Hello Fall. Welcome Back.

Hello Fall, or Autumn if you prefer. So glad to welcome you back.

According to the Farmer’s Almanac, Fall or Autumn 2015 begins at 3:21 a.m. on Sept. 23. I want to be awake to welcome the season. Darling Daughter and I discussed it just last week and decided we love Fall. It is our favorite season. Winter is too cold. Summer is too hot. Spring is too wet. And fall is just right.

Fall brings back a lot of I-want-to's. Like, I want to wear tall boots again, and put away the flip flops.

I want to light candles, and not fear raising the temperature in the house to 

over 100 degrees.

I want to snuggle up in one of the many sweaters I own.

I want to drink hot cider, and hot cocoa, and hot anything.

I want to eat hot chili, both temperature and spicy wise.

I want to build bonfires, and gather the grandchildren around the fire and tell them the ghost stories my mom told me.

I want to burn a hot dog till its black over that bonfire and eat it slathered in mustard.

I want to add a crispy marshmallow as dessert.

I want to watch football, lots and lots of football.

I want to play a game of badminton in the back yard and not sweat.

I want to take a long trail ride on a horse I trust.

I want to crochet an afghan and not get too hot because it must lay on my lap.

I want to go for long walks in the woods and not worry about stepping on a rattlesnake or being bitten by a tick.

I want to sit on the back porch and watch Canadian geese fly by on the way to the wildlife refuge or further south.

I want to know what my great-grandkids are going to wear for Halloween. And I want photos.

I want to be amazed as the leaves on my oaks and maples turn gorgeous colors.

And those are a few of the reasons I like fall.

Fall’s colors are an event that everyone enjoys. So I searched for why. It’s hard to believe what I found. Ha. Ha. Read on, and laugh out loud.

Found on the internet:

Manager of restaurant in New England answers phone and has the following conversation:

Manager:  How may I help you?”

Caller: “Yes, are you outside?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I’m in an office. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Caller: “Well, do you know when the leaves change out there?”

Me: “Yes, they’re changing now. They’re very beautiful.”

Caller: “What?! We missed it!”

Me: “No, ma’am, the leaves aren’t done changing.”

Caller: “Well, we live in New York and won’t be able to make it there today. What day do they change back?”

Me: “Um…they don’t change back. They fall, like the season.”

Caller: “Well, when do you put them back on the tree?”

Me: “Er…’Put The Leaves Back On The Trees’ day?”

Caller: “Oh, thank you!”

That story is allegedly true. Apparently some city folks don’t exactly understand how Fall works. I’m so glad I do. Welcome back Fall. We missed you.

Hey Grandkids – It’s National Grandparents Day!

Sunday, otherwise known as Sept. 13, is National Grandparents Day. I would like to remind my grandchildren of that.

Being a grandparent is the greatest job in the world. Nobody believed me until they had their own grandchildren. That’s when they saw the light, especially my own children. I’ve always been proud of my children. Now I’m even more proud of them as grandparents because they have gone as ga-ga over their own grandchildren as I did over mine.

Of course that means I have great-grandchildren. In fact, my little family has been so busy I have lost track of how many great-grandchildren I have. I had to make a list. Between all the connections, reconnections and blended families I think the great-grandchild count is up to eight, and growing. That’s fine with me. I love it.

I searched for National Grandparents Day on the internet, and found out it is always the Sunday following Labor Day. (Mark that on your calendars grandkids!)

The National Grandparents Day website noted the following:

There is a special bond that can only be shared between grandchildren and their grandparents. Grandparents are full of hugs and kisses, family history, wisdom, patience, love and guidance. I can attest to that. Granddaughter has always said that one of her favorite pre-teen memories is when I’d build a bonfire on a cool autumn evening and tell the ghost stories my mother used to tell me. Granddaughter never got to meet her great-grandmother, so those evenings were special to me too.

The forget-me-not is the official flower for National Grandparents Day. Didn’t know that, and would be happy to accept a forget-me-not bouquet.

It is expected that the number of grandparents in the U.S will grow from 65 million in 2011 to 80 million in 2020 as a result of the baby boom. Good Grief! My list grows!

The statute proclaiming Grandparents Day says its purpose is, “…to honor grandparents, to give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children, and to help children become aware of strength, information, and guidance older people can offer.”

 

Grandparents Day has been celebrated in the United States since 1978.  The U.S Senate and President Jimmy Carter nationally recognized Marian McQuade of Oak Hill, W.V., as the founder of National Grandparents Day.  McQuade made it her goal to educate the youth in the community about the important contributions that seniors have made throughout history.

There are some people who claim the origin of this holiday resides with the efforts of Hermine Beckett Hanna of North Syracuse, N.Y., recognizing seniors and their importance as early as 1961.  New York Congressman James T. Walsh recognized her efforts on Feb. 21, 1990, in front of the House of Representatives, thanking Hanna “for her important role in the establishment of Grandparents Day.”

 

Don’t care who started it. Just want someone to remind my grandchildren about it. Which I guess is what I’m doing right now. And I want to give my grandkids a gift.

Grandkids, forget the cards, the flowers, the gifts, and visit. I’d love to see you. And if you bring one of my great-grandkids along, that would even be GREATER, so to speak. And if that’s not possible, cause I know you are scattered throughout the U.S., then a text or an email will be enough.

And if you are not one of mine, well hey, you got a grandparent somewhere too, right? Be nice. Give ‘em a call.

It’s the Last Summer Holiday

It’s Labor Day, which means a day off, which really doesn't mean a lot to those of us who are retired. What it means to me is “Stay home! People are off work and driving like crazy on the unofficial last day of summer!”

To get others’ opinions on Labor Day, our last summer holiday, I scoured the internet and came up with the following. Enjoy!

Famous Quotes about Work:

“Hard work never killed anybody, but why take a chance?” Edgar Bergen

“Every day I get up and look through the Forbes list of the richest people in America. If I'm not there, I go to work.” Robert Orben

“Whenever you are asked if you can do a job, tell 'em, ‘Certainly, I can!’ Then get busy and find out how to do it.”  Theodore Roosevelt

“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important.”  Bertrand Russell

“Going to work for a large company is like getting on a train. Are you going sixty miles an hour or is the train going sixty miles an hour and you're just sitting still?”  J. Paul Getty

“Labor Day, when we briefly pause from demonizing unions to enjoy mattress sales in their honor.” Anonymous

“A bad day at work is better than a good day in hell.” Scott Johnson

“I help by staying out of the way while other people work.” Lyle ‘Danny’ Hintz Jr.

“If hard work were such a wonderful thing, surely the rich would have kept it all to themselves.” Lane Kirkland

“I wonder if the clothes in China say, ‘Made around the corner.” Anonymous

Then there are the others we must pay, as follows:

Roland, a businessman, is on his deathbed so he calls his friend and says, “Eli, I want you to promise me that when I die you will have my remains cremated.”

“And what,” Eli asks, “do you want me to do with your ashes?”

Roland replies, “Just put them in an envelope and mail them to the Internal Revenue Service and write on the envelope, 'Now you have everything.'”

Or as follows:

A Government Department claimed an old rancher was not paying proper wages to his help and sent an agent out to interview him.

“I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them,” demanded the agent.

“Well,' replied the old man, “There's my ranch hand who's been with me for 3 years. I pay him $600 a week plus free room and board. The cook has been here for 18 months, and I pay her $500 a week plus free room and board. Then there's the half-wit who works about 18 hours every day and does about 90 percent of all the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night.”

“That's the guy I want to talk to, the half-wit,” says the agent.

“That would be me,” replied the old rancher.

And finally let’s not forget, grandchildren, that the next holiday up is GRANDPARENTS’ DAY next Sunday!

Frog! On Windshield! EEK!

What do you do when you’re driving down the highway and a little frog lands on your windshield?

I don’t know. But it happened last week to me when driving home, after dark. All of a sudden there it was.

Was driving home after Christmas shopping (yes, I Christmas shop in August…sales you know.) on a county road when, WHAP, there he (or she) was. It was spread-eagled on my windshield, right in my line of sight. “EEK!” is what I think I said. I may have even asked it a question. “What are you doing!?!” It didn’t answer of course.

What to do? I decided to slow down and look for a stopping place, which are few and far between on county roads. And besides that, the frog was definitely limiting my ability to see a stopping place. The frog didn’t move. It just lay there sort of, little front and back legs stretched straight out, plastered tightly against the glass. And I was only going what Grandson calls my Grandma Speed. That means about 45 miles per hour.

But the slowing seem to encourage little frog to try an escape maneuver. So before I could stop, it flipped itself off my side, and was gone.

I was astonished. Where did it come from? Did it fall out of a tree? Surely little frogs can’t jump that high. I worried about the little frog. Did it escape unscathed? I don’t know how it could have, but I hoped so. I had never had a frog catch a ride on my windshield before. I soon found out I was not the only one who gave a frog a free ride lately.

A coworker related he had the same sort of event just recently. Good grief. What’s going on? Has our Oklahoma summer become so wet that even frogs are trying to jump out of the pond? Co-worker said he saved his frog.

I Googled ‘Frogs on windshields.’ Found one man who was driving down an interstate when a frog landed on his windshield. And he filmed the entire episode. (Don’t ya just love smart phones.) After much cussing, meaning this poor guy didn’t know what to do about a frog on his windshield either, he slowed down, found an exit and pulled off the interstate. He also was greatly concerned over his frog’s welfare.

“Don’t move dude!” man said over, and over, and over.

“We’re slowing down!”

“It’s lips are moving!” (His frog tried to talk.)

 

(Frog climbs into center of windshield.)

“Don’t move dude!”

“GET OVER!”

(Obviously this guy wants to save his frog.)

(Amazing. As vehicle slowed, frog sort of came to its senses and cleaned off its face and both front feet. Maybe it knew it was on camera.)

“We’re slowing down,” man told frog. (Frog didn’t answer him this time.)

(Then frog sort of curled up at bottom of windshield. Man cusses some more.)

“Don’t move!”

(And then his frog was gone.)

“Oh no! It’s dead!”

Well, I thought. Maybe not. Maybe all our frogs survived the ride. And why were we so concerned over the frogs’ welfare anyway? I thought maybe it’s because frogs help us out controlling bugs that bite us, like mosquitoes. Or maybe they are just so ugly they are cute. Or maybe it’s because they are tiny defenseless little critters.

Even if all the above is true, I still believe frogs should learn to stay off our windshields! I don’t have insurance for frog-induced wrecks. Try to explain that to your insurance agent.

The Hummingbird Riot

I caused a riot last weekend.

There seems to be a shortage of that powdered hummingbird nectar that used to be available everywhere. Not this year. Every local store I checked was out of that hummingbird food.

Retailers please note:  The hummingbirds haven’t flown south yet! And I’ve got a yard full of hungry hummers!

The hummingbirds really showed up in my backyard this summer. I’ve tried for years to attract them, not very successfully. This year they’ve showed up in droves. I suspect the few who spent summers with me in the past have returned with their teenage children. Or perhaps they’ve been attracted by the banquet provided. Determined to get those birds to my backyard, I hung out seven (Yes, 7!) hummingbird feeders. Hang the feeders and they will come. 

Yes they did. Bunches of them.

Then the hummingbird nectar disappeared from store shelves. Help!

“Make your own,” Darling Daughter suggested. She does. “Boil the sugar and water for 15 minutes, cool it down, and you’re good to go.”

I responded, “Its 100 degrees outside. I’m not boiling anything! I won’t even turn on the stove.”

So the nectar level in my feeders dropped, and dropped, and dropped. Ever been confronted by an angry, hungry hummingbird? It’s downright scary. One little female filed her complaint with me directly one morning. She flew right in front of my face, hovered there, stared me in the eye, and said, “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” That half-ounce bird scared me so bad I ducked and ran.

I ran to every store I knew had the nectar in the past. None there. I drove to Arkansas. I was desperate. Finally found some, but nearly had to fight my way out of the store, while protecting my two packages of hummingbird nectar from other desperate hummingbird lovers. I had grabbed the last two packages of nectar the store had, and was going through the checkout line when the shopper behind me demanded, “Where did you get that!?!”

“In gardening,” I offered.

Shopper complained, “I can’t find any nectar anywhere!”

I grabbed my bag of hummingbird nectar and fled. I feared a nectar riot may erupt if I lingered too long.

Back in the backyard, I cleaned out the feeders and filled them up. That’s when the real riot began.

In case you haven’t noticed, hummingbirds don’t like one another, and are very territorial. That’s really why I have seven feeders, so they can share. It didn’t work. They still fight like, well, like siblings. Those half-ounce feisty little birds fight and feud like family. They attack each other like little miniature World War II fighter planes, darting and dodging all over the place in a dog fight, or maybe we should call it a bird-dog fight.

And they don’t care if you are standing there watching them either. They’ll zoom around you just like, well, like angry hummingbirds. I have visions of tiny hummingbirds flying straight into me and going bird-bill deep, making me look like a hummingbird pin cushion. Of course they are such good flyers that will never happen.

I’ve tried getting photos of these aerial bird fights, but the birds are so fast, even my good camera can’t stop the action. Still, their antics keep me entertained for hours. No sooner did one bird stop in mid-flight to get a sip from a feeder, than it was immediately dived bombed by another.

And the whole time they continue to tell each other what they think. “CHEEP! CHEEP! CHEEP! CHEEP!” I fear that if we could translate hummingbird speech, those cheeps could probably not be published due to being X rated for language.

And the irony was, that after all my fussing and worry, my search for the nectar, and determination to make sure my hummingbirds got to eat, not one of ever got a good meal due to the riot.

But this morning, I noticed the feeders were empty again, so the riot may be over. Or not. I’ll be filling those feeders on Saturday morning, and will be wearing a helmet and flak jacket. Don’t want to be unprotected in the middle of a hummingbird riot.

School Kids Report on First Day

School started this week. I lament, to some degree, that I have no children to send off to school any more. They are all grown now. Oh darn, even the grandkids are grown. There is a passel of great-grandkids, all too young for school yet.

Once upon a time, which doesn’t seem that long ago, August was a busy month. There were school clothes to buy, and sew. School supplies to round up. And kids who had to be retrained to go to bed early so they could get up the next day in time to catch the school bus. But once my kids grew up, those chores ceased. Still, in the years after, August always caused a certain uneasiness. There was something I was supposed to be doing, but I couldn’t remember what. I finally figured out that I was missing the get-ready-for-school chores. Soon those chores will fall to my grandchildren. And yet, I sort of miss them. Kind of.

I’m sure my great-grandkids will have tales to tell when they start school. I love their honesty. So I went looking for things told by kids about their first days of a new school year. Their tales are re-told below. Enjoy.

*A new first-grade student came home and told his mother, “I’m going to wait until I’m in the 12^th grade before I go back. Then I’ll only have one year left!”

*Another first-grade student reported, “Mom, I learned that the teacher is in charge, and I don’t think that’s fair. I think the kids should be in charge.”

*A little boy was asked if he was looking forward to going back to school. He replied, “Yes! I got all kinds of new ways to make my teacher mad.”

*A new kindergarten student asked, “Will my teacher put me in time-out for picking my nose?”

*A kindergarten student told her grandma she was scared, and she was crying. When asked why she said she had been told about homework. “I don’t know how to do homework!!" she said.

*Another indignant new kindergarten student demanded of his parents, “Why did you sign me up for school?” 

*A first-grade student fell asleep in the car on the way home of school. When asked by mom why, she replied, “First grade is really hard.”

*A Head Start student reported on his first day of school. When asked what he’d done he replied, “We ate 3 times, we played 3 times, and went to sleep. I like school!”

*A kindergarten student was asked if he had gotten in trouble on his first day. He replied, “Not really. I did get caught talking when I wasn't supposed to, but I didn't get in trouble for it.”

The boy was asked what he had learned for the next time.

He replied, “Not get caught!”

*At the end of the first day, a fifth-grade student told his mom, “I don’t need to go back. I know enough.”

*A first-grade teacher told a mom her son needed to learn to follow directions. When confronted, the little first-grader responded, “Momma. I don’t know who Reck Shuns is! I CAN’T FOLLOW HIM!”

But my favorite of all is also the most simple, and most heart wrenching.

*A little girl, on her way to her first kindergarten class, asked, “Mommy, can you go with me?”

And the answer, to all my kids, and grandkids, and great-grandkids, is, “I’ll go with you anywhere.”

Thank You to Those Who Toil and Broil in Southern Summers

Assistant Fire Chief Steve Padgett of Sallisaw was tooling around Sallisaw this week, above, in the Sallisaw Fire Department’s 1950 fire truck. Fire Chief Anthony Armstrong said they call it the “Parade Truck.” He said the Sallisaw High School football team wanted their photo taken with the truck. I take that to mean the football boys hope to put out the fires of their rival teams this year. Go Black Diamonds!

That’s pretty cool. And cool is the object here. Cool is apparently something we are going to have to wait to experience, maybe in September or October. UGH! Yes, this is my annual Summer Heat Rant. I can’t take the heat. I want cool. But this week, with temperatures forecast to be at 100 degrees or higher, cool is something we may only find in a well-air-conditioned work place or home.

Heat knocks me off my feet, literally. I figured this out as a young woman who was living in San Angelo, Texas, with hubby who had been sent there by the U.S. Air Force. This little Indiana farm girl was not prepared for a Texas summer. Truthfully, when I walked outside in Texas in the summer, I fainted. It was downright embarrassing. Open door. Walk outside. Hit the ground. And that’s when I began to hate southern summers. Give me spring! Give me fall! I’ll even take a southern winter, with ice, over a cold northern snow-smacked winter. But save me from a southern summer.

And one day this week I wondered how other southerners survived heat, especially those who protect and serve us. That is our firefighters and police who must toil and broil in our southern heat. Firefighters go out to save our lives and homes from fires, and are required to dress for protection. They gotta wear all that gear – helmets, and boots, and gloves, and heavy coats. Then, they have to run and lug around heavy water hoses and ladders. How do they do that, and not faint!?! Our police officers are in the same protective-clothing boat. They gotta wear those bullet-proof vests, fancy police officer clothing, and a tool belt from which hangs a full set of crime-fighting armament. Ever looked closely at a police officer’s equipment belt? Good grief. Cops haul around everything from hand cuffs to hand guns. My grandma didn’t have that much stuff in her kitchen gadget drawer.

I asked Fire Chief Armstrong, “How do you do that?” He laughed at me. That’s normal.

“Well, you just get used to it,” he said. “You practice.”

Well, I practiced walking out the door into a Texas summer, and it didn’t help me a bit. Just this week one of Sallisaw’s fireman suffered a bit of heat exhaustion at a small house fire. Chief Armstrong assures us our fireman recovered quickly and is going to be fine.

So for him and all our firemen and police officers, let’s give them a round of applause and a pat on the back in this August heat. They deserve thank yous year round, but to do what they do in a southern summer heat wave is, to me at least, way above and beyond the call of duty.

Thank you guys and gals. You are amazing.

Back to that Texas summer, courtesy of the U.S. Air Force. So, after spending a horribly hot summer in Texas, the U.S Air Force sent Airman Hubby and me to the most logical place they could think of. Yep, we spent the next winter, and the next three years, in Alaska. And I must report that an Alaskan summer, all 30 days of it, is fantastic.