cowboy critters

It's a different life for a pet out in the country than in town. Before I moved here, I would bring my two little city dogs for weekend visits. The boys came too of course, and this place seemed to have the same effect on both. The fresh air, new smells and sounds, water, openness...was good for everyone. They ran and played and explored without leashes and limits.

Once we moved here permanently, some boundaries were necessary, but not like at the house in town. I was always worried about the kids riding their bikes where I couldn't see them, or the dogs getting loose and hit by traffic on the busy street  nearby.

Well, with freedom comes some risk. This week our little black shi-poo, Beau, got hit by a truck and trailer on the not-very-busy gravel road. I went looking for him in the car when he didn't come to my holler of  "Co-ttie, Beau-Beau!" I didn't get far. He was on the road at the end of our long driveway. There was no life in him, no reason to rush to the vet. I acted on impulse to find the truck and show the driver what he had done.  Why didn't he stop so I could have taken him to the doctor? I held Beau and drove a bit, but came home. I held his warm little body and cried and cried on the porch stairs. He was just a baby at a year and a half and was at that nice stage where they are less work and more nice to have around. He was the most playful of our pets, so animated and sweet.

I wrapped him up and put him in a laundry basket. I didn't know if they boys would want to say good-bye or not, but I wanted it to be their choice. I picked them up from school that day and told them on the way home. My husband had dug a hole for him next to where his own beloved dog was buried. The boys did want to see Beau. He looked asleep in the basket. We all said goodbye together.

I think watching the other dogs may have been worse than telling my kids about Beau. Cotton, my little white Eskimo, was shaking a lot. Is this like crying for a dog? She has been by my side since it happened a few days ago. Beau's best playmate was Fred the pug. Fred is a bit dim, but was looking out the french door for his buddy with his tail uncurled.

I remember living in the country as a kid and losing pets once in a while. It's kind of a cowboy life for them I think; a bit more danger, more adventure, more fending for themselves but with us humans as backup, just in case they don't feel too wild that day. If I were a dog or a cat, there is no way I would want to be stuck in a house in town looking at all that greenness and wonder out the windows. Nope, I would be a country pet...or a country kid...any day of the week.

Grama Bertha

    I grew up with all 4 grandparents in close proximity. I saw all of them weekly and spent the night at their homes quite a lot. This is more than I can say for my 2 kiddos who have never lived less than 100 miles from their grandparents. So I was a lucky kid, right? I gotta say though, I had a favorite. My mom's mom - Bertha Camilla VanWatermeulen DeCoster Cummins. (She named her kids Mary, Sue and Jeff!) Of course Grama Bertha, as we called her, was the first to pass away.
    I was 13. It was spring and a couple months from my confirmation. I am soooo not a cryer, but thinking about her gets the waterworks goin'. I remember as a 13 year old being so sad for my mom. Grama died in a matter of minutes. She had gone shopping with her 2 daughters, a weekly ritual,  and was in the driveway to her house when she had a massive stroke/heart attack in the back seat.
    Maybe this is why I cry when I think of her. The other grandparents died after long illnesses. My last grampa died just this month. Maybe it's because I was an adult with the others. I remember being a kid and going to Petersen's at the mall with Grama Bertha. People would say hi to her and when I asked who it was, she would say they were a customer. She was a cashier at Eagle's grocery store for 29 years. I don't know my cashiers at Wal-mart, do you?
    There must have been something special about her that was not exclusive to her grandkids. Everyone saw it. She was kind, that's it. She was nice to be around. She kept chocolate licorice in the kitchen drawer for us. She gave us silly chores that we thought were really helpful, like filling a brown grocery bag full of pinecones. She tucked us in and gave us a kiss goodnight and said, Goodnight - God bless ya - I love ya.
    I had been thinking about her lately and didn't consiously know why. Maybe it was the funeral of my last grandparent, I dunno. Twenty-eight years ago she died, and I remember taking out her curlers like it was yesterday. I only just rememebered that she had died in March, then I did the math. Wow, 28 years, no kidding? Huh. I'm 40. I miss her. I loved all of my grandparents of course, but she was my favorite.

seed bombs, everybody's doing it

      Would you believe that where my darling Thor and his fires have burned around the lake, grasses are now growing? That took about a week is all. Call me impressed. So while at our local home store the other day, I was inspired by the seed packets at the door to make me some seed bombs. I don't know where I heard of them or what they were exactly, just that I wanted to make some and spread them around the banks of the lake where the new grass can be found. It's a dirt ball of seeds was all I knew.
     I chose several packets of quick growers and native plants: poppies, sunflowers, bachelor buttons, purple coneflowers, larkspur, blak-eyed susans, and hollyhocks. Then I thought it might be a good idea to add some oscmocote, my preferred brand of slow release fertilizer. You mix it with some mud and make balls with the seeds. I wanted them to be pretty, so I thought it would be cool to use ice cube trays as molds for drying. Ok, time to make a mess!
      Just to be sure I wasn't missing any key ingredients, I did some online searching. Apparently I am not alone in this brilliant idea! The trend started with some hippies who wanted to plant flowers in vacant city lots and such. They would ride by on their bikes and throw seed bombs over fences. I love it! One lady wore stillettos on her bike rides to plant the seed bombs. She used her heel to make a hole for the wee mudball.
    I was looking for recipes and most included red clay powder and compost of some kind. Instead of compost, I am using mud from the lake, it has organic matter. You add enough water to make it doughy, not too sticky.  I was also going to mix in just a bit of plaster of paris to make the balls hold their shape for "planting." These along with my seeds and fertilizer should be a rousing success in a couple months or so, you know, about the time we sell the house...

Homes for sale

   Bonjour to all of you! it's now officially spring and the much talked about upswing in the housing market can start any minute now. Anyone who has a home for sale knows of that which I speak. Don't move if you don't have to! If only I could take my own advice. We now have 2 homes on the market. Yea, kinda dumb, I know. The city home me and da boyz moved out of in October 2010 is still forsale. We are on our 2nd realtor. Apparently the whole thing needs be beige inside and for $1500 the realtor has a crew to do it. While I am sure this crew is well worth the money and time, I don't have that lying around just now.
   Yesterday we saw my recently retired parents for lunch. I said to my unsuspecting Dad, "Mom said you would paint the old house for me." As he recovered from choking a little on his lobster-feast, he said he could prolly do that. I told him Mom would help him. Volunteering others is a skill I learned growing up, I was generally the one being "volunteered." I said they can do whatever the heck they wanted, just send the bill, as long as it's not over about $500.
   So this wasn't enough for me and my new groom to take on. No, we thrive on instability and chaos. We listed the country lake cabin/house with a realtor. Apparently there are crazy big-city folks who are still buying real estate - especially weekend homes in the country. When I told my Dad that I suspected realtors of saying things like this to get your house listed, he likened them to car salesmen.
   We have looked at some other houses. I'm only asking that it have more living space and some people nearby for me to play with. The rest can be negotiated. I'm concluding that in the off chance some city-slicker offers us a king's ransom for the cabin, we can then find a place to our liking as there are loads for sale at the moment...afterall, it IS officially spring.

mid March case of the ughs

Sigh...ugh...blah, where is the green already? Apparently when one lives out in the sticks, it is a rite of spring to burn...everything in sight! It's an Illinois prairie phenomenon - fire. It rejuvenates the fields of grasses and takes out saplings. Ok, i get it, really i do. My handsome hubby "Thor" is taking his role of lightning bolt dude waaaaayyyyy too seriously. The other day he says to me, "If I holler at you to call 911, don't hesitate, seriously." I looked up at him from my spot on the sofa and compasionately reponded, "How am I gonna hear ya with the windows closed?" (ever the practical virgo, first born, teacher, mom girl!) He just said not to worry that I would indeed hear him. I guess the wind was just perfect to burn one side of the lake, whatever pyro. So Thor comes in and says to look out the window - - smoke. Greeeat dude, having fun? He was all kinds of excited. Fire + men = entertainment.
So yesterday he did it again. He wind spoke to my Thor yet again. This burn didn't go quite so smoothly. The boys were called out to stomp the fire out of the neighboring cornfield. The boys came in coughing and stinkin' and all kinds of mad about Thor and his fire. Hehehehe, oh Thor, you make me laugh.
So what was once light brown is now black, soon to be green and lush. Laura Ingalls would approve of my little cabin on the prairie.

subbing vs. teaching

After 5 years in my own classroom with urban high school students, subbing in a little k-12 school out in the country is c-a-k-e! Ok, so there is the thing about not getting paid a regular salary, which in this economy makes me nuttier than a squirrel turd, but still. It must be a little bit like being a grandparent vs. a parent. You pop in to the picture, smile a lot, have a snack, talk to the kids about what they are working on today, do general supervision, and you expect the kiddos to behave themselves. Here the fun bit is the variety in grade levels. One day I played with lincoln logs and handed out milk to 4yr olds and the next I'm in a computer lab with sophomores making power points.

Sometimes I wish...

He's handsome, he's funny, he's sexy, he talks non-stop, he tries to kiss me non-stop, he wants me non-stop...and while part of me loves the attention, sometimes I just want - less. This is coming from the woman who wanted nothing but attention during the 1st marriage. I don't want my beautiful man to change one bit. He's rough around the edges and I love that about him. He drinks out of the milk carton with the fridge door open. He shaves...occasionally. He completely adores me in every state of dress. He makes me laugh 'til I pee a little. He charms every one he meets. He sings to me in that husky voice on request, or just when a song comes on the radio that reminds him of us.
Ok, I'm a selfish beeyatch. Sometimes I push his burly face away if he tries to kiss me when I'm drinking my cafe. Or I will ask him to please stop talking while Oprah is on the tele. I gave up some things to marry him and move out here to the sticks. What I got in return is more love than I can handle!!! LMAO

awww crud...

what happened? I started to tell a story and the screen blanked out. Ok well, I get the hint. I am a 40 year old mother of 2 boys, 11 and 13. After 10 years of being married, 5 years of being divorced, I married a great man last October 10th, 2010, and that is where THIS story begins!