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.

Mom's Cousin Tookie

For years, mom talked about her cousin Tookie. Tookie is half Native-American. Up until last summer, I thought that Tookie was a woman, as I'd never met this person. I don't even know if Tookie is his real name, as my mom has a habit of giving people nicknames. Tookie no longer lives on the Reservation, he's in a trailer in the country and lives a meager, but content, existence.

Now, my mom never throws a thing away, and that frustrates us kids as the clutter can be overwhelming. But we discovered a strategy a few years ago where we can often coax her to get rid of really old junk by suggesting that Tookie could probably use it. She typically hesitates at the suggestion, then considers it, but often claims the item is an antique and that us kids live in a "throw away world." As she decides to part with "valuables," she puts the items that will go to Tookie in an area in the barn.

So, I suggested we load up the Volvo SUV with this stuff and deliver it to Tookie. One bag was marked "cookware" and it was full of old aluminum pie plates (mom looked at them and shook her head saying, "If only the recycling center would accept these, with aluminum at 65 cents a pound."). There was some old pipe tobacco from when grandpa was alive 25 years ago. There were some boots that had no life left. There was a crossing guard coat (which my sister wore to the County Fair ten years ago and got in free as an "official."). There was a lot of clothes--men's, women's and children's. I asked mom why Tookie would want all that clothes and she said he would find homes for all of it.

Most of the stuff I would have thrown on the burn pile. However, when we delivered the goods, Tookie appeared to be grateful. He was a cute man, in his 70's and really tiny with a long, thin braid at the back of his head. Mom hinted that she sure needed to stock some firewood with winter approaching and he was so lucky to be able to log for free on the Reservation. Tookie just nodded, no bite.

All this comes home to roost...my brother was taking a college course on Native Americans and was talking about the course while visiting the farm. Mom got very excited and said she had some authentic Indian stuff from Tookie --a gift to her that he had made with his own hands. She goes into a closet, rummages around for about 15 minutes, and emerges with a paper sack marked "to Frank and Dora...from Tookie" and in it is a "peace pipe." My brother, holding back laughter, says that it would be hazardous to smoke as it is made out of a piece of porch railing wood that has been treated with arsenic. Mom reprimands my brother for laughing ("This is a part of their religious ceremonies.") and insists that he takes it to class for "Show and Tell."

My brother ended up dropping the course.

The Supper Club

I've lived in quite a few places, and no where else have I heard the term "Supper Club." The Supper Club is a restaurant open only for supper. Small towns in northern Wisconsin have a lot of Supper Clubs.

Last night, mom and I went to dinner at a local Supper Club. She had broasted chicken and I had broasted pork chops. Broasted is a fancy term used at Supper Clubs. It means deep fried in a pressure cooker. Often topped with cheese. This is Wisconsin.

At dinner, we were discussing Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin. We discussed the difficulties all families face with their children. I pointed out to mom that a family that lived across from the Supper Club, the H**** Family, had a lot of problems with one of their sons.

Mom then told me that the H*** Family has owed her $10 for eight years now. I know that mom hardly knows this family, so I had to probe further. "Well, their dog came to my farm and it was all covered in ticks. So, I used one of my Frontline flea and tick applicators on it and then put a note behind its collar that they owed me $10."

Thank goodness that Supper Clubs also serve cocktails.

Sheriff's Second Visit

It is super hot out on Saturday and the Sheriff 's deputy, our new friend Joe, meets us at Leo's farm. There are thousands of flies and gnats buzzing around. Joe tells us that there was not a second break-in at the farm, the window had been off the entire time. I apologize to Joe that we've wasted his time.

Mom, seizing an opportunity, asks Joe if he can help us turn on the water to the barn so we can fill the cow's water tank. The water switch is in the basement so Joe has to help us with the skeleton key to get in the house. When we enter the house I notice the blue pan that we had reported stolen a week earlier. It is on the floor full of water. I look at mom and point to it. She gets a shocked look on her face and whispers, "I forgot I put water out in case there was a cat in the house." She thinks there may be a cat in the house because something is eating the bread she puts on the floor.

Hmmm...do we tell Joe about the potentially false report of a stolen blue pan? Nah.

Two neighbors pull in, mostly to nose around because they saw the Sheriff's car there. The first neighbor is the one who installed the hidden cameras, his name is Stanley. Stanley has also parked an old truck on the yard so it looks like someone is home. The second visiting neighbor is 80 years old and curious, his name is Alden. They don't trust each other.

Stanley gets the water to the barn turned on and we all go visit the crooked necked cow. My sister and I suggest that the Sheriff's Department take it as a mascot and name it "Sheri." Joe cannot believe his eyes when he sees Sheri. He has to get the camera and take pictures.

After over an hour of standing around and swatting flies, Joe says he has to get on to his next call, which hasn't come in yet. Alden asks me if he can get a picture of the cow sometime and I tell him he can if someone is at the farm. We lock the place up and go home.

Yesterday, mom calls me and Alden has come to her farm. He is all shook up because he was at Leo's taking a picture of the cow and Stanley caught him there. Now, Alden is 80 and Stanley is about 58. Stanley cornered him and questioned him. Alden tells Stanley and mom that I gave permission for him to take the picture. Then mom's phone rings and it's Stanley wanting to report about Alden. Stanley thinks Alden's story about the picture is full of holes, he's had four years to get a picture of that cow. Stanley thinks he's really checking out the milking equipment there for possible future theft. It IS stainless steel, you know.

Then a few hours later, mom gets another call and it's Stanley. Someone called the Sheriff and reported the strange truck parked at Leo's farm (this is the decoy truck mentioned earlier). Stanley believes it was Alden who reported it, getting even with him.

Meanwhile, back at mom's farm, my brother has cracked the safe with a crowbar. Kind of a disappointment, Jimmy Hoffa's remains were not inside. Nor were there piles of cash. It contained old tax returns dating back to the birth of the IRS.

The Cow With The Crooked Neck

We were out checking on Leo's farm again today. In Leo's barn is a cow with a crooked neck. Mom said this cow was bullied its entire life by other cows (makes you wonder if the word 'bully' actually comes from the cow family). The neighboring farmers can't milk it because it is too mean. That means that there will not be a happy ending for it. I can't look it in the eyes. Market day is on Wednesdays, so it has a few days. My sister wants to walk it over to mom's farm where it can just live freely and we would all chip in to feed it like a pet. Maybe we could find it a job at a County Fair Freak Show. 'Come see the bullied cow with the crooked neck!'

While at Leo's farm, we also found evidence that the house had been broken into again. The basement window and screen had been completely removed and a path in the grass leading to it was beaten down indicating a number of trips back and forth. We were so angry, my sister wants to set up an ambush to catch the theives, mom came up with an idea -- plant poison ivy along the path they use. Hmmmm...somehow I don't think we have a year for it to take root and wouldn't we end up covered in a rash in the carrying out of this devious scheme?

We did not go into the house to see what was missing as we have a problem with the skeleton key lock. It takes a lot of jiggling to get it to lock and we are afraid that we would not be able to secure the house. (Seems like a silly worry when they just remove windows to get in.) But when we looked into the window, mom noticed the full bottle of dish soap was still on the table, so we know they haven't gotten everything out yet.

One of the neighbors had set up a camera that senses motion and turns on and films when motion occurs. He uses it for bear hunting purposes to see when the bear move through a certain area in the woods. After the first break in, we asked him if he could put it up at Leo's farm to catch the crooks. He had put the camera up, so we knew that we may have some good hard evidence of the second break-in. So, with optimism alive, we headed over to his farm. We were greeted by a barking dog that did a low crawl to get to us. Mom commented that the dog must have been 'scolded' a lot as a pup and my sister said 'Scolded? That dog has had the piss beaten out of it.' We told this neighbor about the latest break-in and asked to see the tape from the camera. He looked down, dejected, and said that the tape was full of junk. You see, they hid the camera in the brush facing Leo's front door. Every time the wind blew, the camera took film of the leaves in front of it. The tape soon filled up with film of rustling leaves. I asked why they didn't mount the camera out in the open where the brush wouldn't interfere and the reply was that the thieves would then be able to see the camera and most likely steal it.

The Sheriff deputy will come out to take another report on Saturday as he is busy working the County Fair on Friday. My sister and I actually filed the report at the County Fair tonight when we ran into him there. He said after he gathers more evidence, he will go over to the suspects' house and nose around. My sister and I informed him that we had done some research on the suspects over the internet and that they have a criminal record of burglaries and drunken driving. This Sheriff now knows he's not dealing with your run of the mill victims. We're practically CSI.

Stay tuned..as my friend Pat says, this is Days of Our Lives crossed with the Beverly Hillbillies

Deliverance

Remember the film 'Deliverance'? Well, allow me to provide details on Leo's funeral.

Mom and I decided to meet at Leo's farm and leave my car parked there so it looked like someone was guarding the house. I arrived first, and after all that coffee for breakfast started to look for some tall weeds...then mom pulled in. Good thing she 'saved' me. One of the neighbors had installed a motion sensor camera on the property --that potential clip of me squatting in the grass could have made U Tube.

The church was in the middle of nowhere. We drove through cornfield after cornfield. We stopped and asked directions at a meat store (meat stores are big here, lots of butchering to be done). The hairlip working at the meat store gave me directions, but I had a very hard time understanding him. Luckily, he pointed a lot, so we found the church.

The people had begun to arrive and the Funeral Director needed some guidance, so he pulled me aside. I am damned good at funeral planning. As I'm talking to the Funeral Director, an old rusty car pulls in and it's Chester W*** and his boys. Dressed in their finest. Mom and I brought all the donated baked goods to the church basement. She first had to tell her 'good cousins' who baked each item (so they would know what to eat--i.e., cousin Tillie has cats and you always avoid her dish). Then I see this young man in an American flag tie and carrying a bugle. I approached him and he said he played the bugle at many of the veterans' funerals. I asked him if he had served himself, and he said the military would not let him in.

I don't think I told you, but the Funeral Director seems to like me. When we met with him on Saturday, he told me he's seen me numerous times around town driving my cars. During our meeting, he winked at me a lot. I dismissed this to being some kind of nervous tic. Then, at the funeral, every time I turned around, he was there. One of the cousins came up to me and mom and said she thought the Funeral Director liked me and was flirting with me. So, then mom forbid me from talking to him so rumors wouldn't start.

The service went off without a hitch and it was a bigger crowd than we expected. After the service, we had the military ceremony, with the young man I had met earlier, playing Taps. It gave me goosebumps as it resounded through the cornfields, it was played flawlessly and grown men were crying. As the American Legion did a 21 gun salute, one voice in the crowd yelled out that they were using live ammunition (I had to turn and yell back that they weren't --you have to yell here as no one has good hearing due to their age and all their years with loud farm equipment).

After the ceremony, we did the lunch. 61 people ate. The Funeral Director walked by me and whispered 'Deliverance.' There were a lot of people without many teeth. There were a lot of farmers wearing suits that fit them best when new 20 years ago. There were a couple of people who had a strong smell of urine. There was loud talking everywhere. People wanted to talk to me one inch from my face. One woman doing so belched, I jumped back in disgust and she said if she held it in it would come out the other end. There was gluttony, talking with mouths full, and a lot of belching.

Then Ruthie, Leo's blind, wheelchair-bound sister, had to go to the bathroom. I went into panic mode, this is not my fortay, I'm a funeral planner. Mom hustles up a couple of farmhands and brings them to the bathroom to help lift Ruthie onto the toilet. Then they all step out so she can have 'privacy.'

So, the long day was over and I had a headache and was exhausted. We went to mom's farm and popped a cold beer. The safe remains in the barn unopened. At the funeral, mom started the rumor that the Sheriff has the safe to prevent bad guys from coming to her farm.

Cousin Leo's Dead

Mom's cousin Leo died on Thursday. Stopped his tractor while haying, and died on his tractor with it still running. No relatives here in town to do anything but mom. His only surviving kin is his sister Ruthie, who is blind, and 80 and in a nursing home in Milwaukee. So, mom calls me for help.

Today we went to the funeral home. Had to pick out a coffin and make decisions on thank you notes, flowers, music, etc. I called Ruthie and asked her if it was okay if we spent $600 more on a wooden coffin cause it looked so much nicer than metal, which she preferred. Then, as I'm describing it, I realize she's blind and none of this matters to her. She asked us to go to his farm and get some braille hymnals she had left there.

We had to come up with an outfit for Leo to wear (all he had was farm-worn overalls). Mom got cheap and wanted to dress him in an old old Milwaukee Brewers hat and Army sweatshirt that she had found in the attic. I told her we had to do better than that and she confessed she had an old suit of grandpa's. This suit was hung on an old rusty hanger with a newspaper to prevent the pants from being creased. The date on the newspaper was 1972. (The newspaper had to be saved, another valuable 'antique' for mom to stash away.) I bought a shirt and tie to match it at Goodwill and it looked much better than the original suggestion.

So, next we go to Leo's farm to get the braille hymnals. The door was ajar and my heart sank. Mom ran right in while I called the sheriff. Mom had been warned that some bad guys in town, the W*** boys, had done some haying for Leo and were bragging that he had a lot of cash in the house and they knew where it was. We went in and saw that the cabinets were all open and antique dishes had been stacked near the door, the safes had also been moved. We knew they were coming back. Then a car pulls into the farm and it's a fat bastard with yellow eyes who looks like he wants to pull out, but too late, I've seen him. He pulls in and I ask him what he needs. 'Oh, nothing, I was just best friends with Leo and wonder when the funeral is.' I ask him his name, and it's Chester W***. Great, so here we are with a suspect and so we don't tell him the Sheriff is on the way. We ask him how he knew Leo and stall him.

Next, the Sherrif pulls in. This guy craps his pants. We tell him the house has been broken into and he says stuff like, 'There's nothing in that house, who would break in?' The Sheriff asks him to stay and asks him what he's doing there. The Sheriff takes down his license number and name and then lets him go. Okay, this is a small County, so no real CSI going on. But mom wants fingerprints done. So the Sheriff's deputy obliges. It almost looked like some fake makeup brush, who knows, but at least he appeased her. He did find a tennis shoe print in the dirt floor in the basement, so that is the best evidence. He took a bunch of pictures of the place, probably to show at parties. Maybe they'll show up on U Tube.

Then, of all things, mom comes out with a bag of weeds (the house was jam packed with bags of weird stuff, like egg cartons, catfood bags, pie tins, etc.) and asks the Sheriff if this is gingseng. WTF??? Where did this come from??? He and I died laughing, especially when he said it was dandelion weeds (okay, I guess if you store them in the house, they won't spread across your lawn?). So, this poor Sheriff is already there for over an hour, has taken the fingerprints and shoe prints, identified a bag of dandelion weeds, and all we know is missing is a blue pan that we had admired the previous visit. Now, he needs to go, but we ask him to carry the safe out of the house in case the robber returns.

This guy practically herniates himself with this huge safe. Brings it to the Volvo that I have as a loaner while ours is in the shop, and I tell him I need to get a blanket so it won't scratch the plastic tailgate (this is a 2008 loaner). So, I run into the house, and the best blanket I could find was loaded with mouse droppings. I am so grossed out and shake it out, but by now, Mr. Sheriff's face is sweating as he can't hold the safe much longer. I put the blanket down and we slide the safe into the Volvo. Whoever the lucky buyer of this Volvo eventually is will have no idea of its history.

So, mom and I return to her farm and call Turtle to help us offload the safe. Mom tries to get him to pick the lock (just cause he works at the jail, she thinks he's now a lock picker). She wants to give him a crowbar but he says wait until my brother Tommy comes up next weekend. So, now the 'Al Capone' safe is in the barn hidden amongst all the junk that's collected there and covered by the mouse turd blanket. The safe cracking will be a story for another day. The funeral is Monday and I know this story has many more chapters. Who said it would be boring in Wisconsin?