I am at that age when I look in the mirror and wonder, “Who is this person staring back at me, and what did she do with Barbara?” I know reality shows are all the rage now, but I am not ready for the reality of seeing myself age. I still have in my mind’s eye the 20-year old with long brown hair who weighs 120 pounds (Ok… I’ve never weighed 120 pounds, except for one week, and that was because I had been on a starvation diet.). So it’s a little frightening to look in the mirror and see another face in the reflection. I made the mistake of buying one of those lighted make-up mirrors that magnify at 15X. What was I thinking? I thought I had stopped growing hair because I don’t need to shave my legs as often, but now I found it growing on my chin and on my earlobes. I’ve even discovered that I should have been plucking my eyebrows – heaven only knows how long those hairs have been poking out there. It appears that the hair is transferring from the top of my head to the bottom part of my face – damn gravity. And what’s with all those brown spots that are scattered around on my face? They sure aren’t freckles. Even Mary Kay can’t hide those – according to my new mirror.
I guess my best asset has always been my hair – long and straight. I could always seem to tease it with just the right amount of height (I didn’t even need the original “bump” As Seen on TV). I still have fairly long hair (kind of a middle-aged, shoulder-length, stringy do), but I think I’ve stressed it from all the back combing because my mirror is telling me that I am going bald. Horrors!! Bald!! Women who are bald are the ones who play witches at Halloween!! I must find a product that will grow hair back. I thought the little skunk streak of gray sprouting up from my widow’s peak was bad – now I have to contend with bare skin.
The lighted, 15X mirror is going back in the box, and back to the store. I’m exchanging it for Rogaine. God has our eyesight fail for a reason – I’m not arguing with God.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I’ve always wanted to accomplish something in my life. Granted, I gave birth to two exceptional, talented, and successful children, but that was their doing, not mine. I’ve managed to stay married for 40 years, but that was because my husband and I can’t imagine life without each other. I’ve always been “Chuck’s wife” or “Jackie’s mom” or “Brian’s den mother” or “Chris’s friend” or “Jennifer’s teacher.” Yes, I can cook a pretty tasty turkey at Thanksgiving, or make sure the family room stays dust free, but I wanted to have the accolades of truly accomplishing something that would bring me notoriety, recognition, and a feeling of success.
Today we celebrated the grand opening of the first student-run credit union on a high school campus in Arizona. I wrote the proposal for the school district, and I worked with the credit union in order for this to happen. It took a year and a half to bring this to fruition. Today’s ceremony was filled with “congratulations,” “job well done,” “you really accomplished something.” TV channels 5 and 12 were there to capture the event on tape (or digital, or whatever is behind those huge lenses). I couldn’t count all the cameras that were flashing to record this “historic” event. At the VIP luncheon, I sat with the school’s principal, the district’s superintendent, the director of public relations, and the administrator for continuing education. This was way out of my comfort zone. So there. I guess I can say that I accomplished something in my life.
But the purpose of this blog is not to pat myself on the back. Quite the contrary. For one thing, it took a committee made up of credit union representatives, marketing personnel from the school district, students, security, and maintenance to pull this celebration together. It is truly amazing to see the end result of a lot of little pieces put together – like one of those jigsaw puzzles that cover the top of a card table.
What is most humbling for me is not the notoriety, the recognition, and the feeling of success; it is the support from my family, friends, and colleagues. My husband left work early to attend the ceremony and hang around in a world unfamiliar to him. My friend left work in the middle of the day and drove 20 miles to sit in the audience. And my colleagues made a card that they all signed with words of praise. All this meant more to me than the flashing cameras, the handshakes, and the attention. I know now that my life will change. I will show my family how proud I am of them. I will be sure that I celebrate the accomplishments of my friends. I will congratulate my colleagues for a job well done. I appreciate their support more than any accolades received, and I will in turn support all of them and revel in their accomplishments.
Today we celebrated the grand opening of the first student-run credit union on a high school campus in Arizona. I wrote the proposal for the school district, and I worked with the credit union in order for this to happen. It took a year and a half to bring this to fruition. Today’s ceremony was filled with “congratulations,” “job well done,” “you really accomplished something.” TV channels 5 and 12 were there to capture the event on tape (or digital, or whatever is behind those huge lenses). I couldn’t count all the cameras that were flashing to record this “historic” event. At the VIP luncheon, I sat with the school’s principal, the district’s superintendent, the director of public relations, and the administrator for continuing education. This was way out of my comfort zone. So there. I guess I can say that I accomplished something in my life.
But the purpose of this blog is not to pat myself on the back. Quite the contrary. For one thing, it took a committee made up of credit union representatives, marketing personnel from the school district, students, security, and maintenance to pull this celebration together. It is truly amazing to see the end result of a lot of little pieces put together – like one of those jigsaw puzzles that cover the top of a card table.
What is most humbling for me is not the notoriety, the recognition, and the feeling of success; it is the support from my family, friends, and colleagues. My husband left work early to attend the ceremony and hang around in a world unfamiliar to him. My friend left work in the middle of the day and drove 20 miles to sit in the audience. And my colleagues made a card that they all signed with words of praise. All this meant more to me than the flashing cameras, the handshakes, and the attention. I know now that my life will change. I will show my family how proud I am of them. I will be sure that I celebrate the accomplishments of my friends. I will congratulate my colleagues for a job well done. I appreciate their support more than any accolades received, and I will in turn support all of them and revel in their accomplishments.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
A Fine Art of Cooking
My abasement began when we were only 5 months into our marriage. I cooked a beef roast for the first time in my life. I had wanted it to taste just like the roasts that my mother used to make every Sunday when the family came over for a mid-afternoon dinner. I followed Betty Crocker’s directions to a T, smelled the savory juices as it simmered in the oven all day, and waited in anticipation as I set the table for two. When I put it on the platter, surrounded by baby onions, red potatoes, and carrots that I had pared myself, I noticed something odd on the top of the roast. It was the little sponge of a pad that the butcher had put on the bottom of the packaging to soak up the blood from the hunk of meat. I had cooked the little pad along with the roast. I was about to take it off when my husband walked in and noticed it too. Of course, he thought this was very humorous, so he snatched the platter from me, to my screams of protests, and said he was going to take a picture of it. He locked himself in the bathroom, placed the beef platter on the toilet lid, and proceeded to flash away. From thence forward, I have never been renowned for my roast beef dinners.
This disaster has not hampered my obligation to preparing dinner. I don’t abhor cooking – as a matter of fact, it gives me a welcomed release at the end of the day where I can do something that I want to do instead of grading papers right away. And, I always prided myself on having a dinner with a protein, a starch, and a vegetable on the table for my family every night. Maybe that’s why my kids aren’t drug addicts or in prison right now. Plus, my husband has never cooked, has no desire to cook, and probably would starve if something ever happened to me. He can open a can of soup, however. Split Pea with Ham forever. I have to buy 10 at a time to last for at least 2 weeks so he can have lunch when I am at work. It is fairly safe to assume my husband is not attempting covert operations in the kitchen.
But, a Julia Childs I am not. I do not wish to attempt a knotty recipe. If the recipe has more than 5 ingredients, I don’t make it. I cower away from layered things or meatballs too. I cooked lasagna tonight and ran out of the cheese layer before I was done layering, and only had two noodle strips left for the top. And meatballs - who has time to roll 100 little balls of meat in my hands.
Nothing I have prepared has been noxious – unless you want to count the numerous spoons-full of cookie dough I have consumed over the years. This action may even have engendered me to have a high tolerance to salmonella. However, I seem to be off on a tangent now.
So much for my cooking tales. I promise that none of the above verbiage has been plagiarized, and I hope you can find the fine nuance in my narrative about my husband and me. It is an abrasive fact that some people actually make fun of my cooking dinners every night; however, I am placid in the thought that remuneration comes to me for my teaching abilities, not my cooking abilities.
The end – thank God.
This disaster has not hampered my obligation to preparing dinner. I don’t abhor cooking – as a matter of fact, it gives me a welcomed release at the end of the day where I can do something that I want to do instead of grading papers right away. And, I always prided myself on having a dinner with a protein, a starch, and a vegetable on the table for my family every night. Maybe that’s why my kids aren’t drug addicts or in prison right now. Plus, my husband has never cooked, has no desire to cook, and probably would starve if something ever happened to me. He can open a can of soup, however. Split Pea with Ham forever. I have to buy 10 at a time to last for at least 2 weeks so he can have lunch when I am at work. It is fairly safe to assume my husband is not attempting covert operations in the kitchen.
But, a Julia Childs I am not. I do not wish to attempt a knotty recipe. If the recipe has more than 5 ingredients, I don’t make it. I cower away from layered things or meatballs too. I cooked lasagna tonight and ran out of the cheese layer before I was done layering, and only had two noodle strips left for the top. And meatballs - who has time to roll 100 little balls of meat in my hands.
Nothing I have prepared has been noxious – unless you want to count the numerous spoons-full of cookie dough I have consumed over the years. This action may even have engendered me to have a high tolerance to salmonella. However, I seem to be off on a tangent now.
So much for my cooking tales. I promise that none of the above verbiage has been plagiarized, and I hope you can find the fine nuance in my narrative about my husband and me. It is an abrasive fact that some people actually make fun of my cooking dinners every night; however, I am placid in the thought that remuneration comes to me for my teaching abilities, not my cooking abilities.
The end – thank God.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Bathing a Dog
It's time to bathe the dog. This requires skill and patience - and a dog. My dog is a Golden Retriever with a mind of her own. She is also 13 years old, but doesn't slow her down at all. Here are the steps I just followed to Bathe the Dog.
First you must brush the dog. This is done outside so hair does not permeate into the furniture. A soft brush is the best. Brush the dog from the neck back to the tail. The dog will run away. Call the dog. Wait for the dog to come. Brush the sides of the dog. Dog runs. Clean out the brush. Yell for the dog. Brush faster. Dog runs away. Catch the dog and corner dog between the shed and the wall. Finish brushing top, sides, and tail. Dog really does not like the tail brushed and runs away, pretending to sniff for squirrels. Yup, squirrels in Phoenix - once upon a time. Clean the brush and now I am ready to bathe the dog.
The bathing process is done outside also, since the dog is too big for the tub or shower. Who wants dog hair down the shower anyway. Not me. I check the temperature outside because I don't want the dog to get cold. It is 5:30 pm and 110 degrees. Good enough. Remember, we live in Phoenix - it's August - 'nuff said. Not only that, but I need an adult beverage before confronting the dog. Fix myself a nice, cold adult beverage.
Because the dog likes to run away, I have placed her chain around her neck and tied her leash to the lawn chair. I have a handy, dandy little spray nozzle screwed to the hose so I can adjust the water coming out and squeeze it whenever I want to rinse her off. I spray the dog, getting her nice and wet. She is not real fond of this, but can't go anywhere. Because the adult beverage is kicking in, I taunt the dog with the spray of water, experimenting with the different settings. She runs away, dragging the lawn chair with her as she prances across the back yard.
After chasing the dog around the yard and corralling her back to the bathing spot, it's time to add the doggie shampoo and rub it in really well. Since this is medicated shampoo, the instructions say to leave it on the dog's coat for 10 minutes. Ten minutes is like an hour to a dog. But, I sit in my lawn chair and wait, sipping in my cold drink and enjoying the heat rising from the lawn. The dog is not going anywhere - she is not happy. How could she not be happy. It is hot and I have just sprayed her with water numerous times.
So now it is time to rinse the dog. I rinse and rub, rinse and rub. I lay the nozzle down on the ground, and it sprays up at me, getting me all wet. Ok, I can handle this - it's 110 degrees outside and I am beginning to feel a slight buzz. Once the dog is squeeky clean, I feel it is safe to undo the leash and let her run. Not only does she run, she rolls around in the grass to dry herself off. Calling her by her full name, I dry her off myself with the towel I grabbed from the garage.
Now the dog is clean, dry, and happy. She goes bounding around the yard, barking at nothing. I go inside to refresh my adult beverage. And that is how you bathe a dog.
First you must brush the dog. This is done outside so hair does not permeate into the furniture. A soft brush is the best. Brush the dog from the neck back to the tail. The dog will run away. Call the dog. Wait for the dog to come. Brush the sides of the dog. Dog runs. Clean out the brush. Yell for the dog. Brush faster. Dog runs away. Catch the dog and corner dog between the shed and the wall. Finish brushing top, sides, and tail. Dog really does not like the tail brushed and runs away, pretending to sniff for squirrels. Yup, squirrels in Phoenix - once upon a time. Clean the brush and now I am ready to bathe the dog.
The bathing process is done outside also, since the dog is too big for the tub or shower. Who wants dog hair down the shower anyway. Not me. I check the temperature outside because I don't want the dog to get cold. It is 5:30 pm and 110 degrees. Good enough. Remember, we live in Phoenix - it's August - 'nuff said. Not only that, but I need an adult beverage before confronting the dog. Fix myself a nice, cold adult beverage.
Because the dog likes to run away, I have placed her chain around her neck and tied her leash to the lawn chair. I have a handy, dandy little spray nozzle screwed to the hose so I can adjust the water coming out and squeeze it whenever I want to rinse her off. I spray the dog, getting her nice and wet. She is not real fond of this, but can't go anywhere. Because the adult beverage is kicking in, I taunt the dog with the spray of water, experimenting with the different settings. She runs away, dragging the lawn chair with her as she prances across the back yard.
After chasing the dog around the yard and corralling her back to the bathing spot, it's time to add the doggie shampoo and rub it in really well. Since this is medicated shampoo, the instructions say to leave it on the dog's coat for 10 minutes. Ten minutes is like an hour to a dog. But, I sit in my lawn chair and wait, sipping in my cold drink and enjoying the heat rising from the lawn. The dog is not going anywhere - she is not happy. How could she not be happy. It is hot and I have just sprayed her with water numerous times.
So now it is time to rinse the dog. I rinse and rub, rinse and rub. I lay the nozzle down on the ground, and it sprays up at me, getting me all wet. Ok, I can handle this - it's 110 degrees outside and I am beginning to feel a slight buzz. Once the dog is squeeky clean, I feel it is safe to undo the leash and let her run. Not only does she run, she rolls around in the grass to dry herself off. Calling her by her full name, I dry her off myself with the towel I grabbed from the garage.
Now the dog is clean, dry, and happy. She goes bounding around the yard, barking at nothing. I go inside to refresh my adult beverage. And that is how you bathe a dog.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Art of Showering While RVing
You have to be very careful when taking a shower while traveling in an RV. For one thing, you can't just take a long, hot steamy shower in your trailer, RV, or bus. The hot water tank is minuscule and your shower will turn cold quickly, particularly if husband has taken a shower first. Long showers are not possible either, because the holding tank will fill up. There are two holding tanks on an RV - one is called the "gray water tank" which holds water from the sinks and shower, and the other is called the "brown water tank" which holds water from - well, I think you can figure that one out. The procedure for taking a shower in an RV goes something like this:
1. Turn water on and wait until it is lukewarm
2. Spray water all over body
3. Turn water off
4. Lather entire body with soap
5. Turn water on and wait until it is lukewarm
6. Rinse off entire body
7. Turn water off
The water is turned on and off more frequently if it happens to be wash-your-hair day.
This is why it is very exciting when RVers pull into a trailer park for the night. You can actually pad down to the shower building with your flip flops, towel, and bag of clean underwear and use the campground facilities. I have encountered some very interesting showers in my travels.
Closet Shower: This shower is the size of a small Kenmore refrigerator box. The shower head is permanently positioned to spray on the top of your head, and since there isn't any room to move around, it is nearly impossible to work up a good lather to wash your hair. And you have to end the shower prematurely in the event you drop your soap.
Buggy Shower: This shower is inhabited by an assortment of unusual insects, depending on which humid Midwestern state you are visiting. Residents could include Daddy Long Legs, June Bugs, and spiders. One will not linger in this bathroom for fear the audience will begin to creep down the wall into your space.
Shooting Fountain Shower: This one is tricky because the water shoots outside the shower curtain into the changing area. It's a good thing the proprietors had the foresight to put a drain next to the changing bench.
Peeping Tom Shower: This shower is not for the modest. The shower door is hung about a foot too short. Either they ran out of wood while building the facility, or they didn't think people taller than 4 feet like to keep clean. You have a choice here; forget the shower for the night and put up with the smell, or take a record-setting shower, praying no one walks by and peeps over the door.
Balancing Soap Act Shower: It's amazing what people do to cut costs when building showers. This particular stall had no soap dish. Hmmmm, a quick look around suggested either placing the soap on the floor of the shower - which could be dangerous, depending on how lithe you are on your feet - or balance the edge of the soap on the 1/4 inch handle that stuck out of the wall. Either way, visions of feet above head with buttocks on the shower stall floor came to mind.
Buddy Shower: You have to really like the people who decide to shower the same time as you because the set up for this facility is like a locker room. There are 4 shower stalls surrounding a common area where there is one bench and 3 hooks on the wall for your clothes. I made sure I locked the main door when I went into this shower building.
Push Button Shower: It took me awhile to figure this one out. There is no handle to turn the water on - instead there is a button on the wall. Aha - you push the button and out comes the water. And just when you have lathered up, the water shuts off. Then you push the button again. I suppose it is for water conservation, but most people would just keep pushing the button - so I'm not sure how much water is really saved.
And my personal favorite...
Pay Showers: The first time I encountered one of these, it took me by surprise. I padded down the line of trailers to the shower room, closed and bolted the door, got my soap, shampoo, and conditioner in place, set my clean clothes out on the little bench, hung my towel in a handy location for a quick grab, stepped into the shower, and discovered there was no handle to turn the water on and no button to push. Peeking out of the shower curtain, I saw what looked like a gum ball machine attached to the wall. Damn, I have to PAY for my shower. OK. Step out of the shower, put clothes back on, pack up soap, shampoo, conditioner, clean clothes, and towel and pad back down the line of trailers to get a few quarters. One quarter equals 5 minutes of water. I actually got pretty good at taking quick showers. Unless, of course, you have to let the cold water run before it gets hot. That will take extra quarters.
One time in Wisconsin, husband and I drove down to the showers for a nice, long hot shower. Uh oh, a gum ball machine on the wall. Not to worry, I have come prepared with quarters. I was all ready to step into the shower and inserted the first quarter. The knob twirled around, but the water didn't come out. I could hear ticking, so I knew my 5 minutes had started - yet, no water. Dang it, just wasted a quarter. Ok, I can do this. I inserted another quarter, turned the knob, and went to work. I was lathered up nicely when the water all of a sudden shut off. I stood there in shock. That was my last quarter. I listened for any other bathers to see if I could bum a quarter - crickets - silence. Vanity went down the drain with the last drop of water, and I stepped out of the stall, slid my clothes on over the soap, and with shampoo dripping on my shirt, went to look for husband. I didn't explain...he just stared...and I begged for more quarters. Back I went to fight with the gum ball machine and finish my shower.
Balancing soap, counting quarters, ducking fountains of water, and ignoring critters (both 2-legged and 6-legged) all prove that there is definitely an art to showering.
1. Turn water on and wait until it is lukewarm
2. Spray water all over body
3. Turn water off
4. Lather entire body with soap
5. Turn water on and wait until it is lukewarm
6. Rinse off entire body
7. Turn water off
The water is turned on and off more frequently if it happens to be wash-your-hair day.
This is why it is very exciting when RVers pull into a trailer park for the night. You can actually pad down to the shower building with your flip flops, towel, and bag of clean underwear and use the campground facilities. I have encountered some very interesting showers in my travels.
Closet Shower: This shower is the size of a small Kenmore refrigerator box. The shower head is permanently positioned to spray on the top of your head, and since there isn't any room to move around, it is nearly impossible to work up a good lather to wash your hair. And you have to end the shower prematurely in the event you drop your soap.
Buggy Shower: This shower is inhabited by an assortment of unusual insects, depending on which humid Midwestern state you are visiting. Residents could include Daddy Long Legs, June Bugs, and spiders. One will not linger in this bathroom for fear the audience will begin to creep down the wall into your space.
Shooting Fountain Shower: This one is tricky because the water shoots outside the shower curtain into the changing area. It's a good thing the proprietors had the foresight to put a drain next to the changing bench.
Peeping Tom Shower: This shower is not for the modest. The shower door is hung about a foot too short. Either they ran out of wood while building the facility, or they didn't think people taller than 4 feet like to keep clean. You have a choice here; forget the shower for the night and put up with the smell, or take a record-setting shower, praying no one walks by and peeps over the door.
Balancing Soap Act Shower: It's amazing what people do to cut costs when building showers. This particular stall had no soap dish. Hmmmm, a quick look around suggested either placing the soap on the floor of the shower - which could be dangerous, depending on how lithe you are on your feet - or balance the edge of the soap on the 1/4 inch handle that stuck out of the wall. Either way, visions of feet above head with buttocks on the shower stall floor came to mind.
Buddy Shower: You have to really like the people who decide to shower the same time as you because the set up for this facility is like a locker room. There are 4 shower stalls surrounding a common area where there is one bench and 3 hooks on the wall for your clothes. I made sure I locked the main door when I went into this shower building.
Push Button Shower: It took me awhile to figure this one out. There is no handle to turn the water on - instead there is a button on the wall. Aha - you push the button and out comes the water. And just when you have lathered up, the water shuts off. Then you push the button again. I suppose it is for water conservation, but most people would just keep pushing the button - so I'm not sure how much water is really saved.
And my personal favorite...
Pay Showers: The first time I encountered one of these, it took me by surprise. I padded down the line of trailers to the shower room, closed and bolted the door, got my soap, shampoo, and conditioner in place, set my clean clothes out on the little bench, hung my towel in a handy location for a quick grab, stepped into the shower, and discovered there was no handle to turn the water on and no button to push. Peeking out of the shower curtain, I saw what looked like a gum ball machine attached to the wall. Damn, I have to PAY for my shower. OK. Step out of the shower, put clothes back on, pack up soap, shampoo, conditioner, clean clothes, and towel and pad back down the line of trailers to get a few quarters. One quarter equals 5 minutes of water. I actually got pretty good at taking quick showers. Unless, of course, you have to let the cold water run before it gets hot. That will take extra quarters.
One time in Wisconsin, husband and I drove down to the showers for a nice, long hot shower. Uh oh, a gum ball machine on the wall. Not to worry, I have come prepared with quarters. I was all ready to step into the shower and inserted the first quarter. The knob twirled around, but the water didn't come out. I could hear ticking, so I knew my 5 minutes had started - yet, no water. Dang it, just wasted a quarter. Ok, I can do this. I inserted another quarter, turned the knob, and went to work. I was lathered up nicely when the water all of a sudden shut off. I stood there in shock. That was my last quarter. I listened for any other bathers to see if I could bum a quarter - crickets - silence. Vanity went down the drain with the last drop of water, and I stepped out of the stall, slid my clothes on over the soap, and with shampoo dripping on my shirt, went to look for husband. I didn't explain...he just stared...and I begged for more quarters. Back I went to fight with the gum ball machine and finish my shower.
Balancing soap, counting quarters, ducking fountains of water, and ignoring critters (both 2-legged and 6-legged) all prove that there is definitely an art to showering.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Fishing in Minnesota
First - Most - Biggest. This is the fishing challenge - $1 for the first fish caught, $1 for the most fish caught, and $1 for the biggest. So far I am about $50 in the hole - even though I have caught the biggest on numerous outings this summer. The trick is to catch the first - that puts pressure on the opponent to hustle and try for the most. The biggest is mostly luck.
Before I go on with my story, I must digress with Bass Fishing 101. There are 3 varieties of Bass - Largemouth, Smallmouth, and Rock Bass. Largemouth Bass are the challenging ones to catch, and according to one fisherman up here, Rock Bass shouldn't even be allowed in the count because they are the smaller of the three and are scavengers. Smallmouth put up the biggest fight. Bass usually reside in shallow water where bullrush, cattail, or lily pads grow just off the shoreline. The best bait is either plastic worms with really wiggly tails that move as you reel the line in or plastic lizards that have four legs and a tail that wiggle - a real attraction for any fish. This bait comes in an assortment of colors, spots, textures, or ridges and may even contain oils, salt, or scents that can hardly be resisted. The technique is to cast your wiggly little morsel into the bull rushes or under the lily pads and reel in slowly. If attracted, the Bass will attack - then you set the hook. On a slow day, your arm gets plenty of exercise.
Back to my story. On Monday, husband and I went to Sauer Lake for a few hours of Bass hunting. We can hardly contain ourselves to get our lines in the water so we can claim the first fish. I won. I tried the bullrushes, and they weren't doing much for me except snaging my hook, so I tried deeper water just behind the boat - and wahlah - the first Bass. Cha Ching. (For the PETA sympathizers, this was a catch and release day. No fish were injured or eaten.) Then I caught a second - and then a third Bass. Husband was getting a little irked. Then he caught one too - let the games begin. My next two catches were little Sunfish - which husband wouldn't count in the haul. "Anyone can catch a Sunfish." Bass catching cooled off a little, so we went to another lake. This is where my luck soured - husband pulled in the kingfish of all - the biggest. He made me take a picture - which I will post - some day. And so, husband rules again with the most - 10 in all to my 6 (it was really 8 with my sunnies) but at least I caught the FIRST.
Before I go on with my story, I must digress with Bass Fishing 101. There are 3 varieties of Bass - Largemouth, Smallmouth, and Rock Bass. Largemouth Bass are the challenging ones to catch, and according to one fisherman up here, Rock Bass shouldn't even be allowed in the count because they are the smaller of the three and are scavengers. Smallmouth put up the biggest fight. Bass usually reside in shallow water where bullrush, cattail, or lily pads grow just off the shoreline. The best bait is either plastic worms with really wiggly tails that move as you reel the line in or plastic lizards that have four legs and a tail that wiggle - a real attraction for any fish. This bait comes in an assortment of colors, spots, textures, or ridges and may even contain oils, salt, or scents that can hardly be resisted. The technique is to cast your wiggly little morsel into the bull rushes or under the lily pads and reel in slowly. If attracted, the Bass will attack - then you set the hook. On a slow day, your arm gets plenty of exercise.
Back to my story. On Monday, husband and I went to Sauer Lake for a few hours of Bass hunting. We can hardly contain ourselves to get our lines in the water so we can claim the first fish. I won. I tried the bullrushes, and they weren't doing much for me except snaging my hook, so I tried deeper water just behind the boat - and wahlah - the first Bass. Cha Ching. (For the PETA sympathizers, this was a catch and release day. No fish were injured or eaten.) Then I caught a second - and then a third Bass. Husband was getting a little irked. Then he caught one too - let the games begin. My next two catches were little Sunfish - which husband wouldn't count in the haul. "Anyone can catch a Sunfish." Bass catching cooled off a little, so we went to another lake. This is where my luck soured - husband pulled in the kingfish of all - the biggest. He made me take a picture - which I will post - some day. And so, husband rules again with the most - 10 in all to my 6 (it was really 8 with my sunnies) but at least I caught the FIRST.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
FOURTH OF JULY
The Fourth of July is a day to honor our country, celebrate with friends, and drink America's finest beer. But wait, America can't claim a beer anymore - our great American beers are owned by foreign countries. OK, then we can be patriotic, socialize, and drink anything we want.
On the Fourth of July, husband and I visited 3 different houses and met many new friends. We were very patriotic - husband in his flag look-a-like polo shirt and me in anything I could squeeze into. (note to self - buy something red, white, and blue with stars and stripes for 2010)
The first stop was a cottage on Lake Sallie - the mission was for husband to talk golf with a pretty young thing who was a golf star in high school and college. I talked to the mom and got a tour of the beach. Loved it - want to buy the cottage and the pontoon that was parked at the dock - not for sale - will be passed down to children. We sat there for awhile, soaking in the sun and the crystal blue water, and rubbing the ears of an adorable Golden Retriever.
Then off to a house across the street for a bar-b-que with a man we met playing golf. (golf is a great social networking medium - and you don't riddle your conversation with LOL and OMG - but that's another topic) This man, John, has a live menagerie of animals that he inherited when his wife passed away a few years ago.
There is Gimlet, a parrot, who is 40 years old (did you know parrots can live to be 80 or 90? - one must make sure they are named in the trust) Gimlet was a little shy. She did not like all the people invading her space. And, according to John, she was a little pissed at him for taking her from her Arizona environment she knew so well and transporting her to Minnesota. She punished him by destroying her perch. However, she enjoyed the rib he gave to her at the party. She held it in her claw, ate all the meat off with her beak, and then ceremoniously threw it on the floor - kind of like in a Jewish wedding. She did the same with the corn on the cob.
Then there were the 3 cats, Taffy, Casper, and Mulligan. Taffy was the same color as her name, and she disappeared shortly after we arrived - I hope it wasn't my perfume. It might have been husband's vibes as he glared at her sitting on the counter precariously close to the food. Casper was enjoying a ripe old age of 17 and spent most of her time nestled in her comfy bed under the end table. She ventured out to eat and then wash her face back in her nest. Mulligan had a deformed left leg, but was able to get around as well as any of the other cats. She was rescued from some insane two-legged animal who had thrown her out into traffic to get rid of her. She was definately enjoying the last laugh.
Then we walked out to the porch and encountered two Doberman Pinchers. After we were properly introduced to them, we became their best friends. The large one - like a small pony - was named Bear. Bear and his smaller twin liked hovering around the men who sat outside and told golfing lies. The women remained inside gabbing about books, gift stores, and food preparation. I preferred playing with the pets.
After dinner husband and I ventured over to Lake Pelican to visit Jeff and another couple. Lake Pelican is like the Scottsdale of Arizona. Jeff was entertaining another couple with red wine and a beautiful sunset on his porch. The wife of the other couple has a PhD at some Iowa University. I put on my best academic personna and held my own conversing with this woman who was dressed in an all white linen pantsuit with a white and red shawl draped around her shoulders. She had the perfect hair, milky complexion, and diamond baguettes on her fingers. In her ears were the striped portion of the flag - in rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. I felt a little underdressed.
Somewhere between the sun going down and the moon coming up we climbed aboard Jeff's pontoon, bottles of Cabernert in hand, and set sail with the other residents to the north end of the lake for the fireworks display. It was quite a sight. The moon was bright in the sky, there were fireworks going off all around the lake's perimeter, and lights shone in the castle-like homes along the beach. When the main display started, we tuned in to a radio channel that played patriotic songs (unfortunately, no "Coming to America" by Neil Diamond) We had awesome front row seats and the wine even mellowed Ms. PhD. Once the grand finale was over, we slowly crept back to Jeff's house, unable to find it in the dark. It's amazing how wine can press against your bladder when you know you can't make it to the bathroom. After a few passes along the beach, we docked under the canopy and ran to the house.
New and old friends, cold beverages, and a land we love, all make for an awesome Fourth of July.
On the Fourth of July, husband and I visited 3 different houses and met many new friends. We were very patriotic - husband in his flag look-a-like polo shirt and me in anything I could squeeze into. (note to self - buy something red, white, and blue with stars and stripes for 2010)
The first stop was a cottage on Lake Sallie - the mission was for husband to talk golf with a pretty young thing who was a golf star in high school and college. I talked to the mom and got a tour of the beach. Loved it - want to buy the cottage and the pontoon that was parked at the dock - not for sale - will be passed down to children. We sat there for awhile, soaking in the sun and the crystal blue water, and rubbing the ears of an adorable Golden Retriever.
Then off to a house across the street for a bar-b-que with a man we met playing golf. (golf is a great social networking medium - and you don't riddle your conversation with LOL and OMG - but that's another topic) This man, John, has a live menagerie of animals that he inherited when his wife passed away a few years ago.
There is Gimlet, a parrot, who is 40 years old (did you know parrots can live to be 80 or 90? - one must make sure they are named in the trust) Gimlet was a little shy. She did not like all the people invading her space. And, according to John, she was a little pissed at him for taking her from her Arizona environment she knew so well and transporting her to Minnesota. She punished him by destroying her perch. However, she enjoyed the rib he gave to her at the party. She held it in her claw, ate all the meat off with her beak, and then ceremoniously threw it on the floor - kind of like in a Jewish wedding. She did the same with the corn on the cob.
Then there were the 3 cats, Taffy, Casper, and Mulligan. Taffy was the same color as her name, and she disappeared shortly after we arrived - I hope it wasn't my perfume. It might have been husband's vibes as he glared at her sitting on the counter precariously close to the food. Casper was enjoying a ripe old age of 17 and spent most of her time nestled in her comfy bed under the end table. She ventured out to eat and then wash her face back in her nest. Mulligan had a deformed left leg, but was able to get around as well as any of the other cats. She was rescued from some insane two-legged animal who had thrown her out into traffic to get rid of her. She was definately enjoying the last laugh.
Then we walked out to the porch and encountered two Doberman Pinchers. After we were properly introduced to them, we became their best friends. The large one - like a small pony - was named Bear. Bear and his smaller twin liked hovering around the men who sat outside and told golfing lies. The women remained inside gabbing about books, gift stores, and food preparation. I preferred playing with the pets.
After dinner husband and I ventured over to Lake Pelican to visit Jeff and another couple. Lake Pelican is like the Scottsdale of Arizona. Jeff was entertaining another couple with red wine and a beautiful sunset on his porch. The wife of the other couple has a PhD at some Iowa University. I put on my best academic personna and held my own conversing with this woman who was dressed in an all white linen pantsuit with a white and red shawl draped around her shoulders. She had the perfect hair, milky complexion, and diamond baguettes on her fingers. In her ears were the striped portion of the flag - in rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. I felt a little underdressed.
Somewhere between the sun going down and the moon coming up we climbed aboard Jeff's pontoon, bottles of Cabernert in hand, and set sail with the other residents to the north end of the lake for the fireworks display. It was quite a sight. The moon was bright in the sky, there were fireworks going off all around the lake's perimeter, and lights shone in the castle-like homes along the beach. When the main display started, we tuned in to a radio channel that played patriotic songs (unfortunately, no "Coming to America" by Neil Diamond) We had awesome front row seats and the wine even mellowed Ms. PhD. Once the grand finale was over, we slowly crept back to Jeff's house, unable to find it in the dark. It's amazing how wine can press against your bladder when you know you can't make it to the bathroom. After a few passes along the beach, we docked under the canopy and ran to the house.
New and old friends, cold beverages, and a land we love, all make for an awesome Fourth of July.
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