Thank you, Saucy, for the idea about the vaccum cleaner--I've sucked the flies to their doom. And thanks, Eurolush, but I think I'll pass on the gigantic German spiders. I'm a little bugged out for now. We had a hard frost last night, so my fly problem should end soon. The hard frost also means getting after some serious garden clean up. Fall is definitely here.
Apple muffins ready to sell...
The PTA event is gradually shaping up. I've drummed up 5 more tables, bringing me closer to the number required to keep a gym full of vendors happy. I hit the grocery store last night and this morning began filling the laundry baskets with the essential gear (extension cord? check. extra tablecloths? check. tape? check. money box? check.). I'm very grateful for having sons--planning a wedding would probably put me straight over the edge, and I'm certain my future DILs will appreciate my hands off policy. Mothers of the groom need only wear beige, pay the bar tab and show up smiling. That I can do! (Unless they choose to marry insipid bimbos, but that's a worry for another decade!)
The political campaigning was very stressful--making cold calls is among the most terrifying and horrid things I've yet to endure. Each time I dialed and got no answer, I was so relieved. Every GOP voter but 2 hung up on me before I could thank them for their time, several Democratic supporters railed into my ear about the economy, assuming, I guess, that I had some sort of pull with Senator Obama. I sat in a line-up of college girls making call after call to senior citizens, trying to sound respectful and friendly. After making 54 calls I went to talk to one of the coordinators and informed him I'd do anything, anything besides phone calls. I'd eat glass, scrub their bathroom, whatever. He gave me a look of great disappointment--this college kid who still lives at home, this passionate, idealistic kid untainted by age, experience and a general disenchantment with our nation's leaders. He told me that they needed callers to canvass the voters, but I was not to be swayed. I left with a stack of postcards I promised to write to encourage women voters (targeted because they are shut-in, living in rural areas). I'm to report with my hand-written postcards next Wednesday. I plan to bring snacks for the volunteers, too, to help boost morale. Calling people for a political campaign is just as nasty as calling volunteers for a PTA bake sale.
***
We all have those boxes, some of mine are in the basement, shoved behind Christmas decorations and a suitcase rarely used. A couple are in the corner of the highest shelves in the hall closet. The boxes of remnants, reminders and reminiscence. I came across one the other day and opened it on a fluke--I'd no idea what I'd find, in fact I thought it was school supplies. Instead I found this:
When I'd just started 2nd grade my parents moved our family to Thermopolis, Wyoming. We drove back and forth between Sheboygan, Wisconsin and our new home a couple times each year and we always stopped at the same truck stops for food (I ordered the shrimp platter at one particular truck stop, counting the shrimp every time to see if I really had 21 as the menu promised). We paid regular homage at Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, the Corn Palace, Wall Drug and even Laura Ingalls Wilder's homestead as my father tried to keep the journey more interesting for his 2 daughters stuck in our Pontiac's back seat.
Life on the road was a way of life for us because nothing is near or convenient in Wyoming. We did our Christmas shopping in Billings, Montana, we drove 40 minutes to a burg called Kirby to eat hamburgers almost every weekend. The stifling air in the car, the tan vinyl seats, the invisible line dividing me from my younger sister, the steady flow of mountain ranges and plains passing my window dominate my childhood memories.
Then I came across this mug the other day while going through a box of stuff my mom had packed and set aside years ago. I hadn't seen this mug in 25 years and I couldn't believe my eyes when I unwrapped it from old newspaper and held it in my hands. One of my favorite places on the journey across the midwest was Bedrock City, a life-sized replica of the Flinstones--we always stopped and posed for pictures in Fred's car, next to a giant Dino, and outside the Rubble's front door. The Flinstones was one of my favorite cartoons and Bedrock City charmed me every time. I completely forgot that my dad had shelled out cash for family souveniers on one stop.
Intrigued, I went online to see if Bedrock City still existed almost 30 years later. Guess what? Forty years after it's conception, you can still go there. Really! Go there! How cool is that? Do you know what kind of road trip I'm planning to take Team Testosterone on in a few years?
What crazy memory have you come across lately?
***
We all have those boxes, some of mine are in the basement, shoved behind Christmas decorations and a suitcase rarely used. A couple are in the corner of the highest shelves in the hall closet. The boxes of remnants, reminders and reminiscence. I came across one the other day and opened it on a fluke--I'd no idea what I'd find, in fact I thought it was school supplies. Instead I found this:
When I'd just started 2nd grade my parents moved our family to Thermopolis, Wyoming. We drove back and forth between Sheboygan, Wisconsin and our new home a couple times each year and we always stopped at the same truck stops for food (I ordered the shrimp platter at one particular truck stop, counting the shrimp every time to see if I really had 21 as the menu promised). We paid regular homage at Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, the Corn Palace, Wall Drug and even Laura Ingalls Wilder's homestead as my father tried to keep the journey more interesting for his 2 daughters stuck in our Pontiac's back seat.
Life on the road was a way of life for us because nothing is near or convenient in Wyoming. We did our Christmas shopping in Billings, Montana, we drove 40 minutes to a burg called Kirby to eat hamburgers almost every weekend. The stifling air in the car, the tan vinyl seats, the invisible line dividing me from my younger sister, the steady flow of mountain ranges and plains passing my window dominate my childhood memories.
Then I came across this mug the other day while going through a box of stuff my mom had packed and set aside years ago. I hadn't seen this mug in 25 years and I couldn't believe my eyes when I unwrapped it from old newspaper and held it in my hands. One of my favorite places on the journey across the midwest was Bedrock City, a life-sized replica of the Flinstones--we always stopped and posed for pictures in Fred's car, next to a giant Dino, and outside the Rubble's front door. The Flinstones was one of my favorite cartoons and Bedrock City charmed me every time. I completely forgot that my dad had shelled out cash for family souveniers on one stop.
Intrigued, I went online to see if Bedrock City still existed almost 30 years later. Guess what? Forty years after it's conception, you can still go there. Really! Go there! How cool is that? Do you know what kind of road trip I'm planning to take Team Testosterone on in a few years?
What crazy memory have you come across lately?
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