell you about Scandinavia's celebration of her witness, there is a lovely tradition surrounding her feast day.

Our oldest daughter, Stephanie started us off with this tradition nearly twenty years ago, then she became a bride and Michelle took over 'til she became a bride and now it has been Bet's turn to be our St. Lucia.

Some years the girls really got into it, wearing the candle crown (fake candles) and a white flannel gown tied with a red sash. But no matter if our girls came wearing a crown or just managed the food part, my husband and I have always been treated to homemade St. Lucia buns, and breakfast in bed on or near December thirteenth.

We like the freedom to fudge around with specific dates. I learned early on that having a tight adherence to such things is dangerous, for a multitude of reasons. So if we woke up on the, gasp, fourteenth of December, only to remember too late (buns take a little forethought, so does helping new cooks in the kitchen without being in there), it was much better to say that it didn't matter and we would do it the next morning. I wasn't always so relaxed, remember I did say, I learned.

Then we really got a bright idea, to make St. Lucia day, for us, on a Saturday or Sunday morning or the first day of Dirt's vacation. Last year his vacation began on December fourteenth (that was pretty close) and this year December thirteenth fell on a Saturday, how groovy is that!

I wish I had known earlier in my motherhood that the "correct" day mattered little but the correct spirit was all that really mattered. For some the correct day may not be hard to pull off but for me it was difficult, heck it is still difficult, lets remember who was planting her tulips two months late just this year.

Today began on a terrific note, stayed there all day, and ended on a terrific note, snow was falling, the tv was off and we had a lovely cozy evening, satisfied we had accomplished all we needed to outside today!

I think everyday should be St. Lucia's Day!!!

Having A Happy...

Thanksgiving Day proper was the best.

I spent the day taking care of some two hundred seventy-five gladiola corms, my canna tubers, and my dahlia tubers, they all got separated, cleaned up and packed in sawdust. My begonias weren't ready yet, still very damp and then I went to my pile of strawberry plants, separated and cleaned two hundred of those and my pile isn't even dented. But I felt very accomplished.

As did Elisabet. She made our entire Thanksgiving dinner, the turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, homemade cinnamon bread and green salad. Wow!

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Not to mention she butchered the turkey the day before. Her dad did the deed while she held the wings and he walked her through the process but she pretty much did it all.

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This morning Dirt rousted us all out of bed, thankfully he waited till sevenish, so we could do the day after Thanksgiving shopping thing (his choice mind you!). SunBirds in Yelm had a great deal on Romeos so now Dirt and I match. Southhill Freddy's of course has the half price sox thing and we picked up icicle light for our house and Michelle's. Then off to McLendon's for LED colored lights to replace our big C9s. I also picked up a string of lights to replace the rope lights that died in my kitchen display case.

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We were home by elevenish so the lights went up while I made homemade mayonnaise, and deviled turkey sandwiches. Man, they were yummy. I used the rest of Bet's cinnamon bread and made bread pudding. What an excellent day.

Off to the gathering in town. See you soon dear reader hope your weekend is sensational. Looking forward to tomorrow and especially Sunday!

The Dash

Couldn't sleep, so I came out to look up things about Wyoming. When I got too dizzy from the elevation there I went to see if there was anything new to read on my Google Reader. Cliff Morrow, a Nebraska farmer (a real farmer), had a post about tractor repairs. A girl like me can't resist talk about tractor repairs so I went to his blog to read it. (I don't like reading things straight off of Google Reader) I decided to read some of his other posts that I may have missed on my stint of Life Without Laptop. He had a post asking his reader to read an old-post of his, then to visit the fellow-blogger that the post was about. So I did. It's all good so I hope you do the same.

But if you only have a few minutes go see-this. I don't usually do sappy but please go here, it is pleasant music and the pictures are beautiful and the words, food for thought.

Now I will tell you, Dale lived a great dash. We, my family, only saw about a third of his dash first hand but what we saw we admired. We took the time to see beyond the first impressions and we liked what we saw, so we stuck around to see more and we were never disappointed.

Earlier this week I heard of a family that chose not to look beyond the first impression. They missed out. They missed out on having their son learn some good lessons. Yes, the poor dear boy may have had to suffer some rough language but the man's heart was unbeatable. But that was the hard thing, you had to be quiet and watch carefully or you would miss it. Not because it wasn't there but because Dale didn't make a big deal about it.

Dirt read some Scripture tonight at gathering that reminded him of how Dale lived his faith. Verses that talked about working and not taking but also talked of giving and giving quietly so you didn't get noticed for your giving. Dirt read out of Romans, Ephesians and Thessalonians. They were good verses, good reminders of how to be, and good reminders that Dale most certainly knew his Lord, it wasn't just something he said.

Tomorrow stories will abound about how much Dale gave. Gave of his resources, money yes, but even more than that: contacts and his talents, time and effort, equipment and real estate. Encouragement came with all of it. His giving always seemed to be dressed in encouragement. He may have been gruff, short tempered, challenging and opinionated, but once he knew that you meant what you were after he encouraged you. Even if it wasn't really his cup of tea.

The next time you engage in weighing out your life or that of another brother's, take the time to look beyond the surface, open the book a little farther, wait a little while to make sure that you see what you think you see. When we do that we may find that what appears to be all good and sweet, isn't, and what appears to be all rough and crass isn't all that either.

I'd go ahead and cut loose with a few more bad words myself, if I could live as generous a life as that of my friend.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

I love fall storms. Or storms any time of the year actually. The only bummer is that fall storms hastens leaf fall, and it won't be very kind to the rest of my chrysanthemums either. But I still love the sound and the wild sky.

My chrysanthemum blooms never get as big as they should because I just can't bring my self to do the disbudding that makes for big blooms. These are called Prom King and have become some of my favorites. Next year I'll buck up and disbud and then I will begin to wear big fall corsages where ever I go. I'll pin it to my wool coat then put on my pill box hat and slip my hands in my dress gloves. You know, the glove thing isn't all that silly, well neither are hats that slow heat escaping from your head and of course the attributes of wool coats are as obvious, but the dress glove has been wrongly tossed aside. It is not just an unnecessary frill of days gone by. Think of all the germs you would not come in contact with if you pushed a grocery cart with gloved hands.

In the summer when the rambling rose that twines itself through the blue spruce blooms, the blue of the spruce comes alive. I always forget that the fall colors against the spruce make an equally stunning contrast. I am very glad that I have a few more years to watch the seasons change here at the farm. Thankful that I have a few more years to drink in the delights and beauty that surrounds me here.

Sunday was a very hard day for me. I worked through giving up all the concern over the uncertainty in our lives amid the grief over loosing an important person in our lives. Over and over I told God that I trusted Him, over and over I prayed that the Holy Spirit would speak to Dirt and we would know what we were to do.

You see dear reader, we only rent this beautiful farm and funky little farmhouse. Dirt and I have always known that God would ask us some day to leave here and go to a new place. I knew it was good that we merely rented because I could not imagine leaving a place that we owned and do God's bidding elsewhere. But when we found out about Dale's accidental death I was not ready, Dirt is not able to retire from teaching and relocate, two more girls still to finish growing up on the farm. I had a hard time on Sunday when it was presented to us that Dale's family was most likely going to take Dale's wife, their mom, to live with them a few miles away.

Sunday afternoon my head swirled with speculations and struggles and some anger. Anger at feeling as if my time to grieve had been stolen from me. With much prayer for release from concern and disappointment, with purposed thoughts of thankfulness for what we have already been given, and acknowledgement of my security in the hands of God alone, I was able to go to bed content. Not resigned, but truly content and peacefilled.

I was able to whisper to my husband that I trusted God, and that I trusted that the Holy Spirit would speak to him and he would know what we were to do and where we would go. I woke up in the morning with the same contentment and peace. It stayed with me all during the day. As my husband and I made a quick trip to the little town down the road, I was able to honestly tell him that I was okay, and looking forward to the new turn in our adventure together. I could see that our possibilities were endless and would be exciting and good.

We came home to a nice evening, boysenberry pie for the ice cream Dirt and I went after and news that our dear Norine was going to stay in the home that she and Dale built together twenty-two years ago, twenty-two of their fifty years together. That was Monday.

And now it is Thursday. My back, shoulders and arms hurt like when I had my Transverse Myelitis attack, I feel dopey and I'm tired of crying at the oddest of times. I didn't have anything to do today but be on the phone for two and a half hours with HP about my computer. What a mistake. I didn't exercise, I didn't work outside, barely walked outside. I've been sleeping a lot since Tuesday. The storm today is very fitting, it fits with how I feel. But I really do enjoy the rain and the storm.

It's like I have a complaint to register but I have no one to register it with. But I will feel better tomorrow and I'll tell you a funny story about being dyslexic or old or both.

Things Just Don't Feel Right

My computer is home, but it doesn't feel right and there is a lot of work to do to put things back on that are missing, spent tonight just on the whole e-mail thing. I loaded up my One Note but decided setting up my notebooks needed to be another day.

Along with all the work of restoring my computer to the best of my not-backed-up ability is the irritation of my num lock on my ten key section effecting my key board. Dirt says I have to call the fix it people. But I sure as heck don't want to send it off again.

The computer isn't doing much for keeping my mind busy, neither is my morning work out with Terry or ferocious gardening. I would think that after being without my own parents, my dad for twenty-seven years and my mom for fourteen, having lost a step-mother-in-law, grandfathers and grandmothers and others, that I would be used to this death thing. I thought that my faith in God, in Christ and His saving grace and victory over death and knowledge that Dale also believed, would lessen this pain I feel. Part of my pain is personal, I miss him, I find myself crying often. A larger part of the pain is watching my girls grieve, all four, but mostly the two that are still at home.

In spite of the beautiful colors, the rain, and Norine, Dale's wife, staying here in her home at the farm, things just don't feel right.

Saying Good Bye

Dirt and I first met Dale Tibbits twenty-three years ago, July, 1985, when we answered an ad for farmland for rent.Twenty-three years is a long time.Many stories, many influential moments. Understandings, tender times, frustrations, misunderstandings, are bound together, so tightly wound around each another that they cannot be separated, one from the other, because it is love that binds them here.Twenty-three years is also incredibly short, too short.

Not Enough Words

Perhaps not enough words or maybe not the right words, exists to explain what is in my heart and on my mind.



Last Friday, Norine, our landlady and next door neighbor called with very distressing news. She said that she had just received a call from a sheriff in Montana that Dale, her husband, had been missing since two-thirty the day before.



I continued what I was doing in disbelief, hoping that the idea that it was a hoax would be found by her son. But there was a tug on my heart and I thought of the night before when Dirt could not sleep and was up out of bed wandering around most of the night.



We stood helplessly by as we watched Dale's wife and children be tortured with not knowing, wondering where he was, what happened. Saturday my daughter came across the yard with the news. Dale was gone. An ATV accident while hunting in Montana.



Dear reader I cannot express to you how my heart is terribly heavy with selfish desires that this last weekend would disappear from the records of time. I know that Dale was not alone when he fell down into the ravine where they found his body. I know that he is where he longed to be, where those who have faith in the saving grace of Christ Jesus all long to be. So it is my selfishness that desires that Dale would have had more time on earth, with us, his wife, his children, grandchildren, my children, my husband and myself.

It is my selfishness that yearns to hear him shout for his dogs, to ride up to our house on his ATV, to call Dirt away from the house to help him fix a tractor or some electronic gadget, to call and ask for my daughters to work for him. It is my selfishness that begs for people to stay where they are, to not change, to not loose the friends I have, the people in my life.

A Belated Post

It was quite possibly the Lutefiskiest time we have had so far. Last year the groaning board groaned a little harder than it did this year. For some reason we just couldn't get to all the geletiny things that Bet and I did last year. And I believe that I had more pickley things and of course the korv was missing this time.

Mike said that the food was more normal. Which I must reply to by saying that there was plenty of normal food last year he must have just been to frightened of all the other things to see it. Or, as the years go by this stuff gets more and more normal

We are sorry that some of our friends could not make it for a little giggly jiggly fish and yummy things.

But we are very glad that some friends took us up on our bloggy invitation and a chance to get in touch with their heritage!

The Vick family looks forward to this time of year, a time to highlight our Scandinavian heritage. How ever it turns out.

No cider was pressed and no canoes were converted to Viking boats, but in good Viking pillage and plunder manner many of the celebrants went out and shot up a lot of ammo and killed a few plastic bottles.

No on with the rest of the season!

Tag? I'm It? Family Secrets? Not No More!

Kathy tagged me and I believe that I am to tell five things you do not know about me. Which could be very different from telling five things you might not know which then could be an extremely short list - five things to be exact. But I am going with the first interpretation only cause I am feeling very writy.

Since I am writing to such a mixed crowd of people, some have known me for over eighteen years, some have only known me here for months or weeks, and some somewhere in between, I am just gonna let 'er rip. When you have discovered your five things you didn't know about me you can be done. (There may be things on this list that you knew but did you know I knew, and isn't that the point of getting to know someone? There are things you may even have guessed about me but did you know them for sure?)

When I am done I will not be tagging anyone else 'cause I doubt I have five people who read this who have not already been tagged by this whole thing but if you feel like playing along and you haven't been tagged then by all means "tag, your next" .

I love and worship one God; the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. I have loved him ever since I can remember. When I was just a little first grader and experienced my first Lenten season of being in Mass everyday and every Friday going through the Stations of the Cross I marveling at what Christ had done. I felt so close to him. I loved to gaze upon the pictures and crucifix that depicted His love for me, for man. And I was amazed, every day amazed. I know that I became a Christian sometime before that point in my history.

I really enjoy living on a farm not to far from where I grew up. I don't even mind that we have only rented and that we have no "family" home to pass down. Who knows, Dale, our landlord and his wife Norrine, could possibly die tomorrow and we would be without a house for ourselves or our animals. But that is really okay with Dirt and I, we are confident that God will have something in store for us that we cannot even imagine.

While I do not have a conversion "experience" that I can recall there were times in my life when I wished I could fake a new one so that I could have one to talk about but most of all so that I would not feel so crushingly horrible about my hideous rebellion toward the God I loved and desired to follow ever since I could remember.

I spell like a frog on acid. That's wierd doncha think. Oh wait, that word is "wierd" because it really is weird, even though the w is not a c, nor is the ie pronounced as "a" as in "neighbor and weigh" But I have no excuse for stolve, or most of the zillion other words I cannot seem to bring myself to spell correctly.

I am forever thankful that God's mercy and grace extended to me as a believer even after I committed every possible sin, most of them many times over, in just five years between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one. I was a murderer, a cheat, a marriage ruin-er, a liar, a God deny-er, a fornicator, a parent dishonor-er, an idol worshipper, a thief. And not in a sermon-on-the-mount sorta way but in a ten commandments sorta way, but God had reconciled me to Him, not just positionally, eternally, but here on earth yesterday and today. I may stumble but I know longer wallow in filth and vomit.

I like apple pie, I didn't as a child, but I do now. I also really enjoy mincemeat (lots of whip), pecan (warm, lots of whip), cherry (warm with ice cream), any berry especially huckleberry on Thanksgiving, pumpkin (lots of whip), sour cream raisin, lemon meringue. I like to make banana and coconut cream and I'll eat them, but not excitedly.

Here is something else you may not know, about me. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that no one is un-redeemable, and it is heinous for any Christian to believe that any unbeliever or screwed-up-believer is beyond God's loving hand. I trust my God and I know my God can do anything, absolutely anything He chooses to do. But for any one of us to write someone off, to give up on someone, to say we have said enough, prayed enough, waited for long enough, been in pain over for far too long, think that they are beyond the touch of God, then betcha by golly wow we better be darn glad God does not think the same of us.

I really, really like commas; and semi colons are just too cute not to use a few each day!

I love my husband with the love God instilled in me to have for Dirt. I love my sons and daughters with the very same love from God.

My mother, bless her constantly-challenged-but-now-resting-with-God heart, was an English teacher who could write in Latin (of course there was no one in my world who could verify that what she wrote was correct but I believed her). She was awesome and very sought after for her talents as a teacher, a teacher of teachers in a field that she co-authored and later as a story teller. She would be bursting at the seams over this year's election, and busting with pride that finally her daughter was voting the right way (but still sad that I have not yet grasped the art of spelling or the capability of writing a decent, readable sentence)

We only have eight cats at the moment.

I dislike the phrase "in-law". God knit first Eric and then Mike and someday, God willing, two more men into Dirt's and my heart as if they were our very own sons. So how can I call them "in-law" when it is hardly the "law" that put them in my heart? Aside from my feelings even is the fact that God made Eric one with Steph and Mike one with Michelle, when I love one I love the other, the two can not be separated ever. I do however understand that I am very weird and no one understands when I say I have two married daughters but no sons-in-law.

We have nine dogs and it is the first time on this farm that the dogs out number the cats.

I suspect that my father would be busting out of himself over this election. He would have been wild over both McCain and Palin. I could almost hear him cheering with me as I listened to both speeches.

Mis-spellings are not the same as mis-typings where my fingers forget who they are and think they are a different finger or one of my "clever" fingers rushes ahead of one of my slower fingers. As clever as those fingers think they are it is interesting that they make the same mistake of arrogant impetuousness over and over again. (You may not have know that I think of my fingers as nearly separate entities, you may have guessed or you may not be surprised but did you know?)

My father owned four small businesses and was a consultant to others by the time cancer made him stop doing everything including living here on earth. During his life people often said that he reminded them of John Wayne, which always pleased my dad as he enjoyed the comparison. He was a hard working man, who never asked of his few employees what he wasn't willing to do himself. He had huge permanently stained hands, hands I thought all real dads had. He wore jeans that he cuffed.

I had a blue room as a girl, when I wasn't being shoved off to the sister in the yellow room. But when they had both left for college I resided in the blue room. Which I loved until our house was burglarized and the look out creep stubbed out a cigarette on my head board and one of the creeps defecated on the floor of the yellow bedroom.

I don't believe the death penalty should be used in any circumstance, in spite of how I feel at the moment of hearing about some horrific crime, see the statement above where I say that there is no one un-redeemable, and perhaps you'll understand why, but then maybe those two are totally disconnected for you, that's okay.

I have three brothers and two sisters. Did I mention we were a Catholic family? Just seven kids shy of a visit from the bishop or cardinal I can't remember which. Most of us married, all of us have children. I was the youngest but the first grandmother among my siblings. Their children were all waiting to finish college and save enough for elaborate honey-moons. Did I mention we once were a Catholic family?

I like horses, especially their fragrance. I like gardening and flowers for those fragrances too.

My mom's yard was featured in Sunset Magazine. My father hand dug most of our Christmas trees which he later planted in the yard. Not to mention all the "green" deer he came home with from hunting trips, no need to skin those "deer" just plant them. So my folks' house and yard got the write up but my dad had already passed by then. But I guess for him and where he is that was really small potatoes.

In some of my past gardens I have even grown my own dried beans. Did I mention that I live in the Pacific Northwest, the wetside? (pat of the back please)

My eyes are hazel, my hair used to be blonde then it went dark and now it is grey, not dyed. I'm 5'6.5" I have big feet and even larger hands.

My mom is from North Dakota and my dad from Okanogan County.

I scream when I unexpectedly see mice, although I don't hold my scream for as long as I used to, which used to be about five minutes (maybe they could die by being screamed at). Mind you I am not afraid of them and would even play and hold them (if I was sure they didn't have rabies (I read Ol Yeller)).

My folks were very aware of the hardships of the Depression. My mom witnessed first hand how finances destroyed the people she loved. She and my father worked very hard to ensure that that would never happen in their own family.

Dirt, my husband, has had his nickname ever since he was little. It has to do with being a catcher and the dirt sliding down his face from putting the catchers mask back on and then it stuck because of signs that would say: "fill dirt wanted" (Phil pronounced fill, get it?) But I like the signs that say: "Clean fill wanted." He works in aviation mechanics (he teaches it) and consequently always smells like my least favorite fragrance - fuel. Did I mention that one of my father's businesses was a service station (ask your dad what those are) and a fuel oil delivery service. Loved the dad, loved the station and the trucks, hated the smell.

I am really pretty cranky (a nice polite term) that we de-regulate the banking industry under the guise that everyone should own their own home, 'home ownership after all is what make this country strong' (gag) and now we are bailing people out right and left and the final straw for this camel, we, the government, are taking over the main idiots in all this - oh wait, no, the main idiots are the bright boys who deregulated the banking industry, gee golly who are they related too. So much for that "small government" promise eh? Small where you want to be small. Oh, but lets not call this welfare! Okay I'm done (for now).

I have eaten Lutefisk. And I am still alive.

My grandma worked for Scoop Jackson. This same grandmother was raised in a soddy in South Dakota before her family permanently settled in the Okanogan Valley.

I have told my daughters that if they have a problem with their spouse they may come over for a cuppa sumpin, a Kleenex or two and then I will send them back before the sun goes down because God hates divorce and to rip a body in two is a very violent thing indeed. And woe to the man, or woman, who for what ever earthly reason willingly, knowingly participates in such violence.

We had a daylight basement, on the back side of our house the basement was half exposed. There was an exterior door from the basement on that side of the house and my folks always referred to the walled in area that served as the entryway as a bilcoe or maybe bilcole. But as usually I can not find that term anywhere in the universe. My folks had a lot of names for things no one else had.

I believe that it is possible (but not probable) for the spirit of a dead person to "visit" you, but that it is entirely wrong, wrong, wrong for a live person to "bug" a dead person.

I am positive that my father planted barberry bushes outside my brother's windows for a reason other than landscape effect. He should have planted them all around the house, and in my brothers' car and at my school and…..

What we call intuition God calls discernment and it is a gift He gives to us. To bad we don't listen better to it.

One more "political" thing, Sarah Palin will not be a "role model" for my daughters, there are very few women who are, unless they are mostly at home with their children, single and working selfishlessly for the Lord or abandoned single moms working and fighting for their children in a cold hearted world. So I have some friends who my daughters are pointed to and people like Mother Theresa or some saints in the past (catholic concept here but not necessarily canonized). People in politics rarely ever move to "role model" in my brain. But that doesn't mean I won't vote for them, even vote enthusiastically. Unfortunately for my children their very own mother doesn't constitute as a role model for them. They darn well better do a darn better job than I have, even recently. Even non-role models can do things for us and teach us things.

Dirt is on vacation and so I have one more hindrance to getting things done.

I am verbose but then that is obvious by the time you got here. So on that note I end.

Kathy I hope you learned five knew things - it is hard to do for someone I have known for almost twenty years.

Okay, I'm Finally Sitting Down, Are You?

I really do not know where to begin. I have spent a great deal of time reading many blogs, catching up with "home".

This camping trip was a very good one, the best yet. In spite of rain, snow while picking huckleberries and tears on the mountainside while I thought of my parents.

I miss my folks a great deal.

My daughter, Michelle, and her friend Jenn made my mom's favorite camp dish, Noodle Medley. It made me think of my mom more than ususal. She was a trooper, always willing to go camping with my dad, crammed in a tiny trailer with her six children and at least two of their friends. She was a great cook in the trailer or over a camp fire. She dug clams, fished, hiked and kept a very tidy camp. One favorite memory was when we hiked up out of Salmon La Sac and she read "How Green Was My Valley" at each rest spot. I love that novel which caused the movie to become one of my favorites and a large piece of Dirt's and my parenting choices.

My mom was very pretty and always well dressed and made up, but she was willing to get grungy (in a very tidy way, like she was a movie star) and work hard. She helped my dad do much of the physical work around the house that they built together and I grew up in. She was my dad's bookkeeper for his business and that was hard on them both. She was a saver, she even saved leftovers that we so small that they went in with other leftovers to make it worth it to keep. A hold over from her childhood spent in the depression, I am sure but it was also an admirable trait for a wife of a self employed man. Along with her willingness to turn her husbands collars around to extend the life of his shirts, split sheets down the middle and sew them up when they were worn in some places but not in others, all those things she would do to stretch those dollars. Even when they could begin to afford not to.

She is a hard act to follow in many respects and I cherish the things she taught me. I tease about her lack of color in her decorating but her life was certainly colorful, and yes, there were plenty of things we didn't see eye to eye on but man I wish I had some more of that time back that we had. But God had other plans and I trust Him.

Sunday Drive

I remember Sunday drives. Some of the time we would still be in our church clothes, although us girls could take our hats and gloves off. If Dad had a long drive planned, we would go home first and change. In the early years that was an easy do because we were only blocks from our church.

It was fun to sight see with my parents because Mom always knew or wanted to know about everything and Dad just wanted to have fun and tell stories, lots of stories. His stories were about people he knew, Mom's stories were about people she would like to have known (historical characters). So I always got the best of both worlds.

Dad was also always good for treats. Mom never objected, but rarely did she ever suggest and the children were never allowed to beg and quite frankly what we might deem now-a-days as just asking, in my folks' book it was begging.


Things are so different for my children. We "church" on Fridays and other random days of the week with just a few people in their or our homes, dress normally, eat a whole meal and drink wine as our communion and never know when we will be ending the afternoon or evening (for that matter we are not real precise about the starting time either). Church for us is not an event on a certain day at a certain time and it is definitely not a place. It is a who. And we are the who and we are who we are all the time.

With gas at four bucks a gallon you would have to be a nut to drive all day for nothing. Every time we get in a car it is for a purpose and if it is over twenty miles or so it better have several purposes. Sight seeing is an extra thrown in.

But then again things aren't so terribly different, my girls have a daddy who loves to buy treats. It appears that he doesn't, but I sure wouldn't have hit McDonald's this morning for breakfast, whether I was fasting or not (see Good Start) And never in a million years would I ever buy the full meal for each person. If we, the girls and I, ever do stop at McDonald's or Jack in the Box or the like, we get one, maybe two items off the dollar menu and water. So they knew full well they were being treated this morning.

So why were we out this morning bright and early, so early we were at Cabela's an hour before they open? Because Anna bought fifteen quail from nice folks out on the peninsula who offered to bring them down to Cabela's this morning.

And the concept of multi purpose tripping? Well, Phil had a knife sharpener to return and a new one to buy; the girls have never been to Cabela's and have been waiting since it opened for their lame-o parents to take them; and Costco is right across the freeway. So I figure our mileage was well accounted for today.

I know that my girls will cherish the trip to Hawk's Prairie today. It was very full of: new accomplishments, valley quail and Cabela's; silly times, taking a picture of the moose, change shooting at us from a vending machine; important things, identifying road signs for future driving tests and remembering that flavored-no-calorie water usually has Splenda in it.


So no, it isn't flowers in the Puyallup Valley while dressed in crinoline and getting the elastic chin strap snapped by your brother, but it was memorable. Our memorables.

Yee Hah!

Hi

We're here at the Roy Rodeo.






They hold two a year

Memorial Day
and Labor Day




The Lariat's get us started
With lots of flags, princesses
from other rodeos
and the National Anthem

We're introduced to the
pick up guys.
Wonder if their wives like
them being called that?





My favorite was the
Buckskin of course.

Ain't 'e pretty?







The bareback riders are like
the quintessential rodeo
contest.

I feel like I'm in Wyoming.



Some steer wrestling.
Anybody else think it looks
like they are steering the steers?






Calf roping










Calf not roping.








Whoa, doggy.







Reeling 'em in.









Saddle bronc,
much like bareback
sends me to
Wyoming





If you squint
it can be 1920

A lesson on

teamsters

and a greatgrandfather
who drove the

stage at Nighthawk

The clown and his little

sidekick were so
cute!

The bull riding.

It's what Bet
came for.

Except for one,
the bulls won the
day.







See ya later!

Smell That

These all smelled delicious. I wanted to bury my face in them and not leave.








The images that the perfume of lilacs spring back to me are precious scenes of walking with armloads of lilacs to my school to place around the statue of Mary. Very fond memories, very inspiring times.

I know for most people icons are a bugger to get around in their brain, but I am a very visual person they propelled me to contemplate those in the great cloud of witness. I didn't have a problem with confusing the statue as anything more that a reminder of those we should remember daily.


I did not revere the statue, the statue brought clearly to mind those I do revere. Much as the cross or the crucifix brought clearly to mind to whom I owed my salvation and the God I was to worship all the days of my life

Not too much different in my book than family photos of grandpa and grandma and all the greats in the family that have gone before.

Call it a crutch if you will or worse an idol but then think of the photos that you show to your children of great Aunt Etty when you tell them what a wonderful strong christian she was, do your children think the picture is Aunt Etty?

Just saying that, before you cream a group of people for their ways please slow down and really look at what may or may not be going on. Is it really against the people we are called to be? And try not to throw the baby out with the bath water because someone in your past did have a confusion on the matter.

Peace LA