It's all about the dogs.

About a year ago we installed a small pet door. It was meant for Gracie, the cat, but she rarely used it because of this. Remy would stick her head, which was all that would fit, through the little hole and just sit there all day long watching what was going on in the kitchen and longing to come inside. She, however, was not allowed inside as her dog manners were atrocious. She is known to have eaten more than one entire cube of butter. So, she has been banished to the "do not enter" list, which is something like the "no fly" list the airlines have. But, after a year of her head crammed as far through the little door as she could get it, and poor little Moose, who obviously was not little enough for the little door, squeezing himself in and out of it, and Lewis slamming through it at mach speed to get outside and play with the chickens, my poor little pet door was broken and it no longer kept out the cold wind. So, it was time to install a new one. I decided to increase the size slightly in the hopes that it might last a little longer and make it a little easier for Mr. Moose to get in and out, because as we all know, at my house it's all about the dogs (and cats, and birds, and whatever animal might come to play).

I gathered my tools....grinder, drill driver, screw driver, goggles, and my favorite paring knife from the kitchen. What, you don't use a paring knife when doing a home improvement project? Oh how I wish there had been a photographer on hand to document the entertainment. I ruthlessly removed the broken pet door, not taking any care what so ever to keep it in tact. I hacked and ripped and tore that sucker out of the door, breaking my favorite paring knife in the process. Note: a paring knife does not make a good pry bar. Next, I drew the pattern on the insulated metal door so I would know exactly where to cut the hole. Next I donned my safety goggles, long sleeved shirt, and leather gloves because Jay warned me there would be sparks when I did the cutting. It was awesome! It was like the fourth of July and I had lit an entire box of sparklers on fire! I took that grinder to the metal door and the sparks rained down like a Nebraska rain storm. Carl, the cat, observed intently from the top of the washing machine. He maintained a good vantage point, but kept a safe distance from the rain of fire. Tater, Remy and Moose stood on the back porch, their little doggy heads tilted curiously to the side, mesmerized by the fascinating show. I carefully cut and shaped the perfect opening and tried the new door in the hole to see if it fit, then taking it out and carefully shaving a tiny bit more off the opening, and then fitting the door to the hole. I repeated this process over and over until I had the perfect fit.

At last I was done. Everything went together slick as a whistle and Tater was enthralled by the idea that even he could now fit his big 'ol head through the little door. He stood and tapped the clear plastic cover with his wet nose until he was satisfied that it was, indeed, flexible before he finally put his snout all the way through.

Moose pawed the flap several times to insure that it would swing both ways before he happily hopped through it and he was delighted at how simple getting in and out of the house had suddenly become.

I just cleaned up the mess, put away the tools, and kicked back with my favorite tangerine fruit bar and admired with pride the latest in my home improvement endeavors.

Next, Jordan and I are going to build a new chicken house. Shhhh.....he doesn't know it yet.

Festival of Fall

I hate winter, there can be no doubt of that. However, I do love the highway that brings us there often referred to as fall. Fall is that magical place where you can walk around during the day without a coat, taking in the bright, warm sun and blue skies, but at night you get to remember how wonderful it feels to climb between sheets that have been warmed by an electric blanket and pull them up tight around your chin as you snuggle in.

Everything in the fall smells of warm cinnamon and cloves and tastes of pumpkin and spice. There is pumpkin pie and pumpkin cookies. I was in Walmart and they even had pumpkin fritters. Yum!! I went to Ingram's to have something engraved and there across the street was that little piece of Heaven on earth called the Great Harvest Bread Company. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there would be endless pumpkin delights waiting there for me. Sure enough, I found a cream cheese filled pumpkin roll and a loaf of pumpkin chocolate chip bread and I hastily shelled out $17.00 in cash just so I could take them home with me. I have no idea who I think is going to eat them, but I was on a pumpkin roll (pun intended) and there was no stopping me.

On the drive home I was overwhelmed by the beautiful array of trees and bushes showing off their brilliant attire. From the fiery red burning bush to the liquid gold Quaken Asp, color was everywhere. There was even a huge maple tree that sported the brilliant gold at the top, with a burning bronze in the center and the die hard green leaves at the bottom. It was like the life giving sap that ran through its veins had chilled and thickened and just couldn't manage to flow to the top any more and so slowly the life drained out of it from the top down.

It was amazing to see how everything that was alive and vibrant just a month ago was now drifting off into the slumber of winter in a bursting flash of rich colors. Soon these beautiful plants will disrobe and let their endless pallets of color drift to the ground where they will slowly decay beneath a frozen blanket of snow and once again I will forget the beautiful picture that is fall as it is chased over the horizon by the cold, gray of winter.

I wish I had the time to take my camera and just walk these streets and collect photographic evidence of this miraculous event. But alas, I will simply grab a glimpse as I hurry about doing the mundane errands of the day and I will have to wait until life bursts alive again in the spring to appreciate one of God's beautiful gifts of nature.

Why my generation is scarred (or at least one of the reasons)

I was driving by the high school today and saw the girls walking around the track in their attractive, knee length black gym shorts and baggy, long gray t shirts and caught myself thinking back to my days in junior high and high school P.E. class. The younger generation

will probably never appreciate the humiliation that was every day gym class for my generation. I remember that first day of 7th grade gym class when the gym clothes nazi's issued the "required" gym clothing that every girl had to wear. Mind you, the boys were never asked to wear something this ridiculous, because really, girls weren't self conscious enough. right? We each dutifully accepted

THIS!!!!

The big, blue, monkey suit. Does anyone else find it strange that the powers that be who forced us into these ridiculous get ups couldn't understand why all the junior high girls had so many strange illnesses that they could provide notes for that said they couldn't dress down for gym class? Really, do you have to be a genius? These babies were one size fits all. Now, mind you, what the meant wasn't that they came in different sizes. What it meant was, if you can get the snaps to close, it fits ya'll. I remember those horrible days of walking out of the dressing room looking like a blue version of the Michelin Man, holding the front of my gym suit tightly with both hands while people across the gym threw big, red, rubber balls at my head. I knew if I let go of that snap front garment to protect my brain from being damaged that some joker would sneak up behind me and yank the back of that baby. The snaps would then all pop open and I would be left standing there in front of God and everybody in my over the shoulder boulder holder and my big, white granny panties.

My poor mother, God rest her sainted soul, could not understand why in the 7th grade I was becoming ill at exactly the same time every day. I would go to the office and tell Mrs. Brizee that I needed to call my mom to come and get me. Mrs. Brizee would try to convince me to stay at school, but I always insisted I was too sick to stay. My mom decided to do some investigating before she had me admitted to the hospital and discovered that my illness always occurred right before gym class. Gee, imagine that! Who would want to miss the opportunity to don the glamorous blue, snap front bubble?

So, young people, when you look at your parents with your little eyebrows knit together and wonder why we are so strange, just remember that you were never subjected to the humiliation of the baggy blue gym suit.

Kira in Wonderland

After a really, seriously, stimulating afternoon at lunch with my friends from high school and actually hearing Dave Eslinger say he was going to do it with Brian Williams, I was pretty much ready to spend the rest of the afternoon shopping with my 2 year old granddaughter, Kira, Paul’s baby girl.

I picked her up at her house and strapped her little car seat in my car and we were off. Our first stop was Ingram’s Fine Jewelers. I had to take an earring for repair, but Kira and I admired the sparkling diamonds in the cases and then as we were leaving I educated her to the fact that cubic zirconium looks just as good and you can afford to have a lot more of it. Why have a few expensive pieces when you can have drawers full of cheap, pretty little baubles.

Next we were on to Walmart to pick up hair spray. I took this tender Grandmother/Granddaughter bonding moment to explain the importance of hair spray. It was ridiculous to spend any amount of time working on the perfect hair do if you didn’t put forth any effort to preserve it for the rest of the day.

Now we were on our way to Cal Ranch. That’s right, this Grandma knows how to shop. Jay and I have a stringent philosophy. If you can’t get it at Walmart, Cal Ranch, or Sportsman’s Warehouse, you don’t need it. Here Kira tried on some adorable pink cowgirl boots. However, Grandma refused to pay $45.00 for 3 inches of pink leather and a rubber heel. But, we did pick up new batteries for the dog collars, a stuffed cat for Kira, and a new toy duck for Tater that quacks when you squeeze it.

Now, I do have to add one more essential shopping location to Jay’s list. I could not survive without Barnes and Noble, so we were off to look at the books. Or, should I say, the great Paradise of Literary Utopia. We sat at the little tables and Kira would get a book,

carefully sit down, turn a couple of pages and then loudly announce, “de end”, and slam the book shut

and put it back on the shelf.

After wandering every inch of the children’s department, we decided to travel down the halls of the Grand Teton Mall and get us a Pretzel. Seriously, who goes to the mall without buying a Pretzel?

But, just before we got there, the echoes of children’s voices and the bright, colorful toys in the mall play court summoned her like the famous Greek Siren song and she squealed with delight as she drifted off to the play court calling, “play, play!!”

She climbed up the bridge and in the tree and slid down the other side. She laughed and ran with the other children.



One rather obnoxious little boy was determined to cause her irritation and he would block her access to the slides. Kira, in the true spirit of her daddy, refused to be irked by him.

She just smiled happily at his attempts and ran to a different toy. No matter how many times he tried to annoy her, she would have none of it and before we left he had given up his evil ways and decided to be her friend. Soon he was calling to her, “come over here and play with me.”

At last, I was able to break the trance that held her there and we went for that pretzel. She sat at the little table and nibbled the warm pieces of bread and then finally announced that she wanted to see her mom. And so our day was over and we wandered back to our car, Kira holding my hand while she stared at the ceiling, twisted from front to back, and stopped every few feet to just add a little hop to our walk.

I am so grateful for this precious little child. Every time I look at her pure white hair, clear blue eyes, and the shape of her face, my heart is filled with memories of her father. Her smile and her mannerisms are so much like his that I feel my heart squeeze with emotion until I feel like I might choke. And then, she squeezes the toy duck, giggles, and says, “quack” and she saves me from my own melancholy. Being with her is sometimes bittersweet. As long as I have her, Paul will never be forgotten, but observing her uncanny resemblance to him also ignites the exquisite reality that he is truly gone and he, who loved her the most, will miss seeing her grow into an amazing young woman.

Jay in Africa

One day not too long ago, Paige grabbed her purse, a book and a calculator and as she was walking out the front door she declared, "bye mom, I'm going to Africa."

I should be embarrassed to say that I was probably just as misinformed about Africa as Miss Paige seemed to be when I first heard that Jay was going to work in Africa.

I can certainly guarantee that

this is not what I expected.
And certainly not this either.
I am quite certain I am not the only poor little country girl from Iona, Idaho that thought Africa meant Lions, Tigers and bears.!

Oh my! In spite of the flashy green boots, these guys don't really look all that wild.

Now maybe this guy that Jay calls Bulldog could qualify, but truthfully, I think the wildest things he deals with are a bunch of stray cats and dogs.

No, you have your proper Englishman,

and a few Egyptians, Algerians, South Africans, and the ever illustrious and highly desired Texans. (although the Hillbilly on the far left catches my eye.)

He did get an award. He says it was for safety, but personally, I think the Texans were so impressed by his attire the first time he walked in the commissary in his high top boots, flowered Bermuda shorts, and flashy Hawaiian shirt they just had to give him the Tommy Hilfiger fashion award.

It could be worse, though. The lodgings are 5 star.

The mud spas are to die for.

The cuisine is, well, what can I say.

And, seriously, look how happy he looks. I'm surprised I can ever get him to come home.