Life is a cartoon

A friend of mine told me the other day that she thought I had a very "animated" outlook on life. Of course I was playing in the yard with Tubby at the time, talking baby-talk to him as if he could understand what I was saying. Later, as I thought about what she had said, I realized she was right. I do tend to view life as a cartoon, for the most part. I see everything in a comical Looney Tunes way and I emphasize everything I do, say, view and experience in a silly manner. It's just my way of never growing up and not taking things too seriously, I guess.

When I drive to work and see all the animals and wildlife, I find myself giving them all silly names and relating them to characters on cartoons I watched, or children's books I cherished as a kid. For instance, when I see the chickens running willy nilly away from a dog on the side of the road, I picture them as chubby southern Mammies with gingham dresses on and red kerchiefs on their heads, holding up their skirts so you can see their pantalooned legs as they waddle off across the lawn to hurry out of harms way. You can almost hear them saying, "Lord have mercy Henny Penny, that was a close call!"

By naming the cows and llamas and horses, even the fox, bunnies and turtles along the way, I'm not only giving them names, but personalities too! That way every time I see them, they are more dear to me, and they continually act out their parts in my ongoing daily adventures. I look forward to seeing the calves jumping and kicking as they try to coax their lazy mama's into playing with them. I love watching the herons wade out in the pond on their mile-high legs, to catch fish. I enjoy seeing the turkeys in the Spring when the toms fan out their tails and puff up their chests, strutting around to impress the hens, who act like they could care less about the lovesick fools.

There's only one downfall in my playful attachment to all these creatures, however, and that's when something bad happens to them and they are no longer a part of my days. My tender heart can't bear seeing a dead bird on the road that won't ever sing it's beautiful song again, or a smushed bunny that surely has a family waiting for it somewhere close by, wondering when he's going to come home for dinner. I think of them all as my very own, and I want the cartoons to go on happily forever and ever!

Moped Mishap

One day last week, I was driving down our road on my way to work when I passed two ladies that I usually see walking with one of my neighbors every morning. I've seen them almost every morning for the past several months and we always wave at each other in passing.

This particular morning, the two ladies were sitting at the bottom of my neighbor's driveway on a shiny new moped. They waved as I passed by and as I continued down the road, I watched in my rearview mirror as they manuevered their way shakily onto the road and then wobbily drove themselves right into the nearest ditch. I stopped and watched to be sure both of them got up safely and didn't appear to be hurt.

As I drove on to work, the moped incident got me to thinking about my own comical near-death experience on a moped more than 25 years past. I was still in high school at the time, and one weekend a girlfriend of mine and I were out in the country visiting my now-husband, who's Dad had just purchased a brand new bright and shiny red moped.

While I can't remember doing so, I must have begged and pleaded for a driving lesson and knowing how my husband has always had a weakness to grant my every wish (well, maybe not EVERY wish, but most of them anyway), I'm sure he complied. I remember the brake and the gas levers were situated on the handlebars and as long as you gave it sufficient gas it was pretty easy to balance and stay upright. I practiced in the gravel drive until I felt confident enough to venture out onto a real road.

My friend bravely hopped on back and off we went, driving the winding back roads. Keep in mind, I didn't even have a license to drive a car, I had only had maybe a 15 minute driving lesson, and neither of us were wearing helmets. Not to mention I've always been the klutsiest accident-prone person on the face of the earth. Pretty smart, huh?

Back and forth along the roads we zipped and zoomed. The more trips we took, the braver I got and the faster I'd dare to go. We were so cool with the wind blowing our hair while speeding around on this zippy little machine. As we came around a sharp curve, I realized I was going just a little too fast and went to pull back on the brake to slow us down a bit. Somehow I pulled on the gas instead of the brake however, and inevitably down we went, sliding for what seemed like forever across pavement and ending up in a field.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. I remember rolling and rolling and rolling and I went from seeing asphalt to sky, back to asphalt, to sky again, to dirt and tall grass, to sky, to mud and then to sky again and ultimately stopped right in the middle of a big mud hole at the side of the road. I laid there wondering if I was still alive, or if anything might be broken and I listened for any sign of my girlfriend and where she might have ended up. Luckily I heard her rustling in the grass not too far from me and I rolled over to see her covered in mud, but thankfully all in one piece.

We both started laughing hysterically, probably in shock and relieved to be alive. Amazingly neither of us had any broken bones and barely a scratch, but you sure couldn't say the same for the shiny new moped that laid several yards away. We limped back to the moped to survey the damage. One of the handlebars was bent, a mirror was broken off one side and there were several scratches and dents. Luckily it started back up though, so we both reluctantly climbed back on and slowly drove back to face the music.

I'm sure my husband's stomach dropped down into his shoes when he saw us both drive into the yard covered in mud, but that didn't begin to compare to the reaction of seeing that brand new moped practically ruined. His Dad was going to kill us all!

Later that evening, after I'd cleaned myself up and my husband had done his best to clean up the damaged moped, his Dad came home. I figured since I was the one at fault, I'd be the one to break the news of the wreck, and then maybe my husband wouldn't get in too much trouble. As soon as he got in the house, I meekly approached him, shaking in my shoes. I remember bursting into tears as I informed him I had wrecked his new toy. I think we all held our breath as we waited to see what he'd do or say. He glanced over to my husband and then back to me and started laughing. This was so unexpected that we all started laughing.

Then he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly and as he walked past my husband, he said to him "I don't know what you're laughing about. You're going to pay the repair bill!" Darn, I knew it wouldn't be that easy. . .

Childhood Memories, Part One

I love hearing stories from my parents and relatives about my childhood. Some of the stories I've heard so often I'm almost convinced I remember them myself.

My Daddy always told me when I was first born I was so tiny that he just balanced me on the inside of his forearm, lengthwise, and carried me around like that with my head resting in the palm of his hand.

My Mom said the day I was born and the nurse brought me to her, she thought they'd brought her the wrong baby. She said I had a chubby round face and the thickest coal black hair and I looked just like an eskimo baby. The black hair soon turned to tow-head blonde and that's what I had all throughout my childhood, but I've always retained the chubby round face.

My Mom said I started to walk and talk at an earlier than usual age and talk-talk-talk is all I ever did. I talked so much that when my baby sister came along, my Mom was scared she'd never learn to talk herself because I did all her talking for her.

Apparently, I never knew a stranger and I'd talk anyone's leg off if they'd put up with me. Mom said she was mortified the first time I caught a glimpse of a black man in person. We were at the airport and a porter was helping people with their luggage and Mom said I walked right up to him and tugged on his coat and said, "Mister, do you live on Sesame Street?" That was the only place I'd ever seen a black person before. Mom said the porter chuckled and reached down to shake my hand and said, "No, little lady, I don't live on Sesame Street." She was mortally embarrassed as she dragged me off.

Supposedly I was a fearless toddler as well. One time when I was about two, we went to Oklahoma to visit my grandparents and I was playing in the backyard. Mom said I came running into the house jabbering something about a "cute squirrel" and tugging on Grandma's skirt to come see it. They both followed me outside to the flowerbed where I'd been digging and I showed them the fuzzy squirrel, which wasn't a squirrel at all but a big, hairy tarantula! Mom and Grandma shrieked and screamed and dragged me back into the house. Lord knows I've grown out of that fearless stage by leaps and bounds. Anyone that knows me now, knows I'm scared to death of my own shadow and if I ever saw a tarantula within 30 feet of me, I'd faint dead away!

Oh to be a kid again with all the childhood innocence and wide-eyed curiosity about life!

Bountiful Harvest

It's that time of year again, when my mailbox is constantly full of zucchini and tomatoes from generous neighbors, and plastic bags full of yellow squash, beans and okra magically appear at our doorstep on an almost daily basis. It seems like all of us along this country road tend to plant more than we can possibly eat ourselves, so we all share with each other throughout the Summer. This year I didn't even bother planting certain things because I knew from past experience, I would have an oversupply of those items from my closest neighbors, and I was right. I don't even have to buy vegetables from the store, and it's nice. My hubby and I plant peppers, tomatoes and some herbs. Our big thing is making salsa, and tons of it, every Summer. The peppers produce all the way up till it frosts and some days we'll sit out there and pick them for hours. When my hubby makes the salsa, I have to ask him to make me a milder batch because my tongue can't withstand the blisters from the hot stuff he makes for himself. I can barely stand to be inside the house when he's making it, it's so strong. My eyes water and I practically collapse from the coughing and sneezing. He grows this one type of pepper that is so hot it could be a weapon of mass destruction with the armed forces! His Grandpa from Texas sent us the seeds from plants he grows in the desert near Mexico, and they light your mouth on fire.

All throughout the season we have an overabundance of other things too, like apples, plums, peaches and berries. I have one particular favorite friend and neighbor up the hill who I call the Martha Stewart of Leiper's Fork. She grows anything and everything and always shares. I picked blueberries at her house one Summer and came home with two huge gallon buckets full. Those were glorious! There's nothing like plump, fresh blueberries in your pancakes or on your oatmeal in the mornings. This same friend grows the most wonderful herbs and brings them to me by the sack full. Fresh basil, oregano and rosemary that smell so good you wish you could bottle the fragrance. She gave me her recipe for homemade pesto for the basil, and her fresh baked bread recipe is heavenly with some of the rosemary added. It's to die for! She's getting chickens soon, so fresh eggs will be right around the corner and she and her husband just recently started beekeeping, so fresh honey and beeswax candles won't be far behind. She has rows and rows of lavendar lining her walkways and she has fresh mint that grows along the side of her house. She's constantly giving us fresh baked items and dishes she makes with things she grows, like yummy cherry pie and jellies.

And in the Fall, we give anyone and everyone pears from the trees in our front yard. We have so many pears every year we could never use them all, and various neighbors come and help themselves. We've been known to cart wheelbarrows full of pears to the pasture for the donkeys. They love them. It's pear cobbler and pear preserves for us.

I need to go online and pull up some new recipes for zucchini, since my next door neighbor brought us an armload last night and I'm running out of ideas for cooking them. I've made casseroles, sauteed them with onions and peppers, fried them up in patties, made bread with them and even cooked some with shredded chicken and salsa for tacos. If it's true what they say that "you are what you eat" then I'll be a giant green zucchini before the Summer is through!

And now there are 10. . .

I walked out the back door the other evening and was shocked to see my adopted chicken walking through the backyard followed by nine fluffy yellow chicks! She had been missing for quite awhile and I was beginning to worry that Mr. Fox might have gobbled her up. Apparently though, she's been on maternity leave, hatching her new brood! I was so excited!

I hurried over to her, hoping I could catch a chick and get some good pictures. She went under the fence and of course all her babies followed, and then here came old Curious Cooter to see what all the ruckus was about and the feathers started flying!

The Mama Chicken went berserk when she saw that big clumsy donkey coming toward her chicks, so she started jumping all around, squawking and holding one of her wings out like she was hurt, trying to distract the donkey. When that didn't work, she would fly up to his head and neck to try and peck him away. Cooter pinned back his ears and threw her off and she came screeching back to him again and again until he cleared away from her babies.

In the meantime, the chicks were scattering willy nilly all through the barnyard, probably wondering what in the world had gotten into their crazy Mama. One of the chicks came right under the fence and into my hand, cheep-cheeping so sweetly. I held it for a minute, telling it how cute it was and petting it's soft feathers, and pretty soon the Mama and all the other chicks crawled under the fence and out to safety, so I put the chick down and she ran to join the others.

The Mama circled around her babies, gathering them up and clucking to them reassuringly, probably counting them to make sure they were all there. Then they all wandered off down the fence row, clucking and cheeping to each other about their near miss with the big bad donkey and the silly woman with the long brown hair.

Made With Love

When I got home from work tonight, I found a care package from Oregon waiting on the front porch. Apparently my mother-in-law is missing her baby son and decided she needed to send him some love in the form of homemade flour tortillas and a block of Tillamook cheese. Yum!

The taste of homemade tortillas warmed and folded over with melted cheese inside brings back good memories. No matter how hard I try, my homemade tortillas never turn out as good as hers. I remember well my first lesson in making them back when I was a teenager in high school. I was in the kitchen with Sid's Mom and two sisters, trying to make a good impression and it was my job to mix the dough, which you always do by hand, never with a mixer. There I was with both hands down in the bowl and sticky dough up to my elbows, doing my best to mix the ingredients to the perfect consistency.

I looked down into the bowl and was mortified to see little red things dotted all throughout the white dough. My sister-in-law looked over my shoulder and burst into obnoxious snorting laughter while my face turned redder than the specks in the bowl! Turns out I was doing such a good job of mixing the dough that all my fake fingernails were popping off one by one into the mix! How embarrassing! We had to pick them all out to salvage the batch.

As the lesson continued, I soon realized I was a hopeless case when it came to making homemade tortillas. Rolling them out was a total joke. Tortillas are meant to be round, not shaped like the state of Florida or Idaho, all lopsided and jagged. I was never going to master this task. Even now, more than 25 years later, my tortillas aren't perfectly shaped, but at least they're edible, thank you very much! And I can whip a batch up in record time too!

But don't worry Mama, yours are much preferred over mine, so thank you for the care package and for the memories!

Noah! Where are you when we need you?

We had record breaking rainfall this past weekend and the flooding was amazingly devastating! Our area had 16 inches of rain in just two days and some of the rivers in the area crested at all-time record high levels. We were seriously considering putting an ad on craigslist for a boat big enough for two of everything, that's how bad it was! All the local news channels were on constant report-mode all weekend long, showing us pictures of area flooding and giving us alerts as to when to expect the next onslaught of rain, thunder, high winds and hail. It was a nerve-wracking weekend for sure. Poor Tubby just paced back and forth all weekend and we all went a little stir crazy with cabin fever from not being able to venture outside.

Saturday, there was no way out of Leiper's Fork in any direction, so we were completely stuck at home. We drove down our road taking video of the rushing waters and all the damaged fencing. The bridge at the end of the road was completely impassable and the water was up to the top and spilling roaringly across the road. Fences were down everywhere and the only thing keeping the livestock inside their pastures was the creek beds and ditches filled to brimming with water gushing down the roadways. We drove as far as we could, which wasn't that far, taking pictures of all the blocked routes we normally take in and out of our little village. The river had washed out three of the bridges and was dangerously close to several estate homes, including Tim McGraw's. The big stone entrance to his estate that has stood there since the late 1800's, was completely washed away. A lot of his fencing was demolished and I imagine he'll have quite the crew out there mending things the rest of this week, as will a lot of the farmers in our area. Naomi Judd even called in an alert to the local news station saying her fences had been washed out and her buffalo were roaming willy-nilly, so everyone should be on the lookout.

Parts of Nashville were completely under water. Hundreds of homes lost all over our area, with many neighborhoods completely wiped out. Even in downtown historic Franklin, we had canoes and rowboats floating up and down 5th Avenue! Unbelievable! Car dealerships with cars completely submerged. One news caster showed a man standing on Mallory Lane, a road in Franklin near our biggest shopping mall, and he had literally caught a fish with his bare hands! He stood there for the camera, proudly holding this humongous two foot long fish, and then he threw it back into the waters rushing through a swollen ditch. One person sent in video of a huge snapping turtle right at the foot of the steps of his front porch, partially submerged in a yard that resembled a small pond.

Hospitals were flooded, businesses lost. 15-foot flags and light poles along Riverfront Park in Nashville were completely under water. Opryland Hotel had to evacuate over 1,500 guests. Three local interstates were completely shut down in several areas and parts of Interstate 24 had stretches with hundreds of cars with water up over the rooftops. 124 cars and semi-trucks were stranded on one particular stretch of the interstate where the river ran up over the bridge and people had to be rescued by boat. Boats on the interstate!

All weekend long we watched reports of water rescues, both human and animal. Horses stuck out in flooded pastures that now resembled lakes, and all you could see was the tops of their heads straining to keep above water. We saw people standing on the tops of their roofs, waiting for boats to come and rescue them. Aerial shots of flooded neighborhoods with nothing but water as far as the eye could see. Cars piled on top of each other like toys, homes washed right off their foundations, huge dumpsters and storage sheds and even a portable classroom, floating down the roads like paper boats. After the water receded, you'd see asphalt buckled in ribbons all along the parking lots and streets, only to be washed further away with the next deluge of rain.

Today, as I made my way into work, the sun was shining brightly and there was nothing but blue skies above. There was only one route open in and out of town and traffic is bumper to bumper as it's being diverted until they can assess the damage to roadways and bridges that are still impassable. The forecast is nothing but sunshine for the rest of the week. As of right now, the death toll is 11 and I pray for all those who have lost everything in this terrible disaster!