The Welcome Home Party

The Welcome Home Party was so much fun.

We were picked up by Rodger in his Cadillac. He let us off curbside at the Legion, where the color guard had lined the sidewalk and a bugler announced our presence. The invitees gathered outside and watched. As we walked past the color guard they turned toward us and when we passed the general's flag, he got in step behind us and followed us in.

We then did the punchbowl ceremony, toasts, remarks, prayer, and ate dinner. Then the party really began.

My crazy sister Kim was stuck in a snowstorm, so the other siblings, Ellen and Tommy, had to step up. Ellen took the mike and asked if there was any talent in the house as Sally was also stuck in a snowstorm and she was going to play piano. In attendance was Lester, the Concertina expert, and he agreed to play. Polka music filled the air and a couple of people danced. I tried to get Bob to dance, but he claims every time I polka with him he dislocates his hips.

Then Ellen and Tommy filled the gas can we had used in the punchbowl ceremony (ginger ale to represent the airport trips) with the grog and went around and filled glasses.

By the time Kim arrived, the crowd had begun to disburse to get home in the storm. So, it became our family show, where us siblings just entertained ourselves. Kim sang and danced to "Feelings" and Tommy did a rap song. Then Kim recited weird stories from her head as Tommy would play the piano (he would plink the keys). Ellen and I laughed until we had tears running down our face.

Then we had Kim prank phone call our friends. It's the regulars that we always prank. They expect it and look forward to it. We made their day.






Bob was talking to other guests while we were entertaining ourselves. He just shook his head as he saw us with our production. Welcome home, I'm sure you really missed all this great stuff.

Welcome Home Plans, Update 1

Mom continues to invite more people to Bob's Welcome Home party. It has now gotten to the point where I think we are footing the bill for her class reunion. The original invite list was people who knew both of us. Then it expanded to people who knew and helped support me while Bob was gone. Now...well, now, the hall will be full of mom's friends.

Pat (the man who's hard to understand because the dentures don't fit) continues to call me with ideas. He wanted to have channel 2 and channel 11 invited. I explained to him that they really could care less so not to bother. Then he called to say he thought we should have a police/sheriff escort to the hall. I could already picture the IG complaint on that one, actually, that could draw the media --for waste of taxpayer dollars.

Pat has been chosen to carry Bob's GO flag and walk behind him with it when we enter the hall.
Well, he hopes to. He almost cut off his finger and it's now infected. So he may have to get the finger tip removed. He says this will not interfere with his flag duty, but we'll see.

The head of the VFW and American Legion here are both very supportive. We now have a rifle platoon and bugler. But Pat told me that he called the head of the Disabled Vets who said he didn't want anything to do with us because we walked around with our noses in the air. We've never met him. Maybe we'll have to swing by his house to toilet paper it.

I made two more briskets, each weighing 7 pounds. My freezer is full, so I'm putting the food out on the porch to stay frozen. I just hope some dogs or other varmints don't smell it and come help themselves. It would be like the Bumkis dogs on Christmas Story.

I'm continuing to refine my punch bowl ceremony. To represent our 2 R&R's, I found a pomegranate juice called "Naked." This ceremony will be funny to the 5 people there who still have their hearing left. I am trying to figure out how to quiet the loud talkers and my mom during the presentations..."In the finest military tradition, we begin our formal portion by duct taping the mouths of those we love the most." Would that work?

The Beauty Makeover Party

My niece Kegan turned 13. My sister Kim had a sleepover party that was also a beauty makeover party for Kegan and her friends. Kim enlisted the help of the "beauty patrol." Me, our other sister Ellen, her friend Wendy, and a true beautician Sandy.

I look back on my life and I think 13 is the worst age. Your hormones are kicking into high gear, peer pressure is immense, self confidence is low. The age is awkward, caught between childhood and adulthood.

The girls waxed their hands, then we painted their nails. They all had chocolate facial masks, so their skin was clean and soft. Then the "beauty patrol" did makeup and hair.

One of Kegan's friends, Gigi, is an Emo. I think that is the term. I had never heard of it before. It's kind of a Goth look, with plain faces, extremely dark heavy eyeliner and her hair had about 8 colors of reds, blacks, pinks in it. Ellen looked at her and said, "I'll do Gigi." It took about a bottle of makeup remover before we could see she had beautiful eyes under all that black tar. Ellen did her hair and makeup and she looked like a princess. Although Gigi just could not live with such minimal makeup and went into the bathroom and applied a lot of additional eyeliner.

Another of Kegan's friends is a natural redhead who hates her hair color. Her mom won't let her dye it and she thinks her mom is so mean. When I finished putting tons of waves into her thick hair, it looked gorgeous. I told her she looked like Julia Roberts and she strutted around knowing she looked terrific.

The next pipsqueak to be done weighed about 75 pounds and 10 of it was hair. I put waves into her hair and then Sandy did it in an updo. She decided she looked too good to be wearing sweatpants and ran upstairs and changed into jeans and a pair of hot pink high heels that were too large for her tiny feet. (and watching her walk in the icy parking lot with bare toes hanging out was amazing.)

Kegan also had her hair done in an updo. She has natural beauty (it's in the genes) and transformed from 13 years old to 16 before our eyes. It was scary.

While we performed these transformations, we gave them positive messages about doing the right thing, not texting stupid pictures, staying out of trouble. They listened --probably because we were not their parents.

We then took the beauty queens out to a chicken wing joint for dinner. Us adults sat together and they sat at their own table. They were giggling and cackling and then in walks a group of about 10 boys that were about a year or two older than the girls. The boys' parents also came and sat at separate tables.

The boys noticed the girls rather quickly and a brave one walked over and circled the girls' table. Then his mother called him over and told him he had something on his face, so much for his bravado. The girls had to keep running to the bathroom, click, click, click in their high heels and giggle, giggle. No, don't take the straight path to the bathroom, take the one past the boys' tables. As they'd pass the boys would watch them go by and laugh as well, in their half man/half boy voices.

We left the restaurant but the evening was far from over, as Kim and I went into the bedroom with the girls and told girl stories until almost midnight. I then had to go to bed, I was bushed. I fell asleep to the sounds of giggling in the room next door. Kim is sure a good mom.

The Packers Game

My sister Ellen, my brother Tommy, his girlfriend Sally and I went to the Packers game on Sunday. Prior to going, I shopped for new boots, hat, scarf, gloves, ski pants, and ski jacket. I also bought hand warmers. Winter is not cheap. High temperature for the game was 17 degrees.

We drove to the game wearing only 8 layers of clothing and put the rest on in the car when we arrived at the stadium. This is a great challenge, as you cannot move too much with all these layers, yet you are trying to lift your leg to put it into snowpants. Oh, it helps to take the boots off before putting the snowpants on. But don't touch your sock to the floor of the car because it's puddled with melted snow.

Once dressed, we stepped out of the car and made our own tailgate party. The car next to us was tailgating with bottled beer, as soon as they opened a bottle, they had enough time for one sip before the beer froze solid. It was amazing. Our cans were not freezing. We were using straws to drink so we could insert them through the holes in our knit scarves. The bottle boys tried to put hand warmers on the bottles to keep the beer from freezing, but that didn't work. They offered to trade us 2 bottles of beer for one can. What did they think we were, stupid? I think it would be a great science experiment to figure out why bottle beer freezes so fast and canned beer doesn't.

The night before the game I had made 4 poster boards, one for each of us to hold up so that we would be on tv. They were very professionally done, with creative messages. We got to our seats and the first opportunity to hold up the signs came and two women about 8 rows in front of us held up their signs with the exact message I had put on two of my signs. How could that even be possible? They were even in the same colors. I still can't believe it.

I brought a hefty bag full of goods into the game, and a lot of people in line were snickering at me. Three people even asked me what was in it. Truth be known, it contained a mink blanket (from Korea) and a bath mat (to sit on). Both items came in real handy, but my brother refused to climb under the blanket with us and said the bath mat was probably loaded with dead skin cells. When my sister and I would go to the bathroom, we would kindly cover the men in front of us (which kept the blanket out of the slush) and tell them, "Here you go boys, warm up a bit." When we walked out, that mink blanket weighed about 45 pounds, it had soaked up so much water and other spilled liquids.

The Packers lost the game in the last seconds, which meant 70,000 people were there until the very end and 40,000 cars hit the roads all at once. What a crappy ending to such a fun day.

The Welcome Home Plans

When I booked the American Legion Hall for Bob’s welcome home party, they were surprised that there would be only 40 attendees for the party. I explained to them he has never really lived here, only visited twice.

Then, word got out around town that this party was booked and it spread like wildfire.

I first got a call from Pat, who just got new dentures, so is really tough to understand. He said that the American Legion chapter president found out about the party and wanted to offer his support to ensure all went smoothly. Add one to the RSVP list.

Then the head of the VFW chapter made it known that he had not yet received his invite. Oops, didn’t have him on the list. Sent him an invite. Add one to the RSVP list.

Next I heard from some sweet woman named Amy who met me a year ago at the garden center and wanted to know if I wanted her to bring a casserole. Add one to the RSVP list.

I talked with a Legion member and told him about the large banner I’ve purchased and how I need a way to get it hung outside the Legion hall. He volunteered to take care of that for me. Add one to the RSVP list.

I met with the local Concertina player, who’s 79, and I paid for Allen’s daughter to have her first lesson. He’s so passionate about his music, he played for me for 30 minutes. Even sang. He told me he could play for 35 hours without looking at music sheets. Amazing. It was precious. Add one to the RSVP list.

Mom then called the radio station to sell the composting toilet and remembered the celebrity who worked there, Norm, who is 85 years old. He’s a local legend and also had served our country at one point. Add one to the RSVP list.

So…the list continues to grow. Not a problem.

Our next issue was the Legion wants to do something special as Bob is a “distinguished person.” They suggested that they have volunteers line the street with flags (add ### to the invite list) and when we arrive to the party they follow Bob into the hall playing some song about an “Old man” (from Bing Crosby’s White Christmas movie). I ran this past Bob and he laughed at the picture running through his mind. He then said that it would probably be too cold for those guys to wait on the street until our arrival. We may have to adapt that idea.

I have devised an awesome punch bowl ceremony…18 cups of orange juice which represents each month he lived under General Order #1, no alcohol…2 shots of Wild Turkey for the two Thanksgivings we spent apart…a bottle of German wine for the 8 months I spent in Germany…you get the drift.

I want the missing trooper table to represent those who are no longer with us. Bob says he grieves so much every day for those fallen troopers and their families that he doesn’t want to be reminded of it. But I think it’s for everyone else attending, to remind them of the sacrifice, so I want to do it.

I am so excited about Bob coming home and the fun of planning this party, but always in the back of my mind are those widows I know whose spouse will not come home and those families who are without their loved ones this holiday. God bless them.

I Probably Killed A Deer

On the way home from the farm after our Thanksgiving dinner, I hit a deer with my Jaguar.

I was with my 13 year old niece Kegan and we saw the deer coming and I slammed the brakes, but I hit it. There were no airbags or trauma or rollover. There was just a ton of fur flying everywhere. It looked like feathers. Poor thing.

We sat shocked, it was all like slow motion. We both cried at first because we felt horrible about the deer suffering. I could not look in the ditch for fear I would witness its last breath and the throes of death. When I next looked at Kegan, she was texting all of her friends.

I called the farm and the family launched immediately. The funny thing was that they came with shotguns. I think they had visions of venison steak running through their heads.

When the family arrived, my sister Kim checked out her daughter, ensured she was okay, and then said “I sure hope my laptop wasn’t damaged.” My brother took a cursory glance at us and then headed for the wood line to see if he could find the deer. It was nowhere to be found.

I called the Sheriff and they came and filed a report. He gave me a tiny spiral bound sheet of paper with a case number on it. I guess they have so many deer accidents they ran out of official accident reports. He also told me I had a nice car and that some guy named Ron had a black one just like it. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk about some stupid car. I had just had a traumatic event and needed a glass of wine.

Then my sister summed it all up when she said, “Well, at least it didn’t come through the windshield and kick your teeth in.”

The Smell of Pine

Last Christmas, I was living in a hotel in Germany and did not decorate. This Christmas, Bob will be home after 18 months deployed and I want the house to look awesome.

So, I went into our crawl space in the basement (because we live on a lake the basement is only 4 feet high, something to do with the water table) and pulled out the decorations. I stood up prematurely and took out a chunk of skull. I also burned my back on a light bulb. The crawlspace is dangerous.

The decorations were put away in a twisted jumble, something I’m sure Bob did. The lights, angel hair, garland, and pinecones were all bunched in a mess. It took me two hours to sort it all out. By this time, I had decided to use all natural real pine in my decorations and buy a real tree.

I went to a tree lot and bought garland and huge bunches of pine. I told them I would be back for a tree in a couple of days.

I put the garland up around my staircase on the rail. As I was tying it to the rail, one end fell and scattered pine needles all over. It swung precariously close to a nice lamp.

I next worked on making a beautiful wreath. By the time it was done, almost two hours later, I had sticky sap all over my fingers and nails. Then, somehow the sap got on the bottom of my shoes and pine needles stuck to it and I trailed more needles through the house.

When I finished with the wreath, I still had a pile of pine that was a couple feet high. I decided to burn some in my fireplace. It went up like a rocket. I was afraid that it would set the pine atop the mantel ablaze. So, I moved the pine to a corner, where I look at it for decorating inspiration.

I offered some of the excess pine to mom, but she told me I was an idiot to buy pine when she lives on 40 acres of pined woods. Maybe the little farmer Allen, who takes anything, will want it.

I got the broom outof the garage and swept up the needles, I was afraid they’d clog my vacuum because they were so long. The needles stuck in the broom strands, but would not go in the dustpan. At this point, I wanted to kill someone. So, I cranked the Christmas music to convince myself of the joy of the season.

After two days of working with real pine, I pictured the tree coming into the house. I would have to haul it in myself, adjust it into the stand, put the lights on—all things that lead to more pine needles and sap in the house. With that vision in my head, I crawled into the basement and hauled up the artificial tree. And then I lit a pine candle. Nothing like the smell of pine.

RIP, Dopey Dog

Mom’s dog Dopey died on Friday. It was 14 years since Dopey was found in a cage at the vet with a “PTS” sign attached. My sister was getting her cat’s shots and asked what PTS was and they said “Put To Sleep.” Within minutes Dopey was saved.

My sister had Dopey for a number of years and then she visited the farm and mom never let the dog leave. Dopey was a great dog. Just last month, she was gnawing on a deer head and growling at any dog that tried to get near it.

We knew Dopey was dying so I was not surprised when mom called and told me the news. I drove out to the farm to find that mom had wrapped the dog’s body in a number of blankets. The body was just inside the door and Dopey’s little nose was sticking out. It made me laugh out loud that mom wrapped her this way.

I think mom must have been Egyptian in a former life. First, the burial shroud, then the way I had to dig the hole, east /west, not north/south. Dopey was laid on a thick piece of foam, then put into the grave, but her head had to be on the west end of the grave so she could see the sun rise in the mornings. And lastly, mom wanted Dopey to be buried with a deer leg, one of the last things she had enjoyed. If we had some stones, we probably would have built a pyramid atop.

To mark the grave was a temporary grave marker we found at Leo’s farm. It was from one of his uncles dated 1941. We adapted this for the dog cemetery and put some old silk flowers atop the mound of dirt. We said some prayers and shed some tears, and went back to the empty farmhouse.

3 blind mice

We were working in the basement at Leo's today, and found more survival food in big cans. This will end up as chicken feed for Allen's chickens. I wonder if there is any impact on the taste of a chicken who has been raised on 15 year old dehydrated chicken. (ever hear of chicken-fed chicken?)

As we were clearing out the trash down there, live mice came running out. I am so lucky they did not run up my pants leg. Maybe my screaming saved me. These mice came out right near one of those plug in devices that is a rodent repeller. So, take note--those things are a joke. I could have heard the mice laughing, except my screams were echoing in my head.

After that horror, I went and worked upstairs while Allen and his son finished up in the creepy basement.

Other than trying to get Leo's stuff sold off (need any antiques or guns or a composting toilet???), I am planning Bob's welcome home party. All the cast of characters from here will be invited. It will be crazy!

Rejected by Goodwill

I am so irritated. I took a truckload of Leo’s stuff to Goodwill. 90% of it was rejected.

The folding chairs were still new in the box (well, they were in the box from 1960 and had never been used, so is that new?). The lawn chairs were also 1960’s vintage, new in box. These were not your garden variety lawn chairs made of aluminum, but real metal. Rejected. She told me they could collapse and be a hazard, so no folding chairs are taken.

Suitcase, never used, rejected because it had no wheels.

TV tables, fold up, perfect condition. Rejected. Could collapse and injure someone.

Also rejected were some brand new electrical items, in their boxes, because they were too old to have polarized plugs. Okay, I kind of get that, a fire hazard.

They took a box of books.

Goodwill probably remembered me as the person who dropped off a bag of clothes that were 100 years old. The stuff mom washed that did not fall apart in her washer. As soon as I pulled up, they recognized my car as a “reject” vehicle.

My charity experience yesterday was also frustrating, in that charity, which was a Lutheran one, they did not help me carry anything in and yelled at me when all the goods I brought in blocked their aisle and became a “fire hazard.” Those little old ladies would not even give me any empty boxes so I could bring them more stuff. So, I got a bit rude and dumped one of mine out and took it with me, “there, now your aisle is no longer blocked.”

I just wanted to drive to a dumpster and dump the crap in there, but thought of a needy family sitting in those fold up chairs with the TV tables pulled up to them and toasting toast in their non-polarized plug toaster.

So I found yet another charity which rejects nothing. I had to deal with a man who stunk to high heaven and looked like he’d done time, hard time. He would take the light items and let me carry the cast iron lawn chairs. Then he made a big deal about giving me the donation slip. But, the stuff is gone. Good riddance.

Lloydie

The weather here is getting cold, we had snow last night. We were out at Leo’s today and getting chilled to the bone. We have sold all the wood stoves and they have given us a lot of room. Much more to clear out, but we can now see the end in sight.

Yesterday, I took a truckload to a thrift store. This store had such an attitude, they will get no more from us. First, the woman at the desk gave me the up and down look. Then she pointed to another woman who would take the goods. Now, this isn’t like I’m handing out diamonds, but we disposed of all the crap and this is mostly antique dishes and glasses and tons of books. The books are a weird variety, from super religious, to those on mind control and how to hypnotize women, to get rich quick schemes.

The woman who collects goods did not help me at all. I hauled in box after box while she looked down her nose at me. Then she told me that I had violated the fire code because I had unloaded so much that it did not allow a four foot aisle. It was all I could do to not sucker punch her.

Today’s load went to Goodwill, they know how to accept things. While loading our truck, my mom’s second cousin Lloydie pulled up. Lloydie owns a sawmill here, he’s obese, never been married, and quite simple. He talks with a lisp, so is hard to understand. Mom blames herself for his limitations, as she dropped him on his head when he was a baby. Today, mom gave him a calendar from 1936. He was so grateful. With everything he saw, he said, “Don’t throw that away.” “Keep that.” “That is a treasure.”

I was suddenly feeling the DNA. This guy is just like Leo, who is also like my mom…oh, damn, those genes are scary. As we left, mom gave Lloydie a box of old newspapers and magazines to take to another neighbor. Then we told Lloydie we’d meet him out at the bar for a beer.

It took Lloydie awhile and when he arrived he said the neighbor did not want the old junk. Had told him to go away, and that the junk was to be thrown into the recycling bin. Mom and I were stunned, then this neighbor walked into the bar and was very friendly and sat by mom and had his bottle of Sundrop. Mom introduced me to him as a historian… hmm…he looked more like a farmer to me. Mom dropped a bunch of hints as to why he wanted no more treasures, and it finally was discovered that Lloydie had delivered the goods to the wrong person. Same last name, spelled differently.

Whew, we are not out of people to give this crap to.

Girls Night Out

My two sisters, Kim and Ellen, and friends, Judy and Lauren came up for a girls’ weekend. We laughed, partied, went to a casino and lost, and shook this little town up. Three of our new friends said they never had so many laughs.

Then we talked and talked until 2 in the morning. Lauren told stories about her kids, who are teens. Her son was busted with two other boys riding a bicycle built for three wearing nothing but shirts that said “Thing 1” “Thing 2” and “Thing 3.” We died laughing, cause that is exactly the kind of thing Lauren did as a kid.

Then we reminisced about growing up in a blue collar community.

Lauren remembered how my old boyfriend gave me chocolates in a heart shaped box for Valentine's Day and we ate them and then decided to fill the box with dog turds and put it on the porch of a neighbor we didn’t like and ring the bell and run. Well, it was February in Wisconsin so the dog poop was frozen. It was quite a job to chip it out of the snow. Then we felt the impact of frozen dog poop in a candy box wasn’t too much, so we baked it in mom’s oven to thaw it. We sure did punish that neighbor.

I told Kim and Lauren that I had just written a blog for Sports Byline that told of them taking the deer head to the convent and doorbelling. They reminded me of something I had forgotten when I wrote the blog, that they also left the deer legs there. They planted the head in the snow, then the deer legs sticking up, then they doorbelled and ran. It’s no wonder St. Florian’s no longer has a grade school.

My sister Ellen teaches high school and talked about some of the stunts her students pull and stupid things they do. One of them has a horrible MySpace page, so we looked it up. In it, he does the Febreeze dance, but we had a hard time finding it as he doesn’t know how to spell breeze. His dance was disturbing, but had drawn almost 3,000 viewers. I asked Ellen how she kept control of her sons, one of whom is 15. She said she had all kinds of spyware set up and that when he goes to bed at night, she checks out all his searches, text messages, and web site visits. At this point, most of them have to do with Angelena Jolie.

Then Kim talked about a local town that has a very rich upper class group of students and also students who are very poor and how tough that high school must be for the poor kids. They have to watch their classmates arrive to school in BMWs. Judy confirmed that the very poor are bussed in because they are incredible athletes and they help the school stay on top of sports in Wisconsin.

We decided that we were glad we all went to West Milwaukee high school and didn’t have that rich man/poor man divide. We also all felt that although we had some weird people in our high school, they were very few.

We were all American high school students. WeMiHi had a handful of pot smokers and a couple of loose girls and that was our scandal to live with.

The Hallmark Family

The ‘boss’ left Leo’s today, she gave her approval on the work that had been done. Allen, our sweet farmer friend, came over with his three kids. They are so adorable, look like they could be on a commercial. They look at us with such complete innocence that it is inspirational.

Allen’s 15 year old son was the unfortunate kid who found Leo dead and has been helping clear the house. He and his dad have done such a job with disgustingly filthy work.

Allen’s 17 year old daughter leaves for college this summer; it is a sanctioned 7th Day Adventist College in Nebraska. She wants to major in music and plays six instruments. She is fascinated by the old concertina at Leo’s farm. She really wants it, but the cost is beyond reach.

Then, today we finally met his 10 year old son, who is adorable. It was raining out and his hood was up and he was wearing knee high rubber boots. All we could see were his big eyes and smile. It immediately warmed our hearts.

We have not yet met his wife, who wanted the old cook stove. Unfortunately, it was sold today to a group of hunters who wanted it for their shanty so they could have heat from the wood and also be able to cook. I pointed out to them that McDonald’s was 15 miles away and much easier than the old cook stove, which insulted them.

Allen made an offer on all the farm machinery, which had been appraised at $10,000. His offer was $8,000 plus clearing of all out buildings. This is a huge task. There are 6 out-buildings, all stacked to the rafters with old stuff. I told him to bid $6,000; but he said he would not be able to sleep at night if he bid less than the value of the equipment. Mom saw him yesterday taking a cow to market to come up with the money for this purchase, and it saddened us. I have never met a more honest man.

Mom and I decided we want to chip in to get his daughter the concertina she loves so much. But we are very fair people, and have to figure out how to equally gift his two sons. Allen’s family could star in a Hallmark movie.

Trash and Treasure

Tomorrow, the 'boss' from Milwaukee comes to check our progress at Leo's. Actually, she's my Aunt Julie, 80 year old cancer survivor, who got 'stuck' as the administrator of the estate. But my mom and Allen, the sweet neighbor farmer who is helping us clear junk, think she's the boss. They told me so. ("Jill, get ready for the "boss," she's coming tomorrow.") This gets under my skin just a bit as I think I'm pretty much in charge of all of it and could not only kick Aunt Julie, but also the attorney, out of the picture. I'm really quite an expert estate clearer.

I took items to the Gun and Loan for quotes (one gun is very valuable, so if you're a gun collector, let me know--I think we are talking around 7 grand)...guns, power tools, two concertinas (necessary for Polka music). Then I arranged with three charities to take Cleo's meat. None of us can eat Cleo, she was such a pathetic crooked necked cow who became a pet. But at least those poor familes will enjoy her.

I also had the minister come over and I gave him two boxes of bibles dating back all the way to 1880's, tons of old church bulletins, magazines, Portals of Prayer (which mom always has a stock of by her toilet) dating back to 1950's, and some church bulletins in German from the late 1800s. He also got a couple boxes of Cleo's meat. He was thrilled with the treasures.

As I was cleaning today (I have to move every piece of furniture as rooms are cleared and sweep and mop under each (OCD, perhaps?)), I found an old plastic wallet from Leo's dad. It had $305 cash in it. I felt like I had won the lottery! Then I realized that $305 is what some people pay for a bottle of wine. Not a big deal. But, when you've hung out in a house that is full of 100 years of dust and mice droppings and nests, you feel like you've struck oil. We hid it in the freezer with Cleo's packaged body. (If you W*** boys are reading this, don't even try to break in and steal it, I will personally come after you with a very expensive gun!)

At about 4:00, another of mom's cousins came by, his name is Marvin and he is all humped over and must be at least 80. The good thing is that he is also a collector of junk, so he took things that even Allen didn't want. It almost feels cruel to dump a trunk load of junk into the car of a man who is for the most part a cripple. How does he unload it all? Oh, well, he was rewarded with 5 pounds of Cleo.

50th Anniversary Party II

I took mom to the 50th wedding anniversary party today. What an awesome couple. They both look much younger than their years and are very happy. The party hall was packed with about 200 people.

He has played all these years in an oom-pah band. So there was live music with a bunch of musicians playing their stuff. I guess it was like a low-level Bruce Springsteen party, substitute guitar players for accordion players. A little yodeling added in for effect.

I bought a gift and when I brought it into the car mom said, “I knew you’d come through.” Of course, we signed both of our names. She assured me that I was semi-invited, as the “guest.”

At dinner, we sat across from this man who had some horrible cold. He kept hacking up a lung and would look at me as he did so. He never covered his mouth. I wanted to hold up a napkin between his mouth and my food. This would be a way better diet than any you can think of as the appetite is quickly lost.

Mom introduced me around and I was no longer Jill, but her daughter married to the 2 star general. Some people were genuinely impressed, others either could not hear her or could care less. Either way, it was very uncomfortable and I could not wait for the afternoon to be over. I wanted to run away, but just painted on a plastic smile and nodded to all these strangers.

At about 4, I told mom I was so tired and ready for bed. She got the message. On the way home, she talked about what a great party it was and how popular we were.

Although I hated it, it was one of those days when you have to do what makes your mom happy because our time together is short.

50th Anniversary

While at the Supper Club tonight, mom and I ran in to one of her high school classmates, Wayne. Wayne's wife was not there, she is in ill health. He was out to pick up dinner for them.

Mom mentioned to Wayne that there is a big 50th anniversary party tomorrow for some of their other classmates. I know mom is afraid to drive on any freeway and you have to take a rural route to get to that party. So, I asked Wayne if he could pick her up and take her since it's on the way. He got very nervous and told mom how safe the road was. Then she got out a pen and asked for his phone number so they could coordinate. He then bluntly told her that if they arrived together it would start rumors. He told me I should take her. Mom then looks at me and I'm now trapped.

She had pulled a similar stunt on Bob and I when he was home for R&R in August. She invited us to attend her class reunion picnic. Bob and I pulled up to the picnic, and she was waving and happy to see us. We assumed that this was an event that people bring their families to, but they all looked pretty old. It turns out that the only "young ones" that showed up were us. Families weren't invited, she just wanted to "show us off." As she introduced us around then, Bob's name was no longer Bob, but the General. She told us she has never been so popular. We could not wait to escape.

Today at Leo's, mom asked me to find a 50th anniversary gift. I told her nothing there was gift worthy, and she said to look harder, these people don't know any better. I picked out an old wasp nest still attached to a branch. Mom did not think that was funny. Maybe that mounted deer head that the mice ate the fur off. (Picture attached for all you who think I'm a liar.)

Happy anniversary.

Deer heads and dead rats, oh my!

We were back at Leo’s today. We approached the house only to find a dead rat outside the door. I had to think hard if this was a message from some Mafia family. I’ve heard of the horses head in bed, but I guess this rat just died from running back and forth from Leo’s house.

Mom thought it was still alive and had to use a stick to confirm it was stiff as a board. Then we just left it for awhile. But every time I’d walk out of the house, I’d almost step on it and freak out. So, mom finally buried it.

We worked until I could no longer breathe in any more dust, then we went back to mom’s farm. I was just getting over the horror of the dead rat image when mom’s 15 year old crippled dog, Dopey, came back from the woods with a deer head in her mouth. Mom proclaimed that my brother had not done a good job of getting rid of it. I think that when my brother disposed of it, he figured that Dopey would not be able to walk that far. Dopey can no longer see or hear, so who would figure she could smell.

So, I had to watch Dopey gnaw on some vein from the bottom of the deer’s head while the deer’s cute eyes stared lifelessly at me.

Nightmares coming tonight, I guarantee it.

Dumping Junk

Mom and I were back at Leo’s farm today. Allen and his son came out to help and we took another load to the dump. Allen likes to load the truck over the top and until the frame is only inches off the ground, I can’t watch as he drives off, it looks like Sanford and Son meets Beverly Hillbillies. Definitely a road hazard.

Mom convinced Allen to keep an old mattress. This mattress was super old, off an antique bed and contained springs. I also watched her load him down with other junk such as flannel shirts, a couple of flashlights, a bag of soiled hats, and five buttons. He refused the console TV, even though she proclaimed its beauty as a piece of furniture. She dumps more crap on this poor guy than a cow dumps in a barnyard. I’m afraid his wife will tire of the junk and forbid him from helping anymore.

I found a bunch of postcards from 1910, it appears that postcards were how the people here communicated back then. They would say things like, “See you at the church picnic on Sunday.” Two of them were from my grandmother, who died in childbirth at age 34 when my mom was only three. We have hardly any mementos from her, so it was a special find.

I convinced mom that the antique canning jars full of hundred year old lard had to go to the dump, so they will all go in the next trip. Those guys who work at the dump have a pile of “collectibles” that they save from the crusher and seem to have lost their sense of smell, so this one could be interesting.

When life gives you lemons, go to wine country

My sister Kim and I went to San Francisco this past weekend. The highlight of our trip was going to be attending to the 49ers game and sitting in the box with Coach Mike Nolan’s wife and her family. Unfortunately for them (and for us), Coach Nolan got fired five days before our trip.

We got to our hotel on Friday night. We took a cab to the North Beach Restaurant and met Ron Barr, our new friend who had helped arrange our trip and who is the voice and part owner of Sports Byline.

The cab ride was a thrill. Unlike most tourists, we told the driver we had never been there before and said it was okay to go out of the way to show us a few neat sites. He took us for a joy ride on the steepest road and the windiest road, we were screeching. He stopped the cab and we took pictures of the view of the city at night. The cab driver walked with a cane (when we got out for pictures), so I suppose that helped the meter run up. I asked him what happened to his leg and he said his foot was run over by another cab. He made it sound like an accident, but Kim and I decided that the world of cabbies is cut-throat. We gave him a big tip.

It was great to finally meet Ron in person. He knew the owner of the restaurant, who sat with us for awhile and let us sample olive oil made from his grove. Ron ordered some awesome pasta dishes which we sampled. Then our friend Pat and his girlfriend Lisa came and joined us. Pat had just gotten back from testifying at the fratricide trial going on at Fort Bragg. Ron left at close to midnight and Pat and Lisa took us around the city for another hour, showing us the sights at night.

On Saturday, we went to Ron’s house and met his wife. She had to go to a memorial so we didn’t get much time with her, but she was really nice and looked awesome. Amazing what a lifetime of aerobics does for you (note to self). Ron took us around for a couple hours, showing us where to come back to, and stopping a few times for us to walk around, take pictures, and sit by the water. We had lunch by his pool and then Kim and I went to Salsalido and next walked the Golden Gate Bridge. We got back to the hotel and were lucky enough to find a free parking spot for the second day in a row and declared ourselves to have parking karma.

Pat and Lisa picked us up and took us to the Fisherman’s Wharf area and Pier 39. Pier 39 has hundreds of fat sea lions lying on docks. They were bedding down for the night and there would be a pier full all spooning together and a new one would swim up and jump on top of the rest, causing them to bark and yell and bite each other. The stink was incredible, but it was so mesmerizing. We walked around and then ate at a delicious Italian restaurant.

On Sunday, Kim and I got up early and hit Chinatown. Then, instead of the game, we went to wine country. We met at Pat’s and he had borrowed a 1966 Mustang convertible from his friend and we drove to Napa in it. Pat’s dad and his wife also went with us in their classic Jag convertible. I haven’t seen Pat’s dad since Bob was a captain teaching at West Point and Pat was a cadet, and he looked great. The weather was perfect and the drive was fun. Pat would look back and say, “Too windy?” and Kim and I with hair sticking out every which way, would say, “No.” We went to Sonoma next and sampled wine there. You have to love the life there, beautiful location, fit people, and surrounded by wine!

We had to leave for the airport at 4 am on Monday and it was then that our parking karma ended. We had a $50 ticket on the car. We sat there stunned wondering what we had possibly violated. Then we realized that it was Monday and when we parked, we followed the rules for Sunday, we hadn’t thought through that the midnight hour was coming to change the day. So, their $70 million deficit is now $69,999,950.

Love Letters

Today we were out at Leo's as we are most days, sorting and cleaning. We wear paint masks because the dust is so incredible. By the end of a few hours, the white cotton of the paint masks is gray.

I had worked today on sweeping and mopping and polishing the furniture in the two rooms that are cleared. It was a great sense of achievement to see how nice things looked. I had also gone through the contents of an old roll top desk, which meant discarding a bunch of old magazines, bills, and propaganda newsletters that Leo had subscribed to. Then I found a beautiful stationery box that contained letters, all in a tidy cursive handwriting. I wanted to take a break from work to read them to see if there was a love interest, but I set it aside and worked on.

A few hours into our work, we heard a car horn on the yard. It was two of mom's long-time friends from high school. Marilee, who is crazy funny, and Marilyn, who was diagnosed with cancer two weeks ago. Marilyn had been feeling blue so Marilee "kidnapped" her and took her to see us at Leo's. Both had talked with mom earlier this morning and knew we'd be there.

Marilee had a cooler with a six pack of Busch Light and we stood out in the sunshine and had a beer together. We talked about the work and then I mentioned the box of letters. I went into the house and got them and read the letter at the top aloud to them. When I finished, we were all mesmerized. They were from a woman named Eileen from Madison who talked about the weather, her church, her work doing EKGs at the hospital, and their next date.

None of us knew Leo had dated anyone, so we were all surprised. He was never married, a die hard bachelor, and a loner. Who could have guessed? Marilyn read the next letter aloud and we all interjected comments "she gained weight?" "she has kids?" "where do they meet?" I then dug through the box of letters and found the first one in the box, dated May 1980. The previous two were from October 1981. We read that one and in it she stated that it was hard to belive they had been dating a year.

We all wanted to hear more, but the sun was going down and the weather was getting cold, so we called it a day. I caught mom trying to sneak the box of letters home so she could read them all, but I stopped her. We decided to have girls days and read them together. Savor them one letter at a time.

Now I need to find the letters from 1979 so we can start at the beginning.

Who's the Crazy One?

We were back at Leo’s farm today and I laughed so much I had tears running down my face. Unfortunately, I was the only one laughing and I did it alone in a bedroom stacked with a lifetime of junkmail, newspapers, magazines, letters, and survival gear.

First off, mom told Aunt Julie not to rent a dumpster. This house has been in the family since 1900 and nothing has ever been thrown away. The mice have gone crazy and chewed on almost everything. Leo had subscribed to all these survival magazines and had about 100 one gallon cans of dehydrated food. Also still there was every church bulletin dating back to when the church was in German in the 1920’s. Sears catalogs, we got ‘em. There are clothes with Leo’s grandfather’s name in them.

Uncle Bud was supposed to start a burn pile. He searched for matches for three hours and the fire was never lit. Then we found out you need a burn permit.

We are attempting to clear this house room by room. But where do we put the trash? The kitchen and living room are now stacked to the ceiling with bags of trash. Luckily, Allen came over again today and took some treasures. He brought his son, the 15 year old who found Leo dead. They are strong, hard workers. They loaded his truck so full that they had to put the tailgate down to put some more bags of 20 year old seed on board. (see picture)

Mom was working in the pantry (where you can smell there’s a dead animal) and keeps handing Allen more and more crap. He finally said no when she tried to give him a 1963 calendar. She used the plea, “That’s the year JFK died.” Yep, that made the calendar valuable. He wouldn’t take it; now it’s back on the wall.

This family has a knack of hanging calendars on top of one another, so when you remove 1963, you’ll find 1962 and so on. The stack behind 1963 goes back to 1945. I know some of you think I make this stuff up, but I’ll take pictures.

Mom and Uncle Bud worked all day moving junk that was heaped on the kitchen table. I came down carrying my 15th box of Publishers’ Clearinghouse propaganda and told them how remarkable it was. Then I looked at the stove and realized they had moved the junk from the table to the stove. Now the stove that was previously cleared is heaped with crap.

They next moved on to dumping canning jars full of unidentified stuff from decades ago. Allen had to open one of the jars of pickles, which they had previously tried to convince him to take home for dinner, and the stink was mind blowing, it leaked onto his clothing and made him very unappealing. Then they found that there are about 50 antique canning jars full of lard. Lard just doesn’t pour out into the hole they dug, but the jars need to be saved. I had to walk away while this discussion was going on.

Allen’s wife said they will not eat the survivalist goods, because it is 15-20 years old, but would feed it to their chickens. There was one case of dehydrated chicken, I thought that was funny, chicken cannibalism. Hopefully, we don’t have a barnyard full of dead chickens tomorrow. He also wants to burn the 20 year old corn seeds in his pellet stove to heat his house. I questioned whether this was a good idea as the seeds are coated in fertilizer and insecticide. He looked at me like I was the crazy one.

Rest in Pieces, Cleo

I was back at Leo’s farm today. Cleo the cow is gone, she went to market and Allen (the little farmer who took care of Cleo) told us that she willingly boarded the trailer and did not put up a fight. He asked me if I wanted some of the meat. “I can’t even think about eating a pet.” He looked at me like I was crazy. Mom and Kim and I are just sick over it. At least Cleo is with Leo now. Maybe we’ll bring a hamburger to Leo’s grave. My friend Rob said he’d carefully watch the Packer games to see if he could see Kim and I cheering wearing black and white fur coats.

Uncle Bud and Aunt Julie are up here to help work on Leo’s house. They are staying with me. We cleared out one bedroom at Leo’s, among thousands of other things, it was full of about 30 one gallon cans of food to be stored until Armageddon. Allen took them and said his family would eat the food.

As I would load bag after bag full of junk to be thrown away, I’d catch my mom and Uncle Bud pulling “valuables” out into little piles. One such gem that was saved was a red and black plaid wool deer hunting pants circa 1950. I’ll have to get a picture of them to post here, they just can’t be described, maybe my brother can wear them for Halloween. Or maybe my friend Rob will be getting a care package.

Allen may turn out to be a lifesaver in that he takes anything. He saw a Genetics Breeding hat and said he’d always wanted one. He’s got one now. “Allen, know anyone who would need 35 ice cream pails?” “Oh, my wife loves those, she does the chickens and could use them.”

“Allen, see all these pails of seeds, they are dated from 1997…oh, not any good? If you take them you can keep the pails.” “Allen, do you need any rags for your barn?” “Allen, how about these castration bands?” And on and on.

Allen left with a full pick up truck load of crap. God bless him, he was so happy. We told him to come back tomorrow and we’d give him more. We may not need to rent a dumpster after all.

Cleo's Last Day

Mom and I have been to cousin Leo's farm for the last two days. I got one bedroom cleaned out and mom kind of wandered around unsure of where to begin.

The little farmer, Allen, who has been caring for Cleo has an appointment today for Cleo. She won't be coming back. I hate that we couldn't find a better option, but we were able to work out with the estate that Allen pays for the processing and gets to keep the meat. At least Cleo's remains will go to a good home. Allen and his family do not have much in their lives and I suppose this is the best option for Cleo.

We had considered taking her to mom's farm, but the barn isn't heated and the cost of feeding her isn't cheap. Plus, mom keeps animals until they die on their own, so then how do you bury a 1,000 pound cow? Then we had an offer from the woman in Tennessee. But she had another cow and Cleo had no way to protect herself and the local farmers said the other cows bullied her. She may have died of fright in the long trailer ride to Tennessee.

I was up before dawn this morning thinking about how hard the farmer's life is. I was also thinking about how my blog on the fundraiser was like a country song. I also thought about taking a trip. I also thought about my 'luigi' for Cleo. I guess I do have ADD.

The Fundraiser

I volunteered at a fundraiser today. It was for a family of a woman recently killed in a house fire. She initially escaped the fire, but then went back in because she thought one of her sons was inside. She never re-emerged, her body was found just feet away from the door. Her three sons survived, and the son she had run back into the fire to search for was at the bar looking for his dad to try to prevent him from getting another DUI. The police quickly discovered that her husband (and the boys’ dad) was the one who had set the fire.

There were over 200 people at the fund raiser. I talked to an aunt who had made 32 pounds of sloppy joes. She had taken the boys in. I told her that I had heard their dad was the murderer, and she began to cry, the boys’ dad was her brother. (Oops, foot in mouth as usual.) She said the shame and horror of it had crushed their family.

There was a fundraising baseball game and a dinner for $10. There were raffles, and silent auctions and a 50/50, where money used to buy a chance is split with 50% going to the family and the other 50% going to the holder of the ticket drawn (the pot was $250 and the winner donated it back to the family). My job was to help set up and then to “guard” the valuable raffle prizes. They were great items, with three autographed footballs, four autographed NFL pictures, two autographed baseballs, and an autographed bobblehead –plus a bunch of craft items. Although the crowd was not wealthy by any means, they were very generous. All the funds raised will be matched by a Lutheran financial non-profit organization.

Living in a small town where people do such wonderful things for each other is very much like living in a military community. We take care of one another.

Birthday Evening

My mom threw me a little party for my birthday tonight. She made apple crisp, her friend Marilee made a cake, and mom and her other friend Shirley each bought a frozen pizza to be cooked at the VFW. Mom also brought a jar of her homemade pickles. It was a really nice party. This is my third birthday in a row without Bob. Maybe next year.

When I got back to the lakehouse today, I noticed the doors to every room were closed and the drains on the sinks were all closed and the sinks filled with water. Hmmmm...I called mom. She had come to my house to check on things while I was away and heard a noise that she thought was probably a bat. So, she filled the sinks with water so that it would drown itself. Then she called my neighbors, Jerry and Shirley, and left them a message asking them to get in the house and kill the bat. Jerry came over and figured out that the smoke detector needed batteries and was making noises. Whew, no bat.

I couldn't talk to mom tonight about Cleo the cow because her friends would make fun of us. I got her alone for a bit and told her about what had happened and she felt like the Tennessee option sounded great because the person was originally from Wisconsin. We'll have to talk more soon. Mom's first response was that we needed to call off the slaughter immediately.

Kim Just Wouldn't Listen

A quick update regarding my sister Kim's ad on Craigslist regarding Cleo the Cow. She has gotten responses. One person said she could donate money for Cleo but wanted to ensure this was legit. Another from Tennessee who rescues dogs and lives on 14 acres with one rescued bull said she could take Cleo in early November when she brings the next batch of rescued dogs to Wisconsin. Another from Michigan is asking her grandma if they can take Cleo. Then, my a-hole friend Rob (who paid to rent-a-cow in Switzerland) contacted Kim saying to deliver Cleo to Germany as 2 inch thick t-bones.

Last night, I told Kim not to do the Craigslist ad. Now what do we do? The estate expects some money to come from the beef. We have no idea if any of these people are legit (other than Rob) and we may send Cleo to slaughter anyways. And how do we get Cleo to ride all the way to Tennessee or Michigan when she runs away as you approach her? She'd probably die from shock at the experience. And then, what if Cleo ends up in Tennessee and that bull rapes her? It's amazing, I thought we were the only freaks on earth that would try to save a cow.

Tonight it's my birthday (which is what we were celebrating last night) and I'm meeting mom out. I'm going to have to break this news to her. More to follow.

Cleo Still Alive

I have been traveling for the past couple of weeks and didn't dare to hear anything about Cleo the cow. I called mom once and she said she hadn't asked because she thought Cleo was probably slaughtered. Mom said she drove by the slaughterhouse and couldn't look. Well, today, I talked to mom and she said that Cleo lives. The farmer, Allen, who was told by the big wig lawyer to put Cleo to market, did not follow orders. Mainly because he felt he had no authority or money to do so. (Processing a cow isn't cheap, you know, plus the cost of hauling her).

So, I'm in Milwaukee with my sisters and brother and my sister Kim and I did a great ad on Craigslist to find a home for Cleo. Yep, we did have a couple glasses of wine to enhance our creative writing, but we think it's only a matter of hours before we begin to hear from people who want to send money or sponsor our cow. We wrote the ad to appeal to the patriotic, God-fearing, disabled, lonely, vegans, and animal-loving farmers.

http://milwaukee.craigslist.org/pet/870700887.html

Plus, one other option exists. I just heard from my friend Rob in Germany and he was recently in Switzerland and "rented" a cow. For a not so small fee, he gets cheese from all the milk she produces. http://www.usatoday.com/tech/webguide/internetlife/2003-07-14-cows-internet_x.htm

I think we could possibly start this in the states with Cleo being the first producer. We may have to buy Kraft cheese to trick the renters (would slices wrapped in cellephane be too obvious), but anyone stupid enough to rent a cow won't know the difference.

We have only a few days to act. The new execution date is Tuesday, October 14th.

Homecoming Dance

My niece Julia is 15 and going to the Homecoming dance tonight. First, she bought a dress, next, had to buy the shoes that matched. Then, put that on-- and of course she needed the accessories, like earrings, necklace and bracelet. Why, for crying out loud, you can’t have the complete look without getting hair, nails and makeup done.

And then, you go to the dance. Kick off the shoes, chip the nails, and sweat off the makeup and hairdo.

Well, my life is on a parallel. I first stripped the wallpaper and painted the dining room. But then the kitchen didn’t match. So then I did that. Then the living room had to coordinate with the colors. But that made the entry way and hall look dated. So, now I have painted for 36 hours, stayed awake due to ghost noises another 15 hours, and slept 10. The paint job looks great. But then I look at the leak stains on the ceiling and the crappy carpet. It’s got to go.

And then, you check in the renters. And before you know it, there are fingerprints on the walls, stains on the carpet, and scratches on the furniture.

The ghost seems to approve of all the work I’ve done, he let me sleep last night. You have to read the comments on my haunted house blog. My sister always has to outdo me with her humor. And sweet Liz telling me to “be brave” as she is about to pop a baby out. She’s the one that needs to be brave.

Tonight I took myself on a date to a nice restaurant. I met two other single women there. We ate in the bar area. Then we went to the club next door which had an incredible blues band playing. One of my new friends claimed to be a professional dancer and she rocked the house… (was she maybe a stripper and I didn’t catch on?)…the other new friend pointed out a trans-sexual on the dance floor. I had to ask her what a trans-sexual was.

I stood there with my jaw dropped. The trans-sexual looked pretty sexy to me. I wondered whether the man who was dancing with her knew.

Haunted Beach House

This picture shows our beach house in the early 1920's. The ocean is to the right. It was an old house that in 1985 was put up on a foundation (but not properly). Over the years, it's had additions and that's what causes all the leaks as it sags everywhere.

A few years ago, a renter told me she thought the house was haunted. The doors would shut and things moved. I figured that was because everything is crooked. Then, a year ago, my sisters and I were here and in my bedroom, the light turned on at night. So did the radio. We freaked out, screamed, and all jumped into bed together. I had put this out of my head until last night.

All alone, I went to bed and started to hear creaks. I tried to think happy thoughts, but kept reverting back to the light and radio turning on (we no longer use that plug, maybe that was it). Then I felt like someone was sitting on the bed. I could not move, I was so frightened. The door was rattling. But that was probably because I had the window open to hear the ocean and the breeze was blowing in. But then again, who knows?

I stayed up most of the night. Keeping the light on seems to keep the ghosts at bay, or at least my imagination. When you look at the picture from the 1920's, it appears that there is some ghostly figure to the left of the group. Those of you who could see Elvis in the pine knot posted earlier will surely see the ghost in this picture.

The burnt orange paint I did in the dining room looks nice, but now I need to paint everything else in the house to match the look. Given that I no longer sleep, I guess that will not be a problem.

Lipstick on the Pig

Bob left today to head back to Afghanistan. I took him to the airport in the cheap rental car. It is really confusing because it doesn't have power windows or locks. So, when you're at a toll, you sit there a minute looking for the button to lower the window while the Bostonites are beeping their horns. Luckily, this car is not a target for robbery because we have left it open most of the time, we just forget to push the lock.

Now I'm doing some projects at the Beach House -- nothing to do with getting the leaks fixed. That is way too complicated and expensive for a house that I want torn down. I'm just painting some of the rooms. I'm sure the renters will be so mesmerized by the paint colors they will not notice the water pouring from the ceilings. I also bought a big clock to grab their attention.

The first room I am working on is the dining room. I removed the wallpaper already and painted on a primer paint. The color paint I chose is a burnt orange, I'm thinking along the lines of a Starbucks experience. The guy who mixed it for me at Home Depot said it looked a lot like their theme color. Making me a bit nervous. Bright orange will most likely piss people off if the rain is leaking in.

If this turns out horrible, I will post a picture. Notice I never did so with my hair. Well, it went through it's green stage and is now settling in with a orange hue. It may just end up matching the dining room.

Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

On our last night in DC, we went to dinner. While I was getting ready, Bob went down to the hospitality suite for a snack. The man who worked there had now become my BFF. He asked Bob where I was and then sent a tray of food to our room. Bob said that this guy recognized Paupers in a Pay Toilet when he saw them.

On Friday we went to Walter Reed and visited wounded troops. We walked into the Malone House and someone called the place to attention and soldiers did their best to stand. It was overwhelming to see. The first guy we met had been electrocuted and had been in recovery for over a year. The next guy we met had been the only survivor of an IED explosion, where the other five in his vehicle were killed. He had not lost any limbs, but had pins in his leg and lots of skin grafting.

Then we went to Ward 57, the Orthopedic Ward in Walter Reed. We met a soldier from Virginia who lost both legs, an arm, was blind in one eye and also lost his hearing. He said his injuries had helped him reconcile with his ex-wife and she was now pregnant and they were getting remarried. The next soldier we met was from Cleveland and had lost an arm a year ago and was back to get further surgery because his bone continued to grow and made the prosthetic not fit correctly. Then we met a soldier from Detroit, who was a big guy. He had lost both legs. He was the gunner in his vehicle and the driver was killed. He said he was told that his size saved others in the vehicle because his legs took so much of the impact. He joked that he had struggled with making Army weight standards, but believed with the loss of his legs he could make them now.

Chloe the cat went to her new home. The people seemed very nice by all reports, but did not get off to a good start with her. They apparently brought a very small cage for her to travel in and she fought like a dog (?) to not go in. The new owner was scratched and bitten. Bye, Chloe, hope they love you as much as we did.

We are now in Maine waiting for the hurricane to hit. Nice timing. This house we have is 100 years old and everything is crooked as so many parts were additions. So, wherever there was a seam, rain water leaks in. It’s rained for two solid days so we have strategically placed cups and bowls to catch the leaks. We are housebound, unless you want to get soaked. We also have six relatives and two dogs living with us. This is Ultimate Family Bonding.

I am haunted by those soldiers I met. They are so young, and so optimistic. The things that we worry about daily are so insignificant when you think about the challenges they face. So, let the rain pour in--I am not going to complain!

Sucker Found!

My sister Kim found a home for Chloe the cat. The lady is going to be awesome, she sent a nice note about how much she loves animals. She has one cat, so Chloe had better get along.

Yesterday, Bob came home from a meeting with the Vice President and got a white house golf ball and key chain. The key chain will be mine. I'll casually ask people to hand me my keys and watch how impressed they are. Bob told me about the giant pictures that hang in the West Wing. He said the frame on them is about a foot wide and a foot deep. The assistant told him that one fell off once and hit a guest. That would be a neat party story, "Hey, how'd you get that huge scar on your face?"

Tomorrow we are going to Walter Reed to visit one of Bob's bodyguards who was injured in an IED explosion. Then we are off for the weekend to our house in Maine.

Suite Evening

Bob had to attend a dinner last night that I wasn’t invited to. I was going to meet up with a friend I had made when I lived in Germany. But my friend was too busy to meet up with me, so I was on my own.

I was going to head out to dinner and was walking past the Hospitality Suite. Hmmm…maybe just a small snack… I then had a great idea, why take it back to my room when I could just sit at a table and eat in the Hospitality Suite. Well, two hours passed and I had sampled everything they had to offer. I had also made friends with some other guests and got to know the lady who serves us in the hospitality suite. She quit her job as a nurse and took on two jobs, the one here and one at Target to put her four kids through college.

I listened in on one conversation of a man and woman, he was one of those ice chewers and she was talking about how she thought mom and dad treated them all the same. He interrupted her and told her how they were crap and when she tried to defend them, he told her to quit interrupting. “Listen to me” was repeated too often. Then he ordered a turkey cheese and bacon sandwich but didn’t want the cheese, bacon or mayo. He was really getting under my skin.

I’m just glad I didn’t have more wine or I would have probably felt the need to tell her to ditch him. Then I’d probably be banned for life from the Hospitality Suite. Bob got in at about 9:30 and just shook his head when I told him how I had spent my evening.

The Hospitality Suite

I’m in DC. I flew here yesterday to meet up with Bob who is here with Afghanistan’s Minister of Defense for high level meetings. We are in a really nice hotel on the top floor with a lot of security. That means cameras and people in suits with ear pieces and badges. It’s so cool.

There is a hospitality suite on our floor with awesome food. Last night, I kept going back for more and felt a little foolish knowing that the camera caught every trip. The jumbo shrimp were so good, but only two on a plate. So, I wasn’t really a big hog, but you can only stack those plates so high. I think if I were sitting there doing security, I would take bets on people like me and how many trips they make and how many plates they take on each trip. “Yep, there goes Room 1818 again, she thinks because she’s wearing a scarf and sunglasses that we don’t recognize her.”

This morning, the Minister of Defense laid a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. We convoyed there in three black SUVs with police lights on them. There were also a couple of sedans with security that were in the entourage. We had police escort into Arlington Cemetery. It was incredible to drive through Washington and stop traffic. Tourists stopped and stared.

As we entered the Cemetery, there was a 21 gun cannon salute. It filled the hills with smoke. It gave me goose bumps. Then we parked and filed out to the tomb behind three Honor Guard soldiers who led us with the Afghan flag. These soldiers were so thin (maybe I need to take them to the hospitality suite) and they moved fluidly as one. There was an area that was reserved for us, and tourists were snapping pictures. There were troops representing the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines, they looked so sharp. The Army band played the Afghan National Anthem followed by our National Anthem.

The wreath was laid. Then there was a drum roll and taps was played. Then we left and went to the 9-11 Memorial. It is a really symbolic memorial. Benches with the names of those killed that are arranged by their date of birth. The first bench represented a baby who was on the plane and the last bench was of a retired Navy Captain who was born in 1930. The benches representing those killed on the plane face in one direction and the benches of those killed in the Pentagon face the other direction.

It was a very moving morning where I thought a lot about how 9-11 changed our lives. And now I’m back in the hotel room wondering what little snacks are out in the hospitality suite.

Big Wigs Roll Into Town

The big wigs rolled into town today, Uncle Bud and Aunt Julie. They came from Milwaukee and brought the attorney that will handle Leo's estate. Uncle Bud is 83 and Julie is 80. When they arrived, Julie told me that she thought she knew where money could be hidden and so Bud gets a ladder and she is in a shed up on the ladder looking in the rafters. She came down from the ladder with nothing but cobwebs in her hair. But that lady can move!

Then the big city lawyer pulls in driving his Lexus. He had his paralegal with him. All I could hear in my head was ka-ching ($$$). He pulled out his camera with a 12 inch long lens and entered Leo's pitiful little farm house. He declared that it would be a good place to donate to the fire department to set on fire and give them practice. He took pictures of the antiques and farm equipment. He also took a group picture that somehow I think he will use to show at parties and laugh about.

Next pulls in the little farmer from down the road who is taking care of Cleo the cow with the crooked neck. He asks the lawyer to please hold the farm auction on any day but Saturday as he's a 7th Day Adventist and Saturday is his holy day. The lawyer tells his paralegal, "Mark this down, auction should be held Monday through Friday." Then this little farmer, Allen, apologizes for being filthy cause he just came from his cow barn. He is covered in dirt and for some funny reason I can't explain is wearing a rubber cover on only his left foot.

Allen then points out that there is a 200 gallon gas container that should be secured somehow. The lawyer tells him to buy it from "us" and just be honest about the price and gallons. I can't stand this, I want to just give Allen the gas plus the cow and even the hay baler. Allen lives life right and is one hell of a role model for 7th Day Adventists.

Then the lawyer tells Allen to take Cleo to market. This is not a date, like "Let's go to market, dear, bring your purse." This is death for Cleo. My stomach turns. I interrupt that Allen needs to be paid from the estate for his time and fuel, just as Mr. Big Wig is. The lawyer says he agrees and tells Allen to mark it all down and he'll hopefully be able to compensate him from the estate.

We then start to go through more of Leo's things in the house. Under the beds we discover hundreds of plates from the Bradford Exchange. This guy lived life near poverty and without an indoor bathroom. His one sink had water that drained to a cistern in the basement. Yet, he "invested" in plates. We loaded all these plates into Bud and Julie's car. They should get a better price in Milwaukee.

We were there for six long hours. My lungs were full of dust and mice dropping dust. Mom looked at me as we were leaving and said, "Beer?" "Hell yes." We went to the little bar in town and I announced, "Two cold ones, and fast."

While there, I tried to find a home for Chloe the cat as my brother has forbidden my mom to take in another animal. Everyone there agreed that Harlow needs another barn cat. Mom tells them that Cleo is not really a barn cat, more of a fireplace cat. I know how desperate the situation is becoming and ask if Harlow is good to animals. Everyone agrees that he is a huge animal lover. I ask how he's lost his other cats...(animal lovers, prepare)...some killed in rat traps in the hay loft and some get killed on the highway and one died last week when she cuddled up to one of the cows for warmth and he rolled over and squashed her. Mom and I looked at each other in horror and decided to keep looking for other potential homes.

Cleo and Chloe Update

Day 1 of being almost famous. So far, no fan mail has come my way. My phone hasn’t rung. Even my neighbors avoided me. And they were quick to call with curiosity when I was outside taking pictures of myself for the Sports Byline site.

New Glarus Brewing had better make that move on signing Cleo because the Milwaukee Big Wigs come to town on Friday and her fate is in their hands. I think I will tell them that she knows how to blink in Morse code and it won’t be long until she is telling fortunes. Cleo, the Psychic Cow. I’ve got to convince them she’s worth more alive than as cat food.

Speaking of cats, Chloe is still in need of a home. She is really affectionate and she speaks a couple of languages. She can also do Irish clog dancing. She doesn’t shed and she uses the toilet and knows how to flush, so she’s a perfect companion for anyone.

Almost Famous

When Bob was flying back to Afghanistan after R&R in February, he met a group of NFL people on their way to do a morale tour in Iraq. The coordinator of this group was a man named Ron Barr, who is the voice of Sports Byline, just one of his many accomplishments. Bob and Ron stayed in touch and in June, Ron brought Coach Mike Nolan from the 49ers and Eric Davis, a former superbowl defensive back to Afghanistan on a morale tour.

While there, they visited our troops in a variety of locations and broadcast live from Kabul and Kandahar. Their trip was long, dirty, and dangerous, and they were successful at lifting morale and making memories. They departed Afghanistan with full hearts, having received as much as they gave.

Ron and I started corresponding and I gave him my blog link. He asked me to write some sports related blogs for the Sports Byline website. I told him that I’m not a brilliant sports mind, just a spectator. He said he wanted something different, observations from a spectator’s perspective. So, lo and behold, I have a blog set up there. It’s called “View from the Cheap Seats.”

The link is http://sportsbyline.com/CheapSeats/blog.html

My sister Kim seems a bit jealous over all this and she tried to get this note to Ron:

Forget Jill, you need a real athlete for the column. I once rode an electric skateboard to deliver newspapers on my paper route – now that is a true sport. I was on pom-pom’s for one year, but quit because the only saddle shoes on sale were a size 11, whitest white I ever saw. I might be attempting to ride a cow with a crocked neck, if New Glarus doesn’t sign him on first. I also once ran a 5k in under 45 minutes!

Now that I’m practically famous, mom says I should get my brother Tommy and his girlfriend Sally involved as well. Mom reminds me they met at a “Try-A-Thon.” Tommy and Sally met at a triathlon.

This will be a Try-A-Thon, all right.

The Luigi

Prior to the charity fundraiser on Friday, my sister Kim got a call from a co-worker who had attended last year. He wondered if I would be attending again. She told him yes and he said that meant he wasn’t coming. He claims I made him cry last year. Last year, he had told me that my sister Ellen was hot and wondered why she wouldn’t give him the time of day. I decided he needed some good advice, so I proceeded to tell him to lose the oversized stained sweatshirt, get a good haircut, and drive a nicer car. I told him that he needed to look successful so he could attract women that were decent. Apparently, he decided not to take my advice and would rather avoid me than face me this year.

The fundraiser was a nice time and I did give advice to a few people who were selling their goods there. I also gave advice to the vendors on how to better display their wares. Then I gave advice to a couple of women in the bathroom. And, of course, I gave advice to my sisters. I just want to make everyone’s life better.

I came up with a name for the cow with the crooked neck. Cleopatra. Cleo (Cow of LEO). The name makes you think of something beautiful and sexy. New Glarus Brewing will be salivating. Then I came up with a matching name for the cat-- Chloe. How cute is that? Cleo and Chloe. Now they just have to meet and get along. The road show is soon to follow.

Mom thinks that we could set up a petting zoo at Leo’s farm with these cute animals. Except she mentioned that we’d have to put up a sign that says, “Do not touch, may bite.” But maybe we can raise enough money to keep Cleo and Chloe alive and happy. I would tell you more about Chloe, but so far all she’s done is stay under the bed. But if you shine a flashlight under there, her eyes glow, so she’s still alive.

Mom was back at Leo’s farm to water the cow (Cleo) yesterday and brought back another couple of bags of paperwork to go through. She showed me a receipt for a coffin bought in 1905 for $14. This proves her point that coffins these days are way overpriced.

She also believes there is a cat in Leo's house that is eating the bread she puts out. But last time I saw the bread plate, it had a lot of crumbs spread and mouse droppings on it. If we set up the motion camera, I don’t think we’d see a cat in any film. Maybe we should put Chloe in that house for awhile as an exterminator.

One more thing mom found in a sack of Leo’s paperwork was a eulogy I had written for my Aunt Alice’s funeral ten years ago (I am the official eulogy writer of the family). Mom told my Aunt Jan that she found the Luigi that I had written. I had to think real hard to figure this one out as Luigi’s is an Italian restaurant in town. Re-reading the Luigi made me misty-eyed.

Can it get any weirder?

I am hating my hair, it is so overdue for a style that I can no longer stand it. I start the morning by cutting my bangs and begin to cut the rest, then decide that’s not a good idea and make a bunch of calls to salons for help. They are all booked. One that was recommended (my first two calls were to get recommended salons), told me they were booked for three weeks. What? I live in Podunk. People walk around with hideous hair and the salons are booked? Do people bus in from Chicago to get their hair done at our great salons here? Okay, enough on that, my hair gets done tomorrow (that could be a funny story/picture, stay tuned…)

Then, mom wants me to meet her at the County Courthouse to do some research. I meet her there and she tells me that we need to find out if Leo owed any taxes and if there were any liens against him. I remind her that the “big wigs” in Milwaukee (Uncle Bud and Aunt Julie, the 80+ year olds) are in charge and have already hired a lawyer. Mom says she is suspicious of this lawyer because he wants to come here (150 miles) to check it all out and “he’ll bill us for every mile.”

As we enter the courthouse, mom says to me, “You do the talking.” First stop is Treasurer’s Office, Leo owes no taxes. Next is County Clerk, Leo is not wanted for anything. Last is Probate, they tell us that the attorney hired by the “big wigs” is already actively engaged. At each stop, mom feels the need to pull out the death certificate that somehow has her name on it as a point of contact (makes her feel popular) and to tell them about blind Aunt Ruthie in a nursing home and this big city attorney that wants to drive up here. They all shake their head in disgust at the attorney. Mom’s suspicions are affirmed by a these workers and now she’s fired up. “We’re going to put a stop to this attorney charging us to come up here.” I know who “we” are and I just know this isn’t over.

I suggest we go and have dinner at the VFW. We get there and they are out of Miller Lite, okay, I’ll take any light beer, thanks. Then, they say they are out of pizza. A patron there who knows us says she has a frozen pizza in her car that cost $2.50. So, we get that and the bartender bakes it in their pizza oven. Not too bad, dinner for $2.50. I win shake of the day (that's where you pay $1 to shake 6 dice and if they all come up the same you win the pot). The pot is $25 and I say I'll buy the bar a round. Mom practically has a conniption at this, and whispers to me that these people don't appreciate my generosity. The round is $14 (beers are 75 cents a glass).

Then mom talks to this guy, Bernie, and tells him about the cow with the crooked neck and he says he had a cow like that once and when it got to be 1,000 pounds, its neck straightened. I had to confront this guy. He confirmed this story to me. He also told me that the cow's meat was worth about $300-$400. So, now, I guess that all we need to do is feed this cow a lot so its neck straightens and then it can be a mascot for New Glarus Brewing.

As I’m sipping my beer, I notice that the pinewood drawer in the console behind the bar has a knot in the wood that looks like a face. I say to mom, “Doesn’t that knot in the pine look like Elvis?” She blurts out “No, that looks like Jesus!” Now the crowd is gathering looking at the knot. Two people think it looks like the caveman from the commercials. One thinks it looks like a football player in an old leather helmet. It’s now an attraction.

My friend Julie tries to take a picture and her camera that she has used hundreds of times shuts off each time she presses the photo button. I take her camera away from her and try a picture and it freezes up. So, is it the beers or is this eerie? Now we are all ready for the pilgrims to crowd the VFW because this knot is so out of this world.

Cat With No Name

My mom has two houses, the one we were raised in in Milwaukee, and the one she was raised in at the farm. She has been living at the farm for most of the past two years. This puts the burden of her Milwaukee house on my sister Kim and my brother Tommy. My sister Ellen and I don't do much of anything to help them. Funny they still talk to us.

Mom's Milwaukee neighbor called my sister Kim a few months ago to report that a litter of kittens had been born in mom's back yard and no mother cat was around. Kim and this neighbor went out and bought formula and syringes to feed the kittens and after a couple of days, mom cat showed up. She was emaciated and looked beaten up, but she had made it back to her litter.

Kim sent out mass emails to people looking for homes for the cats. One of the replies, from Ziggie, reminded us of what a goldmine we could be sitting on. He was with us when we were in Santa Monica and paid to have psychic cats tell our fortune. The cats wore little dresses and would pick fortunes as a spoonful of food was held out to them. Yeah, we can do that.

Anyhow, all the kittens have found homes. But mama cat remains. My sister Kim and I are going to split the cost for mama cat to get spayed on Friday. (I'm in Milwaukee for a charity fundraiser.) Then I'm going to take her back to mom's farm. Mom has said she doesn't want it, but we know mom won't be able to say no. (Although once I bought a nest of baby mice for 10 cents from a boy down the street and mom freaked out and made me take them back, so sometimes she does say no.)

This poor cat has no name. But, fear not, both of my sisters will be with me at the charity fundraiser and I think we will come up with something. Who knows, while there, we may even find a sponsor for the cow with the crooked neck. (New Glarus Brewing still has not responded to me.) Last year, my sister Ellen sold the most raffle tickets at the fundraiser, so I know she has the power of persuasion.

Packer Football!

Football is in the air here. The high temp today was 62 degrees. And the honey wagon is making its appearance at farms all around –the honey wagon is the nickname for the manure spreader. The high school team here has won two football games in a row to be undefeated after two years of nothing but L’s. And tonight, the Packers had their first regular season game against their rivals, the Minnesota Vikings, AKA the Queens.

People associated with sports often have good luck charms or rituals. My college boyfriend played football (UW-W) and his ritual was to buy a new pair of tube socks before every game. All around town today, people were wearing their green and gold. My ritual is to precisely pop a beer at the kickoff –when the foot hits the ball if we are kicking, or if the opponents kick, when our player catches the ball. This has been a really good method of bringing luck to the team for many years.

Well, tonight before the game, I was on the internet reading about the game and ended up reading some Queen newspaper site and their fans’ smack about the Pack. I wanted to add a comment about a state that would elect Jesse Ventura, but I believe the site was closed to Wisconsin addressees. One of the comments said kick-off was at 6:15. And I was fool enough to believe it.

My husband, Bob, is on his 15th month in Afghanistan and he and I try to watch as many Packer games “together” as we can. Armed Forces Network only carries a couple of games on game day, and his schedule is always packed, so he doesn’t get to see the Packers too often. Tonight’s game was on Monday Night Football at 3:30 am there (Tuesday), so he would be able to watch it. I was typing Bob an email with my thoughts on the game and missed the kickoff—damn, I thought I had a few more minutes. I was able to pop my beer when Aaron Rodgers took the first snap, but that is not as solid of a good luck charm. Bob cannot pop a beer (General Order Number 1—no drinking). It’s all on my shoulders.

He was able to get through to me on the phone during the game, one bonus to getting up at 3:30 am is that phone lines are not as clogged. He still has to dial the 32 numbers from the calling card. We talked during some of the plays and at one point, a rocket landed down the street from him. Talk about excitement. I laughed out loud when Bob referred to the Vikings as the “enemy.” I think he needs some cuddling.

The game was exciting and Bob called me twice more to telephonically high-five, once notifying me I needed to put more money on the phone card. Even with my bad start as a provider of good luck, the Packers were able to win. Whew, I did not let them down. So, here’s what my poster board for the game says:

Days apart from Bob—435
Phone card add’l minutes--$30
Rodgers’ Score & Lambeau Leap--Priceless

Spotted Cow

Think about the Budwieser Clydesdales, the Geico Gecko, the Taco Bell Chihauhua...adorable mascots that brought in big sales for their companies. I came up with a good idea today and sent an email to a Wisconsin micro-brewery (New Glarus Brewing) that brews a great beer called Spotted Cow. I asked them to sponsor the cow with the crooked neck so that its life could be saved. I told them that as a reward, they could use the cow in their promos and I would feature them in my blog. They can even name the cow or paint their logo on its hip, horns, or hoof that grows out like a rhino horn. Since my blog is read worldwide by at least a dozen people, this is an opportunity I don't believe they can pass up. If they agree to sponsor our lovely spotted cow, I promise to serve nothing but their beverage at my parties. If they reject my offer, I have Miller ready to compete with the Budweiser Clydesdales. I anxiously await their decision. http://www.newglarusbrewing.com/Beers.cfm

Exhume the body?

We were back at Leo's farm today as mom is working to get the lumber company to pick up lumber and steel that had been delivered that will no longer be needed. It was supposed to be used to finish the roof of the mini-barn, which had one side done last year. The lumber company did not show up.

The neighbor, Stanley, was there in a heartbeat, must be that those cameras are really working now. He had to tell me all about the 80 year old (Alden) that had tried to take a picture of the cow. Yesterday, I had run into Alden at the Country Store and he told me about the confrontation, while I was in the pouring rain in the parking lot loading my groceries. I told Alden that all decisions were up to the big wigs in Milwaukee. You see, many of the people living up here are intimidated by the folks from the "big city." In reality, the "big wigs in Milwaukee" I was referring to are my Uncle Bud and Aunt Julie. They are in their early 80's, meek, and religious.

My brother was in town so we got him to come out to the farm and put a padlock on the door so we no longer have to mess with the skeleton key. While there, he had to go to the barn to see the cow with the crooked neck. The cow heard him approaching and took off like a scalded ape. It must have read that its days are numbered. I later told my sister this and she wondered whether there were cow races that we could enter it into. Anything to keep it alive.

We searched for hidden money for a few hours and found nothing. We did find a life insurance policy that would pay out if Leo had died of cancer. An autopsy was never done and his death certificate said he died of a heart attack (best guess). I wondered aloud to mom what his heirs would have gotten if he had died of cancer and she said that we need to exhume the body to find out whether he died of cancer. Then she joked that maybe we could trade out the nice coffin he is in for something less and store the used one in her barn for her to use upon her death.

You guessed it, that was when my beer light came on.