Monthly Archives: July 2010

Four wheels and a tangled web

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Despite what my teenage niece thinks (see my last blog), I’m pretty sure my 8- and 10-year-old nephews still think I’m cool. Of course, they aren’t basing this on my ability (or lack thereof) to operate my new cell phone. Instead, it’s my ability to drive them places they want to go.

I drove out to the farm this afternoon because nephew Blake of the Fairmont Buntjers is going to be spending the next week there. My folks traded their youngest granddaughter Alayna for her oldest brother on Friday, which means that after they fill Blake full of sweet corn and Grandma’s home-baked goodies (by next Friday) it will be Reece’s turn to spend a week at the farm.

Anyway, I took Blake for a ride to the back pasture on our 4-wheeler late this afternoon. We traveled the narrow path through the grove, sped up on the open dirt road between the alfalfa field and the soybeans until we rounded the curve, and then followed the waterway all the way back to the farthest point north on the property.

Before we made it that far, however, Blake tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a critter in the soybeans. All that was visible was her head and just a little bit of her neck.

"What’s that, Julie?" he hollered over the rumble of the 4-wheeler.

Had I been quick enough … oh, if only I’d thought of it … I could have spun quite a tale. Instead, I told him it was a deer. Then I paused.

"It kind of looks like a kangaroo though, doesn’t it?" I asked. "Those big ears, that brown hair … it could be, don’t you think?"

"Yeah, it could be," replied Blake. "But you already said it was a deer!"

Now, I can be pretty darn gullible at times and, if that is something one can inherit, well, nephew Blake inherited every gullible ounce of his being from his Auntie Juwee.

I can’t tell you how many times I have fooled this kid with my outlandish tales. Quite honestly, it’s to the point that the kid questions anything I tell him. That makes me giggle all the more!

It’s just that Blake asks more questions than anyone I know (well, aside from me – but hey, I’m a reporter!) It’s so easy to toss out a line and reel him in … hook, line and sinker!

But I really missed my opportunity with the deer. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow!

I took Blake through the back pasture, stopping to watch the rings in the creek after a muskrat spied us and ducked under the water, and then stopping again to point out some of the unique prairie flowers in bloom.

We’d spent a little too much time out back and, realizing we needed to get ready to go to the movie, I took the path back to the house at a little faster pace. Poor Blake was sitting on the back rack (his choice, not mine!) About half way to our destination, he asked me to go slower than my 15 mph speed … "at least over the bumps!"

Well, I slowed up a little bit and continued on my way through the alfalfa field, then onto the path through the grove of trees. I dodged the branch of a choke cherry tree and was just about to drive between the narrowest point in the path when I heard Blake say, "Why did that cherry tree just hit me in the head?"

After controlling my laughter (it was only leaves that skirted the top of his noggin’), I told Blake, "Ah, next time I duck, you need to duck. OK?"

I’m pretty sure he’ll believe me on that request. As for everything else I tell him, well, I’m thinking he’s learned to be a skeptic!

Desperately seeking coolness

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I was sadly informed the other night that I’m not really cool. Granted, the news came from one of my teenage nieces, but it felt like a dagger to my heart.

What isn’t cool about me? Is it my wonderful new sunglasses that fit over my prescription lenses? Is it my chunky old cell phone? Is it because I correct the grammar of my nieces and nephews? Or maybe it’s that I’ll be turning the big 4-0 in another six months.

I think Jessie’s assessment came from a combination of all four (but at least I don’t embarrass her in public, I was told!) Well, thank goodness for that.

The cool status conversation ultimately led to the retirement of my seven-year-old chunky cell phone over the weekend (It was the one thing that makes me “uncool” that I was willing to do something about!)

After months of over-analyzing the pros and cons, making several visits to the cell phone store and ultimately getting dragged to the store kicking and screaming (well, not really), I’m now the owner of a touch-screen telephone. Whether or not I’m a proud owner remains to be seen — on Tuesday I hung up on a co-worker because I tapped the wrong area on the screen. At least she (a 20-something who has grown up with technology) understood.

Sometimes, I think I would be “cooler” if I was a techno gadget geek. I’m starting to sense that my excuse (my introduction to computers was learning to play the Oregon Trail in the sixth grade) is no longer acceptable. After all, I have managed to adapt from the ancient MacWrite program and paste-up of newspaper days-gone-by to the wonderful (most of the time) on-screen design programs of today.

I’ve managed to do pretty well with e-mail for more than a decade, and I joined the Facebook bandwagon nearly two years ago, but both of those came with periods of adjustment. For instance, the first time someone sent me an e-mail with the letters “lol,” I thought the guy was telling me he loved me. (lol of course means laugh out loud, NOT lots of love — it took an embarrassing phone call to another friend to find that out!)

Because of those very adjustments, I’ve refrained from getting into the texting craze. This also, apparently, makes me “un-cool” in the eyes of a teenager. Niece Jessie would rather send 2,500 text messages in a month (no doubt sending out “lol’s” to many of her friends) than spend two minutes in an actual telephone conversation.

My biggest fear is that today’s kids won’t know how to carry on a conversation in 10 years. They prefer texting to talking, and their texting is filled with so many acronyms that I’d hate to see what they would do if they actually had to sit down and write a letter.

Personally, I’d rather answer my cell phone than reply to a text message, and I love to get hand-written notes — you know, those nice little cards sent through the mail just to say “Hi.” (Niece Jessie calls those the olden days, I believe.)

Just a couple of days ago I opened my mailbox to find a Valentine inside. Yes … a Valentine in late July. It was put there, I’ve since learned, by a couple of the little neighbor girls. The Scooby-Doo card started off my Monday morning with a, “Rou’re Roovy Ralentine!” and the hand-signed name at the bottom made me smile.

A little note in my mailbox, yep, that beats a text message any day of the week!

The Sweet Corn Bandit

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If you are a parent who has ever received a call from someone complaining about something your child did … well, I think I know how you feel.

I’m not a parent (thank goodness), but that didn’t stop my Mom from telling me the other day that my loveable little mutt Molly was a bad girl. (She couldn’t deliver the news without laughing, however, so I’m thinking the crime maybe wasn’t all that bad!)

Molly has had a fondness for corn on the cob ever since she was a puppy. I figured it was because I always bought her the healthy "Beneful" brand of food, with those little "green peas" and "corn nuggets" and other good stuff dogs can be trained to like if they aren’t spoiled by table scraps.

Anyway, Mom was tending to her garden one day last week when she heard a "yank, yank, crack" sound coming from the rows of sweet corn. She looked up in time to see my Molly run from the plot – pulling a six-foot stalk by its ear of not-quite-ready sweet corn goodness.

Mom was too busy laughing at the sight to scold Molly, which is probably why my little mutt hasn’t learned to stay away from the garden.

I have pictures of Molly eating sweet corn from a couple of years ago. It’s really a funny scene. She plops down on the grass after husking the ear, then puts a paw on either end and starts to nibble right down the center. Yum!

While Molly couldn’t wait for the sweet corn season to begin, my folks have patiently been watching and waiting for the crop to be at the peak of perfection. I got the call today that the corn was ready, so I headed to the farm after work to join two of my nieces for a sweet corn and barbecue supper while my folks went to a county fair down in Iowa with a couple of the grandkids.

It was kind of a nice mid-week break with the girls – Crystal, Jessie and my Molly, otherwise known as the Sweet Corn Bandit.

Warning labels

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I spent a large part of today collecting damage reports from Saturday night’s storm, but I have to admit, I sort of missed the whole big event over the weekend.

How could I miss the apparently constant bright bursts of lightning? How could I not hear the wind howl? How could I sleep through the loud cracks of thunder?

Well, apparently because I was doped up on allergy medicine. I slept 24 hours in a span of 38 hours between 5 p.m. Saturday and 7 a.m. Monday. That’s when I made further inspection of the allergy medication box.

There it was, in bold letters: "May cause marked drowsiness."

May? I think that may be an understatement!

Up until Friday, I went through life thinking I wasn’t allergic to anything. Now, however, it appears I’m having an allergic reaction to a horse fly bite. The annoying and not-so-little pest bit me on the leg Friday morning while fishing on an Alexandria lake. Though there was an immediate "ouch," I sort of forgot about the bite … until I arrived back at my home sweet home later that night.

By then, a bright red mark had settled around the top of my anklet, surrounding a dark spot where the fly actually bit me. (Today it looks reddish-purplish and downright nasty!)

I hobbled around on my injured leg most of Saturday, but when I finally got back home, my comfy couch was calling.  Two hours later, I awoke still in pain and decided to buy some allergy medication, as prescribed by my mother. (Apparently she’s made two doctor visits after being bitten by horse flies, and both times they sent her home with orders to take an over-the-counter allergy pill.)

Anyway, I bought the medicine, returned home and went to bed before 9 p.m. Who does that? I mean, the sun was still shining … or at least I think it was, my eyelids were getting pretty heavy by then.

Ten hours later, I woke up only to hobble as far as the couch before plopping down and wincing in pain. This time, I had my cell phone and the TV remote within reach. Dr. Mom would call to make sure I was still alive, I figured, and the TV kept me company for most of the day.

I actually felt good enough to drive to the farm Sunday night, after maintaining my regular dose of allergy pills. The dilemma came Monday morning, however, when I had to return to work.

Hmm, take the allergy pills and fall asleep at my desk, or not take them and see what happens? I chose the latter, which was an obvious mistake.

I think tomorrow morning I may have to tell the Commissioners at county board to keep an eye on me. If I fall asleep because I’m doped up on allergy pills, maybe they can throw a paper clip at me.

The one that got away

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There are many stories that could be shared about my three-day vacation to Alexandria, but the one that cannot be told is of me catching a lunker.

It didn’t happen.

Well, not really.

Cousin Chad and I were discussing just how best to share this fish tale in the boat within minutes after it happened.

"What are you going to write about this?" he asked. Of course, he just expected me to write something!

"I don’t know," I replied, still miffed that I’d been fishing with the rod and reel strung with either 2- or 4-pound test weight line. By then, the pole was sitting in the bottom of the boat and I’d already baited the hook on my alternate, 10-pound test weight line and cast it into the clear blue waters.

We’d spent a couple of rather quiet hours on the lake when this massive fish yanked on my line. I set the hook and began reeling in when, snap … the line broke inside the reel. There went my lunker … a plate-sized panfish at the very least … swimming off with the hook, line, sinker and bobber being pulled right along with it.

Chad suggested we refer to the fish as a type of massive freshwater shark for the story, while cousin Jay and I speculated that, more believably, it could have been a big bass. With the water as clear as it was, we all had a good look at the size of the fish as I reeled it toward the boat (and, unfortunately, as it swam away).

That lunker was the only one "almost caught" on this fishing expedition that yielded only about 20 panfish (sunfish, blue gill and pumpkinseed). Next time, said Chad, I’ll need to plan a fishing vacation a little earlier in the summer.

As for those other stories from our trip, here’s a brief synopsis: Dad caught a turtle, Mom had her first boat ride in probably 20 years, I drove more than 500 miles with Dad’s big truck, and Mom and I both learned that shopping isn’t much fun when you only have the confines of an extended cab truck to store the purchases.

Oh, and most importantly … nothing is better than sitting on a boat in the middle of the lake and listening to the song of the loon, even when the fish aren’t biting.