Thankful

As a parent, one of my biggest fears was losing one of my kids. I imagine it's a fear that all we parents have, most of the time, we just hold that fear inside and hope and pray that our kids will be ok.  I know several parents who have lost a child and in being with them, I know there is no other pain to equal the loss of a child.

I've "almost" lost Andy 3 times now.  Once, at this birth when he coded, once when he had pneumonia and his temp was 105, and this last time, a month ago.

What do you do when your child calls you on the phone and the first words out of his mouth are, "Mom, I totaled my car." You say, "What?"  That's what you do.  Because you're caught off guard and it's not what you expected to hear and then you wonder what the heck is going on.  I finally asked Andy just what in the world he was talking about which, I guess calmed him down enough for him to tell me, "My car is totaled.  I was in a wreck, I hit a car and another car hit me."

Okay....now what do you say?  I asked if he was all right, all the while hoping that the car he hit was minor and that he didn't hurt anyone.  He said he was fine, that he was still in the car, that he had a cut above his eye and that he thought maybe his wrist was broken.  He also said he'd called 911.

As he kept talking to me, details came slowly.  He was driving to his girlfriends and it was windy.  He'd driven through a couple of dust clouds, but they were small.  He then saw a bigger one ahead, hit his brakes to slow down and went in.  Next thing he knew, he was stopped.  He then knew that he was going to get hit because he knew there was someone coming down the road behind him.  He remembered the bump of that vehicle hitting him.

I said, hang on, your Dad and I will be there as soon as we can get there.   (I imagined the ambulance would be taking him to the closest hospital, which was probably 10 miles away.)  Andy then said, "NO.  I don't want you on the road.  It's bad."

Every parent out there knows what was going through MY mind, I remember thinking, "the heck with you kid, I'm your mother and nothing is going to keep me away when my baby's hurt."

We hung up, and I called Kev, who said, "Get over here, we're going."  He still had a patient, but called someone to cover and he was ready to go when I arrived.  At which point, Andy called and said they were transporting him to Dodge, so we pulled back into the hospital parking lot and went inside ER.

One nice perk of having a spouse work at a hospital is that he knew who to talk to, and where to go to wait.

But it was a LONG wait.  The ER staff said it was a 6 vehicle accident, but they were pretty calm, so I guessed that no one was hurt badly.  And we waited.  And waited. And waited.  Finally, the ambulance people showed up. And boy were they dirty.

It must have been a bad dust storm, because these guys were all the same shade of light brown.They had dirt everywhere. It was that fine, silky, filmy dust that sticks to everything and gets into everything.  I've never seen people completely covered in dust like they were.

And then Andy came walking in.  Dirty, but alive, well, with a sprain and a cut and some bruises.

One of the firefighters showed Andy and us a photo of his car...sitting on it's nose.  Which we hadn't know about until then.  And more details came out, making me say yet another prayer of thanks.  We even managed to get annoyed at our baby boy, because he was more interested in what the Firefighters/EMT's where doing than he was in being treated.  (He's studying to be a firefighter/Rescue worker.)  I am grateful he was there to annoy us.

Andy told us what happened, or what he remembered.  With each detail, we felt...anxiety, and fear, and gratitude.  And then we saw pictures.  And then I saw the car.  And, I cried.  Because at that moment, I realized just how close my baby came to losing his life, and how very lucky he and everyone involved in that accident were.  No one was killed.  Seven vehicles were totaled, and no one was killed, or seriously hurt.  It was a miracle that the cars lined up like they did.  Andy's car did end up on it's nose, and it was resting against a semi.  Someone had to break him out of the car. If the semi hadn't been there, like it was, then my baby wouldn't be here.  Or he would have been seriously hurt.  I'm thankful that Kev and I harped about wearing seat belts, because if Andy hadn't had his on, he wouldn't be here.  That seat belt kept him in the car and alive.  I'm thankful for the air bag.  It might have cut him, but it kept him alive.

I'm thankful that I still have my baby.

Here's a few of the pictures...

 This is the first picture we saw.  The dust is still thick in the air.   Andy's car is in the center.  That tire up in the air is his.  What is up in the air is the rear of his car.

This one, and the bottom one were taken at the car lot.  Seeing the car was much worse than seeing the pictures of the car.

I wasn't sure about posting about the accident.  But I am very thankful and grateful that someone up there decided to let us keep our child.

Potato Soup

Sometimes, I wonder about myself...

Last night, while driving home, I asked Kev how Potato Soup sounded for supper.  We had a cold front come through, and the temperature was 59 when we pulled into town.  It just felt like a nice, crisp, fall day, perfect for warm Tater soup.  So, we stopped at the Market because I needed some cream.  Kev likes a rich Potato Soup, and I didn't have any cream.

We got home, and I started peeling potatoes (because I didn't have any canned potatoes) and started cooking the soup.  I decided to cook the potatoes in chicken broth, for some extra flavor.  So, I went to the pantry to get a jar of chicken broth I'd canned last winter.  Unfortunately, I saw only a quart jar of broth.  I didn't want to use that much, so I kept looking for a pint jar.  Not finding one, I looked in the other pantry for a store bought can of broth.  No luck.  So, I grabbed the quart jar and dumped it in with the potatoes and carrots and started them boiling.

As they cooked, I'd test the potatoes to see if they were cooked by pulling one out and taking a bite off it.  "Hum, I thought, this potato tastes a little sweet."  But, I let them continue cooking as I prepared the bacon bits and got the cheese sandwiches ready to grill.  When I tasted them again, they were still a little sweet tasting, and I decided it was the carrot, that, you know, maybe our home-grown carrots were just sweet enough to make everything taste sweet to me.  I then dumped in the cream and went to do some cleaning up while the soup finished up.

That's when I grabbed the jar to put it in the sink.  I picked it up, sniffed it, and thought, "Now, that doesn't smell like chicken broth."  I tasted the sediment in the bottom of the jar and suddenly remembered the jar of Rhubarb Juice I'd made in May.   That lonely quart jar of juice...

Crap!  That's what I used.   Not Chicken Broth, but Rhubarb Juice!  I'd cooked my soup in Juice!

So, I carried my beautiful looking soup over to the sink, got out a strainer, and dumped it all in the strainer.  I gave the potatoes a quick rinse, and put them back in the rinsed pot and back on the stove.  I added milk (no more cream) and added some butter and the bacon bits.  Then I had Kevin come eat.

It was edible.  Still sweet, but edible.  Sort of.

Kev did a better job of eating his soup than I did. It just simply didn't taste right!

 I felt so stupid!  I was mad at myself for wasting a cup of cream and for wasting my juice and for not checking anyway the contents of my jar before pouring it into the pot.  How long have I been cooking?  Apparently, not long enough.

So, this weekend, I hope to can more broth, or at least buy some so next time, I don't act like a bonehead in the kitchen and create a disaster.

Potholders

I am a very sentimental person.  I treasure and cherish items given to me be loved ones--especially home made items.  Like this treasure here.

 I know it doesn't look like much.  It is, after all, a simple pot holder.  It's rather worn and torn and obviously heavily used.  I have two of these pot holders.  They were made by a lady who's been dead many years now.  She lived to be 90 something and was a respected member of our community and was a friend of my Grandmother, Mrs. Osborn.

Mrs. Osborn was a very small lady.  I remember going to her house (which was a former hardware store) with Grandma to deliver eggs.  She and Mr. Osborn were always nice to see us, always offered me a slice of homemade bread or piece of gum.  Grandma didn't just deliver the eggs and leave; no, we would sit and visit for what seemed an eternity to me.  I remember the smell of their home and the rag rug on the living room floor.  It was huge.  Mrs. Osborn also attended our church.  She always sat in the second pew, close to the door.  I even remember once she passed out during the service.  She was all right, but I remember the scare she gave everyone in Church that day.  I also remember her telling me that when she was a child, she was scared of tornadoes and thunderstorms because her father got her family up one dark night and sent them all to the cellar during a storm.  She shared that it was a very long time before she would go to bed without her shoes on.  She was a very nice lady, and her potholders are a reminder of her.

"Mrs. Osborn's Potholders" are not just a treasure to me, but to the women of my family and to the women in the small community of Englewood.  In fact, that's what they are known as, "Mrs. Osborn's Potholders." Everyone knows what potholders you are talking about when you label them such.

 See, I actually have a new "Mrs. Osborn's potholder" awaiting use.  When Grandma B. died, and Mom, Sandy and I were going through the house, we found some "Mrs Osborn's potholders" that Grandma had stashed away.  While we didn't fight over the potholders, we did quickly split them up among the three of us.  I know that eventually, I'll have to break down and use these, but I can't make myself do so yet.

The old potholders with the new.  All treasures to me.

These potholders are also a treasure to me.  My bloggy friend, Karin, (Lovin' life at the end of the Dirt Road) sent these to me.  See, the pumpkin fabric you see in the background is the same fabric as my curtains.  (It has chickens on it, which you can't see in this photo.) Karin's a quilter but also makes these beautiful potholders.  They are so pretty and her stitching is very nicely done too.  Karin threatened me about using them--she wants me to use them, to get them dirty and to abuse them.  It's going to be hard, but I will do as she wishes.  But every time I use them, I'll think of Karin and her generous spirit.  Just as I still think of Mrs. Osborn every time I use those old worn out , handmade potholders.

Orphans

June 15.  That's the last time I blogged.  I'm bad.  Very bad.

Let's see...it's been 100+ since June 15.  No rain to speak of since June 15.  We've finished Miss Kat's summer Volleyball season.  She still has weight lifting and practice 2 days a week, which is good for her.  The garden is doing much better this summer than last.  We're eating lots of Zucchini and Summer squash.  I've canned and froze carrots, made pickles, and relish and even canned and pickled beets.

The last week, I've been busy being a substitute Mommy.  We found 4 orphaned kittens, but we lost 2.  They lasted a week, but both black kittens died on the same day, last Tuesday.  I'm not sure if we just didn't feed them enough, or if Fletch "mothered" them too roughly, or if they just weren't meant to make it.  We all were sad, but we're determined to keep the other 2 alive, and so far, so good.

I think the babies were 3 weeks old when we found them.  It's been two weeks and yesterday, I successfully got them both to drink and eat from a saucer and to use a litter box.  Prior to this, Fletch has been acting as the Mommy, and taking care of the hindquarters much like a mother cat would.  You do know that mother cat's lick babies bottoms to stimulate urination and defecation, right?  Well, Fletch has performed that duty for us since the day we brought the babies into the house.  Those kittens would eat from their bottle, and then waddle over to Fletch for their "bath".  They'd lay down or turn their hindquarters towards him, and he'd lick away.  He's not always gentle, and sometimes, he'd flip one end for end with is extra large tongue, but he mothered them!  I, for one, was happy to have him provide this service.  But, they are old enough now to be box trained, and it went fairly easily.  One pooped in my lap (on a towel fortunately) and one pooped on Andy.  Come to think of it, it was the same kitten...

Anyway, that was a signal to me that they are now old enough to go by themselves.  So far, I'm using a cardboard box with sand in it.  These guys will NOT become house cats, so I'm hoping sand will make for an easier transition to the outdoors.

I decided it was time to move towards weaning on Saturday when both kittens decided to chew on the bottle nipple instead of suck, and both attacked the bottle.  Moving to the saucer has so far, proven to work fairly well.  They still tend to suck up the milk rather than lap it, but I mixed some ground chicken meat up into it and they devour that chicken.

 We haven't really named them...maybe because we don't want to get too attached, but one is being called PITA (short for Pain in the A...) because he has to be held. Not on a lap, but on a shoulder.  He will climb up a body and not worry about any skin that is bare.  He (or she) has also been known to sink those tiny claws into lips and ear lobes, innocently purring all the while.

The other baby doesn't really have a name other than "Short Stack" or "Baby."  He's not as agressive of a climber, but does like to sleep nestled beside anyone sitting on the couch.  Either with us, or behind the couch.  This baby is a pale yellow tabby, so pale that he almost looks white.  A dirty, yellowish white.  PITA is solid gray, my favorite color for a cat.

We don't have any idea what happened to their Mamma.  We suspect coyotes.  We've lost several of our cats in the last two weeks (at least six), making us wonder if the drought has been hard on field mice and rabbits, causing the coyotes to resort to catching our cats.  I hope this trend ends soon, we depend on our outside cats to keep mice, snakes and other critters away.

Regardless, we're doing our best to keep the cats remaining at our place, including the two little hooligans living in my house.

backing up trailers

My Dad always believed that a "woman's place was in the home."  Don't worry about the logic of that statement, since his wife did a "man's" job at the elevator.  His belief applied to me since I was his daughter and he made the rules.

Because of this, I didn't go work cattle or help with any of the outdoor chores.  Dad didn't even want me to see him pull calves or repair prolapsed uterus's or castrate cattle.  It just wasn't "seemly" for me to see such things.  It caused several arguments between he and I during my teen years.  I hated his old fashioned views and believed that I could do anything I wanted to do.  Granted, I didn't really want to work as hard as Dad and my brother Steve did.  I disliked someone telling me I couldn't do something.

I still tend to be that way.  If you want me to do something, just tell me I can't do it.  Cause, I can guarantee that I will do it, just to prove you wrong!  Because of these "old-fashioned" beliefs, I never learned how to back up a trailer.  I never needed to.  Dad or Steve pulled the trailer.  I was just a passenger.  I never really even wondered how one backed up a trailer.  I assumed it was no different than backing up a car, except you had something behind you that you had to watch out for.

Then I started dating Kevin.  Who had a boat.  That we took to the lake.  Where Kev asked me to back the trailer into the lake so we could load the boat.  He assumed that being a country girl, I knew how to back a trailer.  I certainly didn't tell him anything differently.  Heck, how hard could it be?

So, I got out of the boat, went and got the Bronco, and attempted to back the trailer.  My first problem was there were lots of guys standing around near the boat ramp watching me.  My second problem was that stupid trailer just wasn't going where I thought it should go!  I had no idea how to get it down that ramp.  I'd try to back it up--straight back--and it would move from one side to the other.  I'd pull forward, get it straight, and try again, and it would move to the other side.  I couldn't figure out which way to turn that wheel.  I'd turn it to the left, thinking the trailer would go to the left, but it would go to the right.  So I'd turn the wheel the other way, but it still wouldn't go where I wanted it to go--straight down that ramp!  All those guys were watching me and I knew they were laughing at me because I couldn't back up that darn trailer.  I finally got mad, and embarrassed and turned the bronco off, got out, marched down to the edge of the boat dock and told my boyfriend that he'd just have to do it himself.

He laughed at me, then tried to placate me by calling me "darlin'" and  went up and backed up that trailer, slick as you please.  He made it look so easy.  Which didn't help my mood any.  I informed him that I would never back a trailer, and to never ask me to do so again.

He didn't, for many years; until the kids joined 4-H and had livestock.

Because Kev's job required him to drive 150 miles a day, getting the livestock to the fair, and to the weigh-ins, became my responsibility.  Kev always backed the trailer up to the gate for me, and I'd get the critters loaded up and would pull the trailer to town.  If I had to back it up anywhere, I would con my friend, Kim, into backing the trailer for me.  She knew how to back the trailer, and didn't make fun of me for not knowing how to do it.  This worked well until one day Kev said that it was time I learned how to back the trailer.

Ugg.  I hate having him teach me something because he'd get frustrated with me, I'd get frustrated with him, and we'd both wind up mad.  But he made me do it.  I got so I could back up the trailer if I had lots and lots of room because I'd have to pull forward and back up several times before I manged to get it where I needed the trailer to be.  Kev would be supportive, but would also laugh at me because I always got flustered and usually mad.

These past 2 weeks, Miss Kat and I have been going to the Hill and have been loading the barn tin on the trailer to haul to the salvage yard.  Kev told me that I'd have to be careful because I might have to back the trailer.  I assured him that I'd manage to do it without backing that trailer.

I was wrong.  The first day, I needed to back that darn trailer.  Since it was just Miss Kat and I, there was no one else to do it.  It took me a very long time, and several passes, but I finally got that darned trailer backed up and turned where we needed it.  We went down two days ago for another load and I backed it where we needed it.  This time, I didn't have to pull forward nearly as often.  And today, we went again.  Today, I only  had to pull forward once, and that was at the salvage yard.  Yes, I not only backed up the trailer, I did it in front of men who are not related to me.  And they didn't laugh and I didn't get flustered, and I got it in one shot!

I call that success.

I still haven't backed the trailer up in front of Kev, and I imagine when I do, I'll be nervous and will mess up simply because of his presence.  Now that I can back the trailer, I can't imagine there's not anything I can't do!  I am woman, hear me roar...watch me back up the trailer!