(Actually I think what he’s doing is astonishingly cool. I can’t wait to see what he ultimately builds. Drawing a circle is just a test for being able to cut a circle from a piece of metal.)

It’s fun playing with my mom. We’re both decent players and neither gives up. Sometimes she whips my butt, sometimes I whip hers. Here are samples of our games.

It’s fun because we can text back and forth even though she’s not on a phone. Now I’m playing with my mom every day. That’s pretty special when you think about it.

About a month ago my husband asked if I needed a watch repair. It was on his list of errands. So I gave him two that had stopped running for battery replacements. Off he goes on the errand running, and I forget all about it because I rarely wear a watch (I just look at my mobile phone).

Today, more errands are happening. Usually he tells me where he’s going in case I need anything from there too (see above). But today not so much, which I thought was very mysterious, but nothing to be concerned about. So I’m minding my own business when hubby bursts in and presents me with:

The Starkist 25th Anniversary 1961 – 1986 Charlie Tuna Watch

I think I got this watch by sending in a bunch of tuna labels or something. In 1987 I wore it every day on a month long tour of England, Scotland and Wales, along with my normal watch. My normal watch was set to local time wherever I was, and Charlie always told me the time at home. So I have odd associations of comfort and home attached to this otherwise silly branded item.

Evidently the watch had to be sent to Hong Kong to get a new movement put in it. I have no idea how much this cost. I hope it wasn’t much, but these days, it probably was much.

Love

Today I can’t think of anything sweeter my husband could have done than have this stupid thing fixed because, even though it’s stupid and silly, I love the thing.

Thanks, honey.

My hubby complains from time to time that the store only has apricot jam, no peach jam. So I decided to lease a peach tree from local Schnepf Farms – they’ve been growing organic peaches for 45 years. The variety of peach tree we got is Earligrande – they ripen early, and, man, are they ever grand!

Our peach tree ripened during the last two weeks of May, and I ended up with 17 boxes of fresh, juicy, sweet and delicious peaches. Probably somewhere between 100 – 120 pounds of peaches. I’d say we consumed or shared 3 boxes worth of them fresh. Plus I went crazy buying jars and canned pints and quarts for just under two weeks. I’ve become a peach peeling and peach pitting expert. I have a peach pit callous on my index finger. And I’m proud of it!

The final tally:

• 5 pints Peach Raspberry Freezer Jam
• 5 pints Peach Cherry Almond Freezer Jam
• 8 8oz jars Peach Butter
• 6 pints Spirited Peaches
• 4 pints Peach BBQ Sauce
• 11 pints Honey Spiced Peaches
• 1 quart Honey Spiced Peaches
• 2 pints Curried Peach Sauce
• 3 quarts Peach Pie Filling
• 10 quarts Peach Halves in Syrup
• 5 pints Peach Pistachio Chutney
• 4 pints Peach Cherry Chutney
• 5 pints Peach Jam
• 2 8oz jars Peach Jam
• 2 10in Peach Pies
• 2 9in Peach Pies
• 2 pounds dehydrated peaches

I have a new nickname. My husband now calls me “Peaches,” and I don’t mind one bit.

Our 1943 Christmas

The food was good but the chicken was tough
But we chewed and chewed ’til we had enough
For health and food we all were glad
But best of all we had our Dad

Some hunted, some talked, and some even walked
At doing things for us none even balked
As for the children, naught could be finer
Than to stand in the yard and see the Streamliner

At games, puzzles and cards, all of us played
And far in the night soft beds were made.
The children were tired and sleepy – not cross
And we soon showed them we knew how to boss.

So soon they were sleeping quietly away
And knew nothing more ’til early next day.
While we silly old folks sat till our games were all done
Then we too retired, long, long after one

Next morning was fine and all in a glow
The children went out for a romp in the snow
Then late in the day to their homes they went back
Leaving Grandpa and I alone in our shack

We felt very lonesome and each dropped a tear
Wanting all of our children at home with us here
We can yet hear them calling “Merry Christmas” so clear
“Merry Christmas to you and a Happy New Year.”

12-27-43
Grandma Warner (Anna Warner)

I can’t help it, friends. He’s still new to us, and it’s a delight getting to know this little guy. I may as well share my delights. I hope you understand.

Sorry about the low light and autofocus. I was afraid he’d wake up if I got up and turned on a spotlight. I justified it – out-of-focus looks like semi-conscious. But it doesn’t. It just looks like amateur. But I don’t care, I got the shot before he woke up.

We’re doing this in the park in the center of Clarkdale, Arizona. The funny thing – after we finished a curious woman approached us. She turned out to be an anthropologist who specialized in human recreation. She really wanted to know what we were doing! After we told her, she explained that children in nearly every culture invent games to alter their state of consciousness. She just didn’t expect to find adults doing it in her local park.

Now, the daunting task of unloading this thing and figuring out where it all goes, or whether we keep it, sell it, donate it, burn it, or what … well, it has me genuinely looking upon this thing and its contents as a bit of a monster.

On one hand, there are some seriously cool things to be found in a home continuously owned by one family since 1956. For instance, this killer slide projector, made in Chicago forty or more years ago. It works, I got it free, they don’t make them durable like this any more, and I can finally look at all the slides my parents took in the 1960s.

Today, I unpacked a gorgeous KitchenAid stand mixer that I can’t wait to try out. Like most things from Gary’s mom’s house, it came with all the attachments and undamaged instructions (not that these things are difficult to figure out how to use). I had to rearrange some of the kitchen to make room for it, but it’ll be well worth it.

Then, there are the items I unwrap and think, “Really? No. Really!? There couldn’t have been a garage sale? This was worth storing for two years and then shipping cross-country?” (Side note: for some reason I really want to ship this off to Jennifer Proctor.) But I recognize that, when you just want to get home, it’s easier to put it all in boxes and deal with it later.

Later is today.

Last year I decided to stop celebrating birthdays, and instead I decided to start celebrating whenever I grow and become a better person.

But my mom instigated a surprise birthday party on the occasion of my fortieth trip around the sun. She got my six closest friends and my husband to keep the secret and meet up at a roadside diner in Rock Springs, Arizona. I thought I was just going to meet my mom for lunch. Instead a whole bunch of wonderful happened.

And I feel like a better person than I did yesterday. Sometimes your friends and family have to remind you.

Thank you.

Especially you, Mom.

At 7 minutes it’s overlong. It’s long because it’s a conversation, and I wanted to say all this to Matthew, whose own post is over six minutes. It’s one of those topics that sometimes requires a bit of background. If you think it would depress you to hear about the years I spent as a caretaker to my grandma, then don’t feel bad about skipping this one.

But if you want to hear about the reality of caring for our elders, then dive in. We’ll all be old or sick or helpless one day. We may be called upon to care for someone who simply has no one else. Don’t imagine this doesn’t apply to you.

You’ll notice edits – that’s just me taking out some pauses and irrelevant details.

in 1955.

As written by my grandmother, Olive Jane Poe Whitmore.

I identify with Bekah’s journal entries. They could almost be mine. We graduated high school in the same year, Miss B and I. We began college the same year. We put ourselves through similar turmoil, and wrote about it with similar alternating sarcastic humor and raw emotion. Our choices were many and difficult.

Grandma lived in simpler times. There was never much question about her choices. She dated one guy before my grandpa, but married grandpa, who was the love of her life. She didn’t have sex before marriage. And her writing is more a record of inevitable events than a tortured exploration of possible life paths.

I find that really interesting.

Ever.

You’ll probably notice that every object could lead to a story. If you’re curious about something feel free to ask – I’ll vlog the answer for you.

Because this is fairly personal footage, this video does not carry my usual Creative Commons license. Instead I elect to retain all rights.

This is inspired by / in response to two of Heath‘s posts:

1. 8 Years Later
2. Saying Goodbye

It’s probably not especially clear what’s going on in the video. My mom wants to attract Mary, but has no means to do so, so she goes next door and steals bird food from the neighbor’s porch. They come outside to see what’s going on and give Mary some bread so that she’ll come closer. You can hear some of the conversation. It’s just a little slice of small town life.

Because it’s a very personal story I’ve licensed it for no derivative works by default, but you can always ask.

Mulberry Tree by Cheryl Colan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at hummingcrow.com.

The rules are pretty simple:

1. You may not play any real words
2. Your fake words must be somewhat plausible
3. You must provide a pronunciation and definition for the words you play

Being good at BS makes BScrabble pretty fun, and being bad at BS makes it super fun! How can you not like our way?!

Bonus link for context: ze frank’s take on Scrabble