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.