Do You Know Where They Are?

Do You Know Where They Are? 

28 December 2011

Sounds like I’m off and running on where in the #$$% my #$$#%$% went to this time, huh? Nope. Because today is Professor Daughter’s birthday, I’m reminiscing. When she was a teenager, I was certifiable about knowing where she was and if she was okay. Day and night. 

Professor Daughter grew up and ran away to be a university professor. Which left TPC and I to obsess over her long distance and work on other obsessions at home. 

I suppose it was natural when The Prince Consort salivated over a wildlife camera he hoped Santa would bring. Santa came through. The Prince Consort strapped the motion activated camera on a tree in our front woods. We were going to find out what was going on out there when we weren’t watching, when we slacked off and slept at night. 

Anyway, because the wildlife camera time stamps the photos we can now answer ‘do you know where your daughter, I mean deer/turkeys/squirrels/cat are’? 

TPC set up the camera and headed inside.

                                                                                                          

That night. Yep, deer looking for a midnight snack. 

           In the morning, the usual suspects come for corn. 

Early afternoon, some present their best side to the camera. 

Nikki Cat, a little late for a turkey dinner. Come in the house, Nikki. 

Kath, who now knows what the critters are doing. And wishes Professor Daughter a Happy Birthday! 

Vote for Your Favorite Reindeer

Vote for Your Favorite Reindeer

20 December 2011

It’s holiday time and everybody needs to dress up. Right? That includes the vehicles. 

Dude, the minivan, is good with being festive in his antlers and red nose, but he draws the line with parking next to large pick up trucks in the Tractor Supply lot., while wearing the reindeer rig.  Man up, Dude. 

Green Hornet the ATV got his name from my grandfather, who was not THE Green Hornet but who named his elderly green pick up truck The Green Hornet. The summer I was seven, Grandpa Jesse drove my sister and I off road and on, exploring the Mormon Lake area of AZ. 

Green Hornet the ATV and The Prince Consort off road through our forest down to the river. 

Green Hornet did not see the humor in the reindeer antlers and red nose. I swear he growled. Looks like it, right? 

So Vote for you favorite Christmas Reindeer. Vote early. Vote often. 

Kath, who is not taking sides, and not wearing the Reindeer costume, yet. 

How to Prevent Snow, Dry Clothes, and Get Sweaty Hands

How to Prevent Snow, Dry Clothes, and Get Sweaty Hands. 

15 December 2011

It’s a rule. If you take an umbrella with you, it will not rain. Unless you’re me, and it rains like you should be hot-footing it back to the Ark. Your umbrella is a gazillion years old, and when you open it the only thing between you and being totally soaked is the handle. The cloth is in tatters. Clearly the work of mice or evil umbrella elves. 

Just because that theory doesn’t prove out for me, doesn’t mean I give up on preventive tactics. So I ordered snow boots and a treadmill. The snow boots are in the boot tray, unused. Because ... no snow. So far. Knock on wood. It’s working. 

The treadmill was ordered to take the place of walking outside on icy dangerous days,
to prevent me from becoming one with the ice, face down in the street. There is always a flaw in my theories. While it hasn’t really snowed, and I can walk safely outside, I’d forgotten the true use for treadmills. 

Treadmills are awesome clothes drying racks. I figure at least eight turtlenecks will eventually fit on those arms. The flaw here is that to get drying time, apparently you have to get on the thing and walk!!! Earn drying time which ‘Walkies’, our new treadmill. totals up in the ‘time walked’ display. 

I swear I’ve walked enough to dry every stitch of clothing we own. But Walkies-the-Evil does not keep a running total. I have to start over every morning. I’m not sure I’m going to ever get enough time. After a half hour of 3.5mph my hands are sweating so hard, I can’t keep a grip on the machine’s arms. Which at least keeps the pulse monitor from screaming in alarm. 

Sigh. 

Walkies dressed out for Christmas in the minivan’s reindeer outfit. 

Kath, exhausted and revisiting her theories. 

The Many Faces of Fog

Many Faces of Fog

13 December 2011

I love Fog. It comes in many forms. From what you think of in San Francisco, south of where I was born, to the morning fog in my Kentucky front yard. A little spooky, a lot magical. 

And then there are the winter mornings when the fog freezes to every surface. From trees to weeds, everything encrusted in hairy iced fog. 

When the sun warms, everywhere diamonds will glitter. 

Some wear frozen fog on crown and nose. 

Look hard and you’ll see a fog bow. These show up as the sun chases fog deep into the ground. 

 When first I saw one, I thought I was hallucinating. Clearly a side-effect of too much exercising/walking. But my walking-partner saw it too. 

As I tried to catch up to the arch, I imagined if I could walk through, I’d find myself in that land beyond the rolling thick fog that closed in on us as we drove over the Allegheny Mountains. I’d find out what existed  beyond that wall of fog that made it feel like the world ended just feet from our car. 

Kath, fog lover. 

Golfer Turkeys

Golfer Turkeys 

10 December 2011

We live across the street from a golf course fairway. Which normally only means the Golfing Fairy leaves random golf balls in our yard. 

But the other day, when I hiked up the driveway, the turkeys had literally taken over the golf course. 

Observing the no carts on the fairway rule.  

Where’s the ball? Somebody get the golf clubs. 

The Foursome heads back to the tee for their mulligan, and the cart. 

Kath, who doesn’t golf with turkeys.  

Bachelor Party Santa

Bachelor Party Santa

6 December 2011

So I didn’t get the air cushion Halloween pirate ship, no matter that I dropped the hint in front of The Prince Consort 437 times. 

Now I have my eye on Bachelor Party Santa. Santa looked a little whipped today in the wind and rain outside the big box store. 

I guess he’s as tired as a stripper popping out of the same cake over and over at a bachelor party. 

But he’s got a smile on his face. And he puts a smile on mine. 

Happy Kath who will cruise by Bachelor Party Santa as often as possible.

$100 Sweet Tea

$100 Sweet Tea

2 December 2011

The Prince Consort and I decided to hit the One Dollar Menu at a local fast food place. We’re fans of the SweetTea (In American Deep South that’s one word-SweetTea, no pause between Sweet and Tea. This becomes VERY important.)

After we had our zero calorie meal (My sister swears the waxy paper absorbs the calories, which is why I NEVER bring fast food home and eat it off real plates. That would be fattening.), we gassed up The Dude. While The Prince Consort filled the tank with gas for a gob-smacking $3.15 a gallon, I had time to really read the restaurant specials board. Found something more expensive than gas. 

And I took a photo. 

My photography being what it is, this is what the sign says: 

Sweet   Tea   $100

Try our

Biscuit an Gravy

Luckily we had ordered SweetTea, with the Southern one word pronunciation, and got it for a dollar rather than the advertised $100. Whew! 

Kath, who does not have the nerve to order ‘Biscuit an Gravy’. Picturing congealed gravy in a biscuit shape. 

New Tree-Tall Tree

New Tree- Tall Tree 

1 December 2011

Our first Christmas was pretty frugal. We stretched our budget to buy an artificial tree and one string of lights. I made paper chains of construction paper and baked (my best tasting Christmas confection for some years.) pinkish baking soda ornaments that would have been red if I’d used more than two drops of food coloring. 

First Tree lasted until Professor Daughter was in high school. The end came when the poundage of garland out-weighed the needles left on the tree. So we bought New Tree. 

Now Professor Daughter is a professor, and New Tree is holding its own. Except it’s short. Not that I have anything against short, being height challenged myself, but the family room ceiling is fourteen feet high. (We found that out when one of the ceiling lights went out. We needed one of those electric utility picker trucks to get up there to replace the bulb, almost.) 

So for the last few years The Prince Consort and I have shopped for a tall tree. We hit the pre-Halloween-Christmas-is-coming- sales, the during-Christmas-shopping-sales, and the Christmas-is-over-but-there’s-another-one-coming-sales. But we couldn’t bring ourselves to replacing New Tree. 

Which didn’t fix problem with how overwhelmed New Tree was in the family room. First Tree is only seven feet tall with the extra tall topper ornament. But then I had one of those moments of genius more often referred to in my family as ‘another one of her hair brained schemes.’ 

Last spring I shipped home furniture from my parents’ home. Among the items was a herd of cocktail tables. The one that used to sit in my parents’ family room would be perfect. 

So we (yeah, TPC did the work while I assisted with invaluable advice and directions.) put New Tree together on the table. Voila’ New Tree has gone from petite to pretty near nine feet tall! Go New Tree! 

Kath ,who at five feet tall, wishes she could walk sans-wobble in high heels the way New Tree stands firm on the table.