Jill's Journal

The Appendix Stump

2009-06-27T08:39:00.002-05:00

This week my appendix stump acted up again, but instead of seeking medical help, I treated it on my own w/antibiotics I had laying around. I know this was stupid, but I didn't want to go through what happened a year ago. The following describes my nightmare. I was working a temporary job in Germany and living in a hotel while my husband was deployed.

It’s the Thursday of Memorial Day weekend and I am ecstatically happy. I am flying to Brussells, Belgium to see Bob for the weekend, we have been apart for 11 months and haven’t seen each other for four months. I get off the plane and my belly feels a little queasy. That evening, we had dinner with a few other couples from NATO and I ate like a pig. At the end of the meal, I proclaim, “I’m so full I feel like I could blow up.”

A few hours later, I wake up with an extreme stomach ache and I know it’s that old appendix scar tissue acting up. Twice before since my appendectomy, I have had leakage into my abdomen from the area where the appendix once was and had to be treated with heavy doses of antibiotics. This leakage will cause an infection that will be extremely painful.

On Friday morning, Bob and I go for a walk and after about five blocks I am out of energy and cannot go on. I have a lot of pain. I don’t want to go to a hospital here cause I don’t know if they will keep me and I don’t want to sacrifice the few days I have with my husband. So I decide I will wait until my return to Germany to go to the doctor.

Tuesday morning, I call a friend, Bobbie, and ask her if she could take me to the medical clinic. She has no idea I’m on my 5th day of peritonitis (infection). She gives me the number to make a doctor’s appointment. For 15 minutes of redial, all I get is a busy signal. Then, the phone finally rings, “Press 1 for a doctor’s appointment.” I press 1. “Sorry, all lines are busy.” Click. It hangs up on me, no queue or apologies. This is not going to work.

I call Bobbie back and tell her I’ll just go to the Emergency Room. She picks me up and takes me to the Clinic. It’s so small there is no ER. I’m told it’ll be a few hours until I can see the doctor. I sit down and in ten minutes a young kid calls me in. I assume it’s to take my vital signs. It turns out this is the doctor. I think he graduated med school yesterday. He’s like 27 years old. But he sees the urgency in my case and sends me on to the German hospital. Good thing Bobbie stayed with me, or I’d be hitching a ride.

At the German hospital, they decide I will need to get surgery within a couple of hours. They can see on the ultrasound (this hospital is not into CT scans) that my bowels appear to have a problem where the appendix used to be. I ask them to just give me antibiotics but the doctor says no. He also says he’ll try to do the surgery through my belly button, but I may wake up with a large scar. The tears start to roll down my cheeks.

Then the ultrasound lady translates the ‘all that can go wrong, cover your ass legally’ document that I need to sign. We always have to sign these in American hospitals, too, but I’ve always signed and never really read them. She gets to the part “You may require a blood transfusion.” And I start crying…the crying gets worse with each statement. I recall one that said I may wake up with my colon attached to the outside of my stomach. I’m full-blown crying now and look at my friend Bobbie, who is loaded down with her purse, my purse, my water bottle, my jacket, and my paperwork. She looks empathetic and says, “I’d hug you but my hands are full.”

I tell this lady that I have terrible reactions to pain killers such as percocet, darvon, vicadin and that I will need Tylonol III. She knows none of these names. So Bobbie calls the Patient Liaison to have her translate. In spite of the Liaison’s guarantee that she can be reached any time, day or night, it’s lunch time and the phone goes unanswered. Bobbie then leaves a message with the emergency number and also a message on the Liaison’s machine. I hope this message gets through, I don’t want to see giant spiders and get violently ill.

Wheel me to my room. Strip off the clothes and put on the Johnny. Then a German nurse comes in and wants to put a tube up my nose and down my throat. I tell her this is done after the anesthesia gets administered and I’m asleep. Oh no, not in Germany. She sprays numbing spray in my nostrils and in my throat and eases this 75 foot long (at least that’s how long it seemed) tube up my nose. When it snakes to the back of my throat I get the gag reflex going and now I’m crying again. I know I am making it harder on myself so I try to think nice thoughts, but they are interrupted with each inch this tube makes down to my belly.

With the tube finally in, I am left alone in my room to await the call to surgery. Bobbie has left to go get my things for my stay here. I am crying again, this is hard to do with a tube up your nose. It is also hard to swallow without gagging on the tube in my throat. I try to think of all the people who are currently suffering more than me, but I find that my thoughts focus only on me and the pity I have for myself. After about 30 minutes, they cart me to the operating room. It is here that I meet the Professor. He is the main man, over all the doctors. He’s in his early 60’s and quite serious. He doesn’t have laugh lines, he has frown lines.

After the surgery and a couple hours in recovery, I am taken to my room, where Bobbie awaits me. She has assembled a bunch of my necessities, bought me some others, and has a smiley balloon to cheer the place up. There are also some gifts from other friends. What started off as a ride to the clinic has become an all-day project for Bobbie, who has also called my mom and emailed my husband with the news. She stays awhile, but then leaves to allow me to rest.

After a couple hours, two nurses come in and tell me I need to stand up, I am groggy, so they pretty much pick me up. I feel like Raggedy Ann. Then they have me sit on the bed and they spray my bare back with ice cold water. They tell me this is to help me breathe. It works, it takes my breath away.

My rest is interrupted by freaky dreams and waking up to think people are in the room with me. After one such nightmare, I look up at the IV bag and realize it’s pain killer. I buzz the call button to get the pain meds shut off. The call button is a modern marvel of the 70’s. It’s like a giant walkie-talkie. Once you push the red button, a voice comes over the walkie-talkie, “Bitte???”

“I want the pain killer shut off.”

“No. You can have no more.”

“I don’t want more, I want less.”

“No more, enough.”

“No, I want less.”

“I said ENOUGH!”

Conversation over. Lost in translation.

The following morning, Wednesday, Bobbie is visiting and I’m given a pain IV. I attempt to object/explain, but the nurse doesn’t understand. Bobbie calls the Patient Liaison and asks her to call the hospital and tell them I can’t take the pain killer. Shortly after, a nurse comes to the room and sits on my bed and says, “So, you need more pain meds?” I finally got her to understand the word ibuprofen and got my pain meds adjusted.

The Professor visits me and I ask him if I’m all fixed for good. “No. You had too much infection for us to get anything more done than to flush out all the infection and clean up your insides.” So, I am crying, because I know that at any time I will have this occur again and that I need to have surgery in the future to get this problem taken care of for good.

So, it’s Wednesday and I am allowed to eat. For breakfast, I am given soup, yogurt, and tea. I eat about half the yogurt. For lunch, I am given broth, yogurt, and tea. For dinner, I am given broth, yogurt and tea. I eat half the broth and within a couple hours I am sick and throw it up. I now hate broth, yogurt and tea. Especially the broth.

Thursday for breakfast it’s broth, yogurt, and tea. I open the broth container, get a whiff and have PTSD over the previous evening. My friend tells me this is called the Garcia Syndrome. Once something is associated with making you very sick, you cannot eat it again. Well, I have the Garcia Syndrome with each meal they bring me as the meal never deviates and broth is always the highlight. I have no appetite.

By Saturday, they have broken me. I should never get a top secret clearance because I can be broken by with-holding a shower and a normal meal. The Professor came by for his rounds and I started crying and begging for an American meal and shower. He had a weak moment and acquiesced on both requests. The next meal I awaited with great anticipation with my freshly washed body. In it comes, with the big domed plate. The nurse leaves and I imagine what good food must lie under the dome. I lift it and see two pieces of dry bread. Served with broth, yogurt, and tea.

I eat nothing on Sunday as the word never got to the kitchen that I was allowed to eat anything I wanted. I was still given the broth, yogurt, and tea. On Monday, I had an appetite so I begged the nurse for a piece of Swiss cheese (I know how to say this in German, “Suisse Kase.” ) I was given a piece of cheese on a plate and ate it like it was the best thing that ever went into my belly.

On Tuesday, the Professor gave me his approval to go home. A hotel room never looked so good.

Another haunted house

2009-05-07T18:50:00.003-05:00

When I was growing up, I was terrified of the attic and the basement. When going into either, I made a lot of noise to scare away the ghosts or murderers that may linger there.

My bedroom was on the second floor, off the attic. So, when I went to bed at night, I'd run past the attic and then when I got to my room I would turn the light off and jump from the light switch to my bed. That prevented anyone lurking under the bed from catching my foot as I crawled into bed. I guess I never thought about why that person would just sleep under my bed and wait for only a foot.

I was convined there were vampires, so I slept every night with the sheet up around my neck. You may laugh, but that sheet kept my neck pristine. Not one bite mark.

I was also afraid that Sampson, the gorilla from the Milwaukee Zoo, would escape and come to my house. I imagined he'd swing from the cherry tree into my bedroom window. So, in the summer, I would only raise the window a few inches to keep him out.

Last night, I was alone in the old mansion I now live in. It was a stormy night and I had the windows open only a few inches. The wind howled through the windows and the doors kept slamming and rattling. I even heard footsteps. I just hoped there would not be a tornado because I was too frightened to go into the basement. At one point, the room turned really hot, I think that was a spirit crossing over me. Or maybe a hot flash.

Thank God I learned a lot of coping techniques when I was a child. First, I kept my eyes tightly closed so I wouldn't see the horrors that awaited me. Next, I was able to gain courage and turn the TV on really loud (funny shows only) and finally, I was brave enough to get out of bed to close the windows.

Somewhere, late into the morning, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I felt like a fool. Or maybe a child.

Jag Repair Woes

2009-04-20T19:04:00.005-05:00

It's been over four months since I hit the deer with the Jag. Because I hardly tapped the deer, the damage to the car was minimal. Just a broken headlamp glass and the grill was cracked. The grill is plastic. I guess if it would have been chrome the car would have been priced out of the range of most luxury car buyers.

After the accident, I did a police report and intended to file a claim with the insurance company. But then I thought about it and figured that I could probably have it repaired for less than my deductible, which is $500. This damage could not amount to that much and I could probably do the repairs myself. I guess I came to that conclusion after I had a beer or two. That same night I probably thought I was a good dancer and singer as well.

So, I got on eBay and found a used grill in perfect shape. Only $175. Sold.

Then I was so ticked off to learn that the headlight glass could not be replaced, the entire two light giant component needed to be replaced. The thing still worked, just the one small glass was broken. A new one is $775, just for the part. I want environmentalists to get involved in this, if Jaguar just made replacement glass think about how much less would be in landfills.

I finally found a used headlight for sale on eBay, from somewhere in California. I bought it for $200. It said it was waranteed. But when I emailed the guy with a question he answered me back with an attitude. I'm afraid I may have bought this from some gang and a chop shop.

I finally got the headlight and it matches the car except it looks 15 years older than the one that it will replace, which has been lovingly cared for and garaged. Oh, well, I think it may be able to be buffed out.

So, Saturday comes and I take Bob out to the garage to install the parts and finally fix the Jag. We open the hood and just stare inside. Hmmm...this isn't like replacing a lightbulb. There are a bunch of wires and it's way too confusing. He begins to pull on a wire and I tell him to stop, we need to hire an expert. All I can picture is him getting electrocuted or doing more damage than good.

Today, I took it to the local Shell Station, Peach's in Phoebus. The man there was really nice. But after an hour he called to say that the headlight could not be installed there. In order to attach it, it requires removal of the bumper! He did attach the grill and didn't charge me, so I bought him some donuts as a thank you.

To summarize, I now have spent $375. The grill is finally fixed. But, I have to go to a body shop and have the bumper taken off so the used headlight can be installed. Then, it may not even work, I doubt that chop shop took great care in removing it. The warranty on the headlight may be bogus, backed by a bunch of thugs who want to break my kneecaps or I could wake up with a horse head in my bed.

I guess then I'll call the insurance company.

Fountain of Youth

2009-04-09T10:21:00.002-05:00

I’m back at the Lakehouse in Wisconsin and watching the lake turn from ice to liquid again.

I discovered that my basement was flooding, it was the sump pump, which had stopped pumping. So I chose a plumber the way most people do. I saw a nice clean truck driving around that had “Plumbing” on it with a phone number.

I could have called the plumber down the street, but his sign is hideous. It has those slide in letters and they are all worn, faded and in different colors and stages of decay. He also has an unsecure wireless network, which is another indicator of half-ass and sloppy.

So, my new plumber pulled up and I was really happy until he backed his trailer over my little flower bed. Oh, well, nothing is blooming yet anyways.

While the plumber was here, I also had him reroute the drainage pipe because the other one drained into the lake, which is supposedly against DNR rules and also caused the land behind my sea wall to be soft and when the ice push came, blew it all apart. (That repair is on tap for next month.) You can see the sea wall in the picture.

The new sump pump is in and when he turned it on, it pumped enough water to raise the lake an inch. It turns on every 3 minutes (yes, I’m timing it) and pumps more water out. Now the side of my house is like a small creek. I’m hoping this will evaporate. I’m also throwing some bird seed in it so the birds take baths and fly off with some of my water on their feathers.

I am beginning to think that this house is on a spring. The plumber told me that there are artesian springs in the area. Maybe I could sell this stuff as some kind of fountain of youth water. I just would have to wear a veil over my face so the customers won’t see it’s a farce.

One thing the plumber told me as we were standing outside watching the sump pump gush water from the fountain of youth is that the eagles eat the ducks that fall asleep on the lake and get frozen in. I was horrified by this story, and I watched the eagles fly all along the icy parts of the lake, looking for their weak prey.

So, after he left, I drove around the entire lake and looked for stuck ducks that I might have to free. One more thing to worry about.

Cherry Blossoms

2009-04-02T13:41:00.001-05:00

Bob and I were in DC Wednesday, peak time for the cherry blossoms. We drove down to the Tidal Basin area to see them. It was bedlam. People everywhere, horrible traffic, traffic lights weren’t working, and there was not one parking spot to be found. After an hour of driving around, we decided to head back to the hotel. As we entered the highway, I tried to snap a quick picture of the cherry blossoms from the road. I ended up with a close-up of the guard rail.

We ate an early dinner and I was lamenting that the day had such perfect weather and I was disappointed that I didn’t get some pictures of the cherry blossoms. Bob said, “Let’s take the Metro down there. We’ve got over an hour of daylight left.”

It was about a half-mile walk from the hotel to the Metro. We didn’t have a lot of small bills but didn’t want to put a $20 in the Metro ticket machine, because it gives change in those fake looking $1 gold coins. Bob put $5 on his card and I put $2 on mine.

We got on the Metro and asked a lady which stop would get us closest to the Tidal Basin. We got off at that stop and when I put my ticket in the machine to release me from the Metro, it would not take it. I asked the Metro cop why. He said I didn’t have enough money on my ticket. So I put the 85 cents I needed on and we were on our way. (And, yes, on the way home, we ended up with the gold dollar coins.)

Our hour of daylight was quickly evaporating as it took a half hour to get there and about 5 minutes to gather enough change to get out of the Metro station. The first thing we realized it that we had not gotten off at the closest Metro stop. We had to walk about a mile and a half to get to the Tidal Basin. By now we were in a very fast walk.

I wanted to jay walk and cut across grassy areas, but Bob would not cooperate. We had to stay on the sidewalks as the signs told us. We are in a slow jog and I am breathlessly complaining that we would be there by now if we just took my shortcuts. The sun is quickly dropping from the sky.

Bob suddenly stops and takes a picture of a random cherry tree. He explained that this was going to be the best we could do. By the time we got to the Tidal Basin, the sun had set. It was so beautiful but we were unable to capture it with a picture. Guess I’ll just have to buy a postcard

The Advice Giver

2009-03-26T18:56:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, I had my hair done at an entirely new salon (for me it's new, but it’s been there 3 years). I told the owner that I liked the colors she chose for the walls, the items for sale, and the personnel (who were very friendly). I also told her she needed to move her awards to the front area of the salon and put her certifications and explanations of such on her website.

The owner of the salon asked me to please return because I brought so many laughs into the salon. (Maybe it was because I asked the man who was getting his hair cut if he used dye.) I found out from another patron that there are good furniture deals if I drive to North Carolina. I kind of broke one candle on display and when the owner said she’d have to mark it down to 50% off, I bought it. I told her I’d be back to break more things and buy them “on sale.” I love that salon.

Today, I went to look at granite for my house in Chesapeake and I met most of the crew and eventually the owners. The owners came into the room we were in because it sounded like a party. It was because we were telling funny stories and I have a loud laugh. Note to self: one day I may be able to get hired out for parties to make it seem like fun because of my laugh.

Once I met the owners, I had to tell them about the granite I liked, how terrific their employees were, what to think about in advertising, and how to reach people like me who do not know their established reputation because I have only lived here a month. I asked them what kind of houses they lived in, what kind of granite they had and why they didn’t hold a party for people like me to see it all.

One of the owners (they were brothers) walked me to my car (the Jag) and I asked him if he knew anyone who could fix it at a good price so my husband wouldn't get electrocuted in his attempt. He laughed, either at my comment or because there was still deer fur embedded in my headlight.

I suppose he could have been rude enough to give me advice like I did to him, but he did not. But I could read his mind…this car has been damaged since Thanksgiving and you still drive around this way?

The Inconsiderate Hostess

2009-03-19T10:43:00.001-05:00

We have lived here for a month and we had our third set of houseguests last night. Last night’s guests were friends from Wisconsin. I told mom they were visiting and she said, “Don’t go overboard, but be good to them because their dad will spread it around town.”

Bob was out of town, so I was on my own.

The weather was beautiful so I suggested we go for a walk. After about a mile of walking, I noticed Kelly was limping. I asked her if she was okay and she said she had a bad disk in her back that made her leg go numb. Hmmm, I guess I should have found that out before beginning the walk. I wanted to carry her home, but she was a trooper.

We got back to the house and I opened the beer refrigerator and showed them the selection. Kelly doesn’t drink beer. So, I offered her any mixed drink that used grapefruit juice because that’s all I had.

For dinner I made pork tenderloin. I hadn’t thought to ask if they were vegetarians. Luckily, they weren’t. After dinner, we went out on the porch. We sat out there and talked until Kelly mentioned that she was freezing and could we please go in. I noticed it was already 9:00 so suggested we go to bed.

I got into bed, caught up on my emails, and turned on the tv. Damn, American Idol was on and Kelly and Rod and mentioned they really wanted to watch it. I shouldn’t have sent them to bed. I didn’t even think to tell them to make themselves at home. So, now I want to go and knock on their door and tell them that they can get up and watch American Idol if they want, but I am not sure that is a good idea.

In the morning, they hurried out of here. As they left, they told me what a nice hostess I was. Probably because they thought that if they didn’t, I’d make them write it on a chalkboard 100 times.

I wonder what mom will hear around town…that I force marched them, made weird mixed drinks, froze them out, and sent them to bed by 9:00 with no American Idol?

Props

2009-03-16T19:08:00.002-05:00

When I was growing up, I had a mom who was different than my friends’ moms. I wanted her to be like June Cleaver, but that was never the case. At the time, I didn’t realize the terrific things I was learning from her. One of them was to always have a “prop” on hand. When she would travel with her girlfriends they would always bring large purses (to sneak beers into venues with), and a giant jock strap and giant bra (I am talking about 3 feet across). They would hang those in the hotel room (and eventually on the patio or window) to entertain passers by –and themselves.

My siblings and I have learned the art of the unexpected. When we go on a trip or to a game or concert, we always bring props. I think I was the first one to bring the D-Fence sign to Lambeau Field (I had seen it in Kansas City). At every game we attend, Bob rolls his eyes and asks what signs I’ve made or what props are in the bag.

At the Wisconsin State Fair last year, we brought crocheted shorts which I had been given as a gag gift when I left California. We sat down at a table and would call out to people walking by and ask them if they’d like to wear the shorts. These shorts were a huge hit. People wanted to buy them, but we would only allow them to try them on and photograph themselves in them. The fatter the person, the more the holes in the crochet would stretch. The shorts were baby blue with a pink ribbon and it was hilarious to see grown fat men squeezing into them. We became a side show at the Fair. And we were free.

In Vegas, my sisters brought a broom doll. She was posed all over the strip. She was even held up by a bunch of gangsters for a picture. She had her ‘foot’ run over by a taxi. She ended up being passed around the dance floor.

In Mexico, there was a horse I bought that they told me was hand carved wood. It turned out to be made of plaster and everywhere he went, he sustained more chips. We named him Chipper. He was photographed with people all over Mexico and southern Texas and ended up on stage with the live band on 6th Street in Austin. By then, Chipper had only a couple of legs left.

Now it’s Saint Patty’s Day and I have the Irish Nutcracker. He went with me to Williamsburg last week and he would talk to people (using the lever at the back of his head). The funny thing was that they would answer him and look him in the eyes. At times, he would yell at people, or faint, or just sing. Sometimes, he was rude to people.

Tomorrow is his holiday and he is going to go out and have some fun. I will accompany him. I will try to keep him under control, but this is his day so there’s no predicting how it will go.

Thanks, mom, for the great things you taught me.

Army Basic Training

2009-03-10T15:14:00.002-05:00

We visited Fort Jackson last week and witnessed Army Basic Training up close. It was just amazing, these kids get there at all times of the day and night and the in-processing is open 24 hours. The Chow Hall is open until 2 am. By the time they go to bed, they already have a PT uniform.

On the first day of training, the new soldiers are taken to learn to rappel and do rope swings and climb rope bridges. There is a small rappel wall and that’s one I could do (I say that while standing safely on the ground). Once they learn that, they have to do the big rappel, which is about three stories high. They are scared, but they cheer each other on and gain confidence as they accomplish these feats. The end of the first day brings exhaustion, conquering mental and physical stress, and understanding the importance of teamwork.

The Drill Sergeants are amazing. They act more like coaches than abusive parents (which is what I was expecting). I asked one why he chose to volunteer to be a drill sergeant and he told me that his drill sergeant had made a huge difference in his life and he wanted to do that for others.

We also witnessed the training of how to put an IV catheter lock into a vein. The recruits partner up (they call each other battle buddies) and they are instructed on how to insert a catheter into a person’s vein. While we watched, the volunteer in the front of the room fainted as they were finding his vein, and one of the recruits mumbled, “This is reassuring.” I watched the recruits performing this task on one another and I could tell they were nervous. All of them said they would rather have it done to them than do it to another. But they don’t get a choice, they have to do both.

Some of the kids look fat, but the drill sergeants say that by the time the 10 weeks of training is done, they will look completely changed. I heard stories of recruits who had GEDs not because they had any intellectual problems, but because they had family hardships where they had to drop out of school to raise siblings or help sick parents. Those kids already know the meaning of sacrifice and the Army is lucky to get them.

At the end of the 10 weeks, there is a huge graduation and the stands are filled with very proud families. They cheer as if they are at a NASCAR race and they wave flags and signs and shout out the names of their soldier. I have been told that you will get goose bumps witnessing graduation.

Our old friends that we were stationed with in the early 90’s in Germany are there and we had dinner with them. First thing Brad says to me is, “Just leave me!” This was something I yelled in Amsterdam 15 years ago as we all sprinted to catch the train. I was the slow one and no one seemed to notice I was way behind or care that I might miss the train. (This included my husband.) So I shouted, “Just leave me!” And they kept running.

We had a great time seeing Brad and Jan again. We had so much to catch up on. Our lives have all changed so much since 9/11 and we have a hard time staying in touch. But the special thing about the military is that you pick right back up where you left off and friendships last a lifetime.

I think many of the recruits I saw at Fort Jackson are learning this already.

Arlington National Cemetary

2009-02-28T19:42:00.000-06:00

I drove to Arlington National Cemetery to go to a burial of a wonderful person. It was for Frank, my good friend Tami’s step-father. He was a retired lieutenant colonel and also a great supporter of our troops when we were at Fort Irwin, California.

He died a horrible death of pancreatic cancer at age 66. As sad as this was, it was fortunate for him that Tami’s mom was his wife, Sally, an educated nurse and was with him through all of his illness. She was his advocate at the hospital and his caregiver at home. They were a couple who loved each other and lived “to death do us part”.

Frank succumbed on Christmas Day. Beholding to his wishes, Sally arranged the burial at Arlington National Cemetery. Burial there is not quick as there are so many people in the queue that were in front of Frank. Sally was told that the burial would be on February 24th.

I heard about the burial from a few mutual friends that were flying in to be there for Tami and her family. I am less than four hours drive so could not say no. I knew I had to be there.

I drove in and parked and went to the center where we meet up and ran into Angela, our good friend, and former NFL cheerleader, who had met her husband on a USO tour (he’s a doctor and they met when another of the cheerleaders had collapsed while on the tour—that’s another terrific story). Also in attendance was our head dentist at Fort Irwin, now going to work for the Surgeon General in DC. Then there was me and also Jane and Dave, our head chaplain from Fort Irwin. All of us old friends just wanted to hug and touch each other. There is something very special about the bond among old friends.

I rode to the “gathering area” with Frank and Sally’s friends, Cliff and Pat, who we had gotten to know at Fort Irwin. They had come to the 11ACR Welcome Home ceremony, which Frank had contributed a good sum of money to make more successful.

Cliff and Pat told me about Frank’s last months and how strong Sally had been. They told me that after Frank had died and in the weeks where they were waiting to ship his body to Arlington, that Frank had a birthday. The coffin was still at the funeral home because Arlington can only accept the coffins two weeks out. Sally asked the funeral home if she could spend time with Frank (in his coffin) and they agreed. She brought a cupcake and spent hours at the side of the coffin. Upon hearing this, I began to cry. Imagine love this incredible.

The ceremony at Arlington is emotional. First, an Army band plays tributes. Then the coffin is put onto a horse drawn caisson. The soldiers loading the coffin are so strong and solemn. They make our country proud. Then the loved ones walk behind the caisson to the grave.

At the grave, words are said and the bugler plays taps. There is a 21 gun salute. The flag from the coffin is presented to Sally. She clutches it to her chest. The ceremony is over and we are dismissed. But no one moves. We all wait for Sally to lead. She can’t. She does not want to leave her husband. The coordinator tells us to each put a rose on the coffin as we leave. We all do this, but none of us leave, as Sally won’t. Finally, the coordinator tells us to go back to the reception area.

It’s over, the twelfth burial of the day at Arlington.

Moving Sucks

2009-02-20T08:21:00.003-06:00

We arrived at Fort Monroe, Virginia last week after an 18 hour drive from Wisconsin. We decided to bring both cars and our walkie-talkies were already packed and shipped, so we bought new ones.

Bob led the way in the Volvo and I followed closely in the Jag, which hasn't been fixed since I hit the deer. It still has a patch of fur caught in the headlight, kind of like a soul patch.

I am not sure whether Bob forgot I was behind him or if he was trying to shake me, but he wound in and out of traffic and I kept getting pinched out. At one point, I was caught in between two cars in a two car lane. I'm sure they were wondering what the Jag with the soul patch was doing, so after that, they stayed far away from me. After that, Bob's voice came over the walkie-talkie, "That sure was a close one." Then he sped off.

Our house here at Monroe is a huge old house built in 1907. It has 4 fireplaces and a maid's quarters on the third floor. The ceilings are 12 feet high. None of my curtains will fit. That's okay, the house is on the water so the view should be unobstructed. It's a beautiful post, too bad it is getting shut down. At least we'll get the opportunity to live in one of the great old houses from the Army's past.

The movers came on Monday and delivered our goods. There was minimal damage, but a couple of gouges to some of the larger pieces. On the inventory slip, every thing we own was marked as scratched, dented, gouged, rubbed, and damaged. It kind of hurts your feelings. Bob told the guy doing the inventory that he'd like to go to his house and inventory his furniture.

One vanity was missing the pieces that hold the mirror on, but the mover called us from back in Wisconsin and said they were on his truck. He mailed them to us.

Then the movers left and we have to unpack and put our stuff away. It takes days as we have 250 boxes to unpack. Many of them were of full of items we don't display, but we keep because they are sentimental. Like the hundred wine glasses from the various military balls we've attended. The huge wooden clock with a tiger figure burned on it that we got after giving up command of Tiger Sqn. We have a plaque with a boars head that weighs 25 pounds. The hundreds of framed pictures of various events. They all get unwrapped, then put into boxes sent to the basement only to be repacked when we move again.

Facebook

2009-02-10T18:51:00.003-06:00

In less than 3 months, I have become a Facebook addict.

It all began innocently. I was curious to see what an old friend was up to so did a google search. I found they had a kid with a Facebook account. In order to see the picture, I had to sign in to Facebook. Wella, I was suddenly getting emails from old friends. I became a committed member.

I spent the first day trying to figure it all out. And there were more friends appearing. Then on the right sidebar, I would see pictures of people I knew and all I had to do was click and type in some blurry words and if accepted, they were my friends.

Then I found my neice on there and she had over 300 friends. Now it was a competition --how could Auntie Jill be such a loser with only 30 friends? So I did a friend search and found more.

It has now become an obsession. I can't wait to log on to see what is new with all my friends and what new friends it recommends. There are some photos of "suggested" friends that appear so often, I feel I know them now and want to make them a friend.

I realize that as I look back on my life and the friends I've made, I can input their name into the search feature and find some of them. And that is what makes it so incredible. This week I found friends I haven't seen in 10-15 years and it was great to go to their photos and see how they look, how many kids they've had and well...just get misty-eyed.

Facebook also allows you to look at your friends' friends. Thus, there can be more connections.

I have invited a few close friends to join Facebook and two have and are also addicted. The others have chosen not to. When they email me and ask what's happening, I just want to scream. They would have access to all of that if they would join Facebook.

Gee, this sounds like an ad for Facebook. I'm Jill Cone and I approve this ad.

Mattress

2009-02-09T22:04:00.005-06:00

What is up with getting a new mattress? It is so complicated. Why do there have to be 40 pillowtop styles all under one manufacturer? Then there is the plush style or the foam. Do you prefer organic foam? Latex?

I began the quest of choosing a new mattress a few days ago. Holy cow. They all begin to look the same. And the names are like those of champion dogs with six words or so to each mattress...the Simmons Black Beautyrest Margaritaville No Salt...and on and on.

It is recommended you lay on each on for five minutes to see if you like its comfort. When I walk into a furniture store and see a couple lying on the bed, I think they are freaks. It is just so much out of the comfort zone of normal people to lay on their back in a public place. I think it would be a good Candid Camera stunt to have a couple lay on a bed in a store for hours and see what the sales people do.

I laid on a bunch of mattresses (sideways across the bed feet on the floor) and they all felt okay to me. I got online and compared prices and read reviews. I finally settled on one that appealed to me because it had a great price to go along with the 15 inches of foam and latex. The price was slashed because it was a floor model. I think it will be great once I get over the thought that under my sheets and mattress pad could lay other people's dead skin cells.

Nighty-night.

The Talkative Mover

2009-02-04T13:12:00.000-06:00

Most of our moving team are quiet hard-working guys. They say very little. This team packs the Green Bay Packers. One of the guys told me I had the most shoes he’s seen. He said one of the Green Bay Packers had almost as many shoes as me, with many of them being athletic shoes of the same brand in different colors. Bob complains that I have too many shoes and every time I buy a new pair he tells me to throw an old pair away. Bob heard the remark, so I’m sure I haven’t heard the last of that.

One of our movers is a chatterbox. He is a brand new employee and is going to be in sales, but was sent to our house to experience the packing first hand. I found him to be very interesting. Here are some of the things he told us about himself:

He used to own his own business, but three of his employees took the trade secrets, left the company, and became competitors. He couldn’t sue them as one of them was a lawyer and knew the ropes. He lost $1.4 million.

He sold his hunting shack, which had no running water or electricity, for $835,000. Paid in cash by the owner of a large Milwaukee welding business. He used that money to help settle his debt from the failed business.

He is 43 and just had his first child last summer. He was a stay at home dad until his savings account dwindled to $3,000.

He raises and trains Labradors.

He rebuilds classic cars.

He competes in extreme sports. Now, this came as a shock to me because he’s pretty fat and looks a bit dumpy.

He was one of the five original people who did the helicopter drop skiing. Three of the others went on to be famous.

He competed in motocross ice races. He also competes in cross country ski races of 50 km.

He took his Ford F350 out on the frozen lake and raced it, beating a real race car and ticking that driver off. As he was attempting to get off the ice, the front end of his truck fell through and he had to be towed out. $1100 damage to the truck.

He finished a ski competition in 1985 in the top ten in the country, so he tried out for the Olympic ski team, but did not make it.

He was a mountain guide for Mount Ranier. He was also on their Search & Rescue squad.

During one Search & Rescue, he brought back a dead body only to meet the widow at the bottom and had to notify her of her husband’s death.

He is a sea and whitewater kayaker. He took an expedition of kayakers to Mexico and hired a Mexican who lived in a hut to watch their vehicles and gear when they were out at sea. The Mexican he hired drank isopropyl alcohol, so they paid him in tequila.

He worked for Jansport and took a hiking expedition to Peru. There he introduced the mountain guides to a backpack with wide straps. The guides were used to strapping their packs using twine, which dug into their skin. They at first put the packs on upside down using the narrow part of the strap until he showed them the proper way to use the backpack. They were very grateful.

With all of his extreme sports, he cracked a disc in his spine and did not realize it until he sneezed one day and lost all sensation in his arms and legs. The disk snapped into his spinal cord. He now has it fused.

As a kid, he used to hang around the Green Bay Packers and would help clean their locker room.

His uncle was the priest that performed the marriage ceremony for Vince Lombardi’s daughter.

His cousin played football for the Green Bay Packers.

His dad used to own 154 Packers season tickets, but has pared down to 50.

He grew up on a 4,000 acre game farm where the Green Bay Packers used to hunt. They were not good shots.

During all this talk, all he got done was the packing of a couple of boxes. I told him he didn’t have to have eye contact when he talked because we’d never get our stuff packed out. When he left, I told Bob how amazing all of his exploits were and asked what he thought of him. Bob replied, “He’s a bullshitter.”

Moving

2009-01-30T13:30:00.000-06:00

We have moved so often, but it never seems to be easy. We are moving for the 19th time, this time to Fort Monroe, Virginia.

First, my husband called the Great Lakes transportation office and requested a move date. They told him to fill out an online form and we’d hear from them. He filled it out and we got a computer generated response that said the earliest we could move was 12 business days from the date of the application. Bob called them to explain this was a short-notice assignment and the woman (with attitude) told him that he may have to report to work but wait for his furniture.

He asked to talk to her supervisor and she said to “Please hold, major.” He corrected her and said “I’m a major general.” I could hear her gulp from across the room. She put him on hold and no one came back on the line. I think they were running in a panic trying to find someone brave to take the call. A similar thing happened to me when I worked at Wisconsin State Fair as a receptionist as a teen and I ticked off a caller. He wanted my supervisor, so I covered the mouthpiece and told my co-worker to pretend she was my supervisor. She got on the phone and he told her that he had heard our conversation and to get the real supervisor. I was reprimanded.

Bob hung up after being on hold for about 5 minutes without a reply. When he called back, he was notified that the move date he requested had been approved. It’s funny how things can work out.

The movers come on Monday and we are hauling bags of things to Goodwill and sorting out things to stay in Wisconsin and what to pack in luggage for the trip to Virginia.

I am also having flashbacks of some of our unusual moves. Like the one from New York where the moving van was covered in graffiti and they finished packing that truck just after midnight. As it drove off towards the city, we thought we had seen our stuff for the last time. Then there was the mover in Kansas who crapped in our toilet and clogged it, but just closed the lid and let us find it hours after they had left. Oh, and the move from El Paso which I did myself where the mover arrived drunk and passed out in our basement atop a moving blanket. He was fired, so then I worried he’d come back seeking retribution.

I also remember our move from Germany where the movers were from the former East (the wall had come down just a few years earlier) and they stole all our NFL stuff and jeans. But at least I haven’t had an experience like my friend Jan, whose wedding dress was packed with her husband’s weights, which rusted all over it.

The movers come on Monday. The toilet plunger is at the ready.

The Cruise

2009-01-23T11:25:00.003-06:00

We got on the ship and the first thing they did was steer us to a food buffet. The buffet had a number of stations, with Asian food, Italian food, fried food, and a couple of salad bars. My pants were already too tight, so I went to the salad bar.

As I was proceeding through the food line, I noticed that the ship had a lot of elderly passengers. They were all too excited to be eating and were quite pushy. While in the salad line, I was hit by a wheelchair. It practically took out my Achilles tendon. I turned to the old man who was pushing the old woman and told him to back off. I never saw them again on the ship, they were probably afraid I was a member of some unfriendly gang.

Our room was cozy. That’s another way of saying very small. But it was adequate.

At dinner the first night, we made friends with a Canadian couple and we ended up sitting with them every night for dinner and hanging out at the Piano Bar after dinner with them. They were a lot of fun.

The first day, we were at sea. So, we sat in the sun for awhile and then hit the gym. It was packed. There were a lot of out of shape people on treadmills walking slower than turtles crawl. I think they were trying to convince themselves that they were getting in shape after gorging themselves on the ship’s food. There were two men who worked at the gym, they wore very tight black shirts, were in their 20’s and in good shape. All they were interested in was selling some type of products that worked with your metabolism, which they would measure for $35. They did not seem to notice people dropping weights, using machines incorrectly and not wiping down the equipment after use. I had a hard time working out due to the injury I suffered after the wheel chair strike.

We went to Puerto Vallarta on our first stop. We were with our new friends from Canada, Jim and Sharon. We stopped at a place on the beach and had Coronas and it was wonderful sitting in the sun, at the shore watching the Pelicans. Then a vendor came by and we bought some stuff from him. Word spread among the vendors on the beach that a table of buying suckers had arrived and they flocked like seagulls around us. “Chiclets?” “Blankets?” “Silver?” “Windchimes?” It was overwhelming. We went to another area much further down the beach and had a few moments of peace before being inundated yet again.

The next day was Mazaitlan. Jim and Sharon were on an excursion, so Bob and I were on our own. It was a fun day walking on the beach and trying to avoid the vendors. They all used the same phrases that at first made us laugh, “Can I have a Mexican minute Senora?” “Almost free, Senor.” It got to the point where we could finish their sentence. We stopped at an open air restaurant/bar that played loud beach music. This place was elevated above the beach and the vendors were not allowed to come in. So they stood below us shouting up. There was one man who did a trick for money. But it was a stupid trick that only drunks could like. He had a boat paddle with three painted silver rocks on it and he would hold it up.

The last stop was Cabo San Lucas. This was our favorite city because it was really modern, with nicer buildings and restaurants. There were a bunch of Pelicans there as well and I got carried away taking pictures. They are so cool looking, I wanted to pet one but Bob told me not to even try or we’d see it on “When Animals Attack.”

The last two days were at sea returning to San Diego. By now, Bob and I had nicknamed the pushy people who lived at the buffet the Piranhas. They would use blocking strategies as you would approach the buffet. It made us laugh at how worried they were that the food would run out. The gym was empty, those who started with good intentions had decided to just hang out at the buffet. So that was great for us. The gym had glass that looked out to sea and the whales were migrating, so it was just beautiful to work out.

Then, too quickly it was over. We said goodbye to our new friends, and while disembarking, had to fight the Piranhas one last time. I started to laugh hysterically and one of the men on the ship said he had enjoyed my laugh throughout the cruise and asked me for one more laugh. I complied.

The Snow Thrower

2009-01-08T09:42:00.003-06:00

When Bob returned from Afghanistan, the first thing we did is go out and buy a snow thrower. They used to be called snow blowers, but I think the name was changed after that joke about the snowman being happy to see the snow blower.

He was like a kid setting it up and excited for the first snow to fall where he could use it. An hour after setting it up, we had a cord of firewood delivered. Bob moved both cars out of the garage so the rather simple man who sells this wood would not do any damage to our vehicles. The wood man backed his pickup full of wood into our garage for unloading. He swung his door open and whack--hit the brand new snow thrower. The simple man's girlfriend (who I originally thought was his son) said, "Gee, looks like we just bought a snowblower." (she apparently is not aware they are now called snow throwers.) Bob's jaw clenched, but we just let it go.

The first snow he used it on was not enough to satisfy him, so he did our walk and driveway and then the street in front of our house and cleared all around the mailbox. In the two weeks we've had the snow thrower, it has snowed all the time. Bob has kept our driveway clear and also did our neighbors' house three times while they were gone. He ripped up one extension cord that lit our outdoor Christmas decorations when he ran over it. The next extension cord he replaced that one with is missing and I fear the same happened to it. The snow banks are so high that the Christmas decorations are buried where all I can see is the star that topped the tree. I guess that will all be found in the spring.

When we came home from our visit to New Hampshire, Bob said that he hoped there was snow. And there was, before he unpacked his suitcase, he was out there clearing the driveway. Last night we had another inch and he's out there again with his new toy. Bob's brother suggested that we clear a spot on the lake and make a skating rink. I know it's only a matter of time until I see Bob out there, guess I need to dig out my skates.

Irritated with the Airlines

2009-01-01T16:19:00.000-06:00

The airlines have gone so cheap that flying is like being in a cattle car.

First, they eliminated the checking of bags without a cost. Passengers are trying to avoid the baggage fees by packing all their belongings for a trip into carry on bags. So, you see them with a roll-on bag expanded as far as it can go. Then there are those who use backpacks and stuff them so full that it is like another body attached to them. As one passenger turned, he almost took the head off of another passenger with his overstuffed backpack. There are women with purses the size of a 50 pound bag of dog food. I watched one man board the plane with a backpack strapped to his back, overstuffed roll-on and a shopping bag.

This makes the boarding process takes much longer and there just isn’t room for all the carry ons. By the time half the plane is boarded, all overheads are full. So, the passengers that come on later, open the compartments, study them, and then attempt to jam their carry ons in.

The unloading of the plane also takes longer as these people strap themselves down with man-purses, bags, and packs in order to exit. I also suspect some of them are wearing three layers of clothes and have their extra shoes in their pockets.

The next irritation is that the airlines are trying to make more money by selling aisle seats and window seats for an additional $15. So, a couple traveling together gets middle seats about 10 rows apart. We were able to get on a waiting list for seats together and got the very last row of the plane. This row is the one next to the toilets and the kitchen area (that is puzzling, toilets next to kitchens). So, we are trying to doze with the toilets that flush with that lovely powerful suction sound.

If you want to sit in an exit row, you have to pay an additional $15. I have never felt too secure that those sitting in exit rows would ever really try to help anyone but themselves, but now that I know the seat is sold to the highest bidder, I am assured of this.

There are no more free snacks on the planes unless you are in first class. I sure do miss that bag of 10 peanuts. You are allowed to bring your own food on the plane, which results in a greasy smell aboard the plane.

If you are a frequent flier with 25,000 miles you would think it would give you a free ticket. That’s how it used to be. You can still get a free flight, but you will have to spend the night in an airport somewhere or fly on a red eye. And if you don’t book it at least 90 days in advance, you pay a $100 fee. And the miles expire. One more irritation from the airlines.

We are about to fly again tomorrow and then have another trip planned next week. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the nightmare.

The Welcome Home Party

2008-12-22T12:03:00.004-06:00

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

2008-12-14T19:40:00.004-06:00

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

2008-12-13T13:22:00.002-06:00

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

2008-12-09T22:51:00.004-06:00

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

2008-12-04T19:56:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-27T22:41:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-26T22:17:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-23T17:44:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-19T21:44:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-14T15:42:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-12T19:15:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-10T19:12:00.004-06:00

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

2008-11-07T19:52:00.001-06:00

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

2008-11-04T18:08:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-01T20:26:00.002-05:00

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

2008-10-31T20:55:00.005-05:00

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!

2008-10-30T21:41:00.000-05:00

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

2008-10-29T21:24:00.004-05:00

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

2008-10-28T10:21:00.003-05:00

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

2008-10-21T19:56:00.004-05:00

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?

2008-10-17T23:07:00.003-05:00

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

2008-10-16T21:25:00.002-05:00

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

2008-10-14T07:18:00.003-05:00

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

2008-10-11T21:36:00.001-05:00

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

2008-10-08T20:14:00.003-05:00

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

2008-10-08T15:15:00.004-05:00

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

2008-10-07T21:39:00.002-05:00

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

2008-10-04T22:33:00.002-05:00

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

2008-10-01T20:21:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-30T20:47:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-28T10:23:00.004-05:00

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!

2008-09-25T16:34:00.002-05:00

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

2008-09-24T11:51:00.002-05:00

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

2008-09-22T11:31:00.002-05:00

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

2008-09-19T21:03:00.002-05:00

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

2008-09-17T21:48:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-16T20:19:00.001-05:00

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

2008-09-14T19:47:00.002-05:00

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?

2008-09-10T21:01:00.006-05:00

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

2008-09-10T07:45:00.006-05:00

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!

2008-09-08T21:19:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-07T18:54:00.006-05:00

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?

2008-09-06T21:50:00.004-05:00

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

2008-09-04T21:45:00.004-05:00

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

2008-09-04T08:13:00.004-05:00

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

2008-09-03T13:52:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-03T12:35:00.002-05:00

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

2008-09-03T12:28:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-03T12:02:00.005-05:00

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?