Time, Talent, and Treasure

Talent is a peculiar thing.  You either have it or you don’t.  Sometimes you have degrees of it.  There is one thing I excel at, and that is writing.  Nailed that one.  There are a lot of other things I am pretty good at but don’t really shine.  And there are some things I cannot do to save my soul.  

Take cooking for instance.  I love to cook, and I’m pretty good at it too.  I’ve even managed to put 40 pounds on Captain since we got married.  That brought him out of the “severely under-weight” BMI range and into borderline low-normal.

I was pretty proud of myself the day I turned out three loaves of homemade bread from scratch.  No frozen bread dough or bread machine mix.  Scratch.  That takes talent, right?

So why can’t I manage to make Rice Krispie bars?  You tell me, and we might both know.  This is the first baking project any beginner tries, but I can’t do it after 30 years of trying.  They either turn out like mortar bricks or they are soup.  I follow the recipe down to the letter with the same bad result every time.  So I gave up on those.

Caramel corn is another one I have never mastered.  Why should I, really, when Carroll’s Corn serves the best caramel corn in town?  The one time I tried making caramel corn, the dog wouldn’t even eat it.  What kind of rotten review is that?  I’ve seen the things our dog eats, and it makes my caramel corn look like ambrosia.

Pre-packaged or single-serving grocery products cannot be found in our house.  We buy the basics and make do.  Or I try to copy the box mixes for this or that.  I think I finally got the sour cream and cheddar potato thing down pat thanks to a crock pot recipe from Captain’s mom.  Who needs to buy the Rice-A-Roni Spanish rice mix when you can make Minute Rice and dump some salsa in it?  Same outcome…major savings.  I guess saving money is a talent as well, in its way.

This is why Captain does the grocery shopping now.  All I was allowed to do for many years was cut the coupons and write the list.  He started doing the shopping simply because going on a Saturday afternoon with two kids was beyond my capabilities.  He could go at night after chores and be done in less time than it took me to get the kids out of their car seats.  

Plus, he’s better at it than I am.  He does the whole coupon thing, store flyer, easy-saver-store-card, and comparison shopping of price-per-units.  I don’t have that kind of time or patience.  Plus, while he’s at the store doing the grocery thing, I’m at home with my feet up reading a good book.  Getting the better end of the deal is the greatest talent of all, and I win!

If I wasn’t adopted, I might have inherited my mother’s talent for sewing and mending.  Granted, those things can be learned, but there has to be an innate aptitude involved that I’m missing.  When Young Mann was smaller and would ruin the knees in his jeans faster than I could ruin a batch of caramel corn, my mom would take those jeans and patch them with the coolest things…a football on one knee and a baseball bat and ball on the other.  He was the envy of every kid in his grade.  I can’t even manage those iron-on patches.

The Princess’ talent is fashion.  I’m not sure where she got that because I know it wasn’t from me.  I do the basic colors of black, brown, or blue pants or skirts and toss on a colorful sweater, and I’m good to go.  Or I thought I was until one day The Princess gave me a critical up-and-down look and said, “You call that an outfit?” Let's see...bra, underwear, shirt, pants, hoisery, shoes. Yep, that's an outfit.  Did I mention she was only 10 years old at the time?  

And she likes to shop, which is another throwback mutation that did not come from me.  I’m thinking my mother-in-law—who is the smartest dresser I know—passed those talents on to The Princess.  They love to shop.  I hate it.  When I shop, I’m on a mission.  I know what I want and what I’m willing to pay for it.  If I don’t find it on my first quick pass through the store, I leave and try another day.  Those two will browse for hours, try on 57 different combinations of outfits, and they might come home with two that they liked, that fit, and they could afford.  That’s not talent; that’s a disease.

Young Man is a throwback mutation as well.  I’m pretty sure he was the Pied Piper in another lifetime.  Little kids will follow him around like he’s the answer to everything they’ve dreamed of.  It’s amazing.  He can distract a cranky toddler until there is nothing but smiles.  Older folks love him too because he is a rapt listener to all those “In my day” stories that get told at large family reunions.  Listening is a talent I guess we could all work on more.  

The three things we are supposed to contribute to this world are our time, talents, and treasures.  I may not have a lot of talents, but my family is my biggest treasure of all time.  

Happy Father In Law Day

Got a text from Mama Bear this morning wishing Captain a Happy Father-in-Law day...how sweet!  I didn't even know there was such a day.

I would say Happy FIL Day to Captain's dad, but we lost him in a drowning accident just over 8 years ago.  I can't tell him, so I'll tell you.

He was a big man with a big heart.  His life's motto was "If something is in your way, go over it, under it, around it, or through it.  Don't let it stop you."  In other words, don't give up.  We all pretty much still live by that rule.

He loved his family, had so many friends they can't be counted, and lived life the way he wanted to...fully.

His grandkids were his pride and joy.  He always made sure before they'd part ways, he gave them "a big squeeze."  The biggest treat for them was when Grampa would look at one of them and say, "Wanna run away today?"  And off they'd go for an adventure.

One time he took Princess with him on a parts run to Heartland, Minnesota.  Not such a long drive...unless you are a 9-year-old girl.  Turns out the part Grampa needed wasn't at the dealer in Heartland, and to this day Princess talks about going to Heartland "for no good reason."  But she got an ice cream cone out of the deal, so what's her beef?

Young Man was especially close to Grampa.  They were buds.  More like two peas in a pod, really.  I see a lot of Captain's dad in Young Man, especially when he gets called on the carpet for something and puts on his puppy dog face and says, "The devil made me do it."

I truly believe that those who have passed are not truly gone.  So I'll say it anyway, Happy Father-In-Law Day!  He'll get the message.

4-H Memories

Tonight I am going to the fair to watch some friends’ grandchildren show cattle in the novice group of the open class Holstein show.  It will be like old home week because Captain and I were both 4-H members, and we both showed dairy cattle.  In fact, that’s how we met.  But that’s a story for another time.  

I showed cattle because my baby brother did, although he was into it and I was only in it for the socialization aspect.  I competed for four or five years and never got a state fair trip.  I’m not sure I ever even got a blue ribbon. Doesn’t matter, because I got better stuff.

Being in 4-H teaches you about hard work.  It doesn’t matter if your project is an animal, a pie, a dress, a photograph, vegetables, or a demonstration.  You can’t just throw it together the night before the fair starts.  It takes practice, practice, practice.  Days, weeks, months of practice.  

I remember doing posters every year for Junior Leadership.  Being a fly by the seat of my pants kind of person, I always thought that leave it to the end thing would work.  Lucky for me, my mom was smarter than that.  I learned a few essentials from her.  Have a plan, make a template, use a pencil first.  Whereas I would have just started writing or coloring on the poster board, Mom made sure I drew straight lines for the lettering, centered the focal image, and used stencils for the lettering.  My theory was always “It’s good enough” while Mom’s was “It can be better.”  If I earned a blue ribbon, it was thanks to Mom.  I also learned to strive for more than just “good enough.”

In 4-H, you learn how to do paperwork.  Many projects, particularly the livestock projects, involve detailed records of how much the animal is fed and what that cost, what the vet costs were, what the animal’s production was and what that was worth.  Other projects also require detailed explanations of costs, materials, and time spent.  Those records are judged at the county and state levels for accuracy and neatness.  A sub-lesson here is the that 4-Hers learn the value of money and how to get the most bang for their bucks.

One of the biggest things that a 4-H member learns that stays with them forever is public speaking.  Every member, from Cloverbuds (kindergarten) to the graduating seniors, is required to give a demonstration in order to participate at the fair.  This usually involves visual aids, an overview of the process involved in whatever project they are speaking about, and a finished project.  There is a question and answer session from other members at the end of the demonstration.  It is a terrifying experience for the majority of kids, but it is an elemental skill that is called upon later in life during interviews for things like scholarships and jobs.  I’ve had more than one hiring manager tell me over the years that they can pick out which candidates have been in either 4-H because their speaking ability is so much more advanced.  

But the best thing about 4-H?  Friendships that last for the rest of your life.  Between me and Captain, I can count, at a minimum, two...no three...dozen of our friends that we met through 4-H.  How freaking cool is that?  Maybe you don’t marry someone in 4-H with you like I did, but you never lose touch with your 4-H friends.  When they get married, you’re invited.  When they have kids, you get an announcement.  When there is a death in their family, you and other 4-H folks come out in droves for support.  And vice versa.  

Then the day comes when your kid and their kid are both standing in the show ring with a spring yearling, hoping for a ticket to the Great Minnesota Get Together.  Their kid snags a trip and yours doesn’t.  I can guarantee that simultaneously you and your kid will turn to the winner (or parent) and say a sincere and heartfelt “Congratulations, great job!”  Awesome.  

Garden Fever

Robert Bridges, an English poet from the early 1900s, once said "If odour were visible, like colour is, I would see the summer garden in rainbow clouds."  

I don't know if he meant flower gardens or vegetable gardens, but either way, it's a nice visual.  

My mom had a huge garden when we were growing up.  I hated it.  Every part of it.  Planting, weeding, harvesting, preserving, eating.  No thank you.  

That's why it is surprising that now, in my fourth decade of life, I love almost all aspects of gardening.  Except weeding; I just can't make that one a positive thing no matter how I twist it around.  At best, it is a necessary evil.  At worst, it is the ruination of a perfectly good day.  

But I digress.

Planting...how exciting to imaging all the potential of summer bounty when putting plants and seeds in the dirt.  I have become something of a fanatic of flower gardening.  I spend days to weeks planning the layout of all my flower pots or containers (and I have two dozen pots/containers...no joke).  Young Man once asked me why I "keep putting crap in the yard to mow around."  Because it makes me happy, my friend!

One of those containers is a whiskey barrel purchased from Menards by Captain and the kids (that sort of sounds like a breakfast cereal, doesn't it) for me for Mother's Day one year.  

I filled it with steer yard dirt (that's compost to all of you non-farm folks) and plunked a daisy and petunias in it.  They grew to astronomical proportions.  The next year, it was dusty millers...again, mutant growth.  For a couple of years after that, it was sweet potato vines that eventually completely covered the barrel.  I don't know what's in that dirt (actually I do), but I've been tempted a couple of times to have Captain's agronomist soil sample it and tell me what the magic ingredient is.  This year, I planted flowering kale, argeratum, and a green spiky plant.  

Each year when I am planning the annuals, I always leave one container as the "mystery plant" spot.  I like to try one new plant each year, just to see what's what.  There have been hits and misses there (memo to me, snap dragons don't do well for me), but I learn something every year.

The vegetable garden is pretty standard with several varieties of tomatoes, swiss chard, green beans, squash, zuchinni, egg plant, cucumbers, and lettuce.  Captain doesn't like it when his mom and I plant the rows of seeds because they "aren't straight enough."  Well geez, who cares?  We are just getting more product per square inch doing it our way.  Nope, not good enough.  He hauls out the string and posts so he can plant a straight row.  Whatever...it makes him happy.  

In the early weeks after planting the garden, we check it almost daily, as if there is magic whisky barrel dirt out there that will makes Jack's beanstalk grow.  By the time stuff is actually starting to ripen, the weeds are so out of control, it's hard to find the produce.  Princess always complained when we made her pick green beans about whose dumb idea was it to make the bean the same color as the vines and leaves so that the beans are easy to miss.  Talk to God, sweetie, it was His idea.  

My first foray into preserving was a salsa recipe from my good friend, Mae, and I still use it to this day.  For a couple of years, I tried the Mrs. Wages salsa mix instead because it was quicker, but I soon went back to the homemade recipe because it was better.  So often, good things are worth the extra time and effort.  

After that, I expanded my horizons into pizza sauce and pasta sauce.  As in dozens of pints of both each year, not to mention the dozens of pints of salsa and quarts of plain stewed tomatoes.  That is a lot of work the old fashioned way of blanching, peeling, and quartering the tomatoes.  I finally invested in a Sauce Master at Hardware Hank.  What used to take hours now took just minutes.  The machine removes the peels, cores, and seeds with just the turn of a crank.  Ingenius!  

Another good friend of mine did a lot of pressure canning of vegetables, and after having home canned green beans at their house one evening, Captain said I should get one also because, "Damn, those were better than anything you buy in the store."  The first time I used the pressure cooker, I was such a nervous wreck about possibly blowing up the house, I texted my friend every 30 seconds to double check I was doing it right.  Apparently I was, because that year I had 35 pints to tide us over the winter.  Now I also do pints of vegetable soup as well.  My next trick is going to be canning some stew meat.  We'll see how that goes.  

I also used to use Mrs. Wages Dill Pickle mix, but the flavor just wasn't quite right.  I did some the next year using the Ball Canning Book recipe, which were better, but still not just right.  Then I accidentally stumbled upon a recipe on the internet that did not call for pickling spice...mainly because I was out of pickling spice at the time I needed to put up pickles.  Oh. My. Goodness.  Those were the best pickles (a) I've ever made or (b) I've ever tasted.  And therein lies the reason behind today's post.  I am going to a friend's house to get some dill so I can make some awesome pickles to last us through the winter!

In your life's garden, I hope you have many beautiful blooms, few weeds, and a bountiful harvest of rainbow clouds!

Lake Sakatah

We took the scenic route to Sakatah since we were in no real hurry, and this trip was supposed to be relaxing.  We meandered through Kenyon on the way to Faribault and made a quick stop at Hardees for lunch.  We had to hit the Walmart across the street because our Coleman lantern hasn’t worked the last three or four times we’ve tried it, so we decided to pick up a battery operated lantern instead.  While we were cruising up and down the sporting goods aisles, it hit me what I had forgotten to pack...camp chairs.  Lucky for us, there were some on sale!  

Loaded with the last of our essentials, including a new book for each of us, we went on to get checked into the park.  When we got to our site and started unloading, it only took two minutes to realize that the mosquitoes outnumbered us 1000 to 1 and we needed ammunition.  We didn’t even finish putting up the tent; instead it was back in the truck to drive into Waterville, two miles down the road.  Pondered stopping at a Caseys convenience store but decided to check out main street to see if there might be a hardware store.

Jackpot two blocks down...Hardware Hank!  I love hardware stores; they aren’t just for men anymore, my friends!  I would say this particular store has been owned and operated by the same person/family for decades.  It was one of those old main street stores where the aisles are so close together, if two people are in the same aisle they are standing in sin.  But let me say, if he didn’t have what you were looking for, you probably didn’t need it.  And such a friendly, helpful, delightful elderly man running the store!  He was genuinely interested in what we needed, why, and where we were from.  There was even a little “free” table of stuff out on the sidewalk, so I picked up a little book for Cubby.

Armed with our Yard Guard, we returned to camp and went to war.  After dispensing two-thirds of the can over as much of the site as we could, we went back to setting up camp and then decided to explore.  

We walked down the main road toward the showers, detoured through a different “loop” that had more campers and RVs than tents.  One family had a rousing bean bag tournament going on, and the pre-teen boy was kicking butt!  I am pretty sure that is because he was the only participant under legal drinking age...but I could be wrong about that.  No matter, they were having fun as family and friend, and I can appreciate that.  

After that, we decided to walk down to the boat launch and fishing pier area, but after maybe 500 yards, we turned back due to swarms of mosquitoes.  I even slapped one on the side of my head so hard I made my ears ring!  Darn things.  

Somehow when we are camping, we are both sleeping in the camp chairs by 9:00 and at home, it is usually 11 or later when we finally go to bed.  Must be the fresh air and starlight.  Anyway, in the tent, I was just getting to sleep...you know that floaty, dreamy, all-is-well state right before you get to sleep?  Something came crashing into the tent that sent me right into Chicken Little mode.  My mind ran the gamut from psycho squirrel to Bigfoot (don’t judge; childhood fears are REAL) to...what’s the name of the stupid dinosaur that used to routinely stomp all over Japan in the movies...whatever.  

When a second something came crashing into the tent, I remembered that the tent was pitched directly underneath a walnut tree and we were being bombed periodically.  Whew...better than a psycho squirrel!  I snuggled in and went to sleep.

The next thing that woke me up was rain pattering on the tent.  Thank heavens I remembered the rain fly this time or it would have been ugly.  As it was, we were nice and cozy right where we were!

Of course, just before dawn, I needed to...ummm...use the facilities.  Except the facilities were way down at the end of the loop and sort of a long walk.  In the dark.  By myself.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know I said I could put up with walking to a bathroom...just not in the dark.  Remember the immediate thoughts of….man, WHAT was that dinosaur’s name?!?!  Anyway, the fear goes back to some brainless babysitter when I was a kid who let me watch some horror movie about lizard people.  My fear of the dark has stayed with me ever since, making predawn trips to porta potties a dilemma.  

I could wake up Captain, but that just seemed rude since he was sleeping so peacefully.  Wait a minute, why are his feet in my face when his face was in my face when we went to sleep?  He turned himself around apparently.  Neither here nor there.  

I toss and turn for awhile hoping maybe I’m mistaken and I only think I need to pee.  Toss, turn, toss.  Nope, I need to pee.  Then I heard the birds singing, so dawn must be breaking.  Pretty sure Bigfoot hotfoots it back to the hills during the day.  Probably safe to venture out.  Suffice it to say, the new battery operated lantern kept all fears at bay!

We both waited until the sun was full up to crawl out of the tent.  I headed for the showers and Captain hung out at camp.  When I pack for camping and I contemplate toiletries, I always think to myself “It’s camping...who’s gonna care what I look like?” So I only pack shampoo, soap, and toothpaste.  I regret it every single time when I have no conditioner, no comb, and no hair ties.  Psycho squirrels got nothing on me with just-been-showered hair.  

The rain seemed to have quadrupled the skeeter population, so I refused to make breakfast in camp.  Besides, we hadn’t been prepared for the rain so everything from firewood to food was soaked.  Perkins, here we come!

Rejuvenated by food that someone else cooked and served, we returned to camp to break down and head out.  Rolling up the tent was a muddy mess, and I couldn’t get the sleeping bags rezipped.  Tossed it all in the back of the truck helter skelter and got the hell out of dodge.  

On the way home, we stopped at Big Woods state park outside of Nerstrand, also a repeat trip for us, but they have a waterfalls area a short hike from the picnic area.  Memo to anyone else visiting Hidden Falls...take the trail from the campground down to the falls and the trail to the picnic area up from the falls.  If you do it the other way around, you will look like this picture of me from last year (I'm the one way back there ready to die).  Just saying.

Mishaps, mistakes, and--you guessed it-misdeeds were all words of the weekend.  Even though it was less than 24 hours, it’s always good to get away.  But, boy oh boy, was it nice to come home again!

Today's thoughts

Captain and I are almost ready to head out on our camping adventure.  Of course, getting ready didn't go as smooth as we'd hoped.  That camping check list I talked about?  Yeah...can't find it.  So we are flying on a wing and prayer there and hope we don't forget something essential.  At least it isn't as if we are going to the wilds of Alaska.  If we did forget something, there is most likely a Walmart within 20 minutes in any given direction!  It took several phone calls for Captain to find someone to feed his six baby calves.  Thanks to Tyler Maxson for stepping up on that one!

On a side note, don't ever look for a post on Sunday.  I take Sundays off...a lot like Hobby Lobby and Fareway do.  It's a family day around here, and I will honor that.

Until Monday (or later, I don't know if I can keep up the every day posting thing), I will leave these thoughts with you and hope you enjoy them!

You wouldn’t know it by seeing or talking to Captain, but he is the proud possessor of an impish streak a mile wide.  To his great glee, he married the world’s most gullible person.  He enjoys seeing how much he can buffalo me, and (in the spirit of matrimonial harmony, of course) I let him have great success.

During a governor’s campaign race many years ago, Captain was telling me that one of the candidates was accused of appearing nude at a swimming party and the offered the excuse for such vile behavior was that he was sleepwalking.  Because this sounded exactly like the sort of asinine thing a wanna-be public official would say, I believed Captain’s account.  That was my first mistake.  My second mistake was in repeating it at card club the next night.  I went on and on about the increase of corruption in the government and the decline of morality in our elected officials until Captain interrupted me…to tell me he had made the whole thing up.  Only the fact that there were four witnesses present kept him from being the guest of honor at a wake.

Captain not only uses verbal trickery, he is fond of the visual aspect of practical jokes too.  Upon returning home from the grocery store once, I entered the kitchen only to spy a monstrous beetle-type bug on the counter.  Now, I pride myself on being largely unaffected by creepy crawlers, but I was very pregnant at the time and given to uncharacteristic behavior.  So I dropped the four bags of groceries from my hands, slammed a bowl upside down over the bug, and ran screaming to the barn in search of a big, strong man to dispose of the big, ugly bug.  Well, “ran” maybe isn’t the right word; being 8-1/2 months pregnant, the best I could manage was a waddle.

I found Captain in the barn talking politics, religion, and women to a salesman.  I ignored good manners and interrupted their conversation to inform Captain that our home had been invaded by a mutant alien life form roughly the size of New Jersey (hysteria and exaggeration being the prerogatives of mothers-to-be), and unless he wanted this particular woman to give him a sermon he wouldn’t soon forget, he had best consider himself elected to take care of said alien life form.  Trying to maintain any semblance of dignity after Captain told me it was a plastic bug was futile.  I simply waddled back to the house.  Where I proceeded to bake that little plastic bug into Captain’s apple pie.

Humorous—but not offensive or belittling—stories and the retelling of them are what make up the fabric of a family’s history.  It gives a sense of continuity and bonding.  No one escapes having a tale told about them because everyone is human, and everyone makes mistakes.  Blessed are those families with endless fabric to wrap themselves in love through the years!

Bucket List

Did you know there are 75 state parks in Minnesota?  As much as camping has been a part of our lives since we got married, I did not know this until Captain and I put “visit every state park in Minnesota” on our bucket list and I started researching.

Captain introduced me to the joys of tent camping about 30 years ago.  Up to that point, I don’t know as I knew what a tent was.  My family was more the Holiday Inn kind of folks.  Anyhoo, Captain’s family camped frequently and had all the paraphernalia that went with it...Coleman stove, Coleman lantern, tents, sleeping bags, etc.  

Camping was a good option for us when the kids were young because it was so much cheaper than a hotel and restaurants, plus it gave them all kinds of room to run around and burn off energy.  Ask one of them sometime about the cart-in site we stayed at in Frontenanc state park and then hiked 400 feet down to Lake Pepin.  Apparently Captain was the only one who realized that we would also have to hike 400 feet almost straight back up to get back to the campsite!  Camping in state parks also let the kids learn some history of Minnesota and see some amazing things like Gooseberry Falls and Split Rock Lighthouse.  

The thing we most like about Minnesota state parks, other than the obvious nature aspect, is that every single one of them has excellent shower facilities.  I don’t mind cooking over an open fire, using a flashlight to get the bathroom in the middle of the night, or sleeping on the ground.  However, I refuse to do the sponge bath thing to clean up.  I need my shower every day!

Since camping requires organization, I made up an Excel spreadsheet of things to pack from Advil to Ziplock bags.  It still never fails that I forget something.  One time when we had Young Man and his favorite cousin, I forgot the rain fly for the tent Captain and I were sleeping in.  We ended up sleeping in the truck...joy and rapture.  I ended up with laryngitis the rest of the trip, which the kids didn’t mind because I couldn’t yell at them that way!

Then there was the year we took the kids to the Black Hills the summer that Young Man graduated high school.  Kind of a “last hoorah” as a family vacation.  It was the last week in July in South Dakota, and we had to sleep in winter coats, hats, and mittens because it got down to 36 degrees the first two nights we were there.  But, oh, the days were lovely!  I’m not sure about Princess, but I can see Young Man taking Mama Bear and Cubby there someday on vacation.  Maybe not in a tent, though.  

Our absolute favorite state park area is the North Shore.  I told Captain once that I don’t need to see the ocean...Lake Superior was grand enough!  We have visited there a dozen times over the years, and there is always something new to explore and discover along with returning to some treasured spots like Palisade Head, Gooseberry Falls, Tettegouche, and Grand Marais.  Seeing the Pigeon River--where the United States is on one side and Canada is on the other side--was amazing.  

This weekend, Captain and I are sneaking away for an overnight camping trip to Lake Sakahtah State Park.  We’ve been there before with some very good friends and enjoyed it immensely.  It’s only an hour away from home, and there is fishing, hiking, biking, and you can rent a canoe.  Should be an enjoyable time as long as I don’t forget to pack something important.  I promise to fill you all in on it next week, and if I can figure out how to embed pictures in these posts, I’ll do that too!

Mom-isms

          There is a supernatural phenomenon that occurs in every mother’s psyche that we are afraid to talk about for fear of being labeled a lunatic.  However, since misery loves company and there is safety in numbers, I’ll go first:  As soon as our children were born, my mother took up residence inside my brain; at least that part of my brain that controls my speech.

          I didn’t become alarmed after the first episode; I just chalked it up to a fluky coincidence.  Young Man had a sucker in his mouth and was running through the house.  I opened my mouth to deliver a new-millennium kind of speech about how inappropriate this was, but what came out was, “Don’t run with that sucker in your mouth or you’ll fall down and choke to death.”  As soon as the words were out, I whipped around fully expecting to see my mother.  Of course, she wasn’t there, even though those were HER words—the same ones I swore I would never say.

          The next time it happened, I was listening to Princess list what she wanted for Christmas.  One item in particular that was obscenely expensive I flat-out refused to even consider.  I was then treated to the full guilt trip, complete with basset-hound eyes and trembling lower lip accompanied by a howl of “So-and-so has one.”  Again, the contemporary response I meant to say was replaced by, “Well I’m not so-and-so’s mother, I’m your mother, and I said no.”  Now, I’m all for mother-daughter bonding, but this was having Mom a little too close.

          I brought the subject up to Captain, expecting a little sympathy for this terrible malady I was enduring.  He just said, “What do you expect?  You’re a mom…don’t ALL moms say that stuff?”  I don’t know, I never asked.  But I was sure no one else was suffering these symptoms.  After all, there was no support group for this disease.  I know, I looked it up in the phone book.

          I might have survived this psychic invasion by sheer willpower if Young Man hadn’t invited a friend over.  I was listing the things that needed to be cleaned out or picked up before his friend came over.  With one of those looks that only a child who is being punished with incredibly unintelligent parents can master, he said neither he nor his friend cared how the house looked. 

          An uneasy feeling crept over me as I recalled those words from my own childhood.  Afraid to open my mouth, knowing what I was going to say, I still tried to get rational words out.  However, my voice box and brain cells were once again commandeered by Mom.  Wincing, I heard the words, “Well I care what the house looks like, so do it.”

          Now I knew I was in trouble.  I sent the kids outside to play so I could sit down and think this through rationally.  And it came to me like a bolt of lightning. 

Those words have been spoken by moms for generations and will continue to be spoken for more generations.  My own mother had used those admonitions quite successfully to raise three children (myself included) into responsible, mature adults (myself not included).  She had set an example I should be honored to follow with my own children.  Beside, if I used these techniques on my own children, some day Princess would be having this same question of sanity going through her mind, and that would be more than worth my current anguish. 

          I gave in to a sudden impulse and yelled the most mom-like thing I could remember from my childhood.  “When all that fighting results in someone getting hurt, don’t come crying to me.” 

Introduction

          I started out many, many years ago thinking I would write a book, maybe self-published, maybe a national best-seller (yeah, right!).  Remember, that was before the Internet, eBooks, blogs, and all other things techie.  I scrapped more than a dozen attempts at The Great American Novel; I just didn’t have the attention span to delve into even a fictional person’s life that much.  So, I thought maybe I could write humor, like Erma Bombeck.  The trouble with that was that life isn’t always funny.  Sometimes it’s sad, frustrating, bizarre, and just plain dull.  Then I thought I would be deeply philosophical, like Robert Fulgham.  The trouble with that was that I was too busy surviving on a day-to-day basis to be philosophical. 

So I decided to be just plain me, an average person who has had some funny things happen, has had some sad things happen, and hasn’t had anything happen at all; probably much the same as most of you.  If I manage to create laughter, that’s good.  If all I manage to do is share part of my life and how I view it with you, I guess that’s not all bad either.

          When shifting my thought process from book to blog, I panicked.  Blogs are so much more immediate.  What if people didn’t like what I was writing?  What if I offended someone inadvertently?  What if someone left a negative comment for me? 

          I shared these fears with Captain, and all he said was “What if they do like it?  And so what if they don’t?  You don’t write for fame and fortune.  You write because you like it and you’re good at it.”  Trust Captain to nail it in just a few words. 

          While all of these episodes are true, I have taken the creative liberty of changing or omitting relationships to me.  While I don’t mind, and actually enjoy, being the center of attention, not everyone I know feels the same way.  The relationships aren’t relative anyway.  It’s the lesson or insight behind the story that is important. 

          So I welcome you to Misdeeds by the Misguided, a look at the life and times of me, my family, and my friends.  I really hope you enjoy reading what I so much enjoyed writing.