Prairie Days

It's February the 7th!

When my girls were growing up, today was Prairie Day in our house. On that date, we dressed in our poke bonnets and tried to make pioneer dinners from our Little House on the Prairie Cookbook. I probably should be ashamed to admit that we did goofy stuff like that.

I'm sure they are...

  We did it because February the 7th
is the birthday of my all time favorite author,  

Laura Ingalls Wilder. 

I first fell in love with Laura... and her Ma, and her Pa, and her big sister Mary, and her baby sister Carrie, and their good old bulldog Jack... when I was in the 3rd grade.

As Laura would say, "In those days and in that place," children would gather on the floor around our teachers' feet and listen in rapt attention as they read books to us.

Real honest to goodness books.
Not picture books...
Not "big books"...
We read chapter books, chapter books with stories so marvelous that they drew us back day after day after day to hear the wonderful tales unfold.

It was my favorite part of the day, and the Little House books were my favorite books of all. I followed Laura and her family all the way from the big woods of Wisconsin to the Kansas prairie, to the banks of Plum Creek, to the shores of Silver Lake.  There we homesteaded while the little girl from the big woods became a teacher and fell in love with the man who could tame wild horses.

It was grand.

When I became a mother,  I could hardly wait to share Laura with my own girls. We began the books when The Practical One was old enough to sit still, and we read until the series was finished. Then, she listened a second time when we headed down the prairie trail with little sister.  This time Super Dad joined the fun and became a late- blooming Ingalls fan himself.


Not long after that, we pioneered west on a family vacation to The Wilder Home and Museum in Mansfield, Missouri.  It wasn't my first trip to the place. My parents had taken us on the same journey, for the same reason,  nearly thirty years earlier. A little maturity didn't dampen my enthusiasm one bit, though. When I stepped out of that car on that day, I was eight years old all over again.

The girls got  Mary and Laura china dolls

 I just got more books to feed my Laura obsession.

Sometimes, I look at the children's books published today and wonder if a modern day publisher would find Laura marketable at all. After all, her books are wholesome and teach old- fashioned values of hard work, thrift, and individual responsibility. They aren't the least bit culturally relevant or politically correct. What's more, they boast an unashamed trust in the sovereignty of God. 

Even through The Long Winter.

Who wants to read old- fashioned stuff like that? 

I do. 

And I'm glad that my daughters did.

And what's more, I can hardly wait until we can introduce Laura Ingalls Wilder to a whole new generation.

 

A Tagalong Tale

Part 2...Shopping Day

If you read a few days ago, you know that I spent the latter half of this week on a tagalong adventure with my traveling husband. Bright and early Wednesday morning, he took off in the car to make some money.  Not long after, I left the hotel on foot to spend it.

It's a system that works for us.

Compared to the rest of the country, we’re having a heat wave. It was a sultry 41 degrees with a slight wind when I headed out that morning.

 I stepped out across the road...

And across the parking lot...

And through the trees
and across yet a busier road...

Can you see it?

You didn't think I went to Atlanta for the specialty shops, did you?

When you live half way between

Podunk and East Bumble, 

you are just as happy as a clam  

to get to

Bed, Bath, and Beyond

and

Target.

We don't have either one
within an hour us.

I blame Walmart.

But then, I blame Walmart  for everything.

I covered every inch of those two places

Taking pictures of things that struck my fancy.

Then I meandered on down to Kirklands

and did the same

And then to  Marshalls…

And then Steinmart…

 

In one store, and out another

All the way to the next intersection.

There, I pushed the button and waited.

And I waited.

And I have a question: 

 Does that angry red hand ever turn into a happy green walker?  It never did for me.  I finally just gave up and did a serpentine across four lanes at the most opportune moment. 

It was worth the risk, though. Across the street was a mall at least twice the size of the ones in Podunk and East Bumble. Fortunately, the food court was at my end, and that’s where I was headed.

'Cause nothing fortifies like a Styrofoam clam shell full of teriyaki chicken...

After lunch, I meandered through the mall, hitting every store with a home department. An hour or so later, I emerged from Dillards, clear on the other end.  I was a bit disappointed in what I had found so far so I decided to pioneer forth in another random direction.

I was certain I had spotted a Home Goods on the way to the hotel.

 

 Since I’m directionally challenged, I used Dillards as my North Star. As long as I could turn the head and see it in the distance, I knew that I could find my way back to that mall.

So I walked…
And I walked...

And I walked…

Good thing it was all downhill with a bit of a tail wind.

I finally reached the outpost and was rewarded with not only a Home Goods, but a Michaels and a TJ Maxx to boot. I sat for a few minutes to catch my breath and locate the North Star.  Then, I photo shopped some more.

Personally, I think Manuela is almost as cute...

By 5:00, I was pretty tuckered out so  I gave the husband a call to see if he was close enough to swing by and pick me up. 

Unfortunately, he was still an hour away.   I had little choice but to head back towards the hotel on foot.

Uphill.
With a bit of a head wind.
After a full day of photo shopping. 
I'm pretty sure the temperature was dropping too.

Bless my heart, I finally made it all the way back to the food court.

Now folks, with all that meandering, there is absolutely no way to determine how many miles I put in that day. Therefore, I estimated around a hundred.  And I figured that any 49 year old woman who walked a hundred miles, uphill, with a head wind, deserved a skinny decaf caramel macchiato. 

So I ordered one.

I watched as a besotted barista attempted to make my order while making time with the pretty young gal at the counter next to me. I worried that I might end up with a macchiato that was neither skinny nor decaf. At that point, though, I didn’t really care. Plus, I’m a romantic at heart so I silently cheered him on.

He struck out.

He scored with the macchiato, however, and it was just what the doctor ordered.  It was as I was sitting there sipping that well-deserved goodness that my phone burst into song.

Well, thank God. 

It was the husband. He was back at the hotel and had discovered his missing person.  He showed up a few minutes later and asked me what I had done with all my packages.

And I’m the blond one?

I explained that one can not trudge a hundred miles uphill in a head wind whilst carrying a mother lode.  He agreed.  He also agreed to accompany me back to the stores so that I had something to show for my tagalong shopping trip.

And he did.

All that walking, and this is all I got.

Some of it was for the Duchess, too.

Oh well. At least I had the adventure.

Simply Stowing Away

 

I can’t remember the exact date of my first stow away adventure, but I know it was sometime between 1986 and 1989. It was evening, and the husband was leaving for his usual week of business travel. It was late enough that I was already in my pajamas.

While he walked inside for that one final load, I hopped into the passenger seat of his car and waited for him with what he calls my Max the Grinch Dog look on my face.

Now, there's nothing at all Grinchy about the husband. He just chuckled. Then, he looked at me for a few seconds and asked if I really did want to come along for the ride.

It took me less than a few seconds to say that I did.

(Come to think of it, that’s pretty much the same way that other proposal went down as well.)

Funny that it hadn’t occurred to us before then…

We hadn’t thought about it, but since it was summer vacation, there wasn’t really a good reason for me to stay home alone while he traveled about, equally alone.

So I skedaddled back into the house and threw some things in a bag. He battened down the hatches, and away we went.

Business travel was more spartan in those days.  We didn’t have two room king-sized suites with little micro fridges. We shared a double room with one unnecessary bed and lived out of a cooler.  I would bring along some food for the day, and at night we’d go out to eat. Sometimes, we'd just eat in. It wasn't at all about the luxury. It was about spending time together.

And it was grand.

While he worked, 

I stayed at the hotel and soaked up some sun…

Or some local color…

Or found some shopping within walking distance..

It never has taken much to entertain me.

As we approached our empty nest, we had discussed the possibility of some tagalong adventures, but since I teach two days a week, the ball never got rolling.

But Saturday, when I was in the middle of my “terrible horrible very bad no good shopping” lamentation, he interrupted my wokking long enough to ask if I wanted to road trip to Atlanta with him.

It took me less than a few seconds to say that I did.

And so, because we’re not the spontaneous kids that we were a quarter of a century ago, we planned a little adventure.  After all, we don’t pack as lightly as we used to. We have to add laptops and garment bags and a cosmetic case large enough to hold all of my spackle.  

One thing hasn't changed, though. He still drives, and I still yak away at my captive audience. It’s a good thing there’s no Georgia statute against driving while retreating to your happy place…

Midway to Atlanta, we got to stop here.

 And surprise our two

favorite coeds.

The rest of the trip? Well, it’s been a shopping adventure of epic proportions. That story will have to wait until tomorrow, however. Today, I'm just focusing my simple pleasure. 

And this week, that simple pleasure was tagging along with my very favorite friend.   

*****

Sharing with Dayle
at A Collection of This and That

and the other wonderful bloggers 

at her Simple Pleasures Party.

Come join us.

My little Chickadee

UGH... this town...

Most of the time, I love living in small town America and wouldn't trade it for the world. The one possible exception would be when I'm trying to shop for accessories.  I mean, it's not that small. It's a college town after all.

Is it too much to ask for some simple red doo dads, people?
It's Valentines time, for goodness sake...


See, I'm (still) in the middle of that long overdue kitchen redecorating.  I've painted my walls yellow and used a lot of black. My black toile curtains were my inspiration. (Well, technically Manuela at The Pleasures of Homemaking was my inspiration. She's the Toile Queen of Blogland. )

So I have my yellow and black, 

and now I'm ready for some pops

 of red to scatter about the room...

..which leads us back to the original redless town lamentation and a little craft therapy over the weekend.

A few of you might remember this sentimental old yard chick that I dug up from the Duchess's back yard last year.

She has an old mother hen who goes with her. 

I had cleaned them up a bit 

and was trying to figure out where to use them.  

Unfortunately,

they are still too primitive for this house.

They looked dopey any place that I tried to use them.

We did use them on our barnyard tablescape last year. 

So I took Lil Chick and gave her another coat of paint. 

Actually, just primer.

Then decoupaged with some red toile tissue paper  that I had around here.

I've named her Manuela.

I like Manuela, but I'm a little iffy about the shade of red.  Plus, I think she needs a little ribbon or something.

 So what do you think? It would be easy to cover over her with a solid or a brighter toile if I can find one.   I'm pretty certain that I don't want the old mother hen in the same pattern. 

I was thinking maybe one of these?

Or even a polka dot? 

Too much? 

Keep her plain?
Send her back to the barnyard?

Anyway,

I have an adventure planned which should solve this
little red lamentation, 

but you'll just have to wait to hear about it. 

Time to get ready for school.

Simply Silent

Good grief, it was simple.

I mean, seriously… who knew that the simple act of turning off artificial noise for a few days would reap such a blessing?

Monday morning, I challenged myself to a low tech retreat for 48 hours. I decided to live without the assistance of electronic crutch or artificial noise.  It began immediately after I hit the word “publish” on Monday morning.  I unplugged my televisions, and then my microwave, and then the cell phone.

The computer was the last to go and definitely the hardest.    

Apparently, I’m a bit addicted to my computer. 

I admit to being sorely tempted a time or twenty to just engage it a little. Just take it for a spin around the block…  A game of spider solitaire wasn’t technically the same thing as connecting to the World Wide Web, right?  Wrong.

Let’s face it; computer games are just gateway technology.  Plus, is there any more colossal waste of time than an electronic game?  I think not. Even with the sound muted, they are nothing but brain noise.

If the computer was the hardest, the television was definitely the easiest.

I thought there might be a period of withdrawal, but there wasn’t.  It had taken me over 20 years to become addicted to the sound of background noise. It took less than 2 hours to become addicted to the sound of silence.

On Wednesday morning, when I had permission
to turn on the tube,

I did.

  It took me about five minutes to turn it back off again.

It hasn’t been on since.

Not even at night.

Now folks, that’s really saying something because nighttime silence and daytime silence are two completely different animals. Daytime silence is tranquil and meditative.

Nighttime silence is just spooky. 

In the daytime,
you never stop and wonder what caused a noise. 

At night, you don't wonder either.  

That's because you're absolutely certain

it was caused by an intruder.

Late Monday night, I was positive that I heard the telltale clinking of someone or something muddling about in the recycling.

Now, our bedroom is nowhere near the recycling…
plus, I can only hear out of one ear...
But I heard it all right.
Nighttime noise is amplified.

But I also heard the sound of good old Rudy, our neighbor’s collie.  Rudy is a miniature collie who is more of an arfer than a woofer,  While there is nothing whatsoever intimidating about an arfer, it’s a well known fact they make the best tattle tales. Once he started tattling, I never heard another sound from the would-be bottle burglar.

I think he deserves some Beggin’ Strips.

I returned to my reading which, frankly, is a project that needs some tweaking. 

Our bed is an iron one, and while I love the design, it doesn’t lend itself very well to reclining.  Layering every pillow in the house in a precarious pile doesn’t help much, either. You just wake up in the morning on top of the pillows with your book light and reading glasses playing out a scene from The Princess and the Pea.  The book light survived; I’m not so sure about the glasses.  

I’m not throwing in the towel, though, and I’m open to suggestions.  I am utterly unwilling to retreat from my new found friend of silence.  

Because I learned something this week.

Silence isn’t really silent at all. It’s just quiet. There is a profound difference.  In the silence, you hear nothing. As someone who is losing her hearing, that’s just not welcoming to me.  But in the quiet, you hear even the quiet things. 

Like the sound of a train whistle from ten miles away…

And at least four different types of birds…

And the whir of the heat pump that keeps us warm…

And the arf of the collie who keeps us safe.  

And  the still, small, voice.

Learning to love the quiet is this week’s simple pleasure.

*****

Sharing this with Dayle at A Collection of This and That.

Join us for more Simple Pleasures.

Mountain Climbing

Have you ever wondered why many teachers rarely miss a day of school? Well, I'm going to let you in on the little secret.

It's not because we don't get sick.

It's not because we just can't drag ourselves away from our Little Einsteins.

(Sorry, mom... as much as we love them, we welcome a little vacation.) 

It's not because we think the world revolves around us

and will crumble in our absence. 

(Well, I kind of think that, but I digress...)

Nope.

There's another reason entirely why some teachers hate to miss school.

It's all about the big desk.

 You know the one, the teacher's desk... The place where that insurmountable pile grows in our absence.  There's the work that we planned for kids to do...

And then, there's the work that we didn't plan. That's the stuff that the well meaning substitute conceived for kids to do to keep them tethered to a pencil.

And possibly out of trouble.

Miss one day, and you have Mt. Rushmore.

Miss two, and it's Mt. Everest. 

Yep.

School, just like life, has a pesky little habit of marching on with or without our presence. When we return, we have to figure out a way to step in time without missing some wonderful  tidbit or treasure hidden on Desk Mountain.

Oh sure, some teachers toss it all away.  (You always suspected that, didn't you?)  That isn't my style.
It probably doesn't surprise you to learn that I've always gone through every scrap of paper that crossed my desk. I'm either thorough or nosy. You decide.


There's a reason behind the ramble this morning, and you've probably guessed that it has nothing whatsoever to do with school. I didn't miss school this week.  I did, however, unplug. For two days, I've been living without the benefit of electronic companionship. Did you miss me?

Yeah, that's what I figured...

But apparently...
What you did miss was the memo to cease and desist until I plugged back in again. Good grief, people... Inspiration was sprouting up all over Blog Mountain.


Vanessa and Heather are starting a whole new blog adventure...

Amy repurposed an old picture...

AND she's having a giveaway.

Jennie at my blog stalking obsession
had a wonderful anniversary.

Sharon  has been sharing God...

That Chatty Chrone? As chatty as ever...

Laurie  managed to do a tabletop without a table.

Sarah wowed me with her "Checkered Past"

And that's just for starters...
Seriously, people, slow down for a pair of minutes. 
You can be sure that I'll be visiting every corner of blogland before the day is up.

Because I'm either thorough or nosy. You decide.

Oh, and about my unplugged adventure? 
I'll just say this much for now...

It was very, very, quiet.

Life Unplugged

It’s 6:00 in the morning, and I’m already home alone.  The husband left for another busy week of business, and here I sit with my cup of coffee and trusty electronic companions.  You see, almost as much as I fear the darkness, I loathe the silence. 

I like a little noise around me, even if it’s of the technological sort.  

Blogland, however, has a way of making me rethink things.

On Friday, one of my favorite bloggers, Gayle at Solitary Moments, spoke of an uninvited season of low tech living when she moved back home to live with her very low tech mom and dad.  What she reaped in that season of simplicity was a harvest of restoration. To read the entire inspirational story, click HERE.

I thought about Gayle’s post on and off all weekend. I thought about the amount of silence that is filled around my place with artificial noise.

My days begin to the sound of the morning news over my first cup of coffee.   

I sit here in the den until I’m fully tanked. Then I leave the television running all day long for no other reason than background noise as I meander about the place.  If I go upstairs for any length of time, I click on the television in the bedroom as well.  I rarely if ever sit down to watch the television, but it’s always there, wokking in my ear even as I plop down in front of that other electronic playmate called the computer.

Artificial noise follows me on the road, too.  Ebenezer is well stocked with CDs for singing and tuned to talk radio when I feel like a little company.

Lots of noise.  

At night, I set my sleep timer and fall asleep, generally to the noise of the news. In the morning, I start the whole thing all over again.    

Pondering Gayle’s post, I wondered how well I would survive the low tech lifestyle for a season.  I have a feeling that I wouldn’t fare so well. Forget the season… I’m not sure that I could survive it even for a day.  

So I’m putting myself to the test, and I'm such an over achiever that I'll try it not for one day, but for two.  Impressed, aren't you?

For the next 48 hours,

all most of my technology will GO. 

I’m calling this adventure 
in "The Year of  Go",

Life Unplugged.

I’m unplugging my televisions…

And I’m unplugging my computer…

And I’m even turning off my cell phone. I’m going to trust God that my girls will reach me just fine the old fashioned way… which come to think of it, isn’t all that old fashioned at all.

And while I’m at it, I’m unplugging my microwave and the convenience of the millisecond meal-for-one that has somehow become a mainstay of this empty nest. I’m not unplugging my refrigerator or stove, however.

I said I was adventurous, not crazy.  

So here I go. We’ll see how this down time fills up. And then, I’ll come on back to yak all about it.

Until then… 

A Simple Hope

Sometimes, I get the blues.

This often surprises people who know me only superficially because I tend to be pretty jolly most of the time.  I laugh easily and often and love to find the sunny side of life.    

But those who know me well know that sometimes, I get the blues.

Sometimes, I get the situational blues. Sometimes when I look at that little track that I’m  assigned to run and see yet another hurdle up ahead, I get a spiritual charley horse.

I. Just.Can't. Make. The. Effort.

This tends to disappoint spectators, by the way.    

Sometimes I get the emotional blues.  I’m nearly 50 years old.  You would think that by now, I would stop being blindsided by the bruisers.  But oh no… I rush into the game and get sacked on the first play, even by folks who look like they’re wearing the same uniform… sometimes.

Sometimes, I get the biological blues. No further comment necessary.

Sometimes, it's just plain seasonal.  We all have to endure seasons in our lives, both figuratively and literally, and most of the time I muddle through mine by looking for the delights along the way.  Every season has its delights, after all.

It’s for no small reason, though, that the bleak seasons of our lives are usually tagged winter.  Winter just seems to invite the blues.  I mean, it’s bad enough to have a spell of dreary days, but it’s even worse when those gray skies hover above dead leaves and dry grass and are every bit as cold on the outside as they look from the inside.

We’ve had a string of those dreary days around here. We went from ice to rain to clouds of gray which didn’t have the gumption to do anything but hang around and depress me.

By Tuesday of this week, I thought I might possibly go mad with it. I was cold and grumpy. My bones and joints ached, and since I tend to eat my blues away, my pants were tight to boot. A blue whale...

As I was walking to the car late that afternoon, though, something caught my eye.

God had opened this little window...

...to show me a patch of blue.

To be honest, I don’t think I would have even noticed that little patch of blue had it not been surrounded by such a sky of gray.   I mean, I’ve walked under much lovelier skies a billion times and not bothered to notice. But I noticed all right, and I hustled to my purse to pull out the shiny red Kodak to document the evidence.

And I thanked Him.

The clouds were breaking up. There was a distinct hope of blue skies ahead.

It may not seem like much. In fact, it’s probably not even all that blog worthy, but for reasons that will remain unyakked, that promise of blue skies hiding behind the gray meant a lot to me.   

And that’s why it’s this week’s simple pleasure. 

*****

Sharing this with my friend Dayle for 

Simple Pleasures