Sweet: Ahhhh, grilling season is finally here.

I love grilled veggies and fish, all the fresh foods that the warm weather brings, and eating it outdoors with nature up close and personal. The birds sound beautiful this time of year and all the baby critters are discovering their own backyards. Can’t get any better.

Weak: UGGG! Grilling season is here.

This is a google image. Not my grill. Mine was far, far worse

Having to find your grill amongst the over grown weeds then propping it up with whatever you can find is not the best way to start. I, having a beautiful dinner planned with sweet anticipation for that mouth-watering goodness that is sure to come; only to discover, SOMEONE forgot to fill the propane tanks. Impatiently waiting for Mr. M to return with the “go” juice my dilapidated grill needs to crank out that great dinner……..

The Grill

I sent Mr. M to get the grill’s propane tank refilled. After what felt like a day and a half, he comes home with a full tank and a top of the line Grill Master Pro Edition Grill complete with Jolly Green Giant grilling utensils.

This too is a google image. I am at work and unable to snap a photo. Just add another grill to the side and a cooling unit behind the doors. I am sure you get the idea.

When I saw him pulling up the drive with his ear to ear grin, I instantly became ANGRY. All I wanted was a little propane so he could cook…. not a whole dang new grill! You see I am totally into recycling. A firm believer in using what you have even if what you have is 12 years old, weather beaten, leaking grease, faded to white hood, hobbling on one wheel and leaning at a 45 degree angle. I am not the love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of gal. That old grill still worked and had at least another couple of years left in her. That is if I could figure out a way to keep the jerry-rigged replacement bottom from falling out again.

If truth be told, I rarely cooked on the grill. That area has always been Mr. M’s territory but tonight I was forced to cook on it or not eat at all. (the unpleasant result of my “Case of the Yells”) OH MY GOSH! Everything I made was fan-freaking-tastic! I even basted some of the veggies with butter and no fire flares! You have no idea how many times I have seen Mr. M walk back in the house with his eyebrows smoking or gone due to fire flares. (Hence, the reason I don’t do grills…ever) Chicken, asparagus, steak, shrimp and veggie kabobs good to the last bite. Corn so tender you could just look at it an it would pop open with juicy goodness. I felt like I was cooking for a banquet in heaven where everything was perfect. My mouth was in a continuous drool. The aroma was scrumptious. And when we sat down to eat everyone looked as if I was the Goddess of Culinary Divine.

Now I feel I need to use this platform to apologize for every dirty look, cross word, and the deadly silent treatment that I have dispensed on Mr. M for the last two days. (cough, cough, clear throat)

I was. I was. I was wr….wron…..wronggggg. He was right.

Dang, that makes twice in 21 years he has been right. I must be losing my touch!

Today was my first day off of work and the first day I had enough energy to Geo Cache.  Do I have a story to tell…

This morning I sleep in until 7:00 a.m. by 11:30 a.m. I was BORED.  I decided to try to hike and do a little Geo Caching.  With backpack in hand and my GPS, I was off for what I hoped to be a productive hunt.  I went to the 130 (back woods) hwy.  There are a series of caches along that road and a few back in the woods.  I started on them just before I got sick and now that I was feeling better I was inching to get back there.  My plan was to start at the farthest cache and work myself back home.  The first place I searched was cool and odd.  There was a big limestone rock stuck out in a field.

Paso Por Aqui

Mershon

I was left empty-handed.  I never found the cache and I had no idea what this said and WHY it was there, smack in the middle of nowhere.  I found the next 6 caches but on the seventh one it got screwy.  I was about 10 minutes into the search when I stepped on this!!

Detached Elk Leg

The forest has a way of  bringing you back to a spooky reality in a hurry.  I freaked out! EEEEKKKKK.  While squealing I hurriedly backed up and fell into this!

Elk Carcass!

Then. as I was trying to get out of where I was, I found part of its hide but I did not get a picture of it cause about that time a huge herd of deer came flying through the forest straight at me!

A few seconds later I heard cows ( as in moo000 cows  ) start screeching!!!   No idea what that was about cause after I did a Bo Duke and dived in the car, I turned to look at what they were yelling at.  They were just standing.  Not a one of them were moving, they were frozen stiff.  They were all watching me ……. and screeching!!!  No really screeching, not mooing but screeching.   I LEFT… quickly.

Next time I am taking someone with me and my gun!  I know this may not sound too humorous or like fun but,    It was SO FUN ♥

It is great to be back at least for the day.

Birdie

ps.  By the way that big rock,  it was a memorial to a man named Mershon.  I searched for a translation.  The first one I found read… “Buddies in the Saddle”  Okay that was strange.   The second translation was “He passed by here”.  Okay that sounded like it might be the right words.   Upon further investigation, I found out he was a very influential Legislator in the state of New Mexico.  He founded the electric co-op, First National Bank and our medical center.  WOW, who knew so much history could be in a field…. in the middle of NOWHERE.

And If I ever go private again, don’t worry it is me just trying to catch up with myself. 

When I was young I was notoriously forgetful, not a little forgetful but overwhelmingly woolgathering.  I was forever in trouble at school because I could never remember to bring my homework back, my classmates names, and always hungry because I never remembered to bring my lunch or grab breakfast.  As a teenager, I missed many a dates because I would forget I had one, or worse making more than one date with two or three guys on the same night.  Imagine a boy crazy girl forgetting a date, but I did and did often.   My father made 40 sets of keys one year just so he would not have to take me to activities due to the loss of my own keys.  I lost my driver’s license probably 60 times during my driving years.  As an adult, I have forgotten my kids at basketball practice,  church, a restaurant and twice while trick or treating.   I lost my grandson at a park one time. I miss placed my car 7 times, 7 TIMES.  I forgot 2 of my favorite dogs outside after I forgot to bring them in with me, but they returned after a cold, cold night in the forest never to venture far from me again.  Mr. Moody has threatened to disown me if I lose one more military ID.  I think you get the picture.

Oh yes, about the carousel.  A few years back I was at yoga and about to wrap up a very exhausting session when my yoga teacher made the comment that she was, at one time, very forgetful.  And with those words I popped up like a puppy to a pork chop.  That hour of exercise… forgotten and all my attention was lavished upon her.  She said she had been at a self-improvement workshop for memory.  They talked about the usual exercising of the mind with word games, reading, and doing crafts.  They also taught her a memory technique.  They told her to imagine her brain is like a filing cabinet.  Categorize each subject i.e.  family, work, fun.  Then create folders within the subject i.e. family, clients, bar…urrr… friends.  Then she was to create sub-folders for all the little information.   As information came in, she was to file it away for later retrieval.  She said it worked like a charm for her.  All she had to do was take her mind to the original three categories and from there it was easy to find the right path to remember.

That night I could not sleep for thinking about what she had said.  I figured it was time to get my attic in order.  I remember trying to gather all my files and tucking them neatly in the sub file located deep within the  crevices of my brain, only to be retrieved when needed.  The next day I was clear headed and refreshed!  I felt like my thinker was finally thinking, until I forgot to pick up my mom from her dental surgery.  Clearly this technique was not for me.

Next night,  I tried to visualize my brain and the thoughts within.  What I saw surprise the heck out of me.  My noggin was not a file cabinet at all  it was a carousel.  I stored stuff in little slots on the carousel.  As information was needed, I would set the ride on go and wait for the enlightenment to approach, at which point, I would reach in a grab the tid bit I needed.  My problem was I had trouble remembering to turn it on.  WHAAA LAAA!  I found out what made me tick.  Now all I had to remember was to turn it on.  It was a slow process at first (and still is at times) but eventually it became faster and I started forgetting less and less.  I have not lost my car keys in at least 9 years.  I unfortunately can not say that about my work keys (I’m running out of memory slot space.)  I still lose my military ID and driver’s license but only at a rate of about two a year.  You have to admitt this is far better than 6 or 7 times a year.  To my credit, I have not lost a child nor have I neglected my dogs or forgot to pick anyone up from surgery since I recognized and turned on my carousel technique, that is until I started this extra job.  I have gone from an almost efficient running carousel to a full out Tilt-a-whirl!  Things are moving so fast they are becoming undone and flying this way and that.  I think it is time to purge some of the useless thoughts I ponder over every now and then.

Top ten thoughts for elimination:

Until next time file, file, file.

Hey, I wonder, did Mayberry have a bar or did you have to go to Mount Pilot for a little drinkiepoo. Come to think of it Mayberry was a dry county….I think. How did Otis find his happy juice? WAIT, I am doing it again.

One of the girls that writes for our monthly paper, was telling us about a story she wrote.  Apparently, a letter was sent to her desk from a man who was thinking about moving here.   She thought it would make a good public relations article since he wanted to know about the village’s off-season and what there was to do up here. He asked about the weather and snow averages. He was curious about the crime level and job situation. The letter also mentions he is a florist and a damn good one. You could name any rose in the world and he could find it. She tells us the letter was a bit long so she condensed it.  She puts her hand in her pocket and pulls out the original letter.   She told us he is a widower and asked what the female population was like up here.

WHA? That is a strange question. 

He also wanted to know if she thought any of the women up here would consider going out on a date with a nice widower.

??? What the heck??? Is this his version of match.com.  Is this his way of GoFish?  Okay, by now I am thinking there is something really wrong here.

The friend that was with me said that it sounded like he was just lonely and she felt sorry for him losing his wife.   Okay, well growing up in a big city will make a person a little distrustful when things don’t sound right. I guess you can take the girl out of the city but you will never get the city out of the girl..

About the same time as my cocktail was being served, (cocktail sounds so much better than my  booze) another friend came in the door and announced she got a letter from this same guy. Except he was a Chocolate-tier not a florist as claimed in the letter that was published. Then another one comes in waving papers. Same guy but this time he is a professional Photographer. Then another and another and another….so far there have been 8 letters sent to the women of this town. All with pretty much the same content but a different profession each time.

As I sat on the stool, I got to looking at the writing. It did not look like a man’s writing but that means nothing.  Now comes the good part. I turn the letter over and notice the envelope. It is from Plainview and not only it is from TX it is from the prison there. PRISON!?  It was then I realized, Houston, we DO have a problem. While the girls were pondering this mystery of all the letters and what it could mean, I grabbed my iPhone and did a search on his name.  Lo and behold, his name pops up with a picture and a request for a prison pen pal. Oh yeah, he is a prisoner not a guard. I know this cause I Googled  the prison records. There he was, doing time for embezzlement and fraud charges. It also said he is up for release on 7/7/12.  Now the whole town is in on this and waiting to see if more women to come forward with their letters from the Mayberry stalker. Truly a mystery that is yet to be played out.

Later that night I got to thinking about the women he sent letters to.  These women were business owner, social butterflies, women in various positions and or popular ladies in the village.  Then I thought HEY, wait just a minute…Where is my stinking letter?

To be continued…..maybe…I hope…or do I?

Weekly Photo Challenge: Simple

Warning: this post may not appropriate for young viewers or men or women with weak stomach or anyone with a fear of Chaetophobia and or Gerontophobia. It contains grossness, in a gross way… also as in repel, revolt, freakness and or disgust.  You don’t want to read this.  Okay, you have been warned.  This courtesy warning was brought to you by Legs,,,, long, long, legs.  I found out quickly that gross types of post need to carry some type of rating system.

Yesterday while I was driving down the mountain, I started sorting out the evils of the day, when all of a sudden I felt a tickle.  I gave it a swipe and forgot about it. On the way back home I had to crank up the heater fan to warm these old bones and that is when I felt it again. I flipped down the mirror but saw nothing. For 40 miles I worried with this occasional flutter.

That night I was walking to the bathroom to do my night time routine and I felt it again. Earlier in the day, I had looked in the rear view mirror several times to find the source of this irritant but it was not to be.  Then I thought, maybe I am having a stroke.  I don’t have time for a stroke!    Nope it had to be a hair or a spider web.   I was bound and determined to find the source of this annoyance. So I started feeling all over my face. I finally  found it. It felt like a string attached to my cheek…maybe with syrup. Hey, it could happen!  As my fingers fondled this string, I noticed it was about a mile long. Well, that is what it felt like but in reality it was only about 3 inches long (that is around 7 cm for the rest of the planet).  How in the world did a 3 inch string get stuck on my cheek with syrup and managed to evade my searching eyes?   I ran to the bathroom mirror to get a better look.  I quickly found out it was not a string at all it was a hair, however, this was no ordinary hair. NO! Oh no, it turns out it was a cluster of little locks. ON MY CHEEK!  And there was not a hint of syrup anywhere.  This mane was attached with FOLLICLES.  I had a sinking feeling this was going to be one of those, your getting way old, moments so I locked the door and stared at the reflection before me. How in the world could a CLUSTER of hairs be growing on my cheek at a measurement of three inches with out somebody, anybody noticing.  I am not talking where the cheek meets the hair line. I am talking right in the middle of my cheek!

Wait, maybe someone did notice but was afraid to tell. OMG.

The shame of it all.

I began contemplating how to handle this. To shave, would open Pandora’s box. You remember don’t you? Mom always said if you start shaving your hair will grow back twice as dark, twice as fast, and twice as much. Twice as much?  That would be 6 inches!  No way was I going to shave it. After what seemed like hours of agonizing scenarios,  I decided to wrap, yes that is what I said, wrap it around my finger and yank that frigin’ pony tail right off my face.

And I did.

Remove the pony tail.

Hurt like no bodies business.

Son of a Bisquick eater!

OUCH.

To add insult to injury, literally, I was really surprised to see that it was not blonde. It was not even dirty blonde.  It was a painter’s palette of several shades of  gray strands;  some were so gray they were white, others were shimmering in the bathroom light and still the others were just plain old gray with a bit of character to them.  By character I mean, kinky little wiry hairs some stiff as a board others just waving in the wind.  It was a pony tail,  I tell ya, of mixed origins !

That is me third one from the end

I guess I should thank my lucky stars that I did not have a Papa Smurf beard.  And after further inspection I did not find any sign of a fu manchu, goatee, mutton chops, soul patch (okay my mind just went somewhere it should not have gone), or any other volume of hair worthy of the Y chromosome.  I did notice a bit of a ‘stache on the upper lip.  I’m going to have to keep an eye on that.

In conclusion: I am finding out that growing old comes with a few perks but it also carries with it a few surprises. So check out your face daily.  Take it from me, no one is going to want to tell you about that full-on pony tail you got growing on the side of your jowl.

Move over Wicked Witch of the West there is a new gal in town. (insert wicked laugh here)

.

“Honey could you go get me some chicken livers? I have had a craving for them for the last three days.” mom said while drinking her coffee.

” Do I have to cook them or is there a special restaurant you buy them at?” I asked with reluctance in my voice. I hated using her stove.

“Down at the market is where I usually buy them. Back in the deli.” she says.

Cool, I didn’t have to monkey around with that stove from the 1800′s. I hated cooking on her stove and frying liver was the worst. I love to eat them I just hate to cook them. As I was heading to the deli, she adds to her order.

“Could you get some toilet paper, soap, milk and have them add some taters on that liver order.”

“Sure mom.” I call out as I race to the door. I knew my mom. If I hung around I would have a list a mile long and be going all over Memphis picking up this and that. Things not really needed but she felt compelled to get.

With grands in tow I headed to the deli. I get to the counter and a 20 something, beautiful blonde, blue eyed, gorgeous smile, little girl asked me,”May I help you?” with that familiar southern drawl I grew up with.

I asked if they had chicken livers today. She pointed at the food in the hot deli case between us and says

google image

“Why, yea-us we do.” and points to the livers in the corner. The case was full of southern fried goodies from fish to twinkies. She informed me that I could get chicken livers and two thighs for $3.99. I said okay thinking that I might have one for lunch. After second thought, I changed my mind and ask to change my order back to just livers and to skip the thighs. She looked at me with a confused faced and asked, “Where did you get thighs from?”

“From you.” I said. Now she is extremely perplexed and at a loss for words. I repeated her words back to her verbatim. “You can get chicken livers and two thighs for $3.99?” She started to laugh so hard she almost dropped the prongs.

Then she says, “No, s-i-d-e-s.” which she spelled slowly, “sides” she repeated in her southern drawl. Of course, that made sense. I mean that is a huge meal for $3.99.

“That will be fine.” I say looking around sheepishly to see who, if any one, was watching this interaction. Lucky for me only about a dozen people were in hearing range. I quickly move down to the veggies. As I was peering in to the food case for the “SIDES”, I found the potatoes and something else that caught my eye. It was a strange type of pea brownish red in color with snap beans surrounded by little tom tom tomatoes. I looked up to her cheerful face and asked her, “What is that?”

“That is what I was talking about the sssiiidddeeesss.” she said with a long and drawn out pronunciation of the word, as if I were deaf or from a foreign planet.

I said, “No what is it?”

Again she says, ” A SIDE” this time with a much sharper tone in her voice.

At this point, I am laughing so hard I can’t talk. I finally get out the words, “What kind of vegetable is it?”

“Oh that is just peas, honey.” she says.

As I drove back to mom’s, I came to the conclusion that even though I have one of the thickest southern accents in the little village I call home, I apparently have lost my ability to decipher the southern dialect. O mama.

Rest in peace mama. Your laughter was the greatest gift you ever gave me.  February 18, 1936 – September 7, 2010

Until next time,

Birdie

I have taken on another job.  I will be posting but  it will only be on Mondays until I can rearrange my life’s schedule again. I will for sure be reading your post.  You guys are one of the few things that brightens my days.  You may only see a -like- icon but know that I am either laughing, crying or saying hmmmm while reading you.  Wish me luck on this adventure.   I can never turn down an opportunity even if it is down a long and unknown road.

I thought I would start out the new year with a new front…new front blogging home page that is.  I spent all morning looking and trying on different looks.  It was agonizing.  I am a no-nonsense type of person.  When I go shopping, I get in and out with record speed.  Well, maybe not the grocery store or the bakery or the local pastry shop. Okay when it comes to food – eating – buying – or cooking it, I involve all my senses and that takes time.  Wait, I am getting off topic.  I was saying that this theme shopping was killing me.  I started at 6:30 in the morning and finally decided on this one at 12:47  in the afternoon.  That is a whopping six hours and 17 minutes.  Like I said, agonizing.

Being a no-nonsense person, one would think a minimalist look would be perfect for me.  Grid Focus or Clean Home were indeed sensible and clean but I discovered I desired color for my life in words.  I found it with Matala and Sweet Blossoms but they did not let me transfer some of the customizing I spent hours working on in the beginning of my blogging life.  I even tried on the ones in the middle, only to find the fit was not right.  Some of the themes were too busy, some were too tight, others were too dark, and some required magnifying glasses.  This was turning into an impossible task.   Why has no one thought to design a free theme that is visually impaired friendly?   I mean, someone thought to make that phone for us AARP people.  You know the one with giant numbers.  My mom had that phone and I loved it.  Anywho,  I was getting no where until I started thinking about the blogs I love to visit.  I began looking in my own back yard and fell in love with the Bouquet layout.

Now that I have a new beginning, I decided to do something I had been wanting to do for a long time.  I may be committing bloggers suicide but I feel compelled to follow my heart.  I have decided to change the way I refer to Hubs.  Mr. Moody or Mr. M is far more fitting.  You just have no idea how much this describes him.   I played with Chief  or Chief Yells-Alot to give recognition to his military background but it made him seem hateful.  Mr. Moody covers his many ups and downs which can occur between seconds, not the usual days that most people experience.  He is a hot mess but I love him….hills and all.

Daughter was next on the agenda for a name change.  The one thing that stands out above all else regarding her is she never sleeps unless the sun is up.  She uses the quietness of the night to do all her art, reading and studying.   The first site of light sends her running to the bed.  Her sleeping is all messed up, at least it is to me.  This put me in the mind of a vampire but a vampire she is not.  Then I thought of a bat.  She loves bats and does sort of live like one.  ( dark green and burgundy room, loft style bed and different sleeping habits) This lead me to the children’s book Stella Luna.  It was her favorite book when she was little and somehow it fits her now.  So, Stella it is.

I also changed the header to include my dogs.  I think it is only right since the name of my blog was inspired by them.  Plus they are just so darn cute.

I wanted to say thank you to Tony again.  I hope you all enjoyed reading him.  I just fell in love with the letters and I wanted to share with you, the people that enrich my life so much,  what I thought was very special.

I think I had better wait for any other changes to implement.  I know how frustrating it can be to go shopping for the ice cream only to find it has been replaced with diapers and the dad-burn ice-cream is clear across on the other side of the store.  Change is good but I prefer it in small doses.

Later yall,

Birdie

As promised the last little tid bit from “Letters to my Children”.  I can’t tell you how much I have loved and appreciated having Tony in my life and on my blog.  He and his family is so special to me and I pray often that the book deal comes through soon.  I can’t wait to  look on the shelves of Hastings to find him at arm’s length.  Thank you Tony for making me apart of this venture and for sending me this letter when I thought all love was lost. You gave me the hope I needed.   I have enjoyed this road of friendship we have shared and I look forward to many more mile markers..

Yeah Right!  Opposites fight!

by: Tony Oliver

Don’t get me wrong…I like my hands; they are surprisingly coordinated and strong, but they are just hands.  I got the utility model.  Still, they kind of define for me what hands should look like…until I see your mom’s hands.  We have been married for 30 years now and I still think her hands are just beautiful.  They are dainty and feminine, without being fragile. They are like a painting by one of the great masters.

I’m told the reason they are so appealing to me is that they are so different than my own.  Opposites attract.  They are just one of the many things that made me crazy about her during our teens.  I couldn’t get enough of her; all of her, her mannerisms, her features, even her way of seeing things.  The very things that attracted us to each other initially were our differences.

I’ve gone through some periods where I spent a lot of time being angry and pessimistic, but my personality always veers back toward optimism.  In that too, your mom couldn’t be more opposite.  She makes Eeyore look like a motivational speaker.  Her favorite saying is “Everything’s futile & life sucks when you’re us”.  To her, each new day is just one more chance for some butt-head to come along and screw up our life.  She asserts that any thinking individual should be able to look around and see all of the reasons why they should be depressed.

We couldn’t be more different.

As the newness of marriage begins to wear off, the differences that were once wonderful are no longer celebrated.  In fact, they can become an irritant and even a source of condemnation.  We begin to expect that the other will “mature” or “come around” and start to do and see things the same way we do.  After years of waiting, when it doesn’t happen, we are tempted to conclude that the other is defective and resentment sets in.

Then, love suffers.

I could judge your mother’s cyclical incursions into the depths of despair as a foolish endeavor that never accomplishes anything and she could see my optimism as evidence that her Dad was right and that I am not getting smarter with age.  But, she isn’t an office friend.  She isn’t a sibling.  She isn’t a boss.  She is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.  She is my best friend.  She is the love of my life.  I have come to realize that she isn’t defective because she doesn’t see things as I see them, so I shouldn’t feel the need to try to fix her.  I need to love her for who she is…the person I fell in love with.

When I accept that she is different – not defective – I am not tempted to ridicule or scold her when she is down. I make it my job to be there for her; to pick her up, to bring her back from the edge; to bring a little bit of sunshine into her life—not to criticize her for being there in the first place.

When we don’t see the other as defective, even though we are significantly different, we can get back to the most simple kind of relationship; one without so many complications and irritations.

Even after all these years, we still choose each other.  I’ve made the remark before, that even if we got a divorce we would probably still live together, because we truly are best friends.  We would just have separate bedrooms.  As bad as life might seem at times, we know it would be even worse if we had to go through life without the other.  We haven’t always allowed the other to be themselves, but we are getting better about it.  And, we are beginning to enjoy the differences again.  We are getting beyond the age where we feel the need to change the other.  We are beginning to not just accept each other, as we are, we are learning to once again find the appeal in those differences.

In your adult relationships, you will sometimes experience times that you wonder “Just what in the hell did I see in that person!”  Followed shortly thereafter by “What was I thinking!”  That is a sure sign that you have allowed harmful expectations to creep in; the kind of expectations that kill relationships.

When you find yourself in this position, go back and think about your love when your relationship was young.  Go back and find those things that drew you together initially, those differences that you now consider defects, and re-evaluate them.  Think about what you celebrated about the other.  Then, to find the appeal once again…you have to stop viewing the other as defective and once again appreciate the other for their unique characteristics.  If you will celebrate their strengths as well as embrace their differences, you can get your relationship back.

When your mother is complaining about crowded stores, the price of food and the utterly useless help carrying groceries, I no longer feel the need to insist that she “count her blessings”.  And, for her part, she no longer feels the need to hold up one of those beautiful little digits and proclaim, “You’re lucky I’ve got two arms full of groceries

Every once in a while you meet someone you immediately bond with.  You find them funny, intelligent and warm.  Normally, you would have this new friend come over for dinner.  You would make plans to get the families together for game nights and cook outs. That is what you would normally do but my friend and I have never met face to face.  We met via the internet.  He is not a blogger but, lawd, can he write!  I meet him through Facebook of all places.  He is not a complete stranger.  He went to school with my husband.  I believe he was a year or two behind him but this is a tiny school and everyone knows everyone.   We became friends through Farmville and a couple of other FB games.  It did not take long before I friended his wife and his beautiful daughter.  Through Facebook I read about his grandkids, his amazing son, parents and a couple of goofy dogs.

Soon we were FB chatting and emailing.  Like most friend we talked about a variety of subjects our jobs, our town, our hobbies and, of course, our families.  I went through a couple of really rough patches and he was there trying to pick up the pieces hundreds of miles away.  An internet friend who I had never met face to face was putting himself out there for me to lean on.  Now that is a friend.

One thing he did was send me letters.  These letters were intended for his grown children but they related to my struggles.  I was spellbound.  I could not get enough.  Soon I forgot all about me and started thinking how wonderful these letters would be in a coffee table book. This is a book of inspiration. These were life lessons at its best from a tough yet gentle father.  I asked him why he wrote these letters.  He said all the men in his family passed away just as their children we reaching or just beginning their adulthood.  If this legacy of early retirement continued, he wanted to make sure he could leave them a piece of his wisdom. When he wrote these letters he never intended them to be published  for the world to see. He only wanted to help his children  navigate through a tough world without him to lean on.  You can defiantly tell who his audience is when reading his words.  Wow, what a man and a dear, dear friend.

He has a book deal brewing but has consented to write or let me have a couple that may or may not be included in the deal.  Since he is working with a publisher, I am only going to blog a couple of stories on my Monday post.  This book takes his children on a journey through issue they may have with working with people, his own childhood memories, the  love he has cultivated for his family and friends, and he sometimes bring us uncontrollable laughter during these lessons of wisdom.  Whatever he brings to the table it is with a sometimes humorous and always in a loving manner.

I hope you enjoy reading “Letters to my Children” by Tony Oliver

This is Tony and his grandson.

I am merely a guest there

In the second Jurassic Park movie, one of the scientists came to the conclusion that they had accidentally expanded the perceived territory of the T-Rex, and as a result, it would now feel the need to defend its new territory.

That was bad news for them, but it is good news for us, because it explains an age-old problem we have as couples…our perceived territories and our need to defend them.

Your mom never tires of being amazed when I expect to be noticed for helping around the house.  For thirty years now she has thanklessly, endlessly and pretty much anonymously done everything required to keep the household running.  As a result, she looks at me like I just grew a third eye when I want a pat on the back for washing a load of jeans.

For years we wondered why it mattered so much to me that she knows I am contributing.  I whole-heartedly dispute that it is evidence of brain damage, and thankfully the dinosaur illustration in the movie really made it easier to explain.  We each have our perceived domains, and we do not compete for who is in control in those specific areas.

I think most guys perceive that most of the house is “her” domain because she wants control over what happens in the house.  If you don’t believe me, let a guy bring something from “his shop” and leave it somewhere in “her house”.  Whether it is a chainsaw, or a welder, or whatever; it will be treated as an invader…something that does not belong.  The drilling questions, the sarcasm and chilly responses will not end until the invader is removed and returned to “his” domain.

I think that in most homes, men are little more than a guest.  As a result, we don’t feel responsible for its day-to-day operations.  Think about it.  If I showed up with a new couch for the living room without including your mom on the decision, she would be miffed.  When, out of the blue, she shows up with a new entertainment center, I am expected to be thankful and appreciative.  Her domain.  If I walked in to where she is doing laundry and told her she is not using the correct soap, she would look at me like I just climbed off a space ship.  Her domain.

If I were to decide to take apart something greasy, and do so right in the middle of the living room floor… Her domain.  In my shop, I can take something apart and leave it there until I decide to move it.  She could care less.  That is my domain.  The living room is not. Any room in which she is perfectly comfortable haranguing me for making a mess is not my domain.  I am merely a guest there.

If I don’t load the dishwasher correctly?  Her domain. If I don’t dry the clothes on the correct setting?  Her domain.  If I have the wrong pan for cooking something? You get the idea.

It is further illustrated by putting the shoe on the other foot.  Imagine that she went out into the wood shop when I wasn’t around (my domain) and swept the floor and emptied all the trash.  Now, do you think she wouldn’t be expecting me to at least notice and to thank her?  I have news for you, if she cleaned my shop and I failed to notice and to thank her profusely, it would never happen again.  The reality is that she would be just like me when I do occasionally make the bed.  She would expect me to notice and to express my appreciation that she went above and beyond her responsibility and did something for me in my domain.

It also explains another conundrum.

She has wondered out loud for years how I could walk by a full trashcan and not notice that it needs to be emptied.  Yeah, yeah…again with the brain damage.  If she points it out to me, I am happy to deal with it.  But unless she says something, I don’t even notice.  Not my domain.

In my defense, imagine going to a bathroom at a sports venue and after you wash your hands you go to discard the paper towels, but the trashcan is overflowing. Do you think, “hmm…somebody needs to empty that!” or do you think, “hmmm… I should empty that!”

Of course you don’t think you personally need to empty that, because this isn’t your domain.  You are simply a visitor there.  You don’t control anything.  You have no say in how things are handled.  You feel no responsibility for how well things are done.

That is exactly how I feel in your mom’s domain.  I don’t purposely shun emptying the trash, it simply doesn’t occur to me because it is not in my domain, and therefore not on my radar.  I am a visitor in the kitchen.  I have no control and feel no responsibility.  Ask for my help and I am happy to help, but you have to ask; it is not natural for me to notice things outside of my area of responsibility.

If we were to agree that the kitchen trash becomes my domain, then that is different.  Let me take ownership of it, and it will be on my radar.  But, if it is my domain, I will have to be free to do it how and when I want.  I might even want to buy a different trashcan.  My domain.  Or switch to a different kind of trash bag.  My domain.   I might want to take it out when it is only ¾ full…or maybe my style will be to overfill it and smash everything down until it is difficult to empty…but if I am not free to do it my way, then it still isn’t my domain and I won’t own it.  I won’t feel responsible.

A friend once told me of the strange way that her husband washed the dishes.  He would fill the whole sink with soapy water and wash everything.  Then, with the clean dishes still in the sink, he would drain the soapy water and refill it with clean water.  He would do that several times until the rinse water was clear.  I had to admit; I had never heard of dishes being done that way.

She stated that when they were newlywed, her mother warned her to not say a word.  My friend’s mom very wisely explained that he should be left alone to do the dishes as he pleased, lest she end up washing the dishes herself.  30 years had gone by he was still washing the dishes every day.  He does it his own way. He owns it.  It is a credit to her and her mother for being wise enough to understand how this worked and letting it play out.  She gladly let him have dominion over the dirty dishes.  He was the boss, he did it his way, and he owned it.

Upon hearing this one of her co-workers blurted out “That is stupid.  If he were my husband I’d tell him how it should be done.”  We asked her, though, and sure enough, her husband never washed the dishes.  She would never relinquish control and he was happy to let her keep it.  I’m betting he never helped with the laundry or making the bed either…just a hunch.

Once you understand the concept of perceived domains, you and your spouse can use it to your advantage instead of endlessly ridiculing or resenting each other when things don’t go as expected.

It doesn’t mean that you won’t still have issues…there will be some tasks that neither of you want to own.   There will be other areas where you both want dominion and you will have conflicts over control.  You will have to be mature enough to work through those issues, but for all of the other areas, especially as they relate to doing things around the house, if you will recognize the concept of letting each have their own domain, it will be easier to cooperate and not leave one or the other with an unfair share of the load.

Then, maybe – just maybe – she will quit implying that you rode the “short bus” to school every time you feel inclined to leave the vacuum cleaner out…just so that she’ll notice that you’ve vacuumed.

Next Monday

Yeah Right!  Opposites fight!

p.s. I look forward to seeing your comments on this post, as with all my post.  However, this one is dear to my heart and I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.  As I stated earlier, Tony does not have a blog so I have asked him to reply to any comments on this post.

Then I got this one as it was shining behind the Church steeple

If you are interested I also posted the Weekly Photo Challenge: Between

at

Life is a bowl of Photos

I wish I knew how to use Photoshop.  Could you imagine how wonderful these shots and the Challenge Photos could look with just a little enhancement?

Tomorrows the big day!  I have asked Santa for a better new year.  I sure hope I, WE, get it.

note:  After I got home I tweaked the above photo if you care to see click here.