Author: Rene

We had a wonderful Midwest-type of thunderstorm early morning – as in midnight on. Stunning skies, torrential rain, and of course, thunder.

Years ago I was babysitting my siblings during such a storm when the loudest crack in the world was heard. Our house shook. Of course, we were used to storms and all let out a “whoop!” The next morning our parents asked if we were scared but we were not really too fazed. We hadn’t called them to come home so I guess we were fine? They proceeded to inform us that the lightening had struck the biggest tree by the side of the house. Dumb kids.

Last night the boom was so loud I actually texted my neighbor at 12:48 a.m. to ensure she was okay. I knew she couldn’t possibly have slept through that one. “Yes, all good. Sounded like a canon.”

As long as no one gets hurt I do enjoy the fury of Mother Nature. She merely mirrors the unrest in the world. And continues to bring beneficial rains keeping me mowing ever single week for days at a time. Never has this world been so green. Thanks, Mom.

Somewhere in Europe, in a three-story house, there is a box in a basement closet that I was supposed to take with me to the airport. It’s about 3X3X5 feet. It has clothes in it. I remembered the box after I was at the airport struggling to find my ticket.

Of course, this was the dream that woke me this morning. I had already returned to the house once to collect four coats I had left behind, so I couldn’t go back for the box, and I couldn’t find my ticket. It was tough to wake up. I tried to get back to sleep to resolve the issue, but alas, could not. Instead I got up and mowed the lawn before the heat of the day.

Perhaps that was the gift of the harrowing dream? Now I want to go and clean out my closets!

Growing up in tiny town, middle America, pretty much meant the village knew where you were and what you were up to. It all circled around and either came back to haunt or taunt.

Just remembering those lovely moms who kept us in line. Thanks to Betty, Mom’s best friend and neighbor, whose phone number I inadvertently called from college because her number was the one I called most! Who called home back then?

Monday Mom Musing.

My daughter came to check my availability for some fun stuff she has in store without her daughter. We are happy to oblige, of course.

As she perused my availability, she noted that I was scheduled to be the accompanist for a wedding. This was yesterday, three hours before my commitment. I was sitting at the kitchen table with her, totally ignorant of my schedule.

I did know about it 18 months ago, did receive a “save the date,” did write it on the calendar, and yet, forgot to look at the day when I awoke. Also, I didn’t outline it in red, as I do normally for important things. Egads! Thank goodness she read my calendar after I commented, “I’m just planning on staying home today.”

It might have been the best accompaniment I have ever provided merely because I showed up!

The wedding was beautiful, by the way.

Yard work does not come without injury in my world. My arms are the proof – and hey – I even had longish sleeves on?

Sure I gashed a hole in my arm cutting down a dead shrub. Yes, the belt on the riding mower broke mid-stream, causing a great disturbance in the repair force around here. It could have broke for anyone? And the welt on my other arm is subsiding after last week’s trimming attempt. All pale in comparison to the fact I nearly cut my finger off sawing a log years ago.

I was about 15, helping Dad, insisting I could saw that log. The saw jumped, slicing my finger. I was too stubborn and aghast to admit defeat, wrapping and nursing that digit forever. I’m sure my dad noticed the attempts to hide my left hand, but he never said anything, even after I sported a very pink scar the rest of my high school years.

I learned that bandaids can be sutures. I haven’t sawed any limbs off of myself yet. So overall, it was a pivotal event.

This jewel-of-a-moment was brought to you by my angst in not being able to finish mowing the property due to the abundance of rain. I know it will dry one day, I will mow, and the mower and I will be whole once again.

The bedroom has a new look. It’s called, “Living With a Vacuum.” It’s not what you think.

The recent spate of miller moths has sent us to bed nightly with one or two guys fluttering around the lights. I did make the exaggerated comment that, “Nothing is worse than a moth flying at your head in the middle of the night.” Of course there are worse fates, but I really hate even that thought. Thus, the vacuum has resided nightly for about a month, occasionally catching one or two live ones, and obviously a useful tool in scooping up the fatalities. And the fun that ensues when we’re both on the hunt for one of those annoying, yet ecological important insects, is rather amusing.

We don’t live in a vacuum. We know how to have a good time.

This could be the real deal.

While trolling through the Pinterest array of recipes, I stumbled upon this beauty. If you are looking for fame this could be your solution?

What you could be famous for is up for grabs. I’ll be baking bread today, something that gives me a hint of fame in the household.

Enjoy your “Little House on the Prairie” day.

Delicious, especially when paired with vanilla ice cream! It’s pretty much a guarantee that I will order a strawberry malt, strawberry DQ Blizzard, strawberry Concrete Mixer from Culver’s, or maybe even a strawberry shake from McDonald’s. Ice cream and strawberries scream, “Summer!”

I could use some summer, especially since the heat kicked in this morning. To all of you enjoying a warmer clime, soak it in! I’ll be placating myself with strawberries and vanilla yogurt. It’s not quite summer.

Yesterday’s RBC – the Canadian Open – was fun to watch. I caught the last two holes, which really, were like the last two minutes of a Nugget’s basketball game. The Canadian guy, Nick Taylor, sunk a 72-foot putt to win. That was worth viewing.

No matter what happens during the event, the prize is often determined in those final minutes. And that is ultimately enough for me. (Unless I need a nap, then I probably need a few more golf holes to accomplish that task.)

Tonight I may bite the bullet and watch the Nuggets as it is being played. Maybe. DVRing and fast forward are our friends.

Go, Nuggets!

Never again shall I have a garage sale. It kind of goes along with the statement, “I’m never painting a ceiling again.” Then I proceed to paint two ceilings after that, one this past February.

Technically, this is my daughter’s sale and I am the support staff – the one who convinces people they desperately need a window fan, Christmas decor, plant stand. My strategy is to hand them a box to fill and then make them a deal. It worked fairly well today, and really, I get a big kick out of people and their interests. You meet some characters, for sure. I’ll be closing up the shop tomorrow, reminding myself that I’m never doing this again.

I’m setting a reminder in my phone for two years from now, when the urge to de-clutter will hit once more.