Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

All My Chickens

After two months of nonreality, I'm back in my own reality show, Fake Farmer.  Thankfully there are no actual cameras following me around.  If so, they would catch me talking to my animals, singing hymns while I dig in the dirt, and stomping around in my black rubber boots and shorts so old and ugly, Bill would burn them in a second if he could.  Top that off with a stretched out, stained tank top and a yellow headband, circa 1973, to hold my mop of hair out of my face.  Woo-eee, what a babe. Of course, no one would watch anyway.   The only dirt stirred up around here is in the garden.  Well, there was the one scandalous time...no I couldn't...well, okay.  You see, Maren the hen had a thing going with Richard the Rooster.  They had a nice little love nest.  However, when Maren was busy sitting on the eggs, Richard started ANOTHER love nest with Hueva.  But Hueva actually had a love chick with the neighbor's rooster, Robert.  The feathers really hit the fan in Cooperstown.  And don't even get me started on Henny's evil twin, Penny.

The Curse

So as I was toiling outside in my foxy outfit, I started thinking about Genesis Chapter 3 in which God hands out the three curses after the big hoo-ha in the Garden of Eden (hoo-ha being original sin and the fall of man).  First, the serpent loses his legs and has to eat the dust of the earth.  Second, Eve is told, "I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children." Gen 3:16.  Third, Adam is told, "Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life.  It will produce thorns and thistles for you and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food...." Gen. 3:17b-19a.

So I understand first-hand the women's curse, having had the privilege of delivering two babies.  My husband will even tell you that I was cursing Eve while delivering my pumpkin-headed, barrel-chested boy.  You get the picture.  I'm really not being facetious when I say it was a privilege.  If given the chance, I would do it again in a second, but it did hurt.  Sooo, why then, when I garden do I have to deal with thorns, thistles, sweat on my brow, etc.?  That was the man's curse.  I mean you don't see men suffering while we deliver babies.  Okay, I'll give you the preceding 9 months of crankiness, irrational tears and the oft-uttered question that husbands fear the most, "Do I look fat?", may inflict a little grief, but come on, that's not fair. 

I have found that there's a pest and disease for everything I grow, and somehow it finds its way to my little plot of land.  Even when I lived in the suburbs and had a tiny raised bed garden, green worms managed to find my little broccoli plant and camp out there and gross me out.  Out of all the millions of broccoli plants in the world, why mine?  

A current case in point.  I had planted strawberries when we first moved here, but when I went to pick them, there was a bite out of 75% of them by either a slug or a rolly polly bug (these are not as cute and innocent as they seem).  I finally gave up on them.  So two years ago I asked Bill to build me a raised bed strawberry garden to help combat the slugs. I bought 100 fresh and new strawberry plants, ordered from a reputable garden company.  It has worked. For slugs, anyway.   However, the first season they developed a fungus which causes the leaves to turn brown and dry up.  Even worse, the fruit becomes mummified.  I have tried to combat it with hydrogen peroxide, and even copper this winter, but it hasn't worked.  Besides the fungus, there are also ants building little condos underneath the plants so when they come up for air they have a nice little buffet spread out before them.  They will nibble the bottom of any strawberry touching the dirt.  This year, to add insult to injury, I also have to contend with bird attacks and spit bugs.  What is a spit bug, you ask?  Disgusting. That's what it is.  They leave blobs of spit all over the plant.  When I picked the first crop my arm was slimed all over. 

And now the birds are not content with attacking my blueberries and cherries.  They come in like stealth bombers and destroy previously lovely red berries, leaving a blood red path of destruction.

Yes, I do still get to enjoy many delicious berries, but it is certainly by painful back toil and the sweat of my brow (and the slime of my arm).

Proverbs 14:23 says, "In all toil there is profit, but mere talk tends only to poverty."  I guess I better stop complaining and get to work, especially in light of Proverbs 21:19, "Better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome and ill-tempered wife."  Bill has been dreaming of Palm Springs an awful lot lately...

 

Beach Bum

After 26 days on the road, we wisely planned a one month recovery period - at the beach.  Balboa Island, Newport Beach specifically.  We chose this spot for several reasons:

1.  We love the beach.
2.  It's our daughter's last track season and we could catch the last 3 meets of her career.
3.  We love the beach.
4.  Our youngest son is here also.
5.  We love the beach.
6.  We found a great place to stay on Balboa Island. 
7.  We have lots of friends and family in the area.
8.  Did I mention we love the beach?

We decided this vacation would be a combination track-meet-watching, socializing, and early 25th anniversary trip.  That's how we justified the cost, anyway.  I first heard of Balboa Island last year when we were living in Fullerton and a group of women from church had a lunch outing here. 

Fun Facts about Balboa Island:  It has a perimeter of 2.6 miles, is 21 blocks long and 5 blocks wide.  It's a man-made island that was dredged and filled right before World War I.  The average dress size of the female island resident is 4.  Okay, I didn't find that last fact in the museum, but it was arrived at by deductive reasoning.  We go for a walk every day, and so do many of the residents.  That's where the similarities end.  These women all wear form-fitting leggings or yoga pants and tops.  These are not the loose-fitting, spare-tire-hiding tops I've come to wear.  There are no rolls to hide on their Pilate-perfect forms.  And I'm not just talking about 20 to 30-somethings.  I'm talking women in their 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, and I daresay 80s with perfect figures.  The only cottage cheese on this island is in the grocery store.  I don't know how they do it.  Maybe there's a Stepford Wives thing going on here...

We rented the top floor of a cute little house that was plenty roomy for us.  Things were a little outdated, however.  For example, the microwave was probably made when thongs were something you wore with bellbottoms - on your feet. 




We were welcomed with a nice hospitality gift

Though we were on vacation, daily exercise was a must.  Because you know, we're health nuts.  And, um, it helped us to rationalize frequent consumption of Balboa Bars, a gorgeous concoction of a square of vanilla ice cream on a stick, enrobed in chocolate something-or-other and rolled in your choice of toppings.  Chopped almonds and Heath Bar (not to be confused with health bar) for me, and peanuts and Choco-Jimmies for hubby.  How anyone would prefer little plasticky sprinkle things over chopped up toffee and chocolate is beyond my comprehension.  Oh, and there were also chocolate-dipped frozen bananas, also rolled in toppings.  I could never work there because I'd be dipping my finger in chocolate and rolling it in all the possible topping combinations daily.  You know, like a scientific study. 

So here we are riding our bikes to Corona Del Mar.  That was a fun ride until we got to the steep, steep hill that made my pedals freeze in mid-rotation so that I had to jump off and walk or fall over from lack of forward progression.




3 B days: Backpack chairs on bikes to beach

Other times we took our bikes on the ferry and rode up and down Newport Beach. 







Standing on the jetty on Corona Del Mar

Then there was the walking.  The unfortunate thing about walking around Balboa Island is you can't look out at the beauty of the harbor too much or you risk stepping in the residue of their most pampered residents.   It was beautiful, but you had to constantly look down for land mines.  Yes, they dutifully carried their plastic bags, but when the dog does the doo on the concrete, the doo goo leaves residue.  Hey, that brings out the Dr. Seuss in me:  It's true that I eschew the doo when the view is the hue of blue and there's a crew in a canoe on the Pacific stew.  I knew that the residue of the doo leaves a booboo like glue in which few can stand the piu.  Therefore, this Jew grew to pursue the steps without the curlicue of doo.

Okay, got that out of my system.  Back to those pampered residents.  I actually saw a dog riding in a basket with a purple dress and matching purple, flower-shaped sunglasses.  I wonder if she picked out her own outfit using the helpful Garanimals tags. 

My favorite man in front of one of my favorite houses

We never tired of looking out at the harbor

One other form of exercise that we tried 3 times was paddleboarding.  I've been wanting to try it for a while.  The problem is, I have this irrational fear of water, especially large bodies of water.  For instance, bigger than a kiddie pool and deeper than my height.  Knee-trembling fear made my forays on the water more challenging, but I eventually calmed down enough to paddle around and have a good time.  Of course, knowing my husband is an excellent swimmer and would save me if I fell in gave me more confidence too.  Eat your heart out, David Hasselhoff. 

So that was our wonderful, relaxing, fun-filled, chocolate-covered beach house vacation.  

Blessings:
1.  The landlords were super nice and invited us to stay for free when we come back for graduation, and even pick us up at the airport.
2.  We were able to spend time with many friends and family members.
3.  We had great weather.
4.  We were able to be there for our son's premiere and our daughter's track finals (where she finished with a flourish).
5.  My man. 

Road Trip: Conclusion

The Professor and Mary Ann

As their popularity increased, their agents must have had enough leverage to get the Gilligan's Island theme song revised to finally include their characters rather than "and the rest."  Likewise, I remembered a noteworthy stop in Georgia, a lovely state that I too quickly dismissed as just another state to traverse as expeditiously as possible.  Bill, being a golf nut, had to stop in Augusta to peek at the Masters golf course.  And peek was all he got.  We drove entirely around the golf course before figuring out there was one tiny little opening that was not hidden, gated or barb-wired.  He parked the car across the street and walked over with dad-in-law to get the chance to tiptoe on hallowed ground and capture this sojourn on film. 

There was a security guard in plain site in his booth right at the opening who cheerfully greeted my husband.  Bill stared awestruck at Magnolia Lane.  Dad-in-law wanted to get a better picture for Bill by walking down Magnolia Lane and taking a picture from the other end.  After taking about 3 steps past the guard shack and unable to hear warnings, an unseen police officer sprinted out from the golf version of  NORAD and almost tackled this 85-year-old saboteur to quell the threat.  Augusta National Golf Club raises exclusive to a new level. 


After zipping through GA and AL, we stopped in Vicksburg, MS because Bill is a Civil War buff.  I was sobered by this huge park dedicated to the memory and history of the siege that turned the war to the Union army's advantage.  Almost 20,000 Americans were killed or wounded during the campaign and 47 day siege. 

From Mississippi we sashayed through the corner of Louisiana and returned to Arkansas to see a long lost nephew of Bill's.  The reunion was sweet. 

These Boots are Made for Walking

We then returned to Ft. Worth to kick our heels up, pull ourselves up by the bootstraps, wait till the cows come home, and all that cowboy stuff.  I spent another great evening with my Cohen cuz and her family, then got up early to ride my longhorn to the Justin boot factory. 

Just ignore those steps.  I really leapt onto it. 

 

After about 8 cumulative hours of trying boots on in the southern states, I finally chose a pair that I loved and Bill chose two!

Finally, we were on the home stretch.  We decided to stay in Carlsbad, New Mexico because 1) We were hoping to see some of the Carlsbad Caverns, and 2) We couldn't bear the thought of repeating the same long, dreary drive across west Texas to El Paso.  Granted, the roads to New Mexico are only slightly less bleak, but it was a new bleak.  So we are trucking along a vast stretch of flat, repetitive landscape on little Highway 176 in New Mexico when all of a sudden this appears:

There was nuth-ing in sight.  No people, no cows, no sheep, no armadillos - dead or alive (which, by the way, I was very disappointed not to see).  I thought it might be a candid camera gag.  Or bored residents who would get a good laugh out of watching people stop at a red light in the middle of miles and miles of nothingness.  We sat there.  Cars started piling up behind us.  Suddenly a big dirt hauling truck barreled past us blatantly ignoring the red light. We sat there.  Another dirt truck barreled by.  We sat there.  Another dirt truck drove past, and then a few people behind us who were tired of this twisted joke.  But like good law-abiding citizens, we sat there.  Finally after about 20 minutes a small pilot truck was seen in the distance kicking up dust.  He led a long line of cars toward us and then finally we got to follow him out of no-man's land time out.  I never did see the light turn green, though. 

I guess they were repaving the road because when we arrived at our hotel, our entire car, including the bikes on the back were repaved too.  It looked like crazed monkeys had flung beige mashed potatoes all over and under our car. 

The Stats

Over 8000 miles traveled.
13 different states.
4 relatives reunited.
2 boat tours.
2 ostentatious house tours.
1 sweet experience

Blessings:

• We thought we had a good plan.  God had a better plan.
• Our truck broke down the first day of the trip and we were able to regroup.
• We avoided almost all the bad weather.
• Our hotel angel made our lodging very affordable and very comfortable.
• Visits with loved ones spread far and wide.
• In-laws that I like and love and who put up with me.
• Husband that I love even more.

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen." Ephesians 3:20-21

Road Trip: Chapter VI

Charleston, y'all

Ever since I saw Gone With The Wind when I was about 11 I've wanted to see a plantation.  I also wished I had a charming accent so I could make one syllable words into two.  "Oh Ray-ett, I do declay-uh!"  We did visit Boone Hall plantation in Mt. Pleasant, but I was disappointed because it didn't look exactly like Tara, although the tree-lined drive was perfect. 

 

 

If you haven't seen the movie you have to watch it.  Then watch Carol Burnett in her spoof, "Went With The Wind."  One of my favorite sketches.

 

 

 





 

Of course the sad part of plantations is that their very existence thrived and depended on the whipped backs of slaves.  We spent a good deal of time going through slave row as well.

Bimbo Bisque

Part of our travel experience always involves sampling local specialties.  Our tour book said we MUST try she-crab soup, shrimp and grits (gree-its) and Huguenot torte.  So try we must!  We scored all three with a good recommendation to Fleet Landing right on the water in Charleston.  The shrimp and grits were good, but the she-crab soup and Huguenot torte were amazing.  The torte wasn't really a torte, nor was it Huguenot, but when you're stuffing warm apples and pecans and sugar and rich vanilla ice cream into your mouth, who really cares?  Now if I were to have a soup that comes from girl crabs only, I would name it Bimbo Bisque just so I could have a good laugh every time someone ordered it.  Go ahead, try it and keep a straight face. 

And the rest...

We took another boat tour, this time of the Charleston Harbor, including Fort Sumter.  Don't know why, but they love to brag that they started the war.  Speaking of tours, remember when the Gilligan's Island theme song totally dissed the Professor and Mary Ann by saying, "And the rest"?  Well I'm not trying to dis Georgia or Alabama, but we just drove through them too quickly to glean anything noteworthy about those fine states.  Besides, I didn't see any machinery made entirely out of bamboo and coconuts. 

Blessings:
Good food with good company.
Beautiful weather in Charleston.
We came back from our "3 hour tour."

Road Trip: Chapter V

Beautiful Babies

If there were a climax to our trip, it was our stop in Maryland to see children and grandchildren.  It was also the turn-around point. Bill's parents had not yet met the youngest one and hadn't seen the other one since she was a wee bairn.  She's still just a tater tot but with more personality and expression than a Disney sitcom and a whole lot cuter.  You'll have to take my word for it or look on my Facebook page.  I've graduated from "Grandpa Jo" to "Grandma Jo" since we last saw them.  Besides good company and good food, we also enjoyed a snow fall from the comfort of their house.  It was a brisk morning but clear roads on our way out of town. 

The Next Ville

So as I was walking into a truck stop "super" store for the umpteenth time for a pit stop, I was trying to remember which state it was that I saw the silliest sign I've ever seen in a bathroom stall.  There was a hook on the door, as women expect, but with a plaque underneath that said, "Hang purse here."  I was thinking, "What on earth else would you do with a hook on the back of a bathroom stall?"  Hang your baby by his overalls?   That would keep him from peeking under the stall at others or touching things on the floor too scary to describe!  Genius!  Honestly, I don't think they give Arkansas women enough credit. 

Back to the car: From North Potomac, MD we made a bee line (well a drunken bee line because there was no straight shot over the mountains) for Asheville.  There we spent a very enjoyable evening with a cousin from the Potter side of my family.  I've always considered myself very Cohen-y looking so I was quite surprised when I looked at this picture and saw how Potter-y I look.  What do you think?

 

 

Asheville's main attraction is an 8000 acre estate built by George Vanderbilt in 1895.  Since the weather was not conducive to strolling through downtown or hiking, this was about our only choice.  It's not that I didn't want to see it, but the entrance fee was outrageous.  Bill and I forked over not just an arm and a leg but some vital organs too for the privilege.  It was beautiful and impressive.  The most fun we had was imagining life through the eyes of Downton Abbey fans - us.  The house was set up similarly to Highclere Castle and the lifestyle seemed to fit the same era. 



Biltmore Estate

Blessings:
Healthy children and grandchildren.
Reuniting with my Potter cousin and family.
Purse/baby hangers in bathrooms.

Road Trip: Chapter IV

The Star of Texas

“If I owned Texas and Hell, I would rent out Texas and live in Hell”
― Philip Henry Sheridan, Union General

Don't get me wrong, I love Texas and Texans, but after driving 600 miles through west Texas, I can picture condos popping up on Lucifer Lane.  Notably, every little town we passed, no matter how small, boasted a Dairy Queen and a Walmart.  There's a contrast between heaven and hell for me right there.  Who knew the spiritual battles going on between El Paso and Ft. Worth?

The highlight of our brief stay in Ft. Worth was reuniting with one of my 3 Cohen cousins after 44 years.  I know precious little about my Cohen genealogy because my dad parceled out words more stingily than Trump doles out tact. 


I hope to see her again and more of Ft. Worth on the way back.








Elvis is in the House

Even though I only remember Elvis as a bedazzled polyester, onesie-wearing entertainer, I've always wanted to see Graceland.  That was my priority for Memphis.  We all enjoyed a history-narrated river cruise on the "Miz-sippi" and a stroll down blues central Beale Street.  Since I was the only one willing to shell out for the tour I was going to go alone while the others chilled in the hotel, but my sweet husband felt sorry for me and tagged along.  He was very glad he did because it was very impressive and fun, and even ran into an Elvis impersonator who made the yearly pilgrimage to Graceland with pious dedication.

The highlights for Nashville were BBQ, music and accents, y'all.  The driver of the free golf cart taxi asked me "Do y'all have a dogue?"  A what?  "A dogue."  Then whips out his phone while driving and scrolls through his pictures to show me his dogue.  A white terrier.  Our regular taxi ride ended up costing more than we planned since my phone fell out of my purse when I got out and had to pay another fare for him to bring it back.  My phone has now taken a plane ride and taxi ride by itself.  I will need to guard it closely on my next cruise as I refuse to send my phone on the Love Boat by itself.

Blessings:
Seeing my cousin.
I got my phone back within the hour.
I don't own Texas OR hell.

Road Trip: Chapter III

Possibilities

Peyton Manning said: "I’m totally convinced that the end of my football career is just the beginning of something I haven’t even discovered yet. Life is not shrinking for me, it’s morphing into a whole new world of possibilities." I realize that retiring a travel trailer is not as significant as retiring a career, but for my in-laws, it is the end of a camping era in their lives, which spills over into our lives, as well, not only on this trip but in the future.  I believe I speak for their 8 children, spouses, 21 grandchildren, and 13 great-grandchildren that we have spent many happy days sitting around the campfire, playing cards, hiking and just generally enjoying their company and generosity.  May this new chapter in their lives bring possibilities and not shrinkage.

But I didn't Inhale

Enough sap.  Since we had to part with the truck and trailer, titles had to be found and obtained in order to part with them legally and financially.  Due to wonderful neighbors, the pink slips were found and dutifully shipped through UPS at an exorbitant price in order to arrive by 10:30 the next morning.  We were driving 8 hours to Carlsbad, New Mexico and had to leave at a decent hour.  We carefully instructed the sender to put mother-in-law's name and our specific camping space number on the package, as well as the address of the resort, who assured us they would accept packages for us. 

Around 10:30 the menfolk went to the office to see if the package had arrived.  The silly girl posing as a helpful employee informed them the package had arrived not 10 minutes ago but she refused it because father-in-law's name wasn't on it.  Understand that when we checked in they carefully recorded all four of our names in the computer, as well as wrote out name badges that we were required to wear at all times (we didn't need no stinkin' badges, but they didn't listen).  Since Bill had a brief stint as a man in brown, he knew UPS protocol was to attempt delivery at the space first, then the office if no one was there.  Plus, he also knew that the desk clerk could call the driver back since he wouldn't be far away.  She promised she would and would give the driver Bill's phone number.  The driver never called. 

Through many phone calls in which I had to put on my bossy pants voice to get them to understand how important it was that we get it NOW and not in 4 more hours as they offered, we finally arranged to meet the driver "very close to where we were," which turned out to be 15 miles away in the wrong direction of where we were going.  Bill and the driver stepped into the Walgreen's parking lot with fingers itching to draw.  They assumed the stance, eyed each other, then Bill took the first shot. 

Bill: I worked for UPS before and I know the protocol is to deliver to the site first.
Driver (with a rude attitude): There wasn't a site number on it.
Bill:  It says 3-155 on it.
Driver (Calling his assistant in for back-up and butt coverage):  Bring me the package. (Looks at package).  Oh, it is on there.  Well we had a bad morning. 
Kablam!

No apology, no admittance of guilt.  That reminds me of a famous line from Bill Clinton:
"When I was in England, I experimented with marijuana a time or two, and I didn't like it. I didn't inhale and never tried it again." –TWO times, but didn't inhale.  When we later asked for a refund of our express package fee, the driver told his superiors that there was no site number on it, therefore we didn't qualify.  Didn't these people watch Little Rascals?  Don't they know that lies always come back to bite you?

Moving On

 
Guess where we are now?  Texas is too big to be the end of a blog.  Next installment: Elvis is in the house.

Blessings:
A little angel is helping us with affordable hoteling.
Still have not gotten rained on despite thunderstorms and flooding around us.
Chalupa-free beds.