Back In The Saddle...Almost

I’m back…for a while, barring I don’t slip on another tutu or fall over another tombstone.  

The morning after Easter 5:45 a.m. to be exact, I slipped on a princess tutu and tore my rotator cuff.  In June I had surgery and spent the summer going to physical therapy three times a week 60 miles away.   In August my Grandmother Hazel passed away.  She had lived a long, happy, successful, life.   She was 96 years old and it was hard to say goodbye to one of my best friends. 

My shoulder was on the mend,  but at Grandma’s graveside service I fell over a tombstone.  During the service I’d been watching near misses and worried about someone tripping over the one on my end of the tent.  I didn’t realize there was another on the other end.  Remember I have 10 grandkids, 7 of them under the age of 7.  I had my hands full of water bottles, mine and theirs. As I hurried out of the tent to speak to some relatives I fell head, neck and face first over the tombstone my rear and high heels in the air and my mouth full of dirt and grass.  Needless to say, I hurt my shoulder again, among other things, including my ego.    My “audience” watched in awe as I staggered to my feet, grass in my hair, spitting dirt out of my mouth.  All eyes were on me, then suddenly all heads turned away in unison like they’d not witnessed a thing.  I guess they were embarrassed…for me.  I was in too much pain to be embarrassed.  This is the first time I have been able to sit on the couch, watch television, do my nails, eat bon bons and be waited on.  I felt like a princess.   That was short lived.  Last week I graduated from physical therapy and returned to the barn only to leave with a limp after being kicked by an unhappy show heifer.  Returning to my running program is looking like a distant dream. 

Although I’ve been slack on posting, I’ve never lagged on my Facebook conversations.  Our animal ag and pet industries continue to be attacked on a daily basis and at this moment in time I have been compelled to share the facts of these attacks with women's groups across the country. Extreme activists are undermining us in all directions and will not be satisfied until their goal of abolishing animal agriculture and animal ownership is reached.  This sounds like a crazy absurd statement.  I wish it were.  I wish that I was able to devote all my days to writing and sharing my recipes and daily happenings but our business depends on owning and raising animals and when an entity, group or individual sets out to destroy your business you must stand up and defend that business.  That is what I’ve been focused on for nearly a year when our ranch realized extremists were making their way onto America's ranches under a deceptive guise.  For more information about the onerous programs and groups that are destroying our animal ag and pet industries visit  Animal Ag Armed

I will try to return to sharing more in-depth daily activities on our ranch.  For those of you who are revisiting this site please go to My Kitchen Is an Ecosystem  I ‘ve added new recipes and ideas for saving on your food bill by reducing, reusing and recycling in the kitchen, something I’ve done for years. and something that all of us are going to need to do during these difficult economic times.  

Why Shut My Mouth, Suitcase,Toothpaste & Purse

I don’t shut anything. My purse is always open, I leave suitcases unlatched, my perfume and lotion bottles don’t have lids, the toothpaste always has a slight ooze since the cap is no where to be found. I don’t know why I don’t shut and close things. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m lazy and I think “why shut it, close it or latch it, I’m going to be opening it again in a little while anyway.” I don’t like to iron and make beds either. To me it’s a total waste of time.

Brad gets so frustrated with me when I leave suitcases open. He loves to shut them. He loves to pack them neat and tidy and in order. Then he loves to make sure they are packed in the car in the right order. Not me, as long as I know the vicinity in which I threw it, I can dig for it when I get where I’m going. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a slob, I’m actually pretty organized, my house is pretty tidy, and my closets and drawers are beyond organized. I can give Brad the location of the little slip of paper that he wrote cattle weights on, where the mate to his sock is located and any email or telephone contact he might need.
A lot of times I get into trouble for leaving things open. Like last week when it would have been so simple to shut the lid on my good lotion. No, I left it open and one of my grandkids knocked it over spilling the contents all over the floor.
Sometimes I don’t shut my mouth either and I get into trouble when things spill out that I wished hadn’t.
Like his suit case shutting and car packing, Brad is also good at keeping his mouth shut. He’s contemplative and organizes his thoughts just like he packs the car. Before opening his mouth you can bet the words that come out have been carefully selected. Like my suitcases, my purse, my toothpaste and perfume bottles I have good intentions on shutting them. But it never fails, just like my mouth I just can’t seem to keep them closed, shut or latched. Maybe it’s just a guy/girl thing. Whatever causes it I continually work to overcome it.

Mama Mia...Make Me Over

Most of my life is spent in blue jeans, overalls, or running shorts and tennis shoes. I know, I should try to work a decent wardrobe into my daily routine here on the ranch, but it never fails that when I go to exceptional lengths to look nice, I end up having to drag around in a dirty pickup, drive a tractor, chase a horse or cow or whatever. It just doesn't work. So I'm definitely not a clothes horse. I never know exactly what to wear when I have to go to a special function with people from the outside world. I've had a terrible bone spur on my heel and yesterday bought some of those rocking orthopedic old people's shoes...in white. I didn't care. At least maybe my foot wouldn't hurt. Today when I left for OKC to attend the MBA class I still didn't care what I looked like, my foot hurt so bad. I wore the white orthopedic old people's shoes that rock and some blue jeans and a T-shirt. I forgot it was Commencement for the MBA program...until I saw everyone else in nice slacks, suits, etc. To make matters worse we had to get up in front of everyone in attendance...mostly professionals, and be interviewed by another professional... while being filmed. Humiliation doesn't describe it. It wasn't until I got up to be interviewed that I became accutely aware of my lack of taste in clothing. I suddenly felt like Elly May and Granny Clampett, mixed with Daisy Duke and Ma Kettle. To top it off my knees started shaking which accelerated the rocking motion of my white orthopedic old people's shoes. Answers to the questions the interviewer asked in front of the pained crowd seemed as difficult for me to decipher as a calculus problem. All I could concentrate on was not getting sea sick in my shoes. The poor interviewer was as pained as I was.
Afterwards, I went to the mall and wondered around. I'm just not a shopper but decided it wouldn't hurt to look. As I passed a very nice clothing store I stopped to take a look at the $9 shirts they had on a sale rack...my kind of price. As I stepped inside, the owner, a small dark lady with an Italian accent began telling me that I needed a makeover. "Do's jeeeens must go, dey have been out of style fo yeers... and oh my "de hair neeeeds cut." Talk about adding insult to injury. Well, I stayed and let her make me over. I won't tell you what that cost. More than the white rocking orthopedic old people's shoes.

Directions...Not My Speciality

I just thought I was dragging last week. Saturday and Sunday were busy and I thought I was going to get to turn in early last night. Nope. Brad checked the alfalfa about 8:00 p.m. and said he thought it was ready to bale. I rake...about twice a year.When we got to the field he got in my tractor (the one I drove two years ago) to refresh my knowledge of knobs. His directions: "O.K. you remember this knob does this and that one does that," and got out. I thought to myself, " And you probably know how to thread my serger, don't you?" I didn't say anything, but tried to go over in my mind the instructions he'd given me. By now it's dark. His directions for following the swathed trails are pretty much the same, "Just follow this path (what path??) until you get down there to that tree (what tree, it's dark??) and turn right, then you may have to swing back and pick up that other part... blah, blah, blah." The directions made absolutely no sense to me...but I didn't say a word. I just nodded "yes" and did my best. This morning when we went back to finish up, my nocturnal inattention to details was evident.
Another puzzling activity we do every summer that involves directions from my husband is the: "You Take Me Over To The Smith Place I'll Road This Tractor Back to the Ford Place You Take The Chevy Pickup Go Home and Come Back Then I'll Take This Tractor With the Baler Back to Canton We'll Both Get Back In The Tractor Sit For a While Then We'll Road It Back Home Again." On those days I need a road map explaining what's on his mind.
I was so confused Saturday night that I left him in the field until 11:00 p.m. He called and said I was suppose to have picked him up at 8:30 p.m. When he called I felt like I was on Jeopardy. "Where did I ask you to take the pickup?" Da,Da,Da,Da,Da,Da Daaa, Da, Da,Da,Da, Da,dadadadada...just before the buzzer, I answer "What is the Haskin's Place? "Yes." he said (whew, got that one right!) "Now where did I tell you to go after that?" " What is Home?" I say. BEEEEEP (whoops, got that one wrong) "No, that's not what I said, I wanted you to come back and get me." he said. At that point he asked me, "Where am I now?"... I said with weak uncertainty " What is The Humphrey Place?" "Yes." he said in an exasperated voice, "Now can you come and get me?" I did, with many apologies.
No chance of a "Returning Direction Taking Champ" title for me.