Good Night!

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Ha!  Paul slept all night last night, from 10:30 or so until about 5:30.  And in his big boy crib too!  I actually got up around 4 to see what was going on in the boys’ room (because my body was missing Paul : ))

I messed around with trying to put my own photo up as a header, but had no luck.  I need to know more about http I guess.  I like what I ended up with except it is smooth brome grass, which is the crabgrass of rangeland (least ways up here).  When I get it figgured out, I will put a native grass scene up.

I need to get to bed, I put Paul down in his crib again, so wish me luck.



With cold weather upon us, currently two below zero here, I thought I would post a couple of quilt photos. In a burst of domesticity I went shopping today. My book group is due at my house tomorrow, and this gave me the excuse to actually put something on the wall in my dining room. It has been bare since, let’s see…1998. Not that I am jealous, but they all live in new houses, and don’t seem to live in them, if you know what I mean.  A realator’s dream.  I couldn’t possibly compete, and don’t have any desire to, but I thought an update was not out of line.  As you can see, it is a huge wall, and the two items hanging on it were dwarfed by an expanse of white space. I hated to buy a quilt, but neither mom nor I have taken the time to make anything. Quilt presses (hanger thingies) run around $125 in town here, I need to get some oak and go into business. I did find this shelf thing though, and it was less than $50, but more than I had planned to spend. When I got home, I got out husband’s big drill, and screwed in a couple of screws while standing on the table. Don’t know what the ladies learned, but hopefully they learned women can use power tools. They probably learned to stand on the table.  The black thing in our dining room is the dangly from the ceiling fan, not something nasty on the wall.  Ansel Adams, I am not.

Quilt in dining room Paul's quilt, front Paul's quilt, back

The other quilt is the one I made for Paul. I bought the back several years ago, because I loved it. Mom found the design on the front, it was very easy. We did the team thing where she irons and pins and I sew. Makes things go pretty fast.

You will have to excuse my photos, I wasn’t able to stand very still.  Feel free to notice that the carpet has been freshly shampooed.  I did it for the first time ever.  From the looks of the water and the lack of stains on the carpet, I need to do this about once a year, rather than once every eight!  Jeez, look at the time, dialup took forever to load my photos, but I got the kitchen cleaned while I was waiting.

Four Things Quickly

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Four jobs I have had in my life:

Salad bar queen at Wendy’s, Grad student grunt, (aka new and used grass collector), Chef/waitress/bottlewasher at The Rustic, Mom 

Four places I have lived:

Laramie, WY, Pavillion, WY, Lyman NE, Mullen, NE 

Four places I have been on vacation:

Black Hills, Harlingen TX, Yellowstone, Tennessee


Four of my favorite Foods:

Something I didn’t cook, Fresh seafood, Anything Mexican, a good avocado

 Four places I would rather be right now:

Somewhere in the Sandhills, Scubadiving somewhere, Skiing somewhere, In front of a crackling fire with a good book

Rolling the Fuel Truck

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This story was told to Wildflowersp by Husband.

Several years ago, I drove a fuel truck as part of my job. I delivered bulk gas, diesel and propane to rural customers. At the time, I lived in the middle of Nebraska, a sparsely populated part of the state, with a lot of empty space between houses, like 25 miles in some cases. Cell towers were much farther apart than that, and cell reception was non-existent. It was a sun shiny Labor Day, and my boss had promised me the rest of the day off, after I made a round of deliveries. I was working about 90 hours a week for this guy, so extra time off was a rare commodity.

I had some trouble at the first place. I needed to fill an underground tank with gas. When I put the nozzle into the fill pipe gasoline sprayed back out at me. I couldn’t get more than a trickle into the tank, at about one gallon a minute. I could tell that something was blocking the fill pipe. Since I didn’t want to wait 1,000 minutes to fill the 1,000 gallon tank, I improvised. I crammed a piece of radiator hose down the fill pipe, past the blockage and began to fill the tank fairly quickly through this. The underground fuel tank had an air relief vent which ran underground 20 some feet, then up along the side of a building some 15 feet. When I had the fuel tank full, gas started shooting out of the air vent. I unhooked the hose from the fill pipe and gravity took over. The fuel that was up in the air relief had only one place to go, back out the fill pipe. I took an unleaded gasoline shower.

Gas on your skin burns, a lot, and I was coated with it from head to toe. I took off my shirt and crawled into the truck. Driving to the next stop, I became uncomfortable in the southern part of my briefs. You know, my tender areas. I was in the middle of nowhere, and my crotch was on fire. I did what anyone would do. I took my pants off. Actually I left them around my ankles. I had several miles to go, and the fresh air from the open windows was starting to get things under control. Aside from being a little distracted, I was driving fast so I could get home, for more than one reason now. The gravel road had a couple of curves, and at the second one I lost control of the fuel truck, and rolled it over onto its top. I crawled out as quickly as I could and looked around for witnesses. Then I pulled my pants back up. Fortunately, the truck didn’t explode.

Most of the gas on my pants had evaporated by the time I hiked back a mile to use the phone. Nobody was home at that place, but they had left the house unlocked. I called my boss, who surprisingly, was not mad. I got off work at 6:00, four hours earlier than usual, so I still got my vacation.

Later, I found out that the tank owner’s kids had been putting rocks in the fill pipe, and a large one had lodged itself in the bottom of the pipe, right above the tank. If you know where to look, the windshield is still in the south ditch.



  1. The Reader’s Digest published an issue on humor a while ago. I had to agree with a lot about the differences between men’s humor and women’s. It explained why my husband says, “you don’t have a sense of humor,” and why I reply, “you have the sense of humor of a 13 year-old-boy.” They pretty much used our words verbatim. I am not sure it is anything I can apply to life, but at least I know that I am not alone, and that I do have a sense of humor.

    I especially could relate to the part where they discussed what men and women call their friends. The article, which I no longer have (so this is paraphrased from memory), uses for example four guys meeting for lunch who call each other Fatboy, Red, Matter-o-Fact, and Schmidt Head. The four women called each other Helen, Meg, Annie and Jennifer. Husband calls both of his good friends nicknames, and not really nice ones. They have nicknames for him as well, and ones he deserves. I call all of my friends by their names, or a shortened form of that.

    Unfortunately the movie thing threw me a loop. I personally own two of the movies that were supposed to be men’s humor and none of those that were presumably for women. “Blazing Saddles” was my all time favorite movie to watch when I stayed home sick from work. I bought “Fletch” recently, and I still laugh all the way though it. I don’t believe it was on the list, which is a travesty, but surely it would have been on the men’s list.  We watched a Chevy Chase marathon while I was in labor with Mae, he just slays me.  I saw Annie Hall (listed in the women’s favorites) sometime in the last 24 months, and I don’t remember even thinking it was funny. Maybe it was because I don’t have much in common with the world of Jewish New Yorkers.

    My Step dad, Fred, is hilarious. We play a board game called Balderdash. You and your friends have to make up fake definitions for words you probably haven’t heard of, then you get to guess which one is the real definition. My definition for the word “squallop” was something about a brief but violent storm at sea. Someone else came up with a shell fish. Fred’s response was, “An Indian maid with loose morals.” Last night he came up with a definition for “snurp.” My first thought was something to do with Smurfs, but I made up something lame about shoe tread. Fred came up with, “when a person with a cleft palate drinks from a glass.” Please understand my step dad is not someone who would make anyone feel uncomfortable, and he is not prejudiced, or mean spirited in any way, and most of his ideas don’t have anything derogatory in them, it just happens that the two funniest I remember do. (I used to work for Uncle Sam, so I feel the need to put a disclaimer so as not to offend anyone.)

    Before she started pre-school last year, I taught Mae a couple of jokes. The teacher tracked me down and told me she had never heard a funny joke from a student before, or even one that made sense. So why did the chicken cross the playground? To get to the other slide.


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We are going home today!  Paul’s O2 levels are good enough to go “unwired.”  I laughed, a nurse cornered the Dr as he left our room and asked, “How come I have a mask and gloves on, and you aren’t wearing anything?”  I didn’t catch his answer.  Dr was really impressed that I could listen to the radio on my computer.  He isn’t really old, he might be as many as 10 years older than me, but I guess he isn’t really techno-savvy.  I’m gonna go pack now.

Still here, for now

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Friday Evening We are still here. Maybe tomorrow. Dr said that when we go home, we will probably have oxygen and breathing treatments too. I can only imagine what Leo will think of the O2 lines. Paul has started to flirt and visit with people, a good sign. Husband came up for a while, and he brought the baby vibrator chair. Unfortunately Paul is not interested in vibrating. I managed to pull the antibiotic line out of the port again, right at bedtime. He was really fussy all evening, and just wanted to be held, that is why I was transferring him from the bassinette to my bed. I feel sorry for our neighbors, although we are kind of at the end of a hallway. 


Not happy tonight.

  Saturday The cleaning guy is cute, probably 15 years younger than I am…but nice to look at and friendly too. Everyone here does things differently, one aid will put a full sized sheet on Paul’s bassinette, folding it under the mattress, the next will slip the mattress into a pillowcase (what I would have done). The respiratory therapist, a man, keeps Paul in his bassinette to do his treatments, he doesn’t even touch him. The nurses hold him and rock him when they do the treatments.  People come into our room in all states of dress, some in hazmat suits, some in just masks some just wander in.  I think there is a man in his 40s or 50s here, then the rest of the patients are all 80 years and up. I suspect my foray into pop culture is about to end. I think I have learned that 70 channels of TV doesn’t get me excited enough to want a dish. I didn’t even watch my usual shows this week. I used to watch Grey’s Anatomy religiously, but Paul was born on a Thursday, and I haven’t seen it since the first week in November. I don’t even miss it much. You can bet I won’t miss Lost on January 31. What I am missing right now is my Saturday morning NPR fix, I listen to Car Talk and Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. Wait, I can stream radio! It looks like I am back into the early 20th century again, of course using (for me) 21st century technology. I am gonna miss this internet hookup big time.  More when I know more, still haven’t seen the Dr today.


Mama! My bouncy!

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