Memory is the mental faculty of retaining and recalling past experiences. The saved mental impressions that are embedded in our gray matter filed away like important documents tucked into a file cabinet. Just like the 1980 Andrew Lloyd Weber pop song compares memories "as a light comes from my mind", my flash ram recalls the yearning essence of new baby smell once again. It had been three long weeks since I had held little Ian in my arms and inhaled that calming delicious smell from his sweet perfectly round baby head. That's like eonic ages in Grandma years. Hubby started to note symptoms of grand-baby withdrawal once again and offered a trip to Ash Grove to get my fix. Did I ever mention that this man is too good to me? No need to ask this chick twice so last Sunday we jumped in the car after church services and made the jaunt.
I am the first to admit I can be compulsively crazed in some areas but when it comes to this new baby smell thing I have really not gone off the deep end. I'm not talkin' odors from spit-up, poop or anything else that oozes from their orifices, this is something totally different. I did a little research on 'new baby smell' and found studies on the subject. The sense of smell is the strongest memory trigger we mortals possess. It is critical of existence of all creatures for finding nourishment, avoiding predators and choosing that special someone to share our lifelong obsessions with. The chemical sensing system has many scientific life uses. A Sweden team of scientist uncovered the distinct new baby smell may act as a pheromone to reinforce the sensation that babies ARE cute and adorable. Yeah, like we need a reminder...right! Another study showed the unique smell played an important part in the bonding process between babes and their caretakers. Yes, Virginia, there is a 'new baby smell!' It may be completely indescribable but it exists.
Reaching our destination,this rockin' grandma excitedly entered the house with olfactories engaged charging toward the little bundle of love. I sniffed and inhaled cuddly Ian noting various baby smells exuding from him. Scents like the pure cleanliness of fresh clothes, new diaper and calming lotion. I deeply inhaled to the depths of my lungs.....nothing.....GONE! Gone like the fragrance of a rose as the petals wither on the ground. Gone like the weeks I spent missing this babe. He was of course seven weeks old and changing everyday. I enjoyed my visit taking in every stimuli during the time I had to spend. I was blessed to change him, feed him and give him the very special noisy grandma kisses I reserve only for grandchildren. I am looking forward to all the wonderful experiences I will have with this little one but as far a the new baby smells go, they will forever be filed away in my "Memories."
Like the Goldie Hawn movie that inspired the 1969 song by Edward Albert, "Butterflies Are Free," butterflies are free wings of freedom. These enchanted flying flowers sport diverse patterns of brightly colored wings displaying erratic yet graceful flight. This black female swallowtail belonging to the order Lepidoptera is indeed free, free to enjoy this Sweet William in my wild flower garden. Freedom, a privilege this farm chick fears may be short termed if organizations like the Humane Society, PETA or the ASPCA get wind of what I have been up to. Not to mention that using mothballs other than the recommended directions is a violation of Federal Laws. I'm jail-bait. Who knew?
The feud between the La'Pews and the Ponderosa household is exhausting. So far PePe and his carnivorous kin are winning. I have drenched the lawn in Dursban eliminating the families food supply of moist juicy grubs. They have out skunked us against the A-5 Automatic Browning 12-gauge Belgian poly choke shotgun. The rabid carrying critter made like Houdini when confronted with the 22-caliber Ithaca lever action rifle. They have enjoyed their dinning experience of the decadent smorgasbord I have set before them consisting of a CyKill appetizer, the newest of morsels designed for anticoagulant resistant rats. I served them a mouthwatering entree' of Diamond dog food kibbles splashed with vegetable oil then coated in Quickrete mortar mix. When I spooned this tasty entree' under the house through a drain hole off the carport I thought I had entered Purgatory hearing growling and gnashing of teeth as I laid out my presentation. Finally, an irresistible dessert of Decon peanut-butter balls was offered which was consumed instantly. The immortal pole cats are thriving on these delicious delicacies and begging for more.
Taking the advice of a sweet blogger I ran a search using mothballs to evict the odorous tenants dwelling under our abode. This was the last straw, so we were off to purchase some eviction balls where we met the friendly clerk who followed us onto the parking lot and to our auto. Sharing advice like, "feed 'em some bar bait, that'll git'em,"... or....are you ready....,"Ya, need to LIVE trap 'em." Yeah right, I'm not that stupid, brave or adventurous. I had very high expectations using this plan so I scattered a box of eviction balls in strategic areas beneath our house as Hubby was showering. Entering the house with my nose burning, eyes watering and the back of my throat raw, I met Hubby commenting on the strength of the smell and how intense his head was throbbing. I think we both agreed that this smell surpassed skunk juice as the top undesirable odor. We could endure if it would evict the smelly little devils. That night I was awaken from midnight to four in the morning by the activity. They obviously enjoyed the fragrance and was having a bash to celebrate.
My lovely home that always reeks of mulberry essence is now emitting a strong mothball scent laced with a touch of skunk juice. The La'Pew family is interfering with this hormonal menopausal farm chicks sleep and we all know ya' don't mess with a menopausal woman especially one who has ammo within reach. Lord I pray if I am incarcerated by animal rights groups or for breaking Federal Laws that I be locked up in a Sandals all inclusive Caribbean prison. I would prefer to be free but if not let it be in a warm tropical setting where "Butterflies are Free!!!"
Situated on their fine hairy little hinies (settle down girls,I'm not talking Mel Gibson here) are spinnerets which contain several spinning spools that ooze viscid fluid which hardens into fine silken threads. The eight eyed eight legged arachnids extraordinary web has the relative strength ten times that of steel. On this glorious deep clean Friday I had mounds of household chores accomplished by 6:45am. I obviously have not been the only busy little beaver on the Ponderosa.
As the early morning dew settled to the earth, I was greeted by the sight of an amazing spiderweb on the deck overlooking my cottage garden. Intrigued by the masterpiece I was entranced by its novel beauty like an artist is drawn to a fine piece of art. Going totally against my compulsive nature to clean, I walked away from the cobweb, broom in hand to continue the cleaning bonanza going on in the house.
Later in the day I returned to the deck warmed by the afternoon sun to find no sign of the masterpiece or the artist. All things shall pass away. The treasures that truly count are seen in the blessings we share with others. A lesson this farm chick was reminded of by "The Itsy Bitsy Spider."
NEWSFLASH!!! I am the victim of a stalker. I go in the kitchen and he is there on the deck glaring in my window. I enter my bedroom and eyes are peering back at me. I cannot seem to shake the eerie feeling I am being watched. OK, stop right here, go no further please-please-please until you read April's "Wake Up Maggie" and May's "She Rocks in the Tree Tops" then you may continue. You really need the history lesson. It's Squawk Box. No, not the boom-box that blares golden oldies into my yard. It is one of Maggie's fine feathered triplet fledglings.
Maggie has been with me many years providing entertaining fun and frolics with her vast repertoire but has never introduced me to her youngsters before this year. Two of the fuzzy gray and white down covered babes were skittish and kept their distance but not Squawk. Maggie disappeared for a time as she was in incubation mode but Squawk Box stayed with me. Each time I would open the back door I was welcomed to the gruff immature SQUAWK..SQUAWK..SQUAWKING boasting forth from this juvenile who has not yet come into his voice.
I was swimming the other day relaxing just floatin' to the oldies when Squawk landed on the pool ledge and be-bopped awhile. I was trimming hedges and I heard the grandest commotion racing through the front lawn, again it was the low flying bomber Squawk nipping at Rockey the squirrels tail. 'Chased poor Rockey right up the big old elm tree shivering in his timbers. Squawk Box,the image of his mother, will land on any object nearest me while I play landscaper.
I know someday as the voice matures on this gregarious fowl I will zip out the back door and instead of the varied prolong succession of notes that are suppose to be a melodious mockery of other birds I will hear a Motown melody and instantly know it's my newest friend Squawk Box.
As the season rinds down all of Gods creatures are enjoying every last intense ray of sunshine, picnics by the river, dips in the pool and the sweet luscious savoring of the last bite of watermelon. I had to share this picture of Chalky (Chocolate Drop), one of many donkeys who dwell on the Ponderosa, gettin' into his summer melon. He finds the cool juicy treat as delicious as this farm chick knowing that, "Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer", are soon to end. How are you going to enjoy this glorious summer day???
Up at the crack of dawn armed with cleaning supplies this chick was a woman on a mission. This is deep clean Friday. Ya'll know how much I anticipate this day. Every corner of the house is dustless, carpets dirt-less, floors gleaming and everything that can be disinfected is void of germs. The laundry is washed, folded and hung. The dishwasher has cycled through and the dishes are resting at home in the cupboards. Oh, there is nothing quite as exhilarating as the smell of a clean house that reeks of my favored mulberry essence. But wait! There's a stinky putrid stench reaching my olfactories, a proverbial distinctive odor that makes me cry, gag, and want to toss my cookies all at the same time. Yep, it happened last night.
Around dark-thirty Hubby started to lock the french-doors before retiring to the boudoir when I heard, "I've got you now you little rascal!!!" Scantly clad in lounge shorts, he dashed to the utility room to don the barn boots, grab his gun and dart to the carport . A skunk, genus Mephitus of the Mustelidae family who are noted for the excessive development of their anal glands spraying their acrid discharge considerable distances. My job was to keep track of the carnivorous quaduped who had picked a spot to hide under our car. Wearing my Victoria's Secret lounge 'jammies and flippies, I stretched out the french-door lighting bottle rockets under the car at PePe' La Pew who was NOT going to move. Hubby was crouched behind the car aimed for the hunt when Tiger the Wonder Dog , frightened from the fireworks, runs and scoots under the car. Did I say he was the brightest canine in the neighborhood? (I have seen this before only reversed... Wonder Dog sleeping under car...enter skunk) Finally after many bottle rockets and bellows of smoke, Pepe' runs out and around the back of the house. Hubby got a shot in that left La Pew sharing an aroma at our back door (crime scene above) and hiding in a corner behind the storage shed that hosts my rock garden.
Hubby and I trailed after him like a couple of spelunkers with flashlights in hand attempting to corner the pole cat to flush him out. Hubby posed at the back of the storage building armed like the hunky warrior he is. Me? Well, I grabbed the water-hose with the power nozzle to blast the smelly cat like creature toward Hubby. Good plan, right? Think again. Somewhere during all this excitement, Pepe' out skunked us once again escaping to join his family dwelling under our abode. They have been tenants prior to the Fourth of July. Not because we haven't exhausted our resources trying to evict them. Admitting defeat, Hubby and I entered our skunk christened home lighting candles as we ventured in. Yep, it's all spotless as the potpourri pot simmers and the candles flicker. I'm gonna' grab a tall glass of tea and take a long summer break because, "Oh What A Night!!!"
Passion, it is the great enthusiasm toward something or someone. It is also interpreted as the sufferings of Christ on the cross. During the taking of sacraments Sunday my mind wandered to communion Sunday last month. We had several young visitors that were not accustomed to church or religious rituals. Being aware of the situation, I explained to the three visitors in my Sunday School class why we partake of communion and what it represents. I then gathered the children for Kids Church, adding another visitor, I went over the whole process again. I also stated that only those who have accepted Jesus should partake. ANY QUESTIONS?...... After a long silence I was feeling pretty confident that I had thoroughly explained everything, I led them upstairs.
We had praise and worship service and the ushers began to pass out the sacraments. My little tribe started throwing questions at me faster than bugs flock to a windshield. I gathered my inquisitive Indians in a campfire huddle on the floor of the sanctuary in front of God and the congregation to answer the questions flying at me like flaming arrows. Questions like, "Is that really blood?' "Will you get drunk when you drink that?" Gotta' love this one. "How did Jesus go to the bathroom on the cross?"...Yep, pretty much cover everything during this pow-wow.
After meet and greet, as pastor calls it ( kids and I call it shake and bake), I took the wild bunch downstairs to Kids Church. This is where I morph into a creature no adult would recognize as the Nezzy they thought they knew. We had a fun time with music, rhythm instruments, bible stories and games. When prayer time came around I had three tender hands lifted to accept Jesus in their hearts. I'm sure the Big Chiefs heart melted as mine did when these little warriors desired to become a part of Gods Village and so glad that God has given me a passion to be a part of it.
Oh, what a beautiful Ozark summer day. The sun is shinning bright as a brand new penny fresh out of Fort Knox. I have been attempting to complete deep-clean Friday without getting pulled outside by distractions like this beauty. Far beyond the sounds from the dishwasher washin', washer vibrating, dryer hummin' and Jaws the Vacuum sucking up everything in it's path is this genus of plants noted for its showy flowers.
This particular giant plant reaches it's 11" tropical blooms to the top of my carport. Waving it's countless paper thin brilliant flowers like a delicate chiffon skirt rippling in the breeze, calling me to throw down my dust-cloth and soak up this glorious day. A gentleman stopped by the other day passing out literature and exclaimed as he exited his car, "My gosh woman ...what do you feed this hibiscus???
I'm coming. I'm coming to bask in the day and enjoy the sweet fragrance produced by the deep green foliage and splendid blooms of the gardens God has blessed me with. I'm on my way to soak in some rays and dance in the beauty because "You Are So Beautiful" to me!
Of the highest rank, splendid, magnificent, superior and unbelievably enjoyable, I now introduce the Fab Four. No, not the bloody Beatles, meet more of my grandchildren. God certainly rewarded us with these mini creatures of exceptional talents and abilities. Yep, each grandchild is gifted beyond description. The Fab Four are the products of my son and beautiful DIL.
Ethan Issac,12 (Ike), is the typical eldest child. A clone of his dad,he is our amazing intellectual thinker. This one has to know how everything ticks and tocks. Don't lay it down around Ike or he'll take it apart,remodel it and put it back together again. This tender hearted fella' is a take charge caring kind'a dude.
Joel Michael,9 (Joelly),is very bright and quite dangerous in a game of chess. This one is a climber. If we ever lose Joel all we do is look up to find him in a tree or up a wall. Yep, you read correctly, he can go straight up a wall with the ease of a spider. He is a magnificent builder and loves to have a good time.
Honor Elisabeth,5 (Hubby calls her Honery. Me??? I call her Mini-Me, scary...isn't it?),would prefer to be called "Princess." She is a primpy premadona who is imaginative, artistic and very creative. This sugar lovin' sweetheart adores her books and enjoys dress-up. She is a terrific sister.
Sarah Grace,3(Gracie)....(Well, just look at her. Don't ya just want eat her up?), is a great helper who loves to participate in everything. She is not, I repeat NOT an animal lover. She uses her words very well. I visited the other day empty handed. OK, so I flunked Grandma School. Sarah asked what I had brought that day as I answered," ME," she replied,"I'd rather have cookies." Too cute!
Each grandchild is a unique gift from God and this rockin' Grandma wants them all know,"SHE LOVES YOU"....yeah...yeah...yeah!!!
I am a fun loving farm wife.
A modern mother and a gleeful gardening Grandma of eight.An A-type personality with an artful flair.
A primpy person who can also sling manure with the best of 'em.
I am a unique creative creature of God.
I am blessed!!!