Are We Aiding and Abetting the Democrats?

Before I continue with my little family life story here,

I thought I’d publish this song my daughter and I wrote

for Obama. But we are Republicans! Couldn’t help it.

The song practically wrote itself! Have fun and don’t

laugh too hard!

Be-Bop-O-Bama

 

Well

Be-Bop-O’Bama, a’ he’s their Baby!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, they don’t mean maybe!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he beat out the Billary!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he’s gonna’ be their nominee!

O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll.

 

Well

He’s the man in the blue state lead.

He beat the queen on the path to D.C.!

He’s the man walkin’ with the votes.

All the women love him so

 

Well

Be-Bop-O’Bama, a’ he’s their Baby!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, an they don’t mean maybe!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he beat out the Billary!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he’s gonna’ be their nominee!

O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll.

 

Well

He’s the man they’ve got to beat.

He’s the man who’s chocolate sweet.

He’s the man shops the Target store.

Makes the women want him more more more.

 

Well

Be-Bop-O’Bama, a’ he’s their Baby!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, an they don’t mean maybe!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he beat out the Billary!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he’s gonna’ be their nominee!

O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll.

 

Well

Be-Bop-O’Bama, a’ he’s their Baby!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, an they don’t mean maybe!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he beat out the Billary!

Be-Bop-O’Bama, he’s gonna’ be their nominee!

O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll, O’Bama Doll.

 

 

By Aunt Bush Bunny and Aqua Coyote

With all do apologies to Mr. Vincent

SOUTHWARD HO! AGAIN!

The pickins in the Oregon economy right after our return from Alaska

were dreary at best. I picked moss and sold it, shaved chittum trees

of their bark and sold that and I even packed said items into the side

basket of my old schwinn bike and cycled on my own power to the

local merchant to sell them. In case you are unaware, chittum bark

is what they make laxatives from. The bark back then sold for .32

per pound. Since we needed firewood anyway, and there did seem

to be a need for the um, end product in this country, I was able to soothe my conscience

over stripping these trees of their bark along with cutting them down and I went

about my merry but trail blazing way. I even picked up our goat milk on my bike,

fed the kids on brown rice, wild black berries and government commodities.

Our oldest daughter took the two little ones down to the river to catch crawfish

about twice a week and arriving home from the woods we would feast on a poor

mans miniature lobster dinner, with dandelion greens and taters dug from the neighbors

garden. But my apartment over the shop was too small, (boy did I have alot to learn).

We only had one vehicle that ran sometimes. It rained and rained and rained in the

winter. I had grown up with a steady pay check and we had never known the uncertainty

of not knowing weather there was going to be a paycheck or not. I had always worked

but now I had babies and I did not want to have someone else to raising them.

Hubby with all his multitude of talents and education could only find a job driving school

buses. The economy was really bad. And we both had student loans to pay off.

Needless to say, after dealing with students who shot spit wads,

toted hand guns, and cleaned their fingernails with machetes while riding

the bus, we decided it was time to move where he might find a more lucrative position.

About this time a friend from California called and offered Hubby a job at

the then outstanding wage of $10 per hour! Dollar signs clicked and rolled

over and over in our eyeballs. Though we didn’t move to Beverely Hills, we

did immediately pack our bags and embark on another grand adventure.

A BUILDING BY ANY OTHER NAME

A bathroom is a bathroom is a bathroom. Right?  Before I tell you about our move to California, I feel I must indulge in a little out house tale. 

As I had mentioned in a previous story, our new home contained no toilet.   The apartment sat on top of the shop and looking out the upstairs windows sat the cutest little wooden shack with a crescent moon on the door. After having been instructed on the proper care and maintenance of said facility, I decided we had to make the building more, aesthetically pleasing.  No sense in becoming a barbarian after all.

Scrounging scrap paint my sister in law and I painted the interior bright yellow and hubby cut a window on the side to allow light in while accomplishing various bodily tasks.  We found a spare glass window to fit the hole and since this type of building was bound to be crawling with insects, I painted large lady bugs on the interior walls.  By golly if I had to deal with bugs at least some of them were going to be there by my choice.

A cute little toilet paper holder and a decorated can of lime, (keeps the odor down) completed our refurbishing task.  Not bad.  The only drawback to this tidy little domestic scene was my 6 year olds late night imagination. Add a daddy who was an incessant tease and trouble was bound to ensue.

The night came when she could no longer hold it till the early morning hours when there would be daylight to guide her.  We encouraged her to head downstairs while we turned on the flood lights.  We watched out the windows as she cracked the door open ever so slightly and looked around for monsters lurking in the dark.

Suddenly she leaped out the door and slammed it so hard the entire house shook.  Fast as lightning she bolted for the outhouse door!  SLAM! went that same door as she was safely inside, secure for the moment from dreaded demons of the night. Even they wouldn’t enter the outhouse.

Then daddygot this mischievous grin and said, “Watch this”. He waited with his hand on the flood light switch while our daughter finished up her task.  Just as she stuck her head out the door and checked left and right for monsters,  he flipped the lights out.   A scream pierced the night air!

If I had a stop watch I am certain I would have clocked her return speed at more than twice the original speed!  The door to the downstairs slammed even harder making all the windows vibrate. She was so furious with us she forgot that she had been frightened.  She did remember to carry her own flash light after that. This is when we all began to develop the habit of not drinking anything after 6:00 pm.  

Across the US Via Bicycle

Happy routine had settled quietly onto our now blended family.  Eldest daughter resided with her mom and step dad in Oklahoma. Second eldest daughter was delighting in being a big sister. This third baby was quiet, compliant and content. What could possibly disturb this domestic tranquility? 

When baby number three reached six months of age we got a phone call from my husbands’ sister.  She informed us that their dad was heading out on  a cross country trip on his bicycle and she was very worried.  Her husband could only ride with him to Idaho and then he would be on his own.  She then told her brother, (as only a sister can) that if he didn’t join their dad for the remainder of the trip, she would do horrible things to him and never allow him to forget it if any unmentionable  accident were to happen to their dad!  “But sis!,” appealed my husband.  “I havn’t found gainful employment yet and we are flat broke with a new baby”.   Sis volunteered to fund his portion of the journey and loan him her husbands bike. He could pay her back later.  Which only left finding a way for the rest of us to get all the way across the US.

Yes my husband and his dad really did ride across the US on bicycles. But this story is about our journey by bus across this great land of ours.  I had to borrow the enormous sum of $400 from one of my Aunts.   I think they only agreed to loan us the money so they could get a really good look at him when he got to the south eastern portion of this country. Kind of the same way you stare at zoo creatures. He was after, all a Yankee. By this time they were all beginning to wonder about him anyway.  Not only were we jobless, pennyless and had a brand new baby, they knew how crazy I was and were now rather concerned that I had married in kind.

I purchased the bus tickets and began the 3 day journey via Greyhound.  My older daughter and I kept looking out the bus windows for signs of Grandpaw and daddy. We had entertained the driver and many riders with our story about daddy and his dad riding across the country, so befor long everyone in the bus was  looking out the windows for the two crazy, I mean intrepid adventurers.

For me the trip was rather uneventful if you exclude the colorful characters that always lurk around bus stations.  The baby and my older daughter enjoyed the trip and I was young enough to endure three days of sleep deprivation.  The real fun began when we got to NC.

I picked hubby up at the bus station in Virgina as he was saying good by to his dad.   My did they look GOOD! Each had lost weight and were muscle toned down to their little toes. Grandpa flew back but we journeyed on by bus to NC. 

My family couldn’t understand.  My husband explained about his trip as only an ex-journalist could.  He was greeted by puzzled looks.  They were all thinking, “He looks intelligent enough. Doesn’t look like a mass murderer or anything crazy. There aren’t any warrants out for his arrest. Hmmmm.”  So all they could say to each other was, “Why did he ride across the US on a bike when he has a family to support and is as old as he is?”.  My mom always swore that if she hadn’t been awake when I was born she would have insisted that they had switched me with her real baby at birth. I was the only one so far to have married out of the South. And goodness knows you still couldn’t trust anyone north of the Mason Dixon Line.

 We stayed at my Aunts home where she treated us like Royalty. Various relatives kept slipping me money here and there while casting worried looks towards my husband. Of course I couldn’t say anything without appearing ungracious and up until then we were broke.  So I took their money. Actually had enough money to pay a few bills when we got home.  But I will never forget the loving looks of concern on their faces and the inquires to the police department.  All from concerned family members. Were we full of faith or just full of it? Some times it’s hard to tell.

Shortly after we arrived back in Oregon hub got a new job down in California.  Now he was a regular working stiff and my family all breathed a sigh of relief.  California should have been what they were worried about. Next find out what happens when you take a wild home grown nut like me and try to plant it in the land of Nuts!

This Pilgrim’s Cross

This Pilgrim’s Cross

Here is a Blog that will make you cogitate. That doesn’t mean you are nauseous, it means you may actually have to think when you read it. But you will enjoy!

BANANNA SPLIT DELIVERIES

So after the 4th false labor trip to Portland we were getting kind of bored with the whole process.  It went something like this.  Labor pains become 5 mins apart.  Start old VW by pushing it down the hill and popping clutch.  Drive to Portland. 

But the drive to  Portland was only a small portion of the ritual.  Since I was a gestational diabetic I had strict dietary guide lines that I was told could end when the pregnancy did. Since Baskins Robins was on the way and since we had been really strict diet wise during the pregancy it was decided that before we actually delivered, we would celabrate with a bananna split extravaganza!   (We knew the hospital was very strict reguarding how many calories could be eaten in the day and one BSplit would be the entire days fare)

Full to the brim with comfort food, we would arrive at the hospital ready for the next adventure only to have the contractions stop!  My husband was begining to think I was holding out for the chow! We were up to our 9th trip in the Bug and decided to make the routine stop for the um, healthy bannanas.

Certain that the 9th time was the charm we took our full and content selves up to OHSU.

By the time we were admited, my water had broken and contractions were going full throttle at less than 5 minutes apart.  We were ready! Hub donned the green paper fashion garments and prepared to snapp the gloves on when notified. I was poked, prodded, wired for sound and placed in an indecent hospital garment.  Oooh we were really jazzed!  Waiting for the next contraction to arrive on time we all gazed at the clock.

Seven minutes went by befor another one hit.  And with less intensity then the last. Can’t argue with that little graph on the machine.  Nurses, doctor and husband all looked at me with the same comment in their eyes.   “Would you stop that for crying out loud and get on with it?!”

“Look you guys it’s not my fault!  I’m  5 centimeters dialated, my water broke, and I’m 3 weeks over due! You figure it out! ”  The doc scratched his head and reviewed my chart. “You know,” he began slowly, “it says here you are diabetic and high blood sugar can stop labor,  so how about we test your blood sugar and you write down everything you’ve had to eat in the last 12 hours.”    He walked away to get the phlebotomist and my man and I looked at each other and whispered, “Uh Oh!”

I wrote every good thing I had eaten that day on the list in large letters.  Hub leaned over and said in a whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me high blood sugar stopped labour?! This is our 9th trip up here for cryin out loud!”   “Don’t you whisper at me in that tone of voice!,”I whisper/yelled back. “I DIDN’T KNOW IT EITHER”   “What are you going to put on that paper?”he asked me, leaning over.   “I’ve put all the good healthy foods I’ve eaten in a list like this….”   I began.   “Man you eat alot when your pregers!” he blew a quiet whistle.  “SHUT UP” I said out of the corner of my mouth.   “If you had eaten my other half of the bannana split like I asked you to we wouldn’t be in this mess…” I began. The doctor came in clearing his throat and asked if I was ready to get my blood drawn.  “Sure,” I said, as I finished my list by writting Bannana Split in teensy weensy letters at the bottom of the page.

Mr WetBehindTheEars youngster doctor drew my blood and sent it off to the lab. “Now,” he said, “lets take a look at that list while we wait for the results.” Hub and I hummed quitetly to ourselves and generally tried to avoid making eye contact.

He read calmly for a while, then looked up at me over the top of his glasses. I grinned. Crossing his legs, he pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes in a very tired way.  “Tell me seriously now,” he said, “is a bannana split really on your dietary guidelines?” “Well,” I said, trying to look sheepish enough, “bannanas are good for you.” 

That night, little Melody was born weighing in at 9 lbs and 4 and 1/2 ounces.  And the round, fat cheeks on that kid were to pinch for!  Must have been all them bananas.

TWO WEEKS TILL CONUBIAL BLISS

Definition :connubial\kuh-NOO-bee-ul; -NYOO-\, adjective:
Of or pertaining to marriage, or the marriage state; conjugal; nuptial.

     I had developed into a hacking, mucous snorting, feverish and infectious bride.  Connubial relations were put on hold.  Not that I minded really.  It is terribly hard to remain romantic when the kiss begins well but the middle ends with a smothered cough trying to erupt down your mates throat.

     My man had to carry me over our threshold due to my illness and not his sense of tradition.  Ahhhh, but the water bed felt so warm and comfortable.  I had purchased this item several years before and it had never given me one moments problem. I should have remembered the omens at the wedding.

    It was a King sized monstrosity.  We thought he could sleep on  one side and I on the other in order to keep all of our germs in their proper places.  I think they must have invented the water filled tubes model the year after making this one.  Probably due to law suits.  Just as we had settled down for a much needed rest the bronchitis  once again took over my body.  A  coughing spasm sent tidal waves washing across the surface, rocking and rolling  my man back and forth  just as he was drifting off to blissful sleep.  Stuffing my pillow into my face only resulted in a muffled cough with more hang ten type waves.  I tried to leave the bed by rocking my body up and over the edge.  By this time he was already on the opposite side and the resulting tsunami sent him washing up and over the side right out of the bed.  “Sorry “, I said between spasms.  I ran to the bathroom and chugged more Robotussin.  Back to the marriage chamber I eased my fatigued body on to  the waters warm surface as best I could.  A few more half hearted coughs and we both began to drift off in to a deep and much needed slumber. 

    At some point during the night I was awakened to hear an indistinct mumbling. I couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from.  My back was warm, and on some dim level I realized I had all of the covers.  That’s when it occurred to me that my feet were braced against the side rail where I had been lying.  My back had gotten cold, (odd in a heated water bed) and I  had shoved my new groom all the way over against the oposite side rail, having wedged his face  in between the rail and the cushy mattress. Why were we having such a hard time waking up? In my hazy fog I  pressed harder with my feet to get as warm and close as I could to this man who was the only source of heat. My teeth began to chatter and I was shaking violently. It was not due to fever.  We were both suffering from hypothermia! Somehow the heater in the bed had gone out.  I shook my husband out of his stupor and told him what was going on.   We both sat there bleary eyed, and teeth chattering.  Looking at the bed, but too tired and cold to investigate, we dragged all the covers down onto the carpeted floor and snuggled together for dear life,  germs or no germs.  After about 45 minutes of shivering and teeth chattering we began to warm.  Both of us let out little sighs of contentment, and began to drift off.  I coughed.

Join me tomorrow when you learn about:  THE FIRST ARGUMENT!

PLEASE LET THE HONEYMOON BE OVER!

Once the issue was settled the pastor finally walked in and began the ceremony. (Please don’t let me cough I prayed silently.) The rest of the service wore on and I only cleared my throat a few times. Afterward I escaped to the powder room and threw a hacking fit. Hubby taps lightly on the door asking if I am ok.  Staggering into his arms I declare that I think I am coming down with something.  Just the words that a celibate and new husband wants to hear from his bride before their wedding night. 

After the formalities were dispensed with we climbed in to “Old Yellow”.  This was the family hand me down pick up truck that had been through various members of his clan. We hadn’t even had time to wash the truck befor the family decorators had gotten access to it during the wedding. So adorned with dirt, toilet paper, traditional tin cans and frozen shaving cream, we drove to downtown  Anchorage for a fun filled romantic honeymoon night of coughing and hacking.

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night. It was a dark, cold and the roads were paved with icephalt night.  That’s the second type of road pavement they have in Alaska. Asphalt in the summer and icephalt in the winter. Those are also the only two seasons they have up  where we lived.  It was a long dreary winter, and a magnificently beautiful summer, all three weeks of it.

We drove to the first motel and grabbed our suitcases out of the truck.  Walking up to the desk, we asked for a room with a jacuzzi.  “I’m sorry”, said the night clerk “but we don’t have any rooms with working jacuzzi’s”. My new husband cast a worried glance in my direction. I was leaning against the wall and hacking away with a cough spasm. He started to sign for the room when I gasped out a laboured, “NO! I’ve got to soak in a jacuzzi!”  I was sweating profusely and my groom was wondering if we shouldn’t be spending our first night in the emergency room instead.

We left to drive around Anchorage looking for the needed therapy of a jucuzi.  To obtian such a room we would have to tap into the rent money that we had gotten as gift from the money tree.  Robbing Peter to pay Paul we found our next likely retreat.  Hubby left me in the truck with the heater running as I was now seized with cold shivers.  He tried to come running back out to me with a huge grin on his face indicating he had located the right place. However said grin disappeared rapidly as he slipped on a piece of icephalt and glided effortlessly straight into Old Yellow.  I opened the door as he was trying to extricate himself from under neath the truck and smacked him  right back underneath.

Gallantly he pulled himself up into a standing position and slid around behind the vehicle to once again pull the luggage out.   We were given a room on the second floor and my sweetie pie turned the water on to warm up while I undressed to climb into the tub. Sweetie was bringing the luggage into the room just as I prepared to sink my hacking, coughing self into the steaming hot water.  Reaching over to turn the dial for the theraputic bubbles I craved,  aggravation mingled with feelings of fatigue due to the fact that nothing was happening.  I began to sob, and cough, then started laughing hysterically. Hubby was getting really worried now.

 Telling me to stay in the hot water till he returned, he not so gallantly went back to the office desk to register our complaint.  This time he went to the room first and checked to make certain the unit worked.  Wrapped in a huge bath towel and supported by my man, I made my way to the next room.  He left me there to get the luggage.  I dropped my towel on the floor and stepped one leg into the tub.  Unfortunately a wet rag had fallen and dropped into the water where my foot slipped on it causing me to fall and drop on one knee into the water. My other foot hit the metal track on the tub creating a nice gash on my little toe just as sweetie walked in to check on me. 

 I couldn’t read the look on his face as we had only been married a very short time but it was really interesting. I settled into the wonderful, steamy hot bubbles anyway.  “You are bleeding”,  he said as a small edie of blood whirled in the bubbles. “Yep”, I replied.  “Don’t you want me to bandage that?” he asked.  I looked at him very seriously and after wheezing a bit said, “I AM NOT MOVING”.   He backed out of the bathroom and busied himself putting away the luggage.  

It was 9:00 pm by this time so after 3 hours of alternately letting cold water out and refilling the tub with hot water I was ready to emerge.  After drying and putting foofoo and sweet smelly stuff, (between blowing my nose and hacking) I put my frilliest, sexiest nightie on  and sached, with a slight limp, over to the bed where my lover was watching late night news.  He glanced up at his mate, wet hair, sultry smile, and hacking cough.  He got up and turned the covers down on the other bed. 

“What are you doing?”, I managed to wheeze because now I was losing my voice.  “I have to go back to work in two days and I can’t afford to get sick. You are sleeping here until you are better!” he calmly stated.   I don’t know if I ‘ll ever have the nerve to risk a second honey moon.

TALKING AIN’T ALL ITS CRACKED UP TO BE

HILLARY WANTS TO CHAT WITH ME?

Hillary wants to run for president and says that she

wants to chat with us. To talk our way out of this war

I guess. I think I’ll send her in to negotiate with the

terrorists and maybe she can make some headway. But

she’ll probably end up just losing her head.

Well I think I’ll decline that conversation. I never have

trusted her and I certainly wouldn’t want to talk to her

about anything going on in my life. The last time

I was required to talk to anybody I ended up getting

married and having 7 kids. I was living

in Anchorage Alaska at the time. I needed to maintain 12

credit hours to keep my funding going. I looked through

the schedule and the only class available was an American

Sign Language Class. In that class our instructor assigned

us the task of introducing ourselves to the very next deaf

person we saw in the community. I boarded the local public

transit system and looked for any deaf person. Scanning

the crowd I saw a man sitting alone and apparently signing

to himself. “Oh GREAT”, I thought. The first person I

meet is talking to himself. Ahh but the assignment came

first and I walked over as best I could in the swaying bus

and introduced myself. But I couldn’t understand him.

His signs didn’t look right. After about 20 minutes of

communication attempts I grew suspicious. Using my

voice I asked, “Are you deaf?!” Smiling broadly he

replied, “Nope, just practicing.” He had been using a

form of signed English, while I was using ASL.

Kind of like a New Yorker trying to talk with a deep woods

woman from Georgia. Definitely a communication barrier.

And that was how we met. I ended up marrying this amusing

fellow 23 years ago and fortunately this required communique

ended up on a positive note. But I don’t think terrorists

will be so friendly and I don’t think I’d trust them if I

was Hillary. They have never been happy with us and

I’m certain they’d all be willing to talk right up till those

blades were done being sharpened.

THE PROVERBS WOMAN?

Pinching Lincoln Till He Screams!

I really love to shop! That love often conflicts with reality. Having 9 people to care for on a limited budget often means pulling every creative penny pinching stunt I can think of.
The thrift stores are on my checklist of stops when ever I venture out of the house for any reason. In this land of over abundance and blended families where children sometimes wind up with six sets of grandparents, mommies are forced to go through and toss items the little ones are no longer interested in. A few days before and many weeks after every
holiday season, the thrift store shelves are loaded with Americas bounty, often times with items that have never been opened. Last Christmas I purchased a toy weaving loom for ninety-nine cents. It had been opened, but all the parts were there. I can just see some harried working mother, looking over the complicated directions and discretely tucking the afore mentioned item away on the top shelf of a childs’ closet and waiting for the moment when it can be secretly transported to the nearest donation area.  Her childs’ loss is my childs’ gain.
When green peace, whom I disagree with in methodology, sends me stickers with a
request for a donation, I burn their propaganda in the wood-stove, warming my home
with the tree they cut down to ask me for a donation, and happily give the stickers to my
children to play with. When businesses give me refrigerator magnets emblazoned with their  advertising I carefully cut out photos of family and friends and glue them on, adorning  my refrigerator with cost free magnets. The glue was free because I made it from a  recipe in a book obtained from a magazine at the library. The flour that was called for in the  recipe was free because my friend who gets free surplus food didn’t care for it and gave said  flour to me.   Ok, ok, I did pay for the propane to cook the glue with but I had to buy that already.  Most of our clothing is given to me. When ever anyone hears of the number of people in our family, they automatically assume I will accept large donations of any type of clothing. And I   learned long ago not to turn anything down when barter has become the underground economy  that it is today. So I get a bag of clothing with sizes most of which fit everyone but us. I have   my children help sort, wash and repackage. These items then become barter goods for other  items I can use. Thus, the size 10 white leather shoes is traded in for 3 pair of childrens shoes.   My family food budget averages around $400 dollars per month. I could make do on less, but I’m too lazy. Surplus food agencies abound. Cooking from scratch is not hard especially if  you expend the effort in the beginning and teach your children to cook. Some one once said,  “Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds”. I spent $300 for a Champion juicer. What  at first looks like an extravagance becomes a necessity with a family this size. I make my own  fruit based ice cream, nut butters, jams, and various other expensive items, not to mention  delicious juices. Less expensive juicers were available but would never have survived the use.
You want some homemade quick jam? Obtain any dried fruit, boil with a little water and
blenderize! You have instant jam, quick, cheap, and easy!
Save those plastic garbage bags. They have hundreds of uses. If I didn’t like plastic, because I thought maybe today it was better to cut down a tree rather than pollute a landfill, why paper  bags it would be.   After using them, I would have the kids collect pine cones, fill the bags and  fire up the old wood-stove again.
I’ve been squeezing that historical coin for more than twenty years now. At first it was from  necessity.    Now it has become a matter of pride. I can make do with less than you and have as much or more than you!  Don’t get me wrong. I certainly do my share of consuming out there. But with my method, I will be spending those hard earned pennies on what I want. Not what some advertising firm tells me I want.