Scrapper

My husbandTheTruckDriver is a scapper. True, he has been known to do his share of bickering, but it is scapping of a different persuasion to which I refer here. In short, he's a junk collector. Metal of all kinds, steel, aluminum, wire, copper, anything he can disassemble and transport to the recycling plant in exchange for a few bucks. In better days, the pile of debris behind our house between the shed and the woods was no more than an eyesore to me; in today's economy and state of rapid global deterioration, it is his little contribution to saving our pennies and saving the planet. He's not big time. You won't see him in a dilapidated pick-up bursting at the seams with mangled steel and rusty old water heaters. Just whatever he can fit in the back of the van, and whatever he has had time to deconstruct during his short lay-overs at home.


I took a trip to the recycling plant with him this week, and it was quite interesting, albeit rugged and dirty. There was a huge 3' high pile of what looked like aluminum shavings in one corner. Stacks of wheel rims and hubs in one area, radiators and other car parts in another, and a shelf full of metalware retrieved from the recycling bins - statues, bells, a goblet, perhaps for their collectible value. There was a huge, flat in-ground scale in the center of the warehouse, and beyond the doors in the gravel yard, numerous industrial dumpsters. First, the aluminum cans. 100 pounds worth, being pushed up and over the scale on a conveyor belt and into a crusher. Net: $4.00. But imagine all those cans in a landfill or strewn along the highways and riverbanks-500 years from now, they will still be discarded aluminum cans! That is money and energy wasted, not to mention the contamination of the landscape and the pollution of the waterways. It is a sad fact that Americans today recycle only about 50% of the 80,000,000,000 aluminum soda cans they use every year. It takes 95% less energy to make new cans from old ones than to produce new cans using virgin ore. Recycling only one can save enough energy to burn a 100 watt light bulb for about 4 hours or to run your television for three, and is equivalent to about 1/2 gallon of gasoline.


All the rest of the metal was just tossed on the in-ground scale by category, weighed, and calculated. To the cans, we added some sheet aluminum left over from a remodeling project and some pieces out of an old radiator MyHusbandTheTruckDriver stripped down in his spare time. Then some large rings of wire that he unfortunately hadn't had the time to strip. He would have found copper inside which would have been worth more than the unstripped wire; nevertheless, the scrap yard still took the wire and will undoubtedly strip it themseleves or send it off to yet another yard that will process it further. Then various parts from the old engine from our son's car. I don't know if they were steel, aluminum, or what, but the experts knew. Finally, some broken copper fittings and pieces of pipe. All weighed, totalled, and sorted into their respective bins. All the net of the rest of our recycled metals was $42. A nice chunk for our piggy bank, but it had a much broader impact on our world. In the US, recycling steel saves enough energy to heat and light 18,000,000 homes. Recycling copper uses only about 15% of the energy it would take to mine and extract new copper, and since mining and refining any metal produces gases and dust and requires enormous amounts of energy, recycling helps to conserve the world's supply of fossil fuels and reduce carbon dioxide emissions.


So, the next time you throw an aluminum can on the ground or even in the trash, or toss out that piece of wire or metal you pulled off the house or the car, why not think to recycle instead; not big business, but everyone doing their own part.

Have a blessed day.

Happy Easter!

Drake had a fever so he couldn't join us. He stayed home with mommy. Still, he was full of smiles and giggles even with his pink cheeks!

Mud Bath

I have heard that mud baths are great for rejuvenating and revitalizing the skin, total mind and body relaxation, and joint and muscle pain reduction. All the benefits of this luxurious spa treatment escaped me yesterday, however, when I took my own form of a mud bath.

That's right, just outside my front porch, I slipped in the mud and fell face down in the cold, gooey stuff. I was unable to stop the fall as my right leg slid out from under me, ultimately stretching as far as it would go before I hit the ground. When the shock wore off after a few seconds, I immediately felt the burning in the back of my right thigh, but I sort of dragged myself to the porch railing then limped up the stairs, chucking my muddy shoes on the porch before I entered the house.

What a sight I was! Mud from head to toe, I limped to the bathroom and put myself back together, but I was in pain. My dear, compassionate son, who's also a CNA, insisted on driving down from Oak Ridge (30 miles) to make sure I was okay. I was; no torn muscles, just overly strained (from never having been used, no doubt). Nothing was broken, either a testament to the soft muddy ground or my soft, flabby body. My thigh ached and I had to sit on the edge of the chair to avoid putting pressure on the bruised area. My son reminded me that he had suffered much worse traumas from playing soccer all those years.

I am better today; most of the pain has subsided and I can walk without limping. Now I can laugh about my mud bath. I don't think it's what Cleopatra had in mind. At least I can now say that I have learned to do the splits.

Don't expect pictures.

A Quarter Past Christmas . . .

It's the middle of March already and my Christmas decorations are still up. Do you think that's sad? Or just a case of gross neglect? Actually, my Christmas boxes were in the storage room, and with everyone's busy schedule and having been a one-car family for the past 3 months, no one has taken the time to retrieve the boxes and bins. Now huddled on my living room floor, they beg to be filled. And my family begs me to put away the Christmas stuff, already; it's almost St. Patrick's Day!

Car Notes:

Aaron's car has finally started! I believe it to have been the power of prayer that made the engine hum when he turned the key yesterday. The new engine was installed two weeks ago, and no matter what my husband and my son did, they could not get it running, even when every system check they tried said it's a go. He is thrilled, and so am I. Now maybe I won't be so stranded, as I have been feeling lately, especially now that spring is teasing us with her buds and blooms.

I saw the most magnificent display yesterday. Bradford pear trees all in a row, their bulbous contours ablaze with their white blossoms thick as snow. For a brief moment they'll wear their dressing gowns, then don their comely raiment as a debutante presented in the spring.

I must put the Christmas stuff away!

Bumper Cars

Saturday was such a beautiful pre-spring day, with mild temperatures reaching 70 and clear blue skies, one might surely turn her thoughts toward visiting a local amusement park. I, however, had no such intentions. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found myself not once, but twice, a participant in an unintentional game of bumper cars.

The thing about bumper cars is just when you think you have a clear space to break away, the car behind you abruptly changes direction and lunges into your personal space. So it was with the silver El Dorado with the tow hitch that I watched pull securely into his parking space directly opposite me before I backed out of mine.

Now I will sheepishly admit that I am not the most alert driver, but I was watching where I was going. Clearly through my rear view mirror, I saw the El Dorado safely parked, lights off, as I slowly moved backward in my own vehicle. Then, without warning, just like that annoying little bumper car that comes from out of nowhere and rams you when you least expect it, thud! Seems the driver didn’t see me back up when he decided he had pulled in at an angle and needed to back up himself and re-park. Well, truth be told, maybe I didn’t see him all that clearly either, and it was a rather minor bump, although it left a 3” gouge in my rear bumper. The tow hitch was not harmed. It’s still amazing to me how all 50 cars in a parking lot the size of a small city find it necessary to park in the first 3 rows.

Business concluded, and having decided to continue to enjoy the gorgeous pre-spring day, I drove merrily on my way with a few more stops left before it was time to pick up my son, Aaron, at work. Carefree, on our way home at last, we made one last stop at the convenience store for gas and a paper. While I darted into the store, Aaron pulled between the car at the pump and the curb to park and wait for me. Then, it happened again; not a thud this time, but a pop. It must have been a little too tight a squeeze, for the right front tire scraped the curb just where its metal frame and concrete were broken and left exposed, jagged and rough. A non-repairable hole in the tire, oh my! And no spare.

AAA to the rescue, but at my expense for the new tire, and possibly the tow since the distance to the local StuffMart Tire Shop (the only retailer open at 6:55 p.m. on a Saturday night in East Tennessee, imagine!) may have been more than my coverage allowed. We’ll see. Fortunately, a call to the RegionalConvenienceStoreChainEmergencyManagementNumber promised retribution if I would call the office on Monday and report the claim.

Note to self: No more wild rides.

Trucker Notes:

Myhusbandthetruckdriver hit Chicago Saturday morning where he waits to pick up his next load. All weekend in the terminal is not so bad; at least they have a TV in the trucker lounge; it has better reception (usually) than the one in the truck. Monday morning he is off to Oklahoma; hopefully home next weekend.

Efficiency Vs. Security

As a small on-line seller, I ship a lot of packages. Generally, I pay for postage and print postage-paid labels on line, so everything is ready to go when I take my parcels to the post office. While I expect pre-paying to save me considerable time at the post office, I do still expect to stand in line to have my packages received.

So, I was surprised yesterday when I was called out of a busy post office line and told I could simply leave my packages on the counter, and they would be handled. At first, I thought, "hmm, how convenient." I gratefully dropped my packages and departed on my merry way. Then it occurred to me that I had been allowed to simply leave a stack of sealed packages on a busy post office counter in the heart of a high-security-risk city.

Not that I am an alarmist, but I wonder how easy it would be for someone with less benign intentions to leave a possibly lethal package undetected as well. I'm willing to trade a little inconvenience for the sake of precaution. I promise to stand in line with a smile on my face and never grumble at the person behind the counter for taking too long (unless, of course, the line I'm in is one of the 4 open register lines out of 30 at my local StuffMart on a busy Saturday afternoon).

Sunday Morning Coming Home

MyHusbandTheTruckDriver has been on the road for two weeks, but he'll be rolling in about dawn. Sunday morning and he'll be home for two days, then off again on Tuesday morning to pick up a load in Knoxville going back up north.

This run he's been to Florida, through the Carolinas, into Pennyslvania, then Chicago and Wisconsin, and back again. He was able to see his daughter in Georgia and his mother in Pennsylvania; I'm glad for that.

He'll be glad for two days without hot dogs or potted meat, and grateful for a king-size bed. Otherwise, his hometime will be uneventful by many standards. We'll run errands, do a little necessary shopping, see our children and grandchild, and rest. He won't have time to work on his project car or finish the new floor, and the weather is still too bad (too muddy) to work in the yard. We'll try to hold on to the next 48 hours together; they have to last us for two weeks.

March is here and winter will soon be behind us for another season. He keeps promising me I will go with him in the spring.

My One Car World

With my son’s car still on the outs, we remain a one-car family and this is my one-car world. My son Aaron has the privilege of using the family van since he goes to school all day and works all night, and I “borrow” the van when I have to go somewhere. Although Aaron hates the van, and definitely prefers his small, fast car to an old-people’s vehicle, he will deign to use it under these dire circumstances. He does feel that I am putting him out, however.

Tomorrow is a must-do-errands day for me, and I have a doctor’s appointment as well. Since Aaron doesn’t have school on Fridays, he works all day instead, so my first chore is to leave the house at 7 am and take him to work in Oak Ridge, some 35 miles away. Too far for me to return home (think gas prices!) and do my errands locally, I will spend the day in Oak Ridge and Knoxville. Maybe I’ll take in some thrift-store shopping and wander through Stuff Mart. Plus side, see my other son before he goes to work and have lunch with a girlfriend, get all the errands taken care of in one day. Downside, all day till Aaron’s quitting time at 6:30 p.m. away from home, and I’ll probably have to sleep most of the day Saturday to recover. (Of course, a lot of people would finding sleeping half the day on Saturday a blessing.)

Trucking News

My husband was home last weekend for 3 full days after having been out for 20 days. It was good to have him home, although he spent most of his “down time” trying to repair our son’s car, which still does not run and now sits. At least dh is heading south this run, to Central Florida, away from the icestorms and snow. He passed through Savannah yesterday and was able to have dinner with our daughter and son-in-law. We haven’t seen them in almost a year, so he was glad to be able to visit, brief as it was. Today he is heading back the way he came, and it’s getting colder by the mile.

Big Blue Truck

My husband has been an over-the-road trucker for a long time. He’s away more than he’s home, and we’re glad to have his infrequent off-times. We place our faith in God for his safety and also trust his exceptional driving skills.

If anyone was born to be a truck driver, it is he. He has driven hundreds of thousands of miles over the years, to every state in the continental United States except California (I don’t know why). Yet, he never seems to grow weary of the drive—always alert and with rapidfire reflexes, I have seen him avert accidents that less conscientious drivers surely would have suffered.

Sadly, though, there have been times when he has encountered tragedies on the road. It happened just yesterday afternoon as he was headed northbound on Rt. 27 outside of Blakeley, Georgia, on his way to today’s Cincinnati delivery. The driver of the big blue rig carrying a load of hot dogs apparently fell asleep at the wheel. Either he hit the pickup truck who hit the backhoe, or the other way around, but the big blue rig ultimately hit a tree and turned over on its side.

My husband came upon the wreckage just as the dust was settling, with cars and trucks and cops and ambulances in a huge bottleneck in the middle of the freeway. Concerned with the two vehicles that were hit, everyone was crowded around the pickup and the backhoe, and the driver of the big blue rig was still inside. My husband quickly grabbed the tire thumper from his own truck and broke the driver’s window to help him out, without pulling, only supporting him, to prevent any possible further injuries. Fortunately, the driver appeared to be okay, and despite his protests, officials insisted he be transported to the nearest hospital. The pickup driver was also uninjured, but it was unclear at the time if the backhoe driver would survive. With traffic tied up for 2 ½ hours, my husband could do nothing but wait and silently pray for the welfare of the other drivers.

One hears so much about truckers failing to use safe driving procedures and causing accidents due to negligence, fatigue, or worse. But as a trucker’s wife who has heard years of first-hand experiences from her husband, I am certain that trucker-caused accidents, like this one, are not the norm. While twelve percent of all traffic fatalities in the United States are caused because of truck accidents, the truck driver is not usually the one who is mainly at fault. On the contrary, more than 75% of all truck accidents are caused because of an error of the driver of other smaller vehicles involved in the crash. In fact, take a look at truck accident statistics here.

Still, with 4669 fatal big truck accidents in 2003 (out of 58,512 fatal auto crashes), 25% of the 12% is still way too high. I pray daily that my husband will never be one of those statistics. In this case, foregoing safety precautions such as downtime and sleep, nourishment, speed limits, and preparedness in an effort to “go the extra mile” just isn’t worth the risk.

All On a Morning's Drive

For the past several months, we have been a one car family. Aaron has been using the van since he fried his engine due to an oil leak of which he was unaware until it was too late.

So, with his going to school all day (Roane State Community College) and working all night, I have been giving the van over to him until he is able to repair his car.

As a result, I have been all but stranded in the house, and with the cold weather and snow, such as it was, it was starting to become quite confining. Finally, though, I had a rare morning of freedom as Aaron doesn’t have school on Friday’s, so I thought I would take the van and run some errands, as well as stop and see my grandson. It was a beautiful day with warming temperatures and melting snow, and I was looking forward to the drive. Imagine my dismay when I found the van on empty, actually less than empty, when the little needle hovers between stationary and the 0 mark.

Given that the nearest gas station is 16 miles from my house, through winding, hilly roads with nothing on either side but farms and fields, I was praying all the way. I was sure if God could keep a jug of oil from running dry, he could keep my gas tank from running dry (1 Kings 17:8-16 NIV). I did make it all the way there, and relieved to have a full tank of gas, embarked on the second leg of my freedom flight. Then, midway to my son’s house, without a care in the world, I noticed the tell-tale tic, tic, ticking of an engine without oil. Oh my, we certainly didn’t need a second car with a blown head gasket!

Son No. 1 had a spare quart of oil and fixed me up, but it was bone dry. Perhaps if I bought another quart, son No. 2 could at least put it in. All in all , it was a wonderful restorative day, despite my hungry car parts. My grandson is growing by leaps and bounds, already 9 months old, and the fresh air and cool breeze gave me the hint of spring I needed to keep going. I’ll be hunting for buds now; spring tends to come early in East Tennessee.

Returning home, I filled Aaron in on the events of the day, unremarkable in his estimation. He always makes it to the gas station on empty, and he doesn’t think the ticking of the oil pipes, so to speak, mean anything at all. “Just because 19-year-olds are indestructible,” I remarked, “doesn’t mean cars are (your car, case in point).”

Well, new engine now in hand, hopefully Aaron will have his car fixed by next Saturday when dear husband returns home from the road for this 3-day off-time. My van, and my time, will be my own again; and while I’ll likely mostly just hang around the house, as I’m a real homebody, it’s nice to know I can get up and go when the walls start closing in.

My Town Monday - A Little Snow

Given that Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow today, prophesying 6 more weeks of winter (or winter weather), I suppose it’s appropriate that Kingston would experience it’s heaviest snowfall of the season (I had a whole 2”). The average high temperature in Kingston for February 2nd is 48 degrees; our high today was 45 degrees at 7 a.m. and it steadily dropped throughout the day to the current temperature as I write this of about 34 degrees. A few more snowshowers through early-Wednesday, and we’ll be back up in the 40’s and 50’s by the end of the week, even hitting 60 on Friday.

Winter weather is very subjective, I suppose. Here in beautiful East Tennessee (except in the Smokies), snow is becoming more and more rare. So while today was a wonderful treat to us locals who considered it a winter storm, I’m sure in comparison it is laughable to my northern neighbors in Kentucky, such as my cousin Cathy and blogging friend Chuck, where ice and snow abound and power was out for days at a time, if not longer. Nevertheless, I had my own little bought with winter weather and power outage today, at least for a few hours.

See the slanted tree in this photo?

This is the end of my drive, and the tree just happened to fall and get caught on the power lines. The power flickered several times, possibly due to the tree bouncing on the lines, then went out. Hence, no computer and no timely My Town Monday post, yet fodder for my blog. The power went on and off several times throughout the afternoon until it was finally fully restored by around 4 p.m. Why the enormous bucket trucks had to drive all the way up my drive and make a 180” turn in my front yard—twice—I still don’t know.

The snow is already melting even though the temperature is again dropping, but the light flurries expected in the morning will hopefully cover the tracks made by the bucket truck so that I can enjoy the lovely white vista for a little while longer. I might even go outside and look for the birds I heard chirping so joyfully outside my office window this morning.

This is enough winter for me. I’m afraid I couldn’t be nearly as gracious about it as some others whose stories I’ve read recently. I was born and raised in Cincinnati, and lived for over 25 years in South Florida, both extremes weather-wise. East Tennesee is a great median with moderate weather nearly most of the year. And I do appreciate the occasional snow day, as long as it doesn’t last too long, especially when I know spring is right around the corner. Even if it is another 6 weeks, with temperatures in the 50’s and 60’s, I can definitely tolerate that!

Buying & Selling

I have a small business buying and selling things, mostly over there on the 'bay. It's more of a hobby and a pasttime (same thing?) than a business, as I seldom net any cash when the books are reconciled. But it's fun, it's an outlet for me, and since I have a love of flea marketing and thrift shopping, it provides for storage in someone else's house rather than mine. I have enough clutter as it is.

Lately, I've used Craig's List locally in the Knoxville area. It's a classified advertising site which allows one to post all manner of ads for items being bought, sold, traded, or wanted, as well as community and local activities, resumes and job postings, business services, freebies, and personals (no porn or illegal activity, please). Best of all, it's totally free; no listing fees, final value fees, payment processor fees, picture fees, etc., etc., etc.

I have reasonably good luck. Once I sold a vintage 6' tall Chianti bottle (empty) to someone in California. (He said he googled Craigslist: chianti bottle and found my ad.) The man was opening an Italian restaurant and not only paid me my asking price for the bottle, but also $125 to have it professionally packed and shipped from Knoxville to Southern California! Last night I listed a 4' tall oak finished lingerie chest my husband found on the side of the road. It sold for $50 within 1 hour of listing it. I've also purchased a few things at great prices and even traded my living set for someone else's because I needed to downsize.

I'm also noticing that there are lots of folks disguised as buyers who really have other alternatives in mind. For instance, with many of the ads I post, I frequently get multiple responses that say something like, "Saw your ad. If it's still available a week from Friday, please contact me." Invariably, such ads include a signature line that lists several url's for various money-making and network marketing websites. Could it be they want me to click on one of the links, just in case I'm interested? Is this called spam? I usually simply delete them.

Last night, I received a phone call from a fellow who expressed interest in a capaccino machine I am selling. We ended up talking for an hour. Seems he was a long-distance truck driver (like my dh) who's just come off the road only to find his wife of 12 years was apparently "doing better without him." Now 38 and going through an impending divorce, I think he was more interested in having someone to talk to than the coffee pot. I was glad to oblige as I, too, was home alone and it was good to hear another human voice. Whether he was looking to Craig's List as a social networking option or not, I don't know. He could have found that in the personal ads on the same site, but maybe he didn't want to appear so obvious. Haven't heard from him since and he didn't buy the capaccino machine, so in either case, I guess he wasn't interested.

So what's my take on all this? While my ads remain pretty straightforward, I've come to believe there's a lot more buying and selling going on at Craig's List than meets the eye.

A Desire Stronger Than Apple Pie

There's a Dutch apple pie in my refrigerator. I bought it for my husband who is a truck driver and doesn't get home much. He was home for New Year's and planned to eat the whole thing by the time he left, this morning. Guess what? He didn't.

I longed for the pie for awhile, but I find I have a desire stronger than Dutch Apple Pie. It is my desire to get healthy and to get to a functional weight (notice I said functional, not "normal," whatever that is). I said good things to myself. I said, "I don't want the pie; I don't need the pie; I won't be sabotaged and I won't sabotage myself." I put my praise and worship music on and I delighted in my Lord today, for He is my food and drink! And His grace is sufficient for me!

I will leave the pie to see if my son eats it tonight. If he does not, I will throw it out. What? Throw out pie? Throw out anything? Yes, I will throw it out. And I won't feel guilty.

In fact, I imagine I will feel pretty good about it all.

3:54 a.m.

What do you do on your computer at 3:54 a.m. when you can't sleep? I play this mindless game called Bubble Golden Pack Deluxe. I am on Level 5 tonight, but it's my 9th game of the early morning hours already.

My sons think it is a very lame game. It doesn't at all compare to the World of Warcraft or whatever other rpg (roll-playing games) they are playing on-line. They say it is because I am old.

If I could just make it to Level 10, maybe I could move on to something more accomplished. Or at least move from the Easy mode to the Novice mode . . .

Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra, Ra Ra Ra Ra

Christmas dinner is a time-honored tradition. Undoubtedly like most Americans, I can remember childhood Christmases where we gathered the whole family for a huge dinner, turkey, dressing, cranberries, potatoes, candied yams, green bean casserole, rolls, pumpkin pies, the whole nine yards. Sometimes at our home, but more often at my aunt and uncle's home in another county in my home state of Ohio. Both my aunt and uncle were wonderful cooks and there was always an abundance of mouth-watering holiday dishes.

As the years passed, and cousins and siblings went their separate ways with their own families, my family carried on as many of the traditions as we could. But our fesitivities were always much smaller as we were generally living far from our Ohio homeland and unable to do much traveling. Funny how we always seemed to make the same amount of food, though, despite the fact that we had far fewer people to feed.

Now that my children are grown, our holidays are much simpler but just as delightful. This year, my eldest son and daughter-in-law and my grandson visited us on Christmas Eve. My grandson Drake's first Christmas--he is 8 months old.

What a joy to watch him, entranced as he was by the ribbons and bows and lights...more on that later.

We had our big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve since we would all be together, the three of them, my husband, myself, and my youngest son who still lives with us. Same traditional foods, but I did manage to force myself to make just a little less than I had done in Christmases past. We had a wonderful time.

Christmas Day was uneventful for the most part; our youngest spent the day with his girlfriend's family, which left dh and I to fend for ourselves. With no big dinner to prepare for the first time -- ever -- we decided to go out to dinner with our dear friend Inez. I don't know about other parts of the country, but here in East Tennessee, NOTHING is open on Christmas Day. We had a choice between the local Chinese Restaurant and a Waffle House. We chose the Chinese Restaurant.

Do you remember the movie "A Christmas Story," made in 1983 with Darren McGavin? It takes place in a 1940's fictitious town in Indiana (filmed primarily in Cleveland) and centers around little Ralphie Parker's desperate attempts to convince his parents, his teachers, and even Santa, that the Red Ryder BB Gun would be the best Christmas present in the whole wide world. It's a wonderful movie filled with many of the wholesome traditions we all remember (but mine are from the 50's and 60's, not the 40's), shopping for a Christmas tree, standing in line to see Santa, presents under the tree, staying up late to put them together, and getting up early to take them apart, and most of all, Christmas dinner!

Unfortunately, those folks didn't get to eat their Christmas turkey because a pack of neighborhood dogs somehow got to it first, and as Ralphie explains in the movie, "The heavenly aroma still hung in the house. But it was gone, all gone! No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey salad! No turkey gravy! Turkey Hash! Turkey a la King! Or gallons of turkey soup! Gone, ALL GONE!"

Our trip to the Chinese Restaurant, Peking Buffet, reminded me of the next scene where Mr. Parker packed the family off to their local China Palace for a Chinese Christmas Dinner. What is tradition, anyway, without family? The togetherness in the celebration was what made it special. As was ours. Our Chinese Buffet was excellent and we had a wonderful time of togetherness.

Oh, but no one sang "fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra." And, thank goodness, I didn't have to cope with a Major Award, and there is no leg lamp, broken or otherwise, in my front window.

Drake Elliot @ Lunch with Family

Thrifty Friday

For those of you who are into living frugally, you can probably appreciate saving 80% on your day's shopping as much as I can.

It all started with a $30 gift card I got a month or so ago for free from Rite Aid, my local neighborhood pharmacy. All I had to do was transfer a prescription from my former pharmacy to the RiteAid Pharmacy to earn this free gift card. It cost me absolutely nothing to do; the meds were the same price at both pharmacies, so this was found money in my estimation. Free money is almost always a good thing!

(If you're interested, RiteAid is continuing this promotion nationally until November 30, 2008. You can transfer up to 3 prescriptions and earn 3 gift cards, a total of $120 in free money. Well worth the effort, if you have 3 prescriptions. You are also entered in a weekly drawing for a chance to win a year's worth of free gas. Keep your transferred prescription with RiteAid and your name will be re-entered each week. Check it out here.)

Back to today's shopping trip: I saved the gift card, and combined that with today's specials on items I needed to purchase anyway, which included several buy-one-get-one-free specials and in-store promotions, and my total cash outlay today was only $12.o6 out of nearly $60 worth of merchandise. Why pay 100% when you can pay 20%? That's pretty frugal living.

Everyone's looking for ways to save today. If you have a tried and true method for trimming your monthly expenditures, post a comment and I'll add it to this blog. We'll call it "Thrifty Measures" or "Frugal Living," or some such thing.

Enjoy, and have a blessed day!

When the Frost is On the Punkin

Okay, no eloquent prose here. I love autumn. I think it's my favorite time of year. Some would see it as an ending and, indeed, it is. The winding down of long, leisurely summer days, vacations, heatwaves, activity; the preemptor to the coming winter when life lay frozen in its midst.

To me, it is comforting, like warm blankets on a cold night or a tender hug. I can almost feel it wrap its strong arms around me and hold me close. A dear friend coming again to visit for a season, reminding me of friends and family and special moments. Stirring in me a childlike glee as we marvel at the majesty unfolding before us. We walk in the crisp autumn air, kicking at piles of damp leaves ever growing at our feet, gazing wordlessly as the green of summer fades to the vibrancy of autumn hues: gold and red and orange, all shades in between. We dance as God would have us to do as we delight in His handiwork.

I woke this morning to greet my dear old friend, Keats' "season of mists and yellow fruitfulness," as our first frost lay lightly on the grass outside my window. The crisp air filled my nostrils, the leaves were at their glorious peak; my heart and spirit stirred. Autumn brings nature's last hurrah before the winter settles in. It calls us to gather as the squirrels their nuts, the farmers their harvest; we gather close family and friends, and memories, and we anticipate getting together again and all the things we love to do in the fall: sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows and telling funny stories, lighting cozy, warm fireplaces and snuggling together, walking in the woods, kicking at the leaves, opening our homes to kin and guests, family all the same, giving thanks, and some would say football.

Fall is the most special season for entertaining human folk and, as James Whitcomb Riley surmised, angels.

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!... I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
(Louis Untermeyer, ed.
(1885–1977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. )

Have a blessed day!

When the Bee Stings....

When the dog bites,

when the bee stings,

when I’m feeling sad,

I simply remember my favorite things,

and then I don’t feel so bad.

This song was written for such a day as yesterday! Alas, Julie Andrews, or rather Maria VonTrapp, I am not; so I just cried.

I woke up feeling quite ill, and the nausea lasted for at least an hour. Managing to pull myself together and walk out the door at 8:30 a.m., already half an hour late for work, I picked up my very large traveling coffee mug by the lid--which to my dismay was not screwed on--and was splattered with 20 ounces of hot coffee, as was carpet. On to change....

At work, I am currently doing a large scanning project to close out our year-end files. Shortly into the day's scanning, a jam somehow caused the scanner drivers to disappear from my computer. The restore disk didn't work--oh NO! Some time-consuming web research finally led to a download link for new drivers. So, by 11:00 a.m., I was at last able to resume my work.

At least my husband picked me up on time. Unfortunately, though, unbeknownst to us, there was a large bee (or giant killer vampire wasp) in the van. I suddenly felt a little prick on my neck, then some severe itching, but saw nothing but a little red welt. Hmmm, where did that come from? As I brushed my hand against my neck, I was struck! The big, killer, vampire wasp of a bee stung my finger and sent flames of fire through my fingertips. DH stopped the van so I could jump out, and there it was--sitting on my shoulder. Quick as a fox he brushed it off and crushed it beneath his boot. Thank Heaven for steel-toed work boots! Oh, the pain....

A little benzocaine and a few tears, and the trauma subsided. I needed a rest.

I think I'll join my cousin Cathy in Australia.

http://lifetimelearning.blogspot.com/2008/07/junosmoms-no-good-very-bad-night.html

Have a blessed day!