If These Little Vampires Carry Disease . . . We Are in Big Trouble

I rarely ever have the covers on when I’m asleep – regardless of the season.  Roland is the opposite.  He is usually all bundled up.  When I see him without blankets, I know it is hot.

The weather on Friday was so awesome!  It looked like summer outside, but it felt like fall. 

            The grass is dry.  Our grass is always dry.  I worry about it each year there have been fires, and spend more time trying to douse our lawn with moisture.

            I recall going camping when I was younger.  The weather in the mountains is a lot cooler than the city. I remember one year when we went with the neighbors across the street.  Their youngest boy was less than a year.  The mosquitoes would attack him along with my brother Patrick, has always had delicious blood.  The center contacts him every other month to come donate.  He can donate to babies.  That kind of blood is rare.

          Off used to have a commercial in which ordinary people would put their hands in a mosquito filled container to retrieve money – and if the subject was bit he or she would supposedly get to keep the money.  I always felt like Patrick should be a contestant and rake in a fortune – but than he’d probably just end up spending on medical bills to get rid of the damage the mosquitoes left him with.

            Mosquitoes used to come from miles around to feast on Patrick’s blood.  He could use and entire can of repellant and I could stand next to him without protection and the mosquitoes would always go after him.  Mosquitoes were willing to sacrifice the horrid taste and damage of the repellant just to get to Patrick’s blood.  
 

            One year we went on a family outing, and though the showers were not incredibly far from the cabin, Patrick would be covered with mosquitos when he returned.  It almost looked like moving hair.  His comment was, “Oh, just what I want to do – shower off with water and then bathe in repellant before I return.”

            Lately the animals have been feasting on my left arm, hand and fingers – as if it has been the only part of me that they’ve had access to.  Though my bites are minimal compared to Jenna.  I don’t remember having all these mosquitoes flying in and attacking us last year.  And why aren’t they going after Roland?  His blood is the kind that can be donated to babies, too.

I might get a phone call once or twice a year asking me to donate.  I know that they are desperate when I get called. My blood is put on the shelf with a note: use only when there is no other alternative.  I always believed that if mosquitoes went after my blood, that they would die.  I hope they all do.  I am so tired of the itch that makes me feel like I slept with fiberglass.  Get rid of these pesky mosquitos.  I bet that’s how plants feel about weeds and birds.

Another Book Review: Charlotte’s Rose

 

“Charlotte’s Rose” is written by A.E. Cannon – who’s evidently written a few children’s books. Charlotte’s Rose is a historical fiction and can be found in the juvenile fiction.

It is told in first person through the eyes of a girl named Charlotte Edwards who has left Wales to travel across the plains of the US territory with her father in order to end up in Ogden, Utah.  They take a boat from Europe to Boston and a train from Boston to Iowa city where they are given handcarts and a weight limit on all possessions.

Charlotte goes from being a girl to becoming a woman – not necessarily just physical change but in Spiritual and emotional growth as she travels across the plains with a newborn she didn’t realize would be so much work.  She learns about compassion, community and sacrifice. 

At the end of the book there is the author’s note and references. What impressed me the most is that so many of the facts are true. 

I also like the 15 questions that follow the author’s note.  They are pitched to the reader and remind me quite a bit of the questions that Jenna and I ask one another as we pull out questions from the Ungame or journal jars which I mention here and here.

I wish Jenna had been more interested in this book – and one day she will. 

You’ve got to be kidding me

I had once heard a commentary that if you kill a spider, at least three more will show up for its funeral.  My husband said that isn’t true.  But it sounds accurate to me.

I went out to the garden on Tuesday.  I weeded so much of it.  I can actually tell the grass blades from the onions now.  But it’s not the naughty grass blades or even the net from this post that now give me trouble.  It’s the blasted pigweed that I wrote about in this post over a year ago.  

 

It’s back – right after I got rid of it – I couldn’t believe the growth that had taken place overnight.  I kid you not.  It had completely grown back (and then some) overnight and I have come up with even more uncouth descriptions of the pigweed that seems to live up to my first paragraph – only a pigweed instead of a spider with over 500 funeral attenders.  Give me a break. 

At first I did not realize that it was pig weed as I have never seen it quite that small before.  It’s easy to pull – but still.  Is that really how I want to spend my summer?  Pulling roots every single day?  The answer is NO – as previously mentioned, I don’t even want to be outside if it’s over 72 degrees out.

The first pigweed came up in the row of beets.  Excitedly I wondered if it was a beet and had gone to the computer in search of images that might show leaves of newly sprouted beets or pigweed.  Turned out to be the latter.  I found this picture among my search.

Perhaps I should it as it can be grown without my even trying.  For step by step instructions at click here.

Oh, how I wish our produce would grow like pigweed!  How amazing that would be to pull one tomato from the vine only to have ten more hanging there the following day, and then 80 and 400.  We’d only have to plant one of each plant and still have plenty because it would be growing rapidly as pigweed and we actually might not be able to keep up with it.  But there would be plenty to share with the neighbors who are in condos and do not have land for their own gardens.

Wednesdays are for Sleeping In . . . zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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Nearly every morning Roland gets up at 5:30.  More than not I’ll get up at that time too (provided I’m not already up – due to not being able to sleep in my room) as he needs to be to work by 7:00 (or at least it is the time he chose to be there) but does need to be to work on Wednesdays until 11:00.

On Saturday we usually go to the Church to clean.  We try to be there by 8:00 (at least for this month) and then we have the garden at 9:00 (which changes to 8:00 next month – but I think it should already be at 8:00 and then changed to 7:00) and on Sunday he’s got meetings which generally  start at 7:00 or 7:30. 

Roland’s usually up by 5:30  regardless.  But I like to stay in bed as long as possible – especially when I haven’t slept well the night before.

I didn’t seem to have any troubles whatsoever when Jenna and I were watching one of her TV programs yesterday.  After missing practically the entire program (one I hadn’t already seen forty times in the last three years) I finally told her that I was going to lay down. 

Of course by the time I got all the way to my room from the couch (less than twenty steps from couch to bed; I checked) I couldn’t get comfortable and so did not sleep in my bed yesterday but seemed to do okay on the couch (sitting up position nonetheless)

Roland doesn’t get off until 8:00 and so whenever I picked Jenna up from school on Wednesdays, we would wander – never in a hurry to get home (not that I’m ever in a hurry;  I’m pretty tired of our house and neighborhood and the number of cars that make an appearance across the street.  Biff told me he witnessed a drug bust the other night.

I have perspired so much that I’m forced to wash loads every other day.  Thank goodness I have a clothes line or my bills would be more costly than they already are.   I still dry the towels in the dryer though. The texture of sandpaper does not appeal to my wet skin.  But I like what the sun does to my whites.

I am saddened for those who have lost their homes in Colorado and pray for them.  Damn elements!

Well, I Don’t Want to be His Facebook Friend

I have been getting a few friend requests from people I don’t know.  Initially when I joined the names of your friends and their friends and perhaps even your friend’s friend’s friends, and I had the option of requesting friendship – but as facebook has been changed so many  times, perhaps the request just comes automatically?

     I know only one person in Thailand and had received a request from another.  So I asked my son: Who is she.  He said he did not know her.  Why would someone from Thailand put in a request with a total stranger in the US?  I did not accept the friend request.  I checked the box that facebook provided.

     I smile when I hear others comment about requests that they’ve received.  It’s actually nice to create pages for groups such as the ward or neighborhood watch or school, etc.  Sometimes it’s nice to be informed of activities that are going on or news updates or what have you.  But sometimes – even though that person may be informative – there are certain individuals that you don’t want to friend.

     I smile when I think about a former neighbor who had such a problem with someone in the ward:  “Why is he sending this friend request to me? What would [husband] think?  I don’t want to be Mr. Information’s friend!”

     I laughed.

     “I’m already facebook friends with him”

     I don’t know why, but facebook gave me five friends to start out with.  My brother said that was unusual.  And neither one of us can explain why the five names came up that did. I knew all five of them.  But (no offense to them) there was only one that I had a close relationship to.  I would have actually picked five other people if I had been given the choice)

     There are names that have been added to my list throughout the years – and some that have been unfriended. Mostly by accident – I am great at hitting the wrong button.  Some that weren’t posting or commenting and so I didn’t know if they were still even on facebook.  And some who’s language I found offensive and just didn’t even care to read about them anymore.  And because either they defriended or facebook did.  (I lost about a dozen or so people during one of the facebook makeovers)

     Joining facebook is fun.  You feel a sense of pride with each name that is added.  You’re on it all the time!  It’s new.  It’s wonderful.  And some are diligent at signing on to facebook everyday – others may never sign off.  But after a while some are at a loss.  We check our facebook on occasion.  Look for updates or new photos.  But are generally in and out in less than twenty minutes.

     I considered dropping out a couple of times – but on the last attempt (when I thought I was serious) I really couldn’t figure out how to do it.  Just as well.

     My nephew-in-law had created a group for those of us who were looking in after mom.  To keep us all on the same page of what was going on.  We still use it, but not as often as we did before we moved her into assisted living. And my nephew-in-law has actually removed himself from the group.  Funny.

     Facebook has its perks.  I liked when we could message others without being friends – so we could explain who we are, how we know them, our purpose in messaging etc.  But facebook has taken that away.  Evidently there is an “other” box that non-friends can send their messages.  I have no clue where this box exists.  I would like to read my messages – I think.

A while back we could actually put the subject of our message so that the recipient would be able to let the title influence the decision of opening the message.  But now we get that stupid chat box pop up when sending messages. Often throws me off. I prefer the way it used to be.

Even though there are many who like what facebook has to offer and spend time using it to our advantage, it has also been poorly mismanaged by some who have left greatly offended by comments made and bashing.  You don’t get personal on facebook.  Maybe there’s some who can.  I choose not to. 

Outfits that Attract Grime

Magnetic Clothing – also known as Jinx, Cursed and Gremlin clothing: certain shirts, pairs of pants, blouses, dresses, etc. that attract food or dirt within less than ten minutes after being applied to one’s body.

  I don’t know that everybody has at least one article of magnetic clothing, but I know several people do.  I have possessed such articles since infancy, I would imagine.  Though I don’t actually remember any examples until my early teens: white cotton pants, comfortable to wear – attracted dirt like you wouldn’t believe.  If there were any spills, any marred areas that I may have brushed against, any food item within a ten mile radius – they would be attracted and adhere themselves (and I also believed multiplied in size) my white pants – until finally I was at the point of “Why bother?  Really?”

Today it is the army shirt that Tony and Rochelle had sent me for my birthday last year.  Our washing machine has seen it more than my body has.  I don’t think I’ve ever made it a full minute – until yesterday. I don’t how Tony and Rochelle would feel about my having made their thoughtful present into part of my garden attire.  But as it just seems to magnetize dirt anyway, I might as well just use it in the dirt.

Omigosh Mishaps in the Garden

    By no means am I a gardener.  Don’t know as I ever had the desire to be.  If I did, it was when I was younger.  Like grammar school younger.  And the sun didn’t seem to faze me as its heat wrapped itself around my body like an unwanted blanket – suffocating me.  I’d rather be indoors with the air conditioning and not pulling weeds in the garden.

    It seems the wind has blown some grass seed into our garden.  And the miracle grow is doing wonders on the grass and the beans and peppers.  But the grass is not a part of our garden and so I have been pulling up blades.  I can dig up the roots (well, some of them) if they are in the isle of the garden, but if they are sprouting in the same row as the plants (or some still seeds) they can’t be dug up as well.  

    Every day there are blades of grass.  Everyday I tug at the blades and dig and rake.  I am frustrated when they are still attached to the earth with roots so long they must reach to the center of the earth.  We need the plants to spread their roots.  How can they if the grass blades have such long roots?

    The pigweed pulls out easily.  When I am done pulling and tugging and digging, I will rake the area over.  It is then when I learn how well my digging has (or has not paid) I can tell the blades and weeds from the beans and peppers.  But I am still having a problem telling the onions apart from the grass blades.  So I know that I am not getting it all on that particular end of the garden.

      But the weeds are not my biggest obstacle.  I learned that fighting with the net has become my biggest challenge.  We put two up over the garden and one over the sad looking cantaloupe to keep the birds and dogs out.  Don’t know about the birds and the dog, but I’m thinking that if I trip over or rip the nets any further, they will keep me out.  Gardening is such an incredible pain.  May our produce be worth it.

Another Story by Jenna

Her last day of school was Thursday.  But yesterday she wanted to PLAY school - with real tests and real homework.  She wrote a story about aliens eating her homework.  I like the story this story that I found.  She wrote it last year.

The Shoe and the Sock

By Jenna

One short evening sock and shoe met. 

Sock asked, “Are you shoe?”

Shoe said the same.

Sock said, “Why do I always have to smell you?  You smell!”

And shoe said, “Well you smell, too.”

“I do NOT!!” said sock, “You do.”

“No, you do.”

“Getting angry won’t help,” said sock

They decided to switch places. They said they would switch for a week. For a while they were living the life.

Sock had become more popular as no one had ever seen her as a shoe before

Shoe started becoming more popular as no one had ever seen a shoe worn under a sock before.

Then things started going wrong.  Sock started getting holes and shoe felt  uncomfortable with a sock covering him all the time.  And they just didn’t know what to do.

Just then pillow said, “Whatchya doin’?”

Shoe said, “Not much.”

Sock said, “Trying to figure out something.”

“Maybe I could help,” said Pillow. “I’ve seen you two trying to be each other and from what I can see neither one of you is happy about the switch.  Everything has a purpose. Sock, you’re a sock because we need our feet warm.”

“And that’s another thing, ” said Sock.  “Feet stink.”

Pillow continued, “Shoe, you’re a shoe because sock needs something to keep her warm. But more importantly you prevent sock from getting dirty and worn out so quickly”

“You are warm.” Sock admitted.

Pillow said, “The girl who sleeps on me is warm, too.  I like when she rests her head on me.”

Blanket said, “I would like the girl to rest her head on me.  Would you like to switch places?”

Pillow asked, “Have you not heard me explain to sock and shoe that everything has its purpose.  We are all designed to provide comfort to the girl.  Mine is for her to rest her head upon – or on occasion she has pressed me against her back and the wall.  Blanket, you provide warmth for her when she is cold.  You are much larger than me.  I could never cover her the way that you do.  Just as sock can never fully cover shoe.  It’s her purpose to keep the girl’s feet covered and protect her feet from direct contact with the shoe.” 

                                                                             jfralcd

It’s Okay if You Want to Celebrate her Birthday Twice This Month

          I’m not really sure why I was the privileged one put on the mailing list for Alpine Ridge.  Perhaps I had made the request – but it would have been over four months ago.

          I received a letter last month informing me that I would have the opportunity to meet with a director and nurse if I had any questions concerning mom.  I assumed that my three sibs would be getting the same letter.  They never did.

          And just the other day, I received a calendar schedule for this month – first one that has come in the mail since January when we took mom there to live.  Really?  I remember asking about them back in March – but I never received a hard copy of one.  I did find one on the web and have looked at it and will still refer to it as I sometimes misplace my hard copy – but I am still puzzled at why I would receive these things and not my sibs. Surely they have that information for my brothers.

          I may have given my address to the director back in December – before we had even moved mom in.  Though I don’t remember having provided them with it.  But still.  That was six months ago!

          Anyway, the calendar has my mom’s birthday marked on the calendar for yesterday – but really it isn’t until the end of this month. I mentioned it to the activities director – just in case there was a mix up on her paper work.  Right now I don’t guess it really matters much when her birthday is celebrated or if celebrated at all. 

          Last month mom told me that she decided she was 62.

          “Oh, you decided that?”

          “Yes.  That is how old I am”

          Great.  That means she gave birth to me when I was only eleven.

          Yesterday she informed me that she is 174.  That is the same age at Harold.

perhaps you could say it like you mean it . . .

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If the school should call while school is still in session, I’ll answer ASAP but if the school calls after school hours, I usually just let it ring until it goes to voice mail.  There have been a few times I’ve answered, but had wished I would have had the voice mail recording so that I could listen to the message again.  Usually it is either the principal or her secretary who leave the message.  Both have made announcements as though they mean it.  But yesterday I got the final message of this season. 

            The voice was less than enthusiastic.  Somewhat monotone and robotic sounding. It sounded like a school marm who had just been dismissed from teaching and at the last second had been asked, “Oh, could you do one final announcement before you go?” 

 

It also had the feel of a spliced recording made from the 60’s on one of those old reel-to-reels. These are the words of the message: “Vantana Elementary reminds parents that Thursday is the last day of school this year.  school will dismiss ay 1:05 tomorrow.  As a reminder if your child owes lunch money, please send it tomorrow.  We hope everybody has a fun and safe summer.”

            The voice seemed to say a different thing however.  “Vantana Elementary reminds parents that Thursday is the last day of the school year.  Wish it was the last day permanently.  The school will dismiss at 1:05 tomorrow – so be certain you pick up your little brats. As a reminder, if your child owes lunch money, please send it tomorrow – or preferably instead of the child.  We hope everybody has a fun and safe summer – I personally don’t care if they do or not.

            Yesterday there was a program and awards ceremony.  Every child in the third grade was given something. Jenna’s award was for best classroom helper.   She is sad to see the school year come to an end.  She’ll be entering the forth grade on August 21^st.  It doesn’t seem that far away – but I suppose the heat will add to how long it feels.

Reflecting on Horton and Pinky

As a child, I was pretty much on the gullible side – or perhaps just wanted so much to believe in the unreal that I tried to make it real.

I recall an Easter when my Aunt Alice purchased two white bunnies.  She gave the bunnies to the children of her two brothers.  Patrick and I called ours “Pinky” (though Patrick himself most likely didn’t have anything to do with the naming; it sounds like I came up with the name and forced him to go along) and Kevin and Michelle named their rabbit “Greenfeet” or so I believed.

I was fascinated by both Dr. Seuss “Horton” stories – in the latter, the egg hatched at the end of the story and out came a bird that had Horton’s head.  How fascinating.  I wondered if it would work on rabbits as well.  It doesn’t.

Never mind that Pinky was only three or four weeks, totally uncooperative and wouldn’t sit on the egg unless I was holding her on top of it (or him.  I don’t think I really knew if Pinky was male or female.  I don’t really guess I thought about it one way or the other.  I never thought of Horton as male or female.  I was not all that bright) but I had taken the egg from the refrigerator.  Placed it outside near a bush in our backyard (Pinky was usually in a cage on the inside of the house) but I didn’t want my mom to find out what I was doing.  

I don’t recall how many weeks went by before a rotten odor was detected coming from the direction of that bush.  Not only was I not getting a half bird/half bunny.  I had wasted (and forgotten about) the egg.

Pinky and Greenfeet both died within the first three months.  I think they were “loved” to death. All that I have left now is this story.  I don’t even know if Pinky's bones remain in my mom’s former backyard.  Probably.

Two More Poems

Whenever the Wind Blows

When I fall asleep

I sleep quite hard

Whenever the wind blows

Slumber invites me

Into worlds beyond this one

When I fall asleep

My eyelids become heavy

My thoughts are put on hold

Whenever the wind blows

My husband can’t believe

How quickly I drift off
When I fall asleep

How the trees dance

And leaves often fall

Whenever the wind blows

There’s a calm cool breeze

That surrounds me but I miss it

When I fall asleep

Whenever the wind blows

                       

                                                                   

                                                            kfralc

Assisted Living

Harold

Bent over

Kissing

June

June

Kissing

Bent over

Harold

                                                            kfralc