Think On This

So some of you have been wondering how my wilderness skills are holding out during my back to basics experiment. If Ma and Pa Kettle could do it, my motto this week had become “So Can I!” As you may know, I have attempted to try out my “worst case” scenario motif, to a certain degree of late. It was inspired by my friends and their current ice storm dilemma. (That darn global warming. At it again!)

All I can say is, boy am I glad there was a guy at the propane tank when I pulled in to fill up my little blue container before I headed home to pour it into my portable heater. (Those of you who know about these things already see where this is going.) Anyway, I had decided to dig out my kerosene heater and was ready for action.  So you can imagine my surprise when the attendant at the KOA put his hands in his pocket and just shook his head. “Ma’am.” He said calmly. “Propane won’t fit in that kerosene container.” Gulp. I was so into my new challenge I had completely forgotten that “blue” meant kerosene! Since my friends from the north (that had taken refuge in my home) were on the hunt for propane, in my mind I said, “And me too!” And off I went with my little blue container. 

Thank the Lord for propane men and people who speak “Container. (By the way, the red ones are for gasoline. I have no idea what propane is. Maybe it’s Green? But I digress…)

With a flushed face and a heart full of gratitude I scampered off to find a gas station that sold my much needed kerosene. Ironically, it was the Asian 20 something behind the counter, whose owner/father explained to me how to get the heater back into working condition.  I had placed it in my storage area and had completely forgotten how to even make it work. A few English translations by the son and wild arm swingings from the father later I got the message.  Clean it out first.

At home, I googled the model number and did some research just to be sure.  Why was I surprised they didn’t even make this little gem anymore? Hmmm. Just my luck.  The guy up near the Catskills convinced me in his review that I would blow my house up within the first 5 minutes of my attempts, while Mr. Maine assured me that I was the smartest girl alive below the Mason Dixon line.

So, funnel in hand, I poured the greasy fluid into the well and waited for the magic to begin. Within minutes the kitchen warmed up and there was a happy, fiery glow. My dog of course decided to head out to the back 40. (Never can be too safe when ole Steph is up to a new project is his M.O.). Having done a bit more research, I’d learned from Wise in Wisconsin that if you put a whistling tea kettle on top of the heater, you’d always have hot water ready to brew. Who knew!

It was then I wondered how we, the people, ever decided modern technology was the only way to go.  Now all I need is a pot bellied stove and a cold frame out back and I should be able to weather out the winter just fine. Anybody out there got any extra mason jars?

Toasty in Nashville.

S.

A dear friend of mine recently made the move to the land of magnolias and mint juleps.  I was thrilled to have a kindred spirit from my past nearby, even if the drive was about 1.5 hours away.  Needless to say, due to life and circumstances, 7 months later, I still had not managed to make it up to see the new “place”.So, schedules finally meshed this week and the great trek north was schemed and planned.  Oddly however, my friend, now a new Southerner, was greeted to a very lovely ice storm right before our grand visit. Trees snapped in half, electric lines were down, power and water went off, ice completely turned normal cars into molded popsicles and cell phones and land lines were found to be inoperable.

When the fated day arrived, she and her clan found themselves heading south to my house. Where I was more than happy to provide shelter, heat, lights and hot showers. Obviously, as we munched on pizza and caught up on the news, we chatted about the dismal economy and their newly acquired survival skills.  Bringing up water from the creek, boiling it, and more. Since there is a river at the end of my road, I proudly announced I had access to a water source too.  All I would need were those tablets to make it drinkable and a fishing rod to catch my dinner if worse came to worst.

As we navigated the aisles of the store to load them up for the days ahead, it appeared they were more planning a camping trip to the wilderness then returning to their newly built home.  While filling up their propane tanks and water containers it was all I could do to not go home and rethink my own “worst case scenario” battle plan. 

Pulling back into my driveway after getting them on their way, I reached into the mail box.  Bills greeted me and I snatched at the one that was for my electricity. That little piece of paper had about put me in the poor house the month prior, and I was hoping it had all been a big mistake.  How on earth could one person, that is not even home, triple her wattage usage? It was beyond me. But a phone call to the utility company assured me rates had gone up and yes, I now owed them $700 plus dollars. The newest bill matched the last ugly one as well.  I reminded them I kept my heater on 65, if not off, and that, again, I wasn’t even home! But for some reason, they just wanted their money. Oy vey.  

With that, I headed over to the heater, and turned it completely off.  Even though temps in my area are in the 30s (and under), I had been inspired by my hearty friends and their visit. I knew I too was up for that challenge.  So, heading downstairs, I retrieved my kerosene heater, wiped it down, and fired it up.  Why hadn’t I thought of that sooner? So, now I sit here writing all toasty and warm in one room of the house.  If you don’t hear from me in the next few days, all I can say is, it might be the fumes.  (You might want to send out the posse. Just kidding.)

All in all, here’s to the pioneer spirit, and old American ingenuity. I might just fire up the hibachi in the morning and whip up some breakfast in the kitchen while my dog hunkers down in the living room finally convinced I have completely lost  my mind.

Ciao.

S.

 Have you ever said to someone, “That person needs a good talking to, or maybe just a kick in the pants.” Perahps you are at a time in your life when you think that person might be you. Whatever the case, I came across the best quote this weekend. It’s been around awhile, but I had not been able to track down the entire wording.

I was on a plane going from somewhere to somewhere last year and didn’t opt for the $5 headphone charge to watch the movie. I had work to do during the flight, so that trumped the entertainment choice for the day. But as the movie started I questioned my decision. It was Rocky Balboa. And was supposedly the final finale to the famed Rocky series.

Now, lest I lose you here, I must divulge that I am a huge Rocky fan, and even enjoy the Rambo films. (I know. Call me crazy.) In my humble opinion, however, Sylvester Stallone made some great, all-American style movies, and so has earned my appreciation. But back to the words of wisdom.

It wasn’t until a few days ago that I came across one of the best quotes I have seen in a long time. If you saw the movie, you know exactly which scene I am referring to. Rocky is outside his restaurant with his son. The son is letting his dad know that life has not been easy in his father’s shadow. It is then that Rocky lets him have it. And I have to tell you, this is some great script:

“…the time come for you to be your own man and take on the world, and you did. But somewhere along the line, you changed. You stopped being you. You let people stick a finger in your face and tell you you’re no good. And when things got hard, you started looking for something to blame, like a big shadow. Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done! Now if you know what you’re worth then go out and get what you’re worth. But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody! Cowards do that and that ain’t you! You’re better than that! I’m always gonna love you no matter what. No matter what happens. You’re my son and you’re my blood. You’re the best thing in my life. But until you start believing in yourself, ya ain’t gonna have a life. Don’t forget to visit your mother.”

Maybe today, you just needed a little fresh perspective. Or, you might know a friend that could use a word for the wise. Whatever the case, I hope this will be an encouragement to you. As it was for me.

Best,

S.

If you are traveling today over the rivers and through the wood to perhaps Grandmother’s house as you go, you will appreciate this little tail, or tale I should say of sorts.

In my family, we come from different states to gather in Texas for the holidays. I come from Tennessee and my cousins come in from Kansas. The Kansan Clan has mom, dad, two girls under the age of 5 and then there is Daisy the Basset Hound. The pets in our family are just that, family members. And are treated as such.

The trek to grandma’s, for this particular crew, used to be accomplished in a 12 hour day. Yet due to circumstances and such, it has evolved into quite a process. It now requires preparing and packing for days, and a reservation at the Hilton Inn if you can find it cheap enough on Hotwire.com. (Thank the Lord for the internet!)

With only five hours left for the journey, the exhausted brood tumbled out of said family van, eyes heavy with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads as they longed for the soft mattresses awaiting them.

With one child in the arms of each parent, various and sundry paraphernalia strapped from stem to stern, the remaining question of the overloaded pair was simply, “What to do with Daisy?” Ever the resourceful father, my cousin proceeded to stuff Daisy into a sports bag, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder. (Yes, I said a Basset Hound.)

To the amazement of our family when he relayed the tale to us at dinner, Daisy fussed but only for a few seconds. It was when the master slapped the bag lightly in assurance to let the pure bred know all was well, that the dog literally went into a coma of sorts. And never moved! They could have taken that dog to the opera, and probably wouldn’t have seen movement or heard a peep until the soprano’s aria.

It wasn’t until they reached their room, unloaded the bags, and the children, that Daisy was finally released from her dark cocoon. But only to emerge as calm and cool as a cucumber ready for her evening snack.

Now, this divulgence of sorts is not to encourage you to sneak the family dog into the next luxury hotel, however, holidays can be a time of survivial. And for this troupe, it was just a necessity. Daisy is a dream, and as my cousin said, “…a better guest than most adults at these places!” Sad, but true.

So, for all of you traveling with your beloved pet this holiday, remember that there are many kindred spirits out there joining you in empathy on the journey. And please don’t ask me how I managed to get my 110 pound Labrador Retriever into the Hampton Inn. During the holidays, there are just some things that are best left to the mind, and not the tongue.

:0

A friend reminded me recently, “Pilgrims and Puritans weren’t the same thing.” So, for sake of clarification, before we completely put Thanksgiving back in boxes this holiday season, I thought I’d get in this one last plug for the P’s. 

PILGRIMS aka SEPARATISTS You may not be familiar with this term, but Pilgrims were also known by another name: Separatists. Apparently, our trusty Pilgrims didn’t want any part of the Church of England, so they completely “separated” themselves. Thus term Separatists. Uncomfortable with the heavy rituals and symbolism found in the Anglican Church they preferred a more simplified form of worship.  They felt their studies of the New Testament confirmed Scripture as portraying the original church (right after Jesus had been on earth) as a simple church.  Not having a need to take on the Anglican Church at that time, they decided to just “separate” themselves from it completely.  And so they did.

Their pastor, Richard Clyfton also taught them a form of democratic self-government where the majority ruled all decision making and they believed in equal rights and equal duties for members of its congregation.  (Sounds like a Personal Responsibility program if you ask me). 

History books show that the Pilgrims were warm, generous, and thoughtful towards fellow citizens and with the Indians they met in America. They wore the ordinary fashions you’d have found in England at that time and Wills and Inventories of that period show that some of the leading men wore brightly colored clothing such as red, green or violet leggings or pants. This is a far cry from the dark, boring clothing of the Puritan image that we have been spoon-fed. The Pilgrims were good-natured, fun-loving people who loved life while insisting on the freedom of choice. 

Remember: It was the Pilgrims who established Plymouth Colony. It was the Pilgrims who celebrated that first Thanksgiving with the Indians and it was the Pilgrims who ushered in the American principles of democratic government - not the Puritans. So, who then were those notorious Puritans? 

GLAD YOU ASKED. The Pilgrims weren’t the only believers who weren’t too thrilled with the Church of England at the time. The Puritans wanted to “purify” the church in the area of worship.  Since they too didn’t feel a church war would be successful, they quietly formed a rather severe, militant group of believers. The church leaders ruled the parishioners lives and they weren’t the least bit tolerant to those with opposing views. Committed in their quest for “pure” religion, they were pretty relentless when it came to punishing anyone who went against their doctrines (think Salem Witch Trials). Their attire was dark and plain and accessories were unacceptable as they were deemed the work of the devil. (Man, would I have been in major trouble!) 

So, the moral of our lesson today kids is simply this: the Pilgrims and the Puritans were worlds apart in their religious views, their governing style, their everyday attitudes, and their choice of clothing.  Just a little food for thought on this post Turkey, stuffing, and pie holiday weekend. 

Selah.

As I looked out across the yard after stuffing myself like the Thanksgiving turkey back in the house, I began to count, 1,2,3, no wait 1,2,3,4,5…8 dogs?  It had been quite a houseful. But I had no idea that many canines were wandering the property as well.  We had managed to juggle 5 kids, 2 teens, 3 senior citizens and 22 adults into the kitchen while jockeying for position to load up our plates, but this latest revelation exposed just how full our Thanksgiving truly was. 

Seven car loads had made their way to the feasting destination. When we all had finally arrived we gathered around a plethora of selections. There was ham, and turkey with dressing. Mashed potatoes with two kinds of gravy. Cranberry sauce, salad and rolls. Broccoli, sweet potato, and corn casseroles. Two kinds of dips with chips and crackers.  Asparagus and Green Bean casseroles. 4 kinds of pies of pies and coffee along with a huge tray of cookies and fudge. And every morsel was homemade. (S’mores by the campfire topped off the evening). As we held hands to pray my uncle did not disappoint as he choked back the tears of gratitude while we all bowed our heads. 

Of course the centerpiece of the house was the omni-present TV screen which faithfully flashed the latest football game. The welcome airwaves took us late into the evening culminating with the big game for a certain set of alumns. Conversations ranged from memories of family times together, to catching up on the latest news, to the usual banterings about politics. 

All in all, I would guess the above was a pretty typical Thanksgiving in America.  At least in the heartland it seems.  And it really doesn’t get much better than that. As we made our way home in the beautiful fall air, the Starbucks stop at the half-way point seemed the perfect ending to a very perfect day. 

Yes, we felt very blessed.  And I hope you found yourself at the end of your day feeling much the same. I am most grateful for this country that I live in and for the people who left their native lands and trekked the stormy waters to make it their home. Here’s to many more Happy Thanksgivings to come. And May God Bless America, yet, again. 

Best, S. 

In January of 2009 the 44th President of the United States of America will be sworn into office. Interestingly, though he is a Democrat, his latest book of choice is titled Team of Rivals. It focuses on how Abe Lincoln (a Republican) put together his cabinet. And it is quite a read I hear. For those of us that don’t remember who, and how, and why Lincoln did what he did, it was apparently a bit revolutionary if not controversial at the time.

All that to say, I was reading about a guy that was heading into a restaurant in Philadelphia. Before he entered, he saw a homeless man holding a sign that read: Please vote for Obama. I need the money. As the customer was seated at his table, he was then greeted by a server that had on an Obama tie. When the check came, the man stated that he was going to practice Obama’s “spread the wealth” idea. Instead of leaving the server the tip, he was going to give it to the homeless Obama supporter outside. Needless to say, the waiter was furious. But the man left and did just that dropping a $10 bill into the hand of the man outside in need.

Shortly after hearing about this incident, I was digging through some old files and ironically came across this quote from dear old Abe. Our 16th President. It goes like this:

“You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong. You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift. You cannot lift the wage earner by pulling the wage payer down. You cannot build character and courage by taking away men’s initiative and independnece. You cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they could and should do for themselves.” - Abraham Lincoln

And with that, just my, or better yet, a past President’s thoughts for your day.

S.

For those of you who like to reminisce during the holidays, there is one memory I would personally prefer to forget. But alas, such will not be the case. In light of the fact that a few of the girls and I paid homage to the new 007 James Bond film this past weekend, (which I loved!)  I felt a little walk down memory lane of sorts might just be in order. 

It was Thanksgiving and I was visiting my mother (as all good daughters who live hundreds of miles away do).  There was a question regarding an appliance in her house and it occurred to her that the neighbor might have the answer. So, with gift plate of goodies, or what I felt was actually a peace offering for our “Can you come over and help us?” plea, we set out for the 20-yard trek next door. 

While my mom chatted up her friend, I began conversing with the woman’s spouse. It was when he got to the part about a taxi cab, the country of Turkey, and the 1950’s that I laughed out loud and jokingly announced, “So, what? Were you a covert operative or something?”  At that point, the room froze.   I was begging the floor to open up and swallow me. But it was Mexican tile. And it didn’t move. 

The woman, a salt pillar at this point, merely opened her mouth, looked at her husband, and then stared back at me. With shock on her face she choked out the words, “He’s never talked about that.”  He then mumbled something about languages and Germany. As I nervously tried to cover, it only got worse. “Uh, yeah, a friend of mine was married to a guy. They were stationed in Germany. He posed as an auto mechanic. Spoke Bosnian. You know, Uh,…” but the verbal decline only plummeted.  The woman, yes, his second wife, now just stared at me even more dumbly. At this point, I was physically growing ill. Oh, for a tornado from Kansas to suddenly sweep me away. But no. I had to weather this one alone.  My mom just stood there with the usual, “Why do you have to talk so much?” look on her face that only a mother can give. 

As the man walked me to, and out, the front door, I figured he was quickly thinking and preparing how to kill and dispose of me within the next three seconds that he had before the other women exited the house and caught up with us.  But instead, he had this amazed smirk on his face.  “How could you have known?” was all he asked incredulously.  

Relieved, yet horrified, I began apologizing profusely. “I am so sorry! Please forgive me. Don’t kill me. I am a huge fan of this stuff. I traveled with Col. Oliver North on one of his book tours. I read all of his books.  I’m a huge CIA fan. My dad worked for NASA. I just, I just, you know… know this stuff. I mean, c’mon Bob! What normal American guy was in a taxi cab in Turkey in the 50’s for cryin’out loud?! Give me a break!!”  With that, he just laughed.  And I gratefully lived to die another day. 

When we returned to my mom’s house, I pondered if, when we left for Thanksgiving dinner a few moments later, neighbor Bob wouldn’t slip in, take the jewels and return to his domain. I warned my mother to lock the safe.  But then remembered, “Oh, wait. We don’t have any family jewels. Or even a safe for that matter.” I did manage to collect a set of the Oliver North fiction books soon thereafter and delivered it a few weeks later at Christmas.  My peace offering of sorts. It was the least I could do. 

All that to say, I highly recommend, whatever you do this Thanksgiving, don’t “out” your mother’s retired, covert operative.  It’s just not the polite or merry thing to do. With that, just my thoughts during this festive week prior to our national celebration. A precious time where we give thanks for the wonderful country that Providence has allowed us to create and in which we dwell. And here’s to all the under cover 007’s that really do exist out there and fight for this sweet, sweet place we lovingly refer to as “home”. 

Shaken, but not stirred.

S. 

If feels like just a bit ago that I pulled off the freeway in Arkansas to get that much needed Starbucks fix. I was traveling home from my holiday visit with the family when that very cool home store also caught my eye. As a female who likes to live up to that part of the species, I just had to go in.  I was not disappointed.  Crossing the threshhold of the retail center I was welcomed by those wonderful 75% off sale signs and well, you know, as a girl, there’s something genetic about a price tag that low.  You just have to repsond. So I dutifully did.  A few moments later I was hauling two 4-foot, silk Amaryllis plants to my car.  When I reached the already overstuffed vehicle I was greeted by my very pitiful dog who was peering at me through the back seat window.  At this point, there had been very little room if any left for him when we began the journey. And now, I was going to try to put eight more feet of whatever it was into the car with him.  The look on his face was, “So, are you planning on tying me to the roof, because as of now, my back right leg is already in my left ear.”  I stood there a moment wondering if that wasn’t such a bad idea, but then I knew a better solution was in order.  Just what, I wasn’t exactly sure.   Nine hours later we pulled into the driveway. My hairy hound unfolded his furry body and limped out of the car while I began to strategize the unloading procedures.After 45 minutes, the deed was done.  The boxes and bags now waiting my attention at the doorway loomed ever larger.  It took about a month, but I finally succeeded in finding room for each of the precious items I had hauled all the way from Texas. (Along with the very pliable pooch, of course.)Then, this morning, I found myself back in that same storage area thinking, “I just got these in here, and now I have to take them out?”  It was quite a stressful moment. But is quickly passed.  When I pictured the house in full regalia, and the counter tops full of wonderful ingredients awaiting those precious recipes, the pain disoved into peace and contentment.Yes, it truly is the most wonderful time of year.  And that is exactly what I plan to do.  I will create Thanksgiving and Christmas in my home and make it special.   It’s up to me.  No one will arrive on my doorstep, decorations in tow, and set up the house.  That’s my job.  And a welcomed one at that. With that, during this next week, all of the stash will make its way up the stairs and into the living areas of my home. A job I certainly will enjoy, to be sure.So here’s to thankfulness and merriness for at least the next 40 or so days.Chat soon.Stephanie

As the radio host chattered away, I noticed that my distraction began morphing into focus as I worked to discover just exactly what the ranting and raving was all about.  Apparently, this person of influence had received a bit of info and he was off and running. Interestingly, the very location toward which I was driving, and would arrive at shortly, would have the true inside scoop on the very situation at hand. 

As I walked through that particular door, I soon found myself in conversation with the key folks that knew what was actually going down from the inside out.  And, not surprisingly, the radio host was wrong.  But the deed was done. He had riled his troops into a frenzy and the listening audience was starting to panic.Sadly, this person signed off the air without seeking to confirm or correct his blather. If the show host had been solely interested in creating a buzz, he succeeded.  If his intent was to rile and upset.  He managed that, too, as well. What saddened me is that he left a lot of clean up and fall out for a lot of hard-working,  innocent by-standers. 

These supposed people-in-the-know types love to be seen and heard.  And if they find themselves with a bit of key information, whether vetted or not, they set out to find the first listening ear they can track down. Basically, they are in essence looking for anything to get into, or keep them in, the spotlight.  There is no concern for the innocent parties involved. They have an inside tid-bit, and they are going to use it for what they are sure will be to their advantage. 

With that, the next time someone runs to you with news, do your best to ask for the source.  You will usually find that people either are hesitant to name it, or at times, they honestly don’t even know the origination. Nor do they care. They heard what they wanted to hear.  But a simple, “Where did you get that?” stops of alot of these ner’e-do-wells in their tracks. 

Much unnecessary angst and consternation occurs due to this very type of relayed communication.  Let’s strive together to be the type of people that don’t perpetuate the mess but rather work to get the story straight. And with that, just my thoughts on this lovely fall day. S.