Who's calling?

We are a four phone family. JB has a bs. and a personal phone. I have a cell phone, and our cable bundle gives us a house phone.

When I was in NE my phone made a cascading tinkle sound every little bit? Even Ryker said it was driving him crazy. It does so much I need a pilot's license to operate it, and I am not even close to mastery. When I scroll the touch tone address book, I frequently set into motion an unintentional call and hang up fast. They ring back, "You called." Well, not really. It was my hot finger. Now when I do call they don't answer.

It's an Android. Outer spaceish. Large and alerting every time I get an email. It doesn't fit in my pocket. I was home alone when I misplaced it. JB and I call each other when our cell phone hides. I'd forgotten we have a house phone. It rarely rings. I dialed my phone. A faint ring. I tried again and stood in the 2nd bedroom. Not here. Try again. I opened the hall closet and there it was on a stack of towels.

After supper I was studying my call log when I noticed several calls from the same number. Oh, no, I missed them. Who? JB said, "Call them back."
Just as I dialed the house phone rang. I waved for JB to answer it.
Why am I talking to him?

I am so looking forward to telepathic messaging!

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Our Mississippi Christmas

For many years I had a pencil tree I left up all year. It was a night light and inspiration on gloomy days. The kids decorated it with hearts cut out of colored paper and wrote love messages.

Christmas tree hunting is JB's family tradition. He stressed, "We will not go across the state line." (Sounds like a childhood promise.) That leaves Alabama out and a lot of the Mississippi Hill country in.

I jumped in the truck with Ben. JB pulled a long face and got in his truck. I didn't think to explain that I grew up with livestock, and two people were needed to get in and out of pens. Hogs were a nuisance. They wanted corn and out. We had our hands full getting them back in.

Bump. Bump. Bounce to the pasture gate. Ben slid out to unhook the chain and three saddle horses raced to him. He hollered and made hand motions to back them away. Thank goodness they did because I don't know how to retrieve free range horses.

There wasn't time to get out of the passenger seat and walk around the truck. I did an acrobatic stretch across the console, slid behind the wheel and drove in. Both vehicles safely inside, Ben closed the gate and hooked the chain. One of the black horses had the saddle blanket impression on its back from a recent rider. All three
loped beside us. Social creatures, they might have thought we had apples or we were simply their entertainment.

Small Cedar trees were the object of our search. The can grow tall, but their wispy branches are similar to asparagus gone to seed. Sturdy, fragrant closet-wood trees grow in Nebraska.

It took most of the chilly afternoon to find a nicely shaped tree for each of us. We left the banner trees without branches on their back. Thanks to power saws, the guys quickly sliced off our choices. We finished the day with homemade chicken and dumplings.

200 lights make our after dark tree photograph as a splotch of stars. Miniature wooden angels and snowmen from Germany and Austria, crocheted hearts tied with red ribbons and starched hardanger angels make our tree Merry. The tree top is too fragile for an ornament. I imagined folding aluminum foil and cutting out two angels I would tape together on the inside, but I didn't get it done. Imagine it.

MS is a new life for me;, Christmas a new tradition for us.

Merry Christmas to you all and to all a good night.
God Bless.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Tales of Turkey Tails

JB is right proud of its 27" spread and 11" beard. He says the tom was about four years old. When we colored turkey tails in country school, we used bright colors. Brown would have been boring, but whoever instigated colors must have had a parrot.

I don't hunt. I can't with my fingers in my ears, and I'm not that fond of potted meat and vienna sausage. They did take a kettle of my homemade venison chili with last week and brought it back empty. Dare I assume they ate it?

I asked JB, "What's the difference between deer and turkey hunting?"
He rolled his eyes and looked exasperated, "Well, they're just different."
"Uh huh. Could you be specific; I'm trying to write about it."
"We hunt deer from a stand and turkey from a ground blind with a turkey caller."
Now I remember his son is a super turkey caller.
"Thanks." I know that's all I'm going to get.

After several days in the woods without a bath, one of the guys told JB the scent block on his clothes wasn't working. Imagine that. I believe playing in the woods is primarily to avoid a bath, see how muddy they and their vehicle can get, whose vehicle can go the furthest before getting stuck, contesting who is the best shot, maybe getting game and who can tell the tallest tales. They say they are having a ball. I am officially a Mississippi woman: weekends to myself.

One of our friends was an avid turkey hunter. Proud of his trophy wall mount, he was stunned to find the tail tips missing. This is sacred territory. DO NOT TOUCH! Well, one of his kids needed something for nature day, snipped them off and sewed them on her shirt.

There's something about men and game. LBJ asked to have his picture taken beside a 6' Marlin when we were in Mexico. He showed it at home and everyone assumed he'd caught it. In the same manner, JB could claim the turkey tail, but he admits he found it in on the curb and rescued it from a divorce or vicious house cleaner.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

What is it? What was it?

It graces our apartment living room wall, but it looks nothing like the deer we dropped off at the processor. JB and Brett are proud of it. A European skull mount is what it's called. In Western movies I've seen bleached long-horn skulls, but these are antlers, and it doesn't seem right.

JB is rebuilding his trophy collection. All of his mounts perished when his camp burnt. Since this picture, the east wall has gained a six-pointer. Hunting season lasts until sometime in January. What's next?

To the right hangs my acrylic work of the Nebraska Sandhlls. I can visualize a herd of white-faced cattle and the occasional skull. The prairie smells of sage. Harrison, NE used to sell the "world's largest hamburger" big as a dinner plate. I could never get away with more than a bite or two of someone else's, but I did taste sage. It was what it ate.

The only sign of human life in my work is the windmill, cow fan to city folk. Without trees to dot the landscape, sky is all there is. Big city dwellers were unacustomed to seeing for miles, their vision was limited to tall buildings and masses of visual stimulation.

I didn't care for the Sandhills at first visit. They seemed lonesome,empty. People get lost and never found. Neighbors are fifteen or more miles apart.

NE has the largest area of Sandhills in this Hemisphere, and it's a fragile ecosystem. A couple of inches of black soil rests atop the sand providing just enough grip for grass to root. During dry spells cattle pull the grass out exposing the sand and nothing will grow back.

Our ghostly wall rider makes me laugh and reminds me of happy trips to Western Nebraska. I could string Christmas lights on it. Maybe I'll drape it in black for Halloween, or just use it for a hat rack. On second thought, I'd better leave it alone and laugh to myself.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

In the Hills of Mississippi

Bucolic. Where I would want to live, if it wasn't so far from town. Peaceful.
We came at it from the backside on our "adventure Sunday." The horses weren't the least bit concerned. The gate concerned us until we learned entering was restricted, not exiting.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

A Southern Living Thanksgiving

Uncle Ben lives Southern Hospitality. No matter when we stop we're asked if we're hungry. His daughter, Patty, always has something cooking. Last weekend she lifted the lid on her lima beans with ham hocks. Yum! And not greasy. She mixed and baked a huge skillet of cornbread and fried green tomatoes. We didn't come to eat, but it smelled so good we did. Wonderful!

The Barrett Clan gathered the Sunday before Thanksgiving over more food than I have ever seen and more family than I could imagine. The ages ranged from one month to seventy-two years.

An eight-foot table was covered with three rows of casseroles and juicy, deep-fried turkey, spiral-cut ham, cornbread dressing and oyster dressing to name a few. Patty made Rachael Ray's potato lasagne: partially cooked potatoes sliced and layered on the bottom covered with a layer of chopped artichoke hearts, ricotta cheese, parmesan and chopped fresh spinach covered with a cooked white sauce. Repeat. Repeat. The guys loved it, too.

Good old green bean casserole graced the center of the table surrounded by a sweet potato casserole with marshmallows and raisins and two with lots of nuts, corn casserole and yellow squash casserole. I don't remember all of them. No failures, I assure you. And there was a crockpot of turnip greens.

Felix's wife bottle fed their six-month old grandson. Jason and Shannon juggled their pre-school son, Joe, twin daughters and infant son. I remember feeling like a jungle gym to my two young daughters. And there's no rushing to the store with babies in tow.

It was a pleasant afternoon of family and friends celebrating their roots in peaceful co-existence. The counter was lined with salads: ambrosia; cranberry fluff; cranberry relish; watergate and more. Among the desserts were homemade pecan pie; apple pie; Abbie's chocolate frosted cupcakes; and a banana pudding made with peanut shaped cookies rather than vanilla wafers. Some Southern cooks use Eagle Brand in their banana pudding. What's not to like about that?

I cut the pecan pie in little slices without knowing it was Uncle Ben's personal stash from Beverly. I apologized. I'll know to hide it next time.

Paper platters were heaped, mine included. Those who ate on the screened-in porch were entertained by a litter of kittens scampering and tumbling. Born in the house, they spent their early days comfy in Ben's bathroom closet. I found them on the floor nosed into a corner under the counter like geese following the leader.

Oh, there's another baby boy. Felix has twin six-month old grandsons. Life is going on double time.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Lost in Mississippi

I'd gone to Warren's to get JB and make arrangements for AAA to pick up his truck. Sat. night a spring popped out of the door, and it wouldn't shut. In the daylight, it was a simple solution. A beautiful fall ahead of us, Warren looked around, "We're going on an adventure."

Adventure water and a bag of turkey and cheese sandwiches in tow, we piled into his open Jeep bumped and swayed about the Hills, over dusty, scrunchy gravel roads and lumpy cotton fields African Safari-ish with the radio wide open. No creeping up on wildlife, people either. We didn't see either.

There was a little grit on those sandwiches, good for the gizzard. The guys searched for places to hunt while I pondered how they cleared the land to begin with; MS has been wooded since before Moses.

Our last forward turn was not an exit to the highway; we dead ended in tall grass lost as a goose. Daylight would last about an hour, and there was no phone service.

I don't pay enough attention to where I am when I'm not driving. I kept still and prayed. Warren slowly turned around. "We better go back the way we came."
"Does anybody remember how we got here?" JB asked.
The picture is a gooey spot with our tracks, a good sign.

Scrub trees forked and tracks weren't visible, I held my breath. Warren stopped. I'm thinking, if we make the wrong turn, we might run out of gas, night would be cold, I for sure am not sitting here while they go for help. His thoughts sorted, he turned to the right. It took almost an hour to reach civilization, but we made it. Whew! An adventure Mississippi style!

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series