2 Steps Forward, 1 Step Back

ONE MORE DAY AND MY NEW BABY NEPHEW GETS HERE!!!! INDUCEMENT STARTS TONIGHT!! Okay, that’s out of my system.

About this fall thing? I’m working really hard to get right with the idea that it’s going to happen whether I like it or not, and I made a little progress this weekend. I have learned that the best way for me to handle something I find scary or uncomfortable is to just close my eyes and jump right in. Like holding the teacher’s boa constrictor back in fourth grade. I just raised my hand and grabbed that snake before I could think about it. Or riding that roller coaster with the butt clenching drop at King’s Island in Cincinnati. I just strapped myself in and said let ‘er rip. Of course we were the last cart out that night, and early the next day that coaster slammed to a halt in mid ride and injured several people. I try not to think about that much. Then there was the time during a leadership retreat when I had to climb a forty foot utility pole and stand on top of it with arms outstretched. I jumped near the front of the line and started climbing before I could think about the fact that the only way down from the top of that pole was to jump into empty air, with a safety harness, of course. Sooo….I figured the best way to get used to autumn was to jump all the way into the deep end and go straight to the pumpkin patch. Nothing says fall like the pumpkin patch, right?

Our favorite pumpkin patch is a family operation. They really make everyone feel welcome, and they try to keep their prices reasonable. Thousands of folks roll through their farm every year, riding wagons to the back forty for a walk through the patch to pluck up a pumpkin or two.They also usually eat a concession stand concoction called an apple sundae, which is sliced apples covered in homemade caramel sauce, whipped cream and nuts. Can I get an amen for homemade caramel sauce? I know I was praising Jesus when I ate my sundae. That's why I forgot to take a picture.

It was a beautiful day. About this point, I started feeling like the Pioneer Woman and was compelled to snap a picture of the cattle. Should I talk now about laundry, calf nuts and corn casseroles? Whine because I didn't win her camera giveaway last week? No? Okay. In no time at all we were in the middle of the pumpkins.
Teen Angel first roamed through this field when she was two years old and with the exception of last year has made a visit here every year. She loves this place and takes FOREVER to pick out her favorite pumpkins. This time was no exception. She brought her best bud with her, and she picked out one, too. A good time was had by all, and I must admit that it warmed the cockles (what are those anyway?) of my heart to see Teen Angel and her friend enjoying this childhood ritual. The toddlers waddling around with little pumpkins were so cute, and that baby with the candy corn headband made me smile. I can also honestly say I was embracing the whole fall thing, up to a certain point. Granted, I was making great strides. I just...I just...just couldn't wholely commit myself to the cause. In the interest of keepin’ in real (that’s Pioneer Woman talk for full disclosure), I must tell you that I did all of this while wearing shorts and my flip flops with the hula girls on them. I know, I know, no one wears flip flops to the pumpkin patch. But it was unseasonably warm! Honest. I swear, it really was…I promise. One step at a time, folks. One step at a time.

Proof We Are Easily Amused

We spend a lot of time laughing at our dog. I hope he forgives us. He's just so darn funny. Owning a miniature schnauzer is an adventure. They try desperately to communicate with you, so they are very vocal. They're very smart, too. And no other breed has more personality. Their egos are much bigger than their bodies. They'll pick a fight with a great dane and never realize what a suicidal move that is. Jack is a great watch dog. No one comes near our house without him raising ten kinds of Cane. (He hates the UPS man.) Of course, he also hides in the back bedroom when I turn on the stove, and I've found him standing in the middle of the bed with his head under the covers during a midnight thunderstorm, so he's obviously more bark than bite. He loves his peeps and is definately a lap dog. Every night around 9pm he crawls onto my lap and lays there while I read and then follows me to bed where he's been known to hog my pillow. He's one of the family. Shucks, I love him just for his cute, floppy ears. We didn't have the heart to have them cut when he was a puppy. He brings us great pleasure and gives us several laughs every day. Today's laugh? Well, before I show you this picture, keep in mind that the focus of a schnauzer's appearance is his beard. It's their trademark. It also gets in the way every time they eat, and schnauzers LOVE food, any food, especially people food. This is what happens when you feed a hungry schnauzer who's been on a diet for the last month some homemade vegetable soup.Don't laugh too hard, though. He just might get embarrassed. And then he'll ignore you.At least until you sit down with a fluffy pillow to read.

Things That Make Me Feel Old

Stumbling across this kind of thing on the internet. The B-52's today.Sigh. Time marches on. Why, I remember the good old days, the Private Idaho days, circa 1979. Freshman year. Dancin' to the original Love Shack late into the night during pom pom squad camp. And doing the Rock Lobster. Oh, the Rock Lobster. Ordering pizza past curfew and talking about boys until 2am. Somewhere tucked away in a box is my pink punk sunglasses and my new wave polka dot dress with the big heart shaped belt. Sigh. Has it really been that long? Say it ain't so, Fred.

Uncle

Man, you whine a little about autumn and fall lovers everywhere crawl out of the woodwork and slap you around. Everywhere I’ve turned this week, I’ve caught flak over it. “But Hula, the fall is so pretty. You don’t sweat as much. Don’t you love the change of seasons? It’s chili weather again. Before you know it Christmas will be here.” Yadda, yadda, yadda. Blah, blah, blah. On and on with the ain’t fall grand business. Mad Maxx even told me to get my butt in some nice corduroys, put on that fuzzy sweater and get out there and make the most of it. Geez, Louise, you people are persistent. Okay, okay. I give up. See the white flag in my hand? It’s waving just for you, Mia…and janjanmom..and Maxx. I…reluctantly…surrender.

I’ll admit autumn IS pretty, and the weather IS perfect. It’s just that fall reminds me that winter is just around the corner, and I have grown to detest winter. It feels so heavy. The sky is gray. The trees are naked. The clothes are heavy. I hate the sweaters, the coats, the gloves, the hats. Layer upon layer of stuff that makes me yearn for the warm days when you can go outside without preparation. When you can skip the socks and shoes and the long pants. When everything is bright and vivid and bathed in light. To me, fall is a reminder that all of that is over for many months. The really sad part is that winters in Kentucky aren’t even that bad, certainly nothing like the winters my blogger friends in Minnesota and New Hampshire endure every year.

In years past, I used to roll with the seasons, but the last few years I’ve gotten downright cranky about winter. I do okay through December because I’m so preoccupied with Thanksgiving and Christmas, but January and February are long months for me. They stretch on forever. I perk up in March because I know spring’s coming, and the first of April makes me downright giddy. If I lived in a tropical climate long enough I might begin to miss having four seasons, but I’m not so sure. I’d like to live in Aruba long enough to find out. In the meantime, I’ll muddle through.

In the past two days I’ve done a little self assessing. Because of some dysfunction that’s going on in a friend’s life, I felt a need to review my attitude about that person’s actions. I realized I cannot “fix” that person and that she alone is responsible for her happiness. In turn, I am responsible for my happiness. Taking ownership of that responsibility means focusing on the good things and living in the moment in stead of worrying about what I think someone else should be doing. So, autumn lovers, you will be glad to know that I skipped the treadmill and ran outside at lunch today, purposefully picking a scenic route and forcing myself to take in the trees and sunshine. It was beautiful, and I felt like I could run forever.

I have a friend who died last week of cancer, and he would have given anything to have had just one more day with his wife and daughters. I shall quit my whining because God is giving me some beautiful days right now, free for the taking, and I need to appreciate that. If I try hard enough I might just enjoy this autumn business a little bit. Heck, I drove past a tree with some beautiful leaves yesterday and smiled before I could help myself. I won’t be breaking out the pumpkins anytime soon, but I might have some cider, and I might, just might, put away most of my flip flops this weekend if I work up the courage. As for the corduroy pants? Don’t push it.

*#$@#!

What is this?

Emergency kit #1 for opening Benedryl Allergy & Sinus headache medicine first thing in the morning.

Baaahhh!! Tomorrow I'm using emergency kit #2.

Reason #6 That I Hate Autumn

It has been sixteen days since summer ended, and I’m still not over it. Give me time. I’ll work through it. In the meantime I’m mourning the loss of these.A mere three weeks ago, I was still picking tomatoes. Ruby red, juicy tomatoes. God’s gift to the dinner table and the reason southern women wear funny hats and dig in the dirt. And now? They’re gone. Sniff. All. Gone. I can hardly stand it. Now I’m faced with months of those squishy, mealy things the grocery store likes to pass off as produce. Are you feelin’ my pain? Tell me I’m not alone in my grief.

We had 37 tomato plants this year. I know that sounds like an insane number, but the Hula-gen’s love tomatoes. We’ve had as many as 70 plants in past years. We make whole meals out of tomatoes, and we love BLT’s. Remember this? We’ve been known to wipe a freshly picked mater on our shirt and eat it whole while standing in the middle of the garden. When Teen Angel was little, I would often find her hidden in the middle of the plants, with a mouth full of cherry tomatoes and juice running down her chin. We plant them with great care each spring, wait for weeks for them to ripen and then fight over the first ones. The person to swipe the first one always pretends like he didn’t. For weeks we savor their juicy goodness, eating them daily and sharing them with the neighbors. Fourth of Julys, Super Sweets, Big Berthas, Sweet 100’s and luscious grape varieties.
It’s a smorgasbord of acidity.

As September starts to wane and the plants wither, we begin hoarding the remaining tomatoes. We reluctantly pull up the plants as they die, until we’re left with just a few, straggly bushes.
Isn't this sad. This picture was taken two weeks ago, and these plants will go this week. There simply isn’t anything left to pick, and the frost is coming soon. In the refrigerator bin are the few homegrown tomatoes left, and they’re quickly going bad, but we can’t bring ourselves to throw them away.

My heartbeat quickened two weeks ago when I wandered out to the compost pile and found this. If you look closely, you’ll see a tomato plant that sprouted from tossed tomato seeds. It wasn't pretty, but it was green and full of blooms. And when I looked closer I saw this.
Oh my goodness for heaven’s sake glory be in the morning hallelujah brothers and sisters it was small, green grape tomatoes. A gift from God in a big pile of…well, you know. We rejoiced in our luck and watched those little guys turn. Late last week Teen Angel picked a handful of maters off that little plant, and they tasted like gold. With more little green tomatoes simmering on the vine we anxiously waited for them to turn, thinking we would have tomatoes until the end of October if we could keep the frost away. And then, it happened. It’s almost too horrible to speak about. While I was away at work the tree trimmers came to take down a tree in Papa T.’s back yard and came through our yard to get to it. I came home and..and…and..found…this….
My little plant…splat. Squashed. Smashed to smithereens. Dragged to its death. A victim of a big fat bucket truck. Sniff. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

Attention Shoppers.......

Once upon a time, in 1961, there was a little boy called Sonny. He was seven years old, and boy, did he like chocolate. He liked chocolate so much that one day he slipped into the corner store and stole a chocolate bar. It was a Hershey’s chocolate bar. He toddled home and opened the wrapper. Little Sonny loved the taste of that stolen Hershey bar. He savored every bite and was halfway through the candy bar when his dad came home from work and found Little Sonny on the back porch with a chocolate mustache and a big grin. He asked Sonny where he got the candy bar.

“I found it,” said Sonny.

“Found it? You mean you stole it,” said his dad. “You don’t have any money.”

His dad jerked him up off the porch, grabbed the Hershey bar and marched little Sonny two blocks down the street to the little corner store, admonishing him the whole way. He made little Sonny climb up on the counter so Sonny could look the store owner in the eye, admit to the crotchety old owner that he had stolen the candy bar and apologize for it. THEN he made little Sonny get on the INTERCOM and announce LOUDLY to the WHOLE store, “My name is Sonny and I stole a candy bar from this store and I’m sorry.” And then he marched little Sonny home.

And that my friends, is why my husband cannot stand to eat a Hershey bar today. And why Teen Angel and I practically peed our pants yesterday afternoon when we heard that story for the first time. It’s also why Hubby never ever stole anything again.