Happy 4th and Other Thankfuls

It's hot and muggy in the Ozarks, not unlike probably 3/4 of the country. But shouldn't it be that way for the 4th of July? In 1972, when my family moved to the house I lived in from 7th-12th grade, there was a crazy cold snap on the 4th. We had a 4th of July party at our house (we had a perfect view of a large fireworks display from our backyard), and everyone wore sweatshirts and huddled inside the house around the fireplace most of the night. I could maybe use a day like that about now.

Spending as much time as possible sitting
here, reading, napping, and watching
boats go by.

Moving on. If it isn't one kitten, it's another. Finn is part goat. He hopped and jumped his way on top of the armoire in our bedroom this week. I wasn't thrilled, since he was over 6 feet off the floor, but I thought he would come down the same way he went up (mostly via a recliner that has been sitting awkwardly in our room since March when we replaced it with another chair). I went in the bathroom to work on my hair (Curly Girl Method = many, many minutes working on the hair). My husband was sitting in the replacement recliner, facing the armoire. Over the noise of the hairdryer, I heard a TREMENDOUS crash and ran into the bedroom. My husband was calmly sitting in his chair. 

Me: What happened?!

Him: Oh, Finn fell off the armoire, I guess.

Finn fell. Off the back. Of the armoire. I called his name and got no response. This is a VERY OLD piece of furniture, and over the years, one of the boards that runs vertically along the back of it fell off and just kind of leans back there. It has made a terrific secret entrance to the armoire, where we store our linens, quilts, blankets, etc. (old house, no linen closet), and several of our cats have taken advantage of this over the years and will hide in there and sleep. I opened the door and called Finn's name, and finally his little face peeked up behind the bottom shelf. I reached through the opening and pulled him out. His eyes were black and he was pretty shaken up. He came in the bathroom with me and laid low for an hour or so and licked his shoulder and side, then bounced up and was good as new. I'm thinking he probably hit the board and mostly slid down, but I can't be sure, because I wasn't in the room, and the one who was DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE.

So, Thankful #1 is Finn is fine, although down a life. 

Finn before.

Finn after, protecting the catnip carrot

2. That old chair that has been sitting in my room since March and which allowed Finn to gain access to the top of the armoire? Gone! I had to take it apart and try to drag it downstairs by myself first, but my husband did get up and help me when he saw I wasn't going to quit, and we loaded it in the back of the van and I dropped it off at the Salvation Army. 

3. Finn found a brown recluse spider in the bathroom the evening before his Big Fall. It was under a rug in front of the sink, and it ran into a crack between the vanity and the floor before I could get it (note to self: caulk between the vanity and floor). Finn spent a very happy time trying to coax the spider back out, but to no avail, and he eventually gave up. The next morning, I saw the spider and squashed and disposed of him. I knew Finn was going to be okay after the Big Fall when he stopped licking his shoulder to peer under the edge of the vanity and look for the spider. It will be interesting to see how long he remembers that there was once a spider there and he almost (not) got it....

4. I have had tremendous success with a fruit fly trap in the kitchen at the lake house. I'm on my second trap and have caught close to 20 of the little suckers, and I may have decimated the herd.

5. Our neighbors across the street at the lake house have a 4th of July party at their house. Okay, a 3rd of July party, because the big fireworks display at the Branson Landing is on the 3rd, but my husband, dad and I enjoyed hanging out over there, eating grilled brats and hot dogs and all the side dishes everyone brought, and visiting with neighbors.

6. Everyone from the party came to our house and sat on our dock to watch the fireworks. It was a great show and we had ringside seats without having to deal with the crowds at the Landing.

7. More fireworks on the 4th, this time from Kamp Kanakuk, across the lake. Ringside seats once again with several of our neighbors joining us.

8. Summer food. Grilled burgers and chicken. Watermelon. Brisket on the smoker. Strawberry pie. Fresh green beans and new taters. Corn on the cob. Ahhh!

Strawberry pie with shortbread crust

9. A belated thankful for Kristi, our host and my dear cousin 😜, not only for her hosting duties, but also for the sweet TToT post-it notes that she sent me! 

10. I was today year's old when I found out you can include emojis in a post. Watch out!

Happy summer! Happy thankfuls!

A Pictorial Thankful For Our Patriotic Neighborhood Party

I live in a really cool neighborhood. In fact, it was recently included in 417 Magazine's article entitled "Neighborhoods We Love" (my house is the Tudor that is referred to in the first paragraph). The area is officially called Roanoke, unofficially called Northtown, and even MORE unofficially called Snob Hill. According to historicjoplin.org, the area, tucked into the northwest corner of town, was developed into a residential neighborhood in 1907, with tony street names and expensive lots. Each home is different, from cottages to colonials to everything in between. 

On the morning of the 4th of July, my neighborhood gets together for a celebration. It's a tradition that started in 1964 and includes patriotic music, speeches, a flag raising, food, drink, conversation, and holiday attire that (some, thankfully) only comes out once a year. My neighborhood takes its patriotism seriously, and that is my Ten Things of Thankful this week:

The flag raising ceremony.

Emma as the 2006 Miss Liberty.

Left, the speaker's podium. Center, Glenda
playing "God Bless America" on a keyboard,
with the entire crowd singing along.

Some of the crowd. 

Little girls in patriotic attire.

Food.

More food.

The "adult" drink station, across the street.

A couple of the bicycle parade participants.

See what I mean about thankfully
only seeing these pants once a year?

Happy birthday, America! I'm thankful to live here.

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Thankful for the Land that I Love and Other Stuff

Happy 238th Birthday, America! Our neighborhood puts on a wonderful patriotic 4th of July party every year, complete with flag raising, speakers, patriotic music (including a sing-along of "God Bless America"), and lots of food. Usually, it's hotter than blue blazes, but some freakish weather system brought us a delightful morning of low humidity and cooler temperatures than usual.

The flag bearer and Miss Liberty (aka my daughter)
2006

The flag bearer (second from left) and Miss Liberty
2014

We're a festive crowd.

1. I'm thankful to be an American, corny as it sounds. Our country has its problems (and whose doesn't?), but it's a pretty awesome place to live.

2. This week began with a snake in my house. I am not thankful for that. I AM thankful that there was only one and it was very small and very dead. If you didn't read about this yet, you need to fix that.

3. The other evening, everyone in the family (plus Ruby and Fletcher) was in my room, and there was no room for ME, so I took my laptop down to the living room and laid down on the couch and enjoyed the solitude. Is it bad to be thankful to be left alone in my own house for an hour or two?

4. It's no secret at our house that Pete, our 9 year old cat, hates Ruby with every fiber of his being, and he shuns me for bringing her into this life. A large reason for his shunning of me is because Ruby follows me everywhere I go. But the evening I went down to the living room by myself, she was in my room, sleeping in a chair and, due to the other commotion of kids and husband and cats and tv, she didn't realize I left the room. Pete was sleeping in a chair in the living room, and when he realized I was on the couch and Ruby was nowhere to be found, he came over, jumped up on my stomach (oof!) and laid there with me for about twenty minutes. Then Ruby realized I was missing and came down the stairs, and Pete flounced off with a hiss in her direction (and probably mine). Oh well, it was nice while it lasted....

5. Thursday, my daughter and I decided to enjoy a little girl time by going to a movie together. Despite my husband and son insisting it was going to be a stupid waste of money, she and I went to see "Tammy." (I think it's only fair to ask that I be nominated for Mom of the Year for taking my 15 year old to a raunchy, R-rated movie.) Is the movie going to win an Academy Award? Not a chance. Did we laugh all the way through it? Sure did! 

6. Not only did we enjoy seeing the movie, we (and I would like Mrs. Always Random to take note of this) didn't pay a dime for any of it, because I had a gift card that I forgot I had. Cha-ching!

7. Pretty much ever since we have lived back in Missouri, we have spent July 3 with my husband's sister and her family. We spend the day at the pool, eating, talking, and swimming, and the evening at my in-laws' house, eating dinner together, then setting off fireworks. We've gone from little ones who were excited to watch smoke bombs and sparklers to teenagers who can drive themselves to the fireworks stand (CAN, but don't, because they still want their grandad to come along and finance the operation) and set off all the fireworks themselves. My sister in law's family lives in Tulsa, which is only 2 hours away, but with the busy lives we all lead, we don't get to spend much time together. Our 3rd of July tradition is pretty sacred to us.

8. Spray sunscreen fail at our family outing, and I now have a sunburned strip on my right boob. I tried to take a tasteful picture of it, but that was pretty much a fail, too. The thankful here is that, thanks to my reconstruction-induced numb boobies, I can't feel a thing. First pain-free sunburn of my life!

9. My dad shot off a flare gun just after we watched a huge fireworks display put on just across the lake from my parents' house, and he didn't hit the boat that was sitting in the middle of the lake. If the police don't come knocking on the door and arrest him, then this will be TWO things of thankful.

10. Last weekend, my friend Zoe at Rewritten wrote about her chickens, many of whom have names. I told her my great aunt Daisy had a pet chicken (back in the early 1900s). Due to an unfortunate raccoon incident, Zoe found herself down four chickens (that means the raccoon ate them). A friend offered her four chicks to replace the ones who became popcorn chicken, and (THIS IS SO FREAKING COOL) she named one of them Daisy Dillon! Let me tell you, my great aunt would have been tickled pink to have a chicken named after her, as I am now. Well, part of the pink is my sunburned boobie, but believe me, I'M TICKLED!

Meet Daisy Dillon. Hopefully,
she won't become a snack wrap
for the raccoons.

Daisy Jefferson with her pet chicken
ca. 1912

In closing, may I say that if the police show up at my parents' door to arrest my dad for shooting that flare that landed less than 10 feet away from a boat, probably causing the occupants of said boat to crap their pants, I WAS RIGHT HERE THE WHOLE TIME, TYPING THIS POST, AND I KNOW NOTHING.

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Bring On The 4th!

Image(s) courtesy VintageHolidayCrafts.com

I'm not a big fan of the 4th of July. I hate fireworks. Really hate them. I'm convinced someone is going to blow a finger off. Or put an eye out. Or both. And I don't like eating outside, either. It's always hot, and that means back sweat (and sometimes boob sweat, if it's REALLY hot). And flies land on your food, and we all know flies eat poop and dead things, then land on your potato salad and rub their feet together. Not cool.

So glad Maria just posted this!

The one thing I DO like on the 4th of July is our neighborhood party. It is held on the morning of the 4th and is wonderfully corny, with patriotic music, speeches, and food - lots and lots of wonderful, delicious food. (It does include boob sweat and flies, but I make an exception for this event only.) This year, I fully intend to enjoy myself. And eat. And eat. And eat. And why is that?

Because last year, I had a miserable 4th of July. MISERABLE, I TELL YOU, the reason being that, due to exceedingly poor planning on my part, I had scheduled a colonoscopy for July 5. My oncologist had ordered it to check for any sign of rogue breast cancer cells, and my goal was to get it over with as soon as possible, so I took the first available date offered to me. 

As the nurse gave me my directions for the day before the procedure, it became quite clear that my 4th of July was going to be no fun. Clear liquids only (that means NO DIET COKE) for the entire day. Four laxative tablets at 3:00 in the afternoon, then a gallon of Gatorade (no red, pink or purple dye in it) laced with Miralax. Then waaaaaait...

Here's how that day panned out, as posted on July 5, 2012:

Colonoscopy checklist:
apple juice, check
four flavors of Gatorade (no Red 40), check
banana popsicles, check
Dulcolax, check
238 gram bottle of Miralax powder, ch---wait a sec....

MY bottle of Miralax powder is 527 grams. WTF? Time for a call to the nurse. The verdict? Apparently, the doctor prescribed the wrong amount for me (does he think I've been eating CEMENT?), and I only need to use 238 grams of Miralax. This, however, is easier said than done. How in the hell am I supposed to measure THAT? I live in America. We don't weigh anything in grams. Does this mean I have to do math? 

Fortunately, the major math disaster was averted, because I found a grams-to-ounces conversion calculator online, BUT I was then left with a minor math disaster of rounding off 8.29520 ounces into something measurable. 

I made it to 1:00 on the 4th of July, my very poorly planned Cleansing Day, before I got hungry. And I think I would have gone longer, had I not made the proclamation, "Gee, it's 1:00 and I'm not even hungry yet!" Because as soon as I said it, my stomach started to growl. And I will go on record RIGHT NOW as saying banana popsicles are not filling, even when you eat two of them in rather quick succession. 

At 2:30, I decided it was time to start cooking. I got my four bottles of Gatorade from the refrigerator, pulled out the kitchen scales, and got four little plastic tubs for the Miralax. I measured out 2.1 ounces (well, as close as my crappy kitchen scale can get) of Miralax into each of the four little tubs. Got out a funnel ('cause I'm a THINKER), an 8 ounce glass, and headed upstairs. 

The first little stumbling block was that I had intended to use four different flavors of Gatorade, so I wouldn't get sick of one flavor. What I didn't realize is the bottles I got held 32 ounces. I needed 64 ounces total. Therefore, as with the Miralax, I had twice as much Gatorade as I needed, and unless I did some elaborate pouring of Gatorade into multiple containers, I was only going to get to use two flavors. Crap. (No pun intended.)

Right off, I stuck the funnel into the bottle of Gatorade, poured the first tub of powder in and dunked the end of the funnel into the liquid, thereby completely clogging up the funnel and causing me to spill powder everywhere as I tried to pour it into the neck of the Gatorade bottle from the side of the funnel.

 It was at this point that I realized there was going to be a problem. Now, I'm no physicist, but it became quickly apparent that pouring 2 ounces of Miralax powder into a full bottle of Gatorade was going to cause some product displacement. Fortunately, I figured this out shortly BEFORE the bottle overflowed. Time for a Plan B.

I ran down to the kitchen and brought up a quart sized glass pitcher with what I THOUGHT was a tight-fitting lid. I poured the Gatorade and the rest of the Miralax powder into the pitcher, snapped the lid on, and started to shake it up, per instructions, and Gatorade started shooting out of the pitcher around the edges of the lid. On to Plan C, a Tupperware pitcher with a REAL lid, and I transferred the mixture YET AGAIN and got it mixed without further mishap.

I won't say the Gatorade/Miralax cocktail was delicious, but it wasn't quite as bad as I thought, in spite of how much I detest Gatorade. The Miralax was tasteless, although it left a bit of a film on my tongue. The entire experience was rather underwhelming, which is not what I expected from all the testimonials I received. That leads to the question, "Did it WORK?"

Bottom line (BAHAHAHAHA!!!): success! No walk of shame out of the hospital like my brother had to do recently. The procedure took hardly any time at all, my dear friend Michelle was my recovery room nurse once again, and the best part? My colon was as pink and smooth as a baby's bum. Take THAT, Cancer!