Charlyn’s Web

Just when you thought it was safe in blog land, I return.

We had a fun time. Walks and tractor rides in the woods, eating berries in the garden, eating lots of ice cream, dining outside, and visiting with friends and family.

Unfortunately, little Miss “I Don’t Get Carsick Anymore” did. On the busiest freeway that we traveled on. Luckily she is good with a bag but she wanted me to take it from her. Ummm. What was I supposed to do with it while I was driving in heavy traffic? She managed to seal it up and hung on to it until a more convent time. We then attended a salad bar reception at a museum. The kids were thrilled. Ha! They stared at the beautiful array of lovely (adult) things for the salad with dismal faces. The Boy had grilled chicken and a roll, Pixie had that but also tried a few of the other items like a small tomato and a pickle. Sunshine, who likes salad, actually had some with chicken AND shrimp. They enjoyed the brownies though. They were really good during the whole, very adult thing and were glad to get outside at the end to do some running around. They had peanut butter on crackers when we got to the Grandparent’s. Pixie ate two boiled eggs, two pieces of toast and bacon for breakfast. Took me awhile to figure out why she was so hungry. Poor skinny dear lost her lunch and didn’t have much dinner.

I was able to go to the State Archives and get some paper work from 1894 I had been wanting to get. It stressed me a little- I don’t like traffic or new situations but I managed. It’s times like those I sure miss The Col.

Speaking of Col. Panic, he and The Dog managed just fine. They stayed here and watered, played guitar (which is a feat for a dog) and ate leftovers. Sounds like a dog’s life to me.

So I’ll be getting up some stories and photos in the next couple of days. My throat is a tad sore and I don’t have much energy. Part of that is just getting home and collapsing- dreading unpacking and doing laundry. The other part- well, I hope I’m not getting sick.

How you all doing? I missed you.

I happened to look out the window to see a doe starting across the field. The Dog was out but I wasn’t hearing any noise from him. Just the deer walking calmly across the grass.

I grabbed my camera and slipped out the front and around the house. I wasn’t able to get very close- she was on to me!

I blew this photo up so you could actually tell that it was a deer. The quality isn’t that great.

She’s watching me. Then she did something that I haven’t seen or heard a deer do before- she started snorting. Well, I guess that’s what you’d call it. She blew loud breaths. Then she started stomping the ground with her front feet. I was glad I wasn’t any closer.

And what was The Dog doing while I was being snorted at?

Why, he is watching me. When he saw me look at him (and take his photo) he leaped off the porch and came over to me all happy.

Deer? What deer?

I know he saw it but he is just too lazy to chase them. If I had chased it then he would have ran with me, leaping all over, looking over his shoulder at me- “we having fun Mom!?!?” Then when I stopped, he would too, ignoring the deer that are leaping away.

We now let The Boy do the scaring of the deer away- he’s much better at it than The Dog.

*Note- I am still gone. Just got a post ready before I left so you wouldn’t miss me too much.

Well, I sure haven’t been posting much, have I? But over the next week I will be posting even less.

Why?

The kids and I are heading to the Rain Forest again tomorrow. The Col. and The Dog will stay here and keep an eye on things- like deer. That’s all The Dog does- watch them. They’ll be taking care of the watering too.

I have a Tea Reception to attend that is a kick off for a museum exhibit on some of my family and it’s history. Then the same family is having a reunion on the weekend. Should be fun. Plus some time visiting with family.

I was going to have a few posts queued up for you while I was gone but it doesn’t look like that will happen. So… have a good week. We’ll see you when we get back.

We performed a civic duty the other day. We filled out a special census form that was sent out to specific households. Aren’t we the lucky ones to be chosen?

When we first got it, I put it aside and told myself to not forget to do it. Then we got a postcard telling us it was required that we fill it out and if we hadn’t received it then to contact them. I thought that they hadn’t given us much time and promptly forgot about it. Then they sent another whole census. Then they started calling.

I hate phone calls like that. I feel nagged and they annoy me no end. Especially when I am cooking dinner, which I was when the first call came. I was told I could do it over the phone and it would take less time. How long? I asked. How many in the household? 5. How many over the age of 13? Two. Then it should take about 20 minutes. I looked at my sizzling frying pan and decided I didn’t have 20 minutes and told them I’d fill out the form. Then I didn’t do it.

They called again on Saturday. No, I hadn’t filled it out. How many in the house? How many under 15? It would take 40 minutes to fill it out. Hmmmm, I sure am confused as to how long this would take. 40 minutes or even 20 minutes sounded like too long to be on the phone. No thanks, I’ll fill it out.

We filled in all sorts of personal information. What kind of house we lived in, how many rooms (Rooms must be separated by built-in archways or walls that extend out at least 6 inches and go from floor to ceiling.), how long we’ve lived here, etc. etc. How much money we made in the last 12 months– not last year as reported on our taxes but the last 12 months, which would be different and more difficult to figure out.

They were especially concerned with our ethnic/racial background. They asked it twice for each person, in different ways. We indicated that the children were our biological children but we had to fill in their ethnic make up. Their Father is mainly German, I am a miss-mash of Norwegian, German, and English and so I filled that all in three more times for each of the kids. I wanted to put Brazilian for one, Tanzanian for another and Lithuanian for the third but I envisioned the panic I would cause if ever a family genealogist got a hold of the information. Brazilian!?!? Where did that come from? So I restrained myself.

Then there was the statement and pair of questions that really puzzled me. It started with this statement:

“NOTE: Please answer BOTH Question 5 about Hispanic origin and Question 6 about race. For this survey, Hispanic origins are not races.”

Question 5: Is Person 1 of Hispanic, Latino or Spanish origin? (Lists different Hispanic countries)

Question 6: What is Person 1’s race? Mark ( X ) one or more boxes.

• White
• Black, African Am., or Negro
• American Indian or Alaskan Native
• Asian Indian
• Chinese
• Filipino
• Japanese
• Korean
• Vietnamese
• Native Hawaiian
• Guamanian or Chamorro
• Samoan
• Other Pacific Islander
• Other Asian
• Some other race- print race.

So if Hispanic origins is not a race, what is it? And what would a person of Hispanic origins put as their race? Why did it not suffice for the Hispanics to fill in their ethnic origin in the other area? Why wasn’t Hawaiian Native put with the Native American and Alaskan Native?

Those kinds of things confuse my little brain.

They just called to see if I had completed it yet. I told them I had done it now leave me alone! She said if they don’t receive it in 7-10 days they may call back. I can hardly wait.

Our Government- we’re here to nag you.

I settled in to watch my favorite Saturday British Comedy- As Time Goes By when I heard a rustling behind me in the kitchen. I didn’t think too much about it but I kept hearing it and it was getting louder, more frequent. I got up and looked about- expecting to see The Col. but he wasn’t to be seen. I figured he had gone into another room. But the rustling was loud now and there were sounds of metal clanking. I cautiously moved so I could see into the kitchen and spotted…..

The Col. kneeling down by the counter watching the plastic sack that was full of recyclable cans. You know, the main times I “lose” that man are when he is kneeling down. I always look up for him. If we are separated in a store, I look up over displays to find him and that’s always when he is kneeling down so I don’t spot him. But I digress. I said- is that you?

Yes, he had been moving the bag about but only because his attention had been turned there by the initial rustling. He thought something was in the bag- besides the cans. He grabbed a flashlight and was trying to make out what was in there. Then he uttered the horrible word- mouse.

I scurried back to the couch and cringed. He said “It would be easier to see if you would hold the bag.”

Ha! I know what would happen! The mouse would manage to leap through the holes in the top of the bag and sink it’s horrible fangs and long, sharp, gruesome claws into my hands! I wasn’t going to take the chance. I knew The Col. could fend off the attack of the evil beast. He is brave and strong, I am a weenie.

He managed to get a good look at it, without the help of his fearful wife, and discovered that it wasn’t a mouse after all.

It was a frog.

He released it outside.

Now, explain to me how a frog got into the kitchen, far from outside doors, and into the plastic bag full of cans.

Ring!

Groggily I looked up at the clock. What? 6:50 AM? (Shut up! I was still sleeping!)

Ring!

Who could that be? My friend who was coming to visit today calling to cancel? So early? The Col.’s work? The Col. himself was trying to sleep beside me, finally getting a bit after another hard night of not sleeping.

Ring!

I decided I had better get it. I de-glued myself from the bed and raced for the phone.

“Hello?” Silence.

Not a telemarketer so early? Part of my foggy brain said hang up! but silly me said again- “hello!?”

“Bonjour?”

Oh geez!

Background- when we first moved here we would get early morning phone calls from French speaking people.

“Parlez-vous Francaise?”

Heck no! Call someone who does. Oh, maybe not.

We’d try to help them out, explain they had the wrong number. If often sounded like an elderly person or perhaps a soused person. They would get so confused- how had they got this English only speaking Yank? It was odd; often being the same time of day- before 7 in the morning. We finally decided that maybe there was a radio show or ad that aired about the same time every day and people were responding to it? We puzzled about it- where were these French speakers calling from anyway? Finally, inspiration struck and we looked up the area code for Quebec, Canada. Bingo! Rearrange the numbers just a bit and you have our area code. Then the calls slowed down and stopped- we thought maybe the ad had stopped being aired? Or maybe the drunk old people stopped responding to it?

But this morning, she (it was usually a “she”) was back. And rude too! I explained she had reached the United States and she hung up on me. No ‘pardon me’! Harrumph.

What a way to start the jour.

I can’t recall how many Saturday mornings when I was young I awoke to the sound of a chain saw- sometimes far away, sometimes close by. It is a familiar sound to me. Almost comforting.

The Col. fired up his chainsaw to clean up the fallen tree the other day.

(He has his chainsaw in hand but for some reason the thumbnail cuts it off. Click for the larger view.)

The Girls came running in to tell me that the chainsaw was loud. I realized they hadn’t heard that sound very often in their young lives.

We hauled the branches to a pile to wait until the burn ban for the summer is lifted and the Powers That Be decide that the conditions are suitable to torch it.

The chainsaw started acting up after most of the smaller branches had been cut off. Poor chainsaw hadn’t had to work in ages so it was a bit cantankerous. The larger stuff still needs to be taken care of but at least we could water the thirsty grass that had been underneath all those branches.

It’s going to be quite a bonfire when we get to light the pile.

Sunshine came into the bedroom as I lay with my eyes closed.

“Are you pretending to be awake?” she asked.

I contemplated the question- it seems an apt description of how I go through life- just pretending to be awake.

Yes, I replied.

” I thought so” she giggled.