Take A Walk

“So what do you have planned while Cody’s traveling?” a friend asked me just days ago, assuming I would spend the Kohl’s cash burning a hole in my pocket or buy a tub of ice cream and catch up on the Hallmark channel.

“We may have cows cycling into heat. So I’ll be keeping up with that.”

I’m not sure the gal understood anything about my week’s plans, but I didn’t bother explaining that I’d sit outside to watch for certain behavior coming from the lot to log estrogen cycles so cows can be appropriately bred and due dates are accurate. Stockman wives just spend their time differently.

Cryptic snapchat I sent to CS using my nose to type.

I didn't want to take off my gloves. 

CS has been traveling out of town and rather than sleeping later since there will be no shower line or parading through town in the evenings wrapping up (no pun intended) our Christmas shopping, I’ve spent more time outside.

Part responsibility, part desire.

My responsibility lies in checking all cattle, feeding a set of heifers and watching heat in the main lot. It’s easy work and I enjoy it. Ask me again when it’s -10º and some idiot cow has splashed enough water over the float water system to freeze the blue balls and cause mass chaos around waterer. Yeah, ask me then.

The responsibility forces me outside, morning and night, clean air filling my lungs and extra steps in my day. I’ve gotten into a routine of walking laps around a 15-acre lot before I start feeding or heat-seeking. The areas that I have to feed are well lit; the pasture is not. Before it gets completely dark – night falls right around 6:00 PM – I take a solo stroll.

I’ve come to crave this time, if only 35 minutes, of walking and thinking; or, not thinking at all. And before this somewhat recent routine, I have trouble remembering the last time I walked with no intent, no music or no partner. Only the crunch of leaves and twigs under my boots. It’s been a while.

I walk and see headlights in the far distance, traveling north, likely heading home from work. Even as close as we are to a highway, I can’t hear the steady traffic way out there.

Have you ever noticed that the quieter you become the more you can hear?

I walk and think about the long list of work responsibilities that lie ahead in the next three months. None seem as pressing when I recall them along a tree line with hedge apples wasting at the ground. For every thing, a time. Even during a season where everything seems to be dying off, it’s amazing the peace and life found in things that are growing.

I’ve learned that with every quiet walk outside I receive more than I set out to find. There are few endeavors I’ve taken on that have offered that advantage.

I never have a set path, though I do have a particular distance I like to make. My path may wind or cross or repeat, but it always gets to me to where I need to go. It’s funny: when I pass through that second red gate I never really know where I’m going until I get there.

Do you want to get a better night’s rest? Talk a walk outside.

Do you want to get more out of something than what you put in? Talk a walk outside.

Do you want to do something good for your body? Talk a walk outside.

Do you want to get your mind off the day’s trouble? Talk a walk outside  in uncomfortable shoes.

I’m no health nut (I love cheese), fitness expert (have ya seen me?) or tree hugger (just, don’t). But I do think there is power in getting out of the house and spending some solitary time in nature. And nature seems like such a vast cliché. Just get outside and leave anything with a battery on the kitchen counter. For 30 minutes a day.  How's that for basic? You’ll be amazed at how much better you feel. Worry not, you trivia tyrants; Alex Trebek will be on again tomorrow.

Looking back, I think there was a reason Momma always told us to “put on a hat and go outside to build character". She knew that we’d have a far greater advantage creating our own adventure by exploring the big world outdoors than anything Alvin and the Chipmunks could have offered.

Such a tough lesson when you’re six; 

a little easier to swallow at 31.

A Warm, Glowing Fiasco

We never say the words, but every so often Momma and I ask for opportunities to be miserable. 

We’re alike in that there is no place we’d rather be than home. On any given Friday night we’re happiest at home with a box of Triscuits, sharp cheddar cheese and a 2-hour Dateline Special. With the deadbolt locked…and taking turns checking it during every commercial break. But sometimes we do leave home and venture into what one might call situations.

We once sat in line for four hours during  Tire Drop Off Day. You want a good glimpse of the people in your tiny part of the world? Go ahead and tell the public they can dispose of all tires for free during one Saturday only. Then sit in a parked truck for four hours and watch. That’s a blog for another week. We survived, but it was the only time I seriously thought my Momma might consider leaving Dad. He had sent us to town that day in the farm truck with a bed full of dry rot tires, some stale airplane peanuts in the console and two cookbooks. Like I said, a story for another time. 

Momma and I are on the right. 

She called me Sunday morning:

“Can I call you back when I get in the car? I’m trying to get out the door to church,” I asked in haste.

“Well I’m walking into church now (her way of revealing that my time is no more valuable than hers). Do you want to go to Warm Glow after church?” Momma asked.

I knew what I wanted to do, but I also knew the timing couldn’t be any worse: this was Christmas open house weekend at possibly the largest public attraction in our area: Warm Glow.

 

I grew up just minutes from Warm Glow, a candle shop once the size of a two-car garage that has more recently expanded into 80,000 square feet of candles, signage, home décor, beer, wine, hand crafted soaps and other wild things that I’m certain your brain could never even dream up. It’s every most women’s dreamland and every man’s nightmarish hell. 

Check out the amazing products at  Lonely Windmill Farm 

In my life B. C. (before Cody) I invested a small fortune into Warm Glow turning my first house into a beautiful little home. Now A.C. (you get it) those scented candle rings and sparkly burlap lampshades hide in mouse-proof (I do the best I can) Rubbermaid tubs while I now prefer to decorate with anything that can be rinsed off with a garden hose. Guys are gross.

Anyhow…

Knowing that this weekend was the biggest shopping weekend for Warm Glow (like, thousands flock to this place), I accepted the challenge and told Momma I’d meet her at BSG after church and we’d carpool the 4.7 miles to Warm Glow for an afternoon of shopping for things that will be in Rubbermaid in 25 days.

I drove over I-70 and our grand idea of self-inflicted pain really struck; the parking lot was packed, the lawn was covered by vehicles and cars were winding down the long driveway, parking by the road.

“Well this was stupid,” Momma said. I kept driving. Misery loves company and I was about to rub elbows with 1,500 of my very best friends. Once inside she told me we didn’t need a cart since we’d be here only 20 minutes. I knew better and grabbed a cart then threw my purse and coat inside. Might as well get comfy. I should have worn yogas.

We were on a (suicide) mission to find only a few, very specific things:

Momma: 1 Red, 1 White and 1 Green candle for a centerpiece.

Me: Two candles for upcoming gift exchanges.

BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE

I got my steps in, though my Fitbit was resting peacefully on my nightstand. We actually walked the entire width of the store three times looking for a damn peppermint candle – the white in Momma’s festive trio. We couldn't do Evening Mocha or Coconut Cream or Creamy Vanilla Bean. Nope. Nothing smells like Christmas like a Merry Mint candle burning next to a Northern Pine burning next to a Cranberry Stardust. At one point I didn't know if we were going by color or the fact that Momma made her list on an empty stomach.

However, during our voyage for the perfect Merry Mint, we visited with:

1 old nursing colleague

2 high school classmates

 1 FFA friend

3 people we tried to avoid for the sake of time

8 Facebook friends, one of which I asked how wedding planning was going only to learn there would be none. Jean’s Boots Lesson #1,271: If you can’t recall many Facebook posts about said wedding planning, best to not even mention it.

And 378 children looking for

Santa, Mrs. Claus and….Elsa.

Momma got more excited about Elsa being at Warm Glow than a 60-something should. It’s the Grammie in her, I guess. She asked me to wait in line to see Elsa so I could get my picture with her to send to my niece Marlee (6).

I found a few holes in this proposal:

I’m 30-something and have frankly never seen Frozen.

I forgot my Frozen costume.

I’m 30-something.

I couldn’t see the end of the line.

I’m 30-something.

If I did stand in line looking like Buddy the Elf compared to everyone else, who in the heck was going to take the picture? 

Momma got an iPhone just over a month ago and has Facetimed me something like 68 times since. There was no way I was going to teach her how to use the camera today. 

I came up with a better solution and asked Elsa to pose for a solo photo in between toddler hugs. The only thing that could have made this more awkward for this amazing sport of a gal would be if I were a 57-year-old male.

We then found the bird display and stocked up on birds for Momma’s old bird tree, which sits at the top of the landing and terrifies every grandchild old enough to focus their eyes (Georgia is just so very young, give it time). I’m including pictures for my friend Cheyanne.

 

When the day was said and done, in our cart we had 14 candles, 6 candle plates, 4 creepy birds, 3 bags of candle chips, 1 Christmas present I can’t discuss and a box of wine. Yes, on a Sunday. There was a winery on display in the corner of the Watering Can (Warm Glow’s garden center) and Momma somehow found them while looking through the Fairy Gardens. 

Who am I kidding? We were as lost as last year’s Easter egg and that card table with a wine display seemed like a mirage. But it was real! Twelve bottles, real.

If you’ve never been to Warm Glow, it’s a must-see attraction while traveling I-70 between Indiana and Ohio. The concept of the perfect candle began in a couple’s basement just down the road from BSG and has grown into this really incredible shop tucked away in rows of Indiana corn. At the same exit is a Dairy Queen, so you can spend your kids’ inheritance on hearth candles then blow your last $15 cash on Blizzards just across the way. That’s assuming you didn’t eat Warm Glow ice-cream while shopping.

The afternoon turned out well and Momma and I left feeling as tired and broke as we did after Tire Drop Off Day. Our legs and pocketbooks hurt, but we reconfirmed something that day:

We just weren't cut out for 

some social events unless they involve 

cheese and  Keith Morrison. 

An Evening Without Flash

Sometimes good, honest intentions get ambushed, hijacked and go on to crash and burn. 

Case in point: 

I responded to my husband’s interesting comments about my clean-out-the-freezer meal plan by preparing his least favorite meal of all time. Just because I could.

Only to realize – after 45 minutes at 350º - that I forgot to cover the chicken (yep, I took it that far) and rice dish with foil. 

At minute 46 the chicken was baked but I nearly broke a tooth on uncooked rice. 

I got out the foil and covered the already-done dish and baked it. 

At 350º.

Again. 

It was the worse, toughest, driest chicken/crow I’ve ever eaten. 

He didn’t even ask for seconds. 

And I have no plans of making it again. 

I think – as I sit down and type this out – he won.

Anyhow...

I crashed & burned again just yesterday. 

Last evening Cody and I spent time with one of the best individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. He prefers cats with three legs because they’re easier to catch and has no fear when feeding the mature bulls and wears a raccoon cap anywhere he goes. 

He’s Oscar. 

And two. 

And our nephew. 

My grand idea, knowing we’d have him on a “blog night”, was to track the little critter with a Nikon around my neck and capture his every move throughout our farm. His curiosity. His mannerisms. His ability to echo each word spoken by an adult. EEK. 

But then I got caught up in the laughing and the “did you hear what he just said?” and the simply watching him and no longer wanted to focus a camera - or even record a perfect ten-second snap chat. 

I studied his little, cold hands. Surprisingly rough for a two-year-old. I gave him gloves but they really just hung off his tiny paws and hindered his cowboy ways. 

I watched him study Cody’s actions and saw him try to emulate his every move. Both entertaining and terrifying. 

I wanted to enjoy the evening with our buddy, and darn it, I did. 

Not having a kid-equipped house, we stacked him on top of 19 various Journals and hard cover Angus history books, pushed him to the big kid table and fed him pizza with extra sauce. 

Then spent the first ten minutes into the showing of Rudolph by cleaning pizza sauce off of 19 various Journals and hard cover Angus history books.

We had a great night. He's growing so fast. I'll miss him asking me to hold his hand. 

You’ll get no Oscarisms today or even a photo collection of his blonde adventures. 

Instead, words that have stood the test of time and technology.

No More Oatmeal Kisses

by Erma Bombeck

  

A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome, that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you?"

Okay. One of these days, you'll shout, "Why don't you kids grow up and act your age!" And they will. Or, "you guys get outside and find yourselves something to do...and don't slam the door!" And they won't.

You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy: bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on their shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way." And it will.

You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company." And you'll eat it alone.

You'll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?" And you'll have it.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti. No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms. No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps. No more clothespins under the sofa. No more playpens to arrange a room around.

No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent. No more sand in the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathroom. No more iron-on patches, rubber bands for ponytails, tight boots or wet knotted shoestrings.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it. No baby-sitter for New Year's Eve. Washing only once a week. Seeing a steak that isn't ground. Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.

No PTA meetings. No car pools. No blaring radios. No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night. Having your own roll of Scotch tape.

Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste. No more sloppy oatmeal kisses. No more tooth fairy. No giggles in the dark. No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?" and the silence echoing, "I did."

And to think:

Erma wrote this long before 

the children in front of us had to compete 

with the devices we keep between us.

My Disconnect Day