The Hearse and I

As all know, I am NOT mechanical. I’d like to be. Just didn’t turn out that way. So when old pickup decided to eat its battery, I had no idea what to do. Managed to get it started one more time and dropped in off at the fix-it shop, hoping for the best. Well, it’s a week and a half later, and pickup truck remains in the auto shop’s critical care unit.

Thus on foot, I had to call upon family and friends to provide transportation for me for the 10-minute ride back and forth to home. Family didn’t answer the call, but Lunch Bunch member and best bud Delanna did. She and I have shared many OMG moments. Those moments include being left at an international airport not once, not twice, but THREE times by an airline which I refuse to do business with ever again! And we both had our granddaughters in tow. Then there was the flight through a powerful lightning storm on one of that airline’s planes. I still have the marks on my hand where Delanna, who hates to fly, grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. Perhaps she didn’t like being that much closer to heaven.

Delanna gave me a kitten years ago. I named it in her honor, and he still lives with me even though I call him Delanna’s cat. Delanna hates cats. And when she has a question about dog illnesses she calls me if no vet is immediately available. Not that I know much. Through critter and our own illnesses, we support one another. So that’s why Delanna offered me the use of her extra vehicle. It’s always nice to have one. I hesitated. Being responsible for your own vehicle is one thing. Driving someone else’s vehicle scares the daylights out of me. What if I wreck it? What if somebody comes out of nowhere and wrecks it with no assistance from me? EEK! But, under the circumstances, i.e. walking the seven miles home and back. I accepted the offer.

Now, this vehicle has a history of its own. It’s paid for, which is a good thing. But its long body style and dark navy blue color have led Lunch Bunch members and others to give it a name. We call it The Hearse. We have enjoyed a lot of jokes about The Hearse, but I didn’t at this particular time. Number 1 – The Hearse’s name seemed to predict for me a forbidding wrecked future. Number 2 – It’s always hard to drive a vehicle, even a rental, when all the controls are in opposite places from the norm in your own vehicle. That happened big time to me on one trip to The Mouse House, otherwise known as Disney World. I tried unsuccessfully over and over to put gas in a tank that was already full, but I didn’t realize it because gas gauge was the exact opposite of mine own vehicle’s. Remember, I said I am NOT mechanical.

So, when Delanna introduced me to The Hearse’s controls, I paid closed attention. The one thing The Hearse has got that I don’t have on the old pickup is that key-locking door, with sound effects. Turned out I needed them all.

Thus The Hearse and I set out upon our adventure together. But, I was halfway to Fort Smith stores, and I had coupons. Was this hobby shopper gonna turn back to go home? Absolutely not. I went shopping. Yep. Did good too. Came out with arms full of packages. Couldn’t find door-unlocking key. Had to drop all packages to initiate key search. Finally found key. Couldn’t figure out how to open The Hearse’s rear door. Called The Hearse a few names, then stuffed all packages next to me in the passenger’s seat. Ok. Off we went. Next store has a huge parking lot, and on this day, parking lot was full. I was not intimidate and I found a spot to park The Hearse. I shopped. After all, I had coupons! Exited store after dark with armload of packages. Had put key in accessible place, and was proud of myself for doing so. But I couldn’t find The Hearse. Where had I parked? Knew the parking spot was off from my usual parking area, but how hard can it be to find a hearse? It was hard in the dark. I wandered that parking lot for 10 minutes, hoping nobody was noticing that I couldn’t find my ride. Then it hit me. I had the key! And this magic key would make The Hearse sound off and flash lights. Thus I staggered around parking lot, loaded down like a donkey with goods, and squeezing that key continually, hoping The Hearse would announce itself. Didn’t realize until then that you sort of have to be within key range for the magic key to work. On my third trip around the lot, The Hearse finally spoke to me and flashed its lights, unlocking and locking its doors, over and over as I clicked that key. The only thing that could have been better was if it had been my own old pickup, who is really easy to find in a dark parking lot, but doesn’t talk or flash at all. But that truck is all mine.

Yes. I appreciate the loan of The Hearse, but I want my pickup truck back!

Confessions of a Football-Crazed Grandma

I must confess the condition I’m in, a condition that may not afflict other grandmas and great-grandmas. Or maybe I’ll be surprised. Who knows?

My confession is, I am in love with Peyton Manning. Must warn my kids to not flip out on that confession. In fact, he is a bit younger than my kids, so it’s OK my darling children. I warn my wonderful sons that I am not in love with the quarterbacks of their favorite teams – the Chicago Bears and Green Bay Packers. Yeah, those teams are kinda good, and the Packers quarterback is sort of cute too. But I’m not in love with those teams, or for that matter I’m not in love with the Denver Broncos, for whom charming Manning tosses a football. I just think Manning is exceptional, which he proved again this week by defeating the San Diego Chargers. As I watched that game, and listened to the exuberant broadcasters, it did not escape my notice that, as the voices remarked, we were watching one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time and a future NFL Hall of Fame member, the quarterback who has thrown the most touchdown passes ever!

For the uninitiated, NFL is the National Football League. It may seem odd that I, a grandma and great-grandma now, am a NFL football fanatic. I rejoice on that first Sunday every September when my favorite sport to watch returns to the TV. But I come by my NFL addition honestly. Got it straight from my Dad, then channeled through my hubby, and finally sparked by sons.

Dad was the best football instructor. We watched every Sunday. Mom didn’t stay around. Dad was the sports fan and lived by the radio when it broadcast both football and baseball games. When the NFL made it to TV, that’s where we were on any Sunday. One of my favorite childhood memories was hanging out with Dad watching football on Sunday afternoons. Dad always had a snack, usually cheese and crackers, the crumbs of which often fell to the carpet, where they stayed. That’s because Mom wasn’t around. But we lived in the country. That big old country house had mice. Those mice knew where to go for cheese and crackers on Sundays. Yep. Right at Dad’s feet. Now every member of my family is an animal lover, even Dad. So instead of jumping up and trying to dispatch those mice, Dad just kept feeding them. I watched, cause they were so cute. In fact, they almost became tame and our house pets. At one point in time, Mom got upset with the invading varmints and set out mouse traps. But, when she wasn’t around, if I heard a trap snap, I ran to liberate the trapped mouse. After all, it may have been one of Dad’s football Sunday pets. But what happened was our country home became inhabited by the strangest bunch of crippled mice ever seen. Well that trap was awful. It broke their little legs, or snapped off their little tales. And that just made Dad and I love them more, so Dad kept feeding them, while I imagined I was Disney’s Cinderella for whom those mice would make a magnificent ball gown some day. That was my favorite movie when I was small.

Nurtured by Dad, my love of football continued into marriage, where we both shared a fondness for the game. As children, especially sons, arrived, I grew even more attuned to football, a liking shared by my boys. It continues to this day, and one son texts he can’t stand Peyton Manning cause he beat his Bears, and the other son sends texts to me that his Green Bay Packers are gonna’ eat Peyton’s lunch. Oh yeah. You better watch out. That Super Bowl isn’t too far away. But hey, Peyton and the Broncos made it to the Super Bowl last year, and it was a fiasco. But things improve (Hopefully the defense!) and it may be that the Broncos are on the way again.

Funny, as I scrounged my mind to decide what to write about this week, for those few devoted readers (Thank You So Much!) I couldn’t remember anything worth telling about The Lunch Bunch, who have been pretty tame lately. Really ladies! Let’s get going! Even my critters seem to be tired out and sound asleep. I thought about those monarch butterflies whose flight paths take them right over us. That’s amazing. But I don’t know much about butterflies, even though I’d like to. Then brain kicked into gear. ‘Write about what you know,’ it told me. And today, that would be Peyton Manning and football.

Grandmas and great-grandmas unite, and yell “Go Peyton!”

Stink Adventures at Home and Elsewhere

We’ve been skunked! Eew! Both KXMX Ad Lady Delanna N. and I were skunked recently. Me, just last week. I don’t like skunks. They are sort of cute and cuddly, based on looks alone of course. They have that cute little pointy face, and that distinguishing stripe down the back. If you like kittens and puppies, like I do, you occasionally think you would like to get your hands on those babies and just pet them for a bit.

Then you remember why you don’t EVER do that. It’s that smell. That smell invaded my home one night last week. Eew! And Eew again! It was really pungent. And it wasn’t the first time. It may be that some skunk has taken up residence under my house. It’s pretty bad when you get the skunk squirt in the evening, and the next day you take the lingering stink to the office. That doesn’t endear you to co-workers.

Then that little devil did it again last week! I’m just sitting there, happily watching whatever OETA had on that evening, when that smell invaded my space. Oh good grief! And I always think I’ve got to check the premises to make sure it isn’t only that smell in my space. It might be that the odor owner has dropped in too. Well, what I am going to do if it did? I can guarantee that the only answer to that question is I’m going to turn around and run. To where I’m not sure. But I’ll be out of there.

And NO! I am not going to try to relocate that devil. Trapping or doing away with the stinker will most likely leave a forever odor I do not want to deal with. The only thing I can’t figure out is why skunk sprays under my house. There are no dogs or cats under there to challenge skunk. And it is kind of scary to wonder what is under there causing skunk to spray. I don’t even want to think about it. I just turned on the fans and hoped smell would dissipate before I left for KXMX the next morning.

Delanna’s skunk run-in was a bit more dramatic. And led to a skunk’s demise for a good reason. She related she had dropped into the office of Dr. Gary Cox, Sallisaw veterinarian, just to pick up some flea meds for her dogs. Tiffany is the doc’s vet assistant, and if you know Tiff, you know she is dedicated, super friendly, and has certain strong opinions. For instance, my house dog, Penny, the Mini-pincher, drives her crazy. Never mind that. We’re on a skunk story, which illustrates Tiffany’s dedication to her career.

Delanna related that while there, a skunk strolled up to doc’s front door, and began scratching at the glass, trying to enter. Now I can imagine Delanna’s response. It could have been screams heard round the world. But Tiffany took over. She decided, correctly, that the skunk was rabid, and called for help. At about the same time a couple drove up to collect their pet. As they began to get out of their vehicle, Tiffany, according to Delanna, started frantically waving for them to stay in their vehicle because that skunk was claiming the parking lot as its own.

Delanna said, “Tiffany had already locked the door, so she couldn’t open it to tell them to stay in their car. She kept yelling and waving, until they finally got the message. They got back in their car.

“Then,” Delanna continued, “we saw the skunk leaving.”

Delanna gave Tiffany her highest honor. She laughed. “I couldn’t believe it,” Delanna said. “Tiffany went out and followed that skunk! She followed it down the highway! And when the animal control officer arrived, she was out there on the highway waving at him to show him where the skunk was.”

Officer dispatched skunk, Delanna related, and all was well with no harm done to anyone or any pets. And Delanna was determined that Tiffany should get her just rewards. Thank you Tiffany! And I’m sorry Penny drives you crazy.

Hmmm. Delanna’s skunk adventure makes me wonder about my resident skunk. Well, it hasn’t tried, to the best of my knowledge, to get in the house yet. I’d like to think that perhaps its only concern is keeping my home’s crawl space as its own. Maybe it was spraying stink at something else trying to move in. Like that snake we killed last summer. So for now, skunk has a winter residence, and I sincerely hope skunks hibernate. A stink-free winter would be great, music to my ears and roses to my nose.

Nobody Told Me That Gardening Is a Dirty Job

I ate my tomato. Yep. After two years and 12 tomato plants, I finally got to eat my one and only tomato.

Never mind that I didn’t plant that plant. Darling Daughter did. But it was my plant and my dirt. So technically it was mine.

Some may wonder why this self-proclaimed Indiana farm girl has trouble growing vegetables. I was the horse and cow farm girl. Dad was the gardener. He grew a great garden every year. But he couldn’t milk a cow. I can.

Apparently his green-thumb gene jumped my generation and went straight to Darling Daughter’s. She can grow anything. It’s disgusting to we black-thumb people. And my experience with the tomatoes has pretty much convinced me that I should work on other garden veggies. So this fall I popped some lettuce seeds in a big garden container. Oops. Now I’ve got lettuce everywhere. This stuff grows like weeds. It won’t be long before I’ll have to eat lettuce, lots of lettuce. But that’s why I planted it. I had a sudden craving for Mom’s old-fashioned wilted-lettuce salad. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps my stomach wants to wander back to my childhood years when all had I had to do was milk the cow and gather the eggs.

Why the need to garden has cornered me in my older years, I do not know. To tell the truth, being semi-retired is kind of boring. And I’ve been told that if a person doesn't take on new challenges in later life, brain degeneration is sure to follow. So I've taken on several new challenges, which keep me busy buying things. Everyone knows my number one hobby is SHOPPING! I love to shop. I love to get deals. And I never pay full price for anything. In gardening, I filled up my pickup truck with plants when they went on sale for a buck each. Some of those plants still have to be planted. I really got to get on that.

But it was such an unpleasant surprise that, as a gardener, I have to dig in the dirt. With a shovel. And I have to put my hands in the dirt. And they get dirty. I got dirt ground under my fingernails so deep I may have to resort to bleach manicures. I have to get down on my knees and rear end to get to all those plants. And let me tell you, at my age, after sitting in the flower bed for an hour, digging, pulling weeds, mulching, etc., it is not easy to get up! I just hope no neighbors or passers-by are watching as I attempt to get off my derriere. That’s why I look around for possible peekers at my predicament before my struggle to rise. I usually make it with no watchers running in to ask if I need assistance. I may be getting on in years, but I do not have a need for a Boy Scout at every corner to escort me across whatever street, or challenge, I may be attempting to cross. I did notice it is easier to garden on your knees, but only if your knees work. Mine seem to have forgotten how to bend, without pain, climb stairs, or work at all. So it’s bottoms down for me in the flower garden.

Speaking of flower gardens, I may not be growing veggies, but I am patting myself on the back for my flower garden. That little plot is amazing! Did I do that?!? Wow! Ok, I’ll give the flower nursery the kudos for great, and apparently hardy, plants. I give them applause because I haven’t killed those plants yet. They are growing so well, I went out and shopped around for more. I did mention shopping, didn’t I? Shopping on the Internet is so much fun. Oops. I need to quit buying plants. As I write this I get another email message. My fifth order for flower bulbs is on its way. Better get busy! So far I have purchased 223 flower bulbs for various flowers, from anemones to zephyr lilies, whatever those are. It just occurred to me, that’s 223 more holes I have to dig, a lot, in the dirty dirt. Good grief. Get me away from the buy-by-internet sites. Now I really have to go outside and play in the dirt. Dad would be proud.

No Mechanical Minds Here

My children are all mechanically minded. Son can fix anything, literally. Darling Daughter can too, but she might take a different route than Mechanically-minded Son. Don’t know how they got that way. Must have been their dad, cause it sure didn’t come from me, or even from my Mom and Dad.

I am not mechanically minded. My latest inabilities are related to TV reception. Being a rural resident for most of life, I am used to wrangling with TV reception and its idiosyncrasies. And, I was raised when TV channels were free, if you could get the TV aerial aligned just right. Consequently I refuse to pay cable companies for TV reception. Not that any of them venture into rural areas anyway. That leaves me with TV by satellite. Nope. Not going to do it. TV should be free. Those commercials are for bathroom and snack breaks. And those political commercials (Anyone as tired of them as me?) are good times to surf the stations and find out what else is on.

So, if we are to watch TV at my house, an aerial of some sort is required. We had one on the outside once upon a time. But a huge lightning strike took that out of commission. Even then, when trying to tune in a station, one of us had to go outside and twist the pole around while another sat inside yelling instructions on how much to turn it. After lightning strike, I was not in the mood to hoist another TV aerial on pole into the air.

So I went the rabbit-ears method. Now everyone knows that rabbit ears are not the best method to tune into your favorite TV show. Nevertheless, I persisted. And, usually, I can tune into all the free TV stations. But (there’s always a but), it’s amazing what outside forces can ruin your TV reception, especially at my house. First, of course, as is true of any reception, there’s the weather. Lots of rain and low clouds actually help stations arrive better. Storms on the sun, forget it. There will be no TV while storms swirl on the sun. Windy? Wind blows my favorite Oklahoma PBS stations right out of the living room. Loud vehicle passing by on my country road? TV goes into “scrambled” reception until loud vehicle is totally out of range. And, believe it or not, my little Penny, my house dog, took to scratching her fleas right in front of the TV last night, and I swear, it messed up my reception. I had to bathe Penny.

I don’t care if good TV reception is mechanical or not, I decided. I want great TV reception. And that requires rabbit-ears manipulation. And sometimes I think I might be better off with a real rabbit! If good reception is to be realized with rabbit ears, one must be prepared to be strong and athletic. It sometimes also requires numerous body poses. In the past year I have had to hang my rabbit ears from the ceiling, on top a bookcase set in the middle of the living room, on top the lamp next to the TV. Also have to hold rabbit ears in numerous configurations to seek out one TV station from another. That’s when I begin to look like the Statue of Liberty, only I’m holding rabbit ears up in the air. My monument inscription would be different from Ms. Liberty’s. It would read, “Give me your tired, your poor, your best TV reception.”

But for the past two weeks, my TV reception has required another novel positioning of the rabbit ears, which frightens me. It frightens me because I am working on my fourth pair of rabbit ears this year. When rabbit ears have to be placed in crazy places, they sometimes fall down and break. But I’m working with a brand new pair now, so I expect great things. I did not think I would have to hang my rabbit ears upside down. Yes. I said upside down. Don’t know what is going on in the atmosphere, or with Penny’s fleas, but the only way I’m getting good reception is if the rabbit ears are hanging, upside down, off that book case in the middle of the room. How in the world can those two slender pieces of metal grab signals out of the air and direct them to my TV while upside down? Oh, who cares. It works. And I don’t have to pay cable or satellite companies big bucks for TV. Well, I guess I should count the cost of rabbit ears. But I’m not complaining. Just explaining. I love my rabbit ears.