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Posts Tagged ‘Indiana’

I grew up in semi-rural, northern Indiana.  There was a cornfield behind our house.  This was the bane of my mother’s existence every time they plowed and sent dust into her house.  There was an empty field on one side, where my brother was allowed to play with his friends but I was not.  Mother was always convinced I was going to be kidnapped.  In later years, I decided that it wasn’t so much that she thought I would be kidnapped as that she had kidnapped me herself and did not want them to come and get me back.  This was in response to the fact that my mother is OCD and I have IWRPPTCH  (I would rather paint pictures than clean house).

My lackadaisical attitude toward housecleaning has been the bane of my mother’s existence forever. It was not an era of concentrating on the positive, with a child. It was the era when you wrote my mom a poem and she corrected the spelling and handed it back. When young, my paintings looked a bit abstract and that was considered “messy” too. The truth is, I am messy.

I have had three houses that I kept clean: 1. was a new house with plenty of storage and room, 2. was a house in Wyoming that only had husband and myself in for one year and was big, nice and I kept it clean.  Then, my daughter needed a place and everything from the basement came up and five people moved into the finished basement, but I still kept it fairly clean.  A year later, daughter’s family moved out, mom and dad moved in and we moved down into the finished basement.  We now live in a small house with two to three growing boys.  It reaches status as a feature on Hoarders periodically, and I just don’t care anymore. Upstairs we have 1 closet and no food pantry, or coat closet or any type of storage. I just cannot keep it clean.

Recently, a dear friend commented that she had so much fun when mom and I visited.  I stated it was too bad I didn’t have room for them to stay here when they were traveling through.  My mother almost had a heart attack.

I’ve always felt inferior. It took me till I hit 60 to realize that it was not a matter of me not being good enough.  i was even winning awards in painting yet never thought I had talent.  But, one day, as mom was on her constant search for the perfect “whatever” I woke up and said, “It’s not me.  Nothing is ever good enough for mom.”

http://my91yearoldmom.wordpress.com/2011/10/21/kin-to-a-ghost/#comment-134

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The youngest boy here, JCountryGuitarMan, discovered today that it does not take any liquor at all for my daughter, Tes, who calls him bronephew (he is her brother and her nephew, because he is my grandson and my son for the last seven years, anyway.) But, it does not take any liquor, at all, for the two of us to laugh hysterically for hours.

Had the most wonderful day. It started with a phone call from her, “Gee, mom, I’m camping in your neighborhood.  Now, first, this seems like a strange thing to me.  The woman teaches science and math at four institutions.  She’s no dummy, but she made reservations for Monroe Reservoire three months ago and just realized that she is like less than twenty miles from my house?

Whatever the case, I’m glad she realized it, called and invited us to join them.  I have my millions of projects that have to be done so passed at first, but she continued to text me and when I found out she had walked down to the water from her campspot, I was in like sin.  I love water.  Water energizes me.  I was not passing up floating for the day.

So, off we went, husband, JCountry, and me.  We played with their dog ‘Mia,’ who has, as her vet put it “Jazz hands” (or paws.)  I mean, this is one really energetic puppy.  She treats children as if they are popsickles/suckers.  She’s one handfull of dog.

The water was wonderful but I think someone was trying to send me a message, as Turkey buzzards kept circling overhead.

Has to be one of my best days ever, and I’m sorry I forgot to post this timely, but still had to share it.

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Brown County decided to give the kids the day off , from school, for Martin Luther King, Jr., day.  Apparently, we have not used up our snow day allotment, so JCountry is sound asleep, where he prefers to be at 10 a.m.  He is one of those kids who does well on the two-hour delay days, but not so well when he has to catch a bus at 7:30 a.m.

Not to give away my age or anything, but I was a teen in the 60s.  I still have a copy of my letter from President Eisenhower in response to my complaint that it is just stupid that people hated other people because of the color of their skin and he needed to do something about it.  I’m sure I was very polite though, as children of the 50′s were always very polite.  Sometimes, overly polite, like Eddie Haskell polite.  And, if you don’t know who Eddie Haskell is, well, I guess you weren’t there. 

I attended a fairly large school, address Gary, Indiana, called Calumet High School.  I do not know what the facts or figures are, but it ranged from Doctor’s children to children who barely had a home.  It also had a good number of African Americans and Latinos.  This is unlike the school JCountry attends, which (I am guessing here) has less than five non-Anglos in attendance.

My lab partner was an African American girl and I will never forget the day I sat down at our lab table and looked over to see her, head on crossed arms, crying.  That was the first I knew that we were going to have riots.  She told me that some of the kids hated her because she was black.  I was appalled.  I mean, out of all the things in life that you have a choice of, the color of your skin is not one of them.  I comforted her, as best as someone who has not walked in her skin could.

At lunch, I was hit and yelled at by a black student, who I did not know.  By the time we went home on the bus, school was closed.  I think we had three days off to let things settle down and probably let the teacher’s regroup.

I have never understood how people can hold so much hate in their hearts as to hate another person for such a dumb reason.  Nor, how the same people who honor and revere someone like Michael Jordan, can turn around and hate everyone else whose skin is darker than theirs.  

This blog post does not circle back around to the opening.  It has no answers for the question.  I wish I did.  I have learned though, that you cannot change people’s minds much.  If they want to hate someone because they are black, they will.  If they want to hate their President, they will.  If they want to believe every stupid rumor they will.  I just wonder — what can make a person learn to think for themselves and not believe every stupid rumor they hear, no matter how illogical it is.

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Every time something bad would happen, when I was a girl and mostly in school, I would come home and complain to mom and she would tell me, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” 

Frankly, it did not make me feel one whit better.  Not one.  And, I mumbled all evening about a God who has nothing better to do than to screw up my life.  Couldn’t he feed one of those starving children that I was so diligently cleaning my plate for, to make sure they got enough to eat?

There was another premise that did not make a lot of sense to me.  It went right along with how much protection I thought I got hiding under my wooden desk from an atomic bomb attack. 

While attending Casper College, in Casper, Wyoming, I studied under and with Lynn Munns.  Lynn became a great friend and fantastic mentor and, excuse me if you have heard this before.  I used to just not “get” modern art but something made it all snap into place for me and Lynn made the statement about this phenomena, that you may see or hear something a thousand times but you need to be in just the right place for it to snap into place.  He was so right.

Which was just a huge, no humongous build up to a very small story.  I was reminded of it by scratches on a scrap of paper but I read Crazy Aunt Purl = via Crazy Aunt Purl,  titled: You Got My Attention with your Big Orange Sticker and finally remembered to blog the story.  Check it out.

The poor State of Indiana got my attention, but it was with a small paper orange sticker, stuck ceremoniously on top of a sign warning travelers, going probably 50 mph, of upcoming road construction.  Some states have huge bright lights that shine in your eyes.  Others flashing, spinning orange ones.  Indiana had taken three post-it notes and mounted them on a wire above the sign.  The orange notes spun around the wire and made a truly impressive warning sign.  NOT!

Guess, God and construction workers work in mysterious ways, or I just was not in the right place to see the brilliance of it all.

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It is miracle Saturday.  I don’t usually get online on a Saturday; let alone one that is rainy.  So, I thought I would share a bit of my life with you.

When I do get online, one of my favorite blogs is Crazy Aunt Purl.  I have secretly been thinking about living in L.A. a lot lately.  I have no idea why; okay, there is the warmer weather, but I would HATE the traffic.  But, Crazy Aunt Purl wrote a most moving blog on August 17; when the gardeners her landlord hired totally destroyed her garden.  It was an act of vandalism, as far as I am concerned.  My heart  sunk when I saw it, I can only imagine how she felt when she came home and discovered it.  Her rows of beautiful corn, I have four stalks that have yet to reach knee height, and her pumpkin vines are now just like four sticks sticking up, with one tiny pumpkin sitting forelornly in the mud.  How mean can someone be, to do that to a person, after that person has worked for months to put food, they grew, on the table?

Anyway, that is how they grow, with tender loving care, in Sunny L.A.  This has been a cool year and this is how they have grown in rainy, cool, Indiana this year.

baby watermelon

Let’s just hope these striped babies are well hidden from the two orphan fawns that are eating my ripe tomatoes.

My pumpkin patch is creeping out into the grass, which is now impossible to mow without cutting the pumpkins.  It originates from the top o the picture (where the tomato cages are and is growing out to the bottom of the picture, and on the right side, even growing up the side of my studio.

pumpkin patch

And, here is one of my baby yellow pumpkins in this patch.

pumpkin yellow

To end up, I will show you what IS tornado damage.  The expert came out to one house and declared it to be straight wind but my yard was damaged with things falling in a circular pattern throughout.  I have very thick hostas in front of my studio.  I was going to thin them this fall, but this is what I have on one side now. 

damaged hostas

You can see the progressive damage as the wind whipped around.  The sticks at the corner of the studio were full grown hosta just as the one under the window is; even though it is also beaten a bit.  This is one side of the door, the plants on the other side of the door were barely damaged at all.  The tree to the right of this building, past my garden, had a large limb ripped off and it went to the right.  The limb on my roof was knocked to the right, and all around my yard, they were knocked down in that swirl pattern.

My next door neighbor was home during the storm and he heard the freight train sound, so I am presuming the eye went over their house.

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I grew up in northern Indiana and went to college and worked in Chicago for many years.  I have taken buses and trains to get where I was going since 1974.  I remember early South Shore train seats that were woven wicker and the windows opened because there was no air-conditioning.  Yes, grasshopper, I am ancient.

Master’s Daughter and I took the “new” South Shore train from the beginning of the line, in South Bend, to Chicago.  It was either, a two hour, one hour or three hour ride, depending on what time zone you were going to or from.  I believe in actuality, it took two hours.  They have air conditioning and bathrooms now.  And, during the day time, off rush hours, they have children; lots and lots of children.

But, first you had to park your car and put a dollar bill or change in the right slot of the box.  Okay, now we were a wee bit tired.  This is not rocket science and, between us, we have over eleven years of college.  We drove by the pay box, decided to park first (Yes, I know, that should have been obvious.) and then walked up to pay. 

sharon slot

After using another quarter to push the quarters in, Master’s Daughter pushed the last quarter in with a car key.  Then, we read the sign, “Use a key or the pusher attached by a cable to the box.”  OKAY, the rest of the trip should be a breeze, after learning about the pusher.  The result is the above laugh.

We were waiting with a group of people for the train to arrive, when a school bus pulled up.  The energy in that station raised by fourteen knots.  The elderly couple near us began to shake and we all headed for the door.  Frankly, I think the strategy should have been to let the children board the train and then walk to the other end for our seats.  We met someone, coming home that night, who was in the car with the children.  Apparently, it was not a pleasant ride.  Most notably mentioned was children playing in the bathroom.

And this is what we (and a sleeping chick at the Museum) looked like at the end of the day.

chicken sleep jpg

All the other chicks, in the incubator were sleeping laying down but this guy was standing up sound asleep.  My mother has done this a time or two also. 

Even so, Master’s Daughter and I have decided this “June girl’s retreat” really needs to be an annual event.  Last year, I went up for her Master’s Graduation.  This year it was for the Harry Potter exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry.  We are now looking for something fun to do next year.

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halloweenguitar1

JRock attended the ISSMA (Indiana State School Music Association) Solo and Ensemble event today and took  Silver in the Solo Division. (He was one point from a gold.)

For those of you who wish to hear him sing, while the ticket prices are low (where’s a smilie when you need one?), he sits in on a set the first and third Friday’s of the month, at the Muddy Boots Cafe, in Nashville, Indiana.

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Poor mom is still in the hospital tonight.  She has several infections, double pneumonia and walking pneumonia.  She was dehydrated and is so unstable that they are transferring her to a rehab facility to try to help her.  And, Indiana has snow over ice on the roads and I cannot get out to get there.  But, at least I know she is being taken care of. 

JRock has gotten home from his guitar lesson tonight with the offer, by his teacher, to give him lessons once a week, for only $10 over what the twice a month lessons are.  He is also working with him on harmonizing, so that JRock can sing and play with him at the Muddy Boots Cafe, in Nashville, Indiana, twice a month.  So, he is on a natural high right now.

On another note, EMT boy has finally had the “homework” slam.  For the three years he has been with us, I have seen him do homework about three times.  This is his final semester, of his senior year and he came home with two hours of homework.  He maintains a 3.1 to 3.5 GPA, so I can not complain, but he was not a happy camper tonight.  Welcome to the real world, boy.

Next week, he starts doing RN training at the local nursing home.  This is not the same home that mom is being transferred to, unfortunately or fortunately.  It is hard to know which way it is.  She seems to have taken a liking to her IV monitor machine.  The nurses say she talks to it and that it calls her Mom.  What will technology think of next?

So, that is mostly my day.  Hope yours has gone well.

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Date: 11-12-08

This planet, in a distant galaxy is being innundated with water.  It pours from the skies and runs over our communication lines.  Tonights on-line communication took 20 minutes to go through.  It may be a long time before I am able to send another message through. 

Seriously, this rain sucks and any minute now, I will be cut off.  Since it is supposed to rain for several days and then take days to dry out.  Hard telling when I will be back on long enough to post.

Oh, and sorry about that.  I’m a Star Wars gal not a Trekkie. 

See you when it dries out.

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My mother always said that, if she could relive life, she would be a journalist.  My father, on the other hand, never had such thoughts.  He was too busy watching his “window to the world,” television.  However, I think that dad would have loved to have been a film maker. 

 

 He loved taking movies.  His movies usually consisted of family holidays, back when people were used to sitting still for the camera so we had a lot of years of “wave at the camera” shots.  I do not think it ever occurred to him to take a movie ‘with a purpose’ other than the time he wanted to take one to make it funny by playing it backwards.

 

Dad had us play a game of cards; throwing down the cards, drinking a glass of pop, the dog jumping up on the chair and my brother eating a banana.  The best part though was when David, my brother, finished with the banana and continued eating the banana peel.  That was not in the script and I think that milk came out my nose because I started laughing so hard.  Backwards movies have ick factors too.

 

This is still the most asked for film in the family and part of the reason is that it seemed so out of character.  David was not the family clown.  Well, other than the time, when my nephew was a baby and David stuck the nephew’s high chair suction toy to his forehead and left it there during the picnic.  Needless to say, he never did that again.  The hickey lasted for a week.

 

David was shy.  Painfully shy where girls were concerned.  He was the band nerd in school, and all my friends thought he was adorable but since he was six years older than we were, it was not an issue.

 

Later, he became the computer nerd.  He was the guy who went hunting with a friend and hunted only with his camera.  He spent his life reading books and listening to music and, when he had children, he added a lifetime of Boy Scout leadership to that list.  He loved camping and nature.

 

I still like to think he is somewhere, sitting outside his tent, by the campfire, with his nose in a book.   

 

 

david-mom-favor-cropped1

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