At the pool with Cori, Leah, Abigail, and mom
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
And then I was mauled by a dead buffalo
I'm really not a phobic person. I'm actually quite calm, other than that time I found a snake in my bedroom. But I am afraid of buffalo. Actually, as some hoity-toity people have corrected me, they are called bison. But I like calling them buffalo, so will continue to do so. Excuse my incorrectness. I am just as afraid of bison as I am of buffalo. And also dead bison and dead buffalo.
Now, on to the story. Some time in the 90's, my eccentric dad decided that it would be cool to raise elk, buffalo, skunks, and other wild animals. This is probably why I rarely had friends come over growing up. Or maybe it was because I didn't have many friends to begin with, I'm not sure. Anyway, one of the main reasons for keeping wild animals was so that hunters could hunt a trophy animal. And I actually did it. Twice. And I'm not really a hunter. The first hunt wasn't that exciting, other than the super cool picture of me, a trophy elk, and my first love, M.H., that I routinely show off to any guys that think I'm a weeny. The second hunt was more interesting.
First of all, let me tell you about my fear of buffalo. Buffalo enthusiasts, like my father, will tell stories of how buffalo can flip a semi with a swing of their heads and charge faster than a cheetah. Tail up of course. I lived in fear of these large creatures. And let me tell you, they are VERY large up close.
One of the scariest memories in my childhood happened when some seemingly responsible adults drove out into the pasture with a bunch of kids in the bed of their pickup. I was one of those kids. After a buffalo was spotted, the seemingly responsible adults decided to drive over to the buffalo. RIGHT NEXT TO the buffalo. Then the bunch of kids (with the exception of me) decided it would be cool to pet a buffalo, so they hung out of the pickup bed trying to touch the buffalo. I was in the fetal position underneath of a spare tire shaking. All that I could think of was upside-down semis. And never reaching my fifteenth birthday. (One of the adults is a high school teacher in Edgemont!)
Long story short, I survived, entered adulthood, married a 'normal' person, and lived happily ever after. Then one day my dad called me up, and somehow convinced me to be the star of a hunting show that was set at his ranch. So I found myself back on the ranch wearing camo, holding a large rifle and saying things like "There are 5 BIG buffalo, just the other side of that ridge."
Soon I was nearly ready to hunt my first (and hopefully last) buffalo. As I started getting the rifle ready, the producer & video photographer decided that it would be amazing if we did what is apparently called an 'over the shoulder shot' or something simple like that. For some reason it is really hard to get and unique. Soon I realized that this required me to crawl on my belly very close to the buffalo. VERY close. And there were five of them.
Since it would have been awkward to back out at that point, I crawled, terrified, to a fallen tree. I noticed there were no other trees around that I could quickly scamper up just in case. I had no way out. But I did have a gun. I was told that it was essential that I hit the buffalo in a very small area behind his ear, or else the buffalo probably wouldn't die, and would require more than one shot. So I aimed carefully, said the line "It's just you and me now, Big Boy," and pulled the trigger. Then my shoulder was nearly detached from my body and I opened my eyes, I was very pleased to see the buffalo had crumpled to the ground. It was a perfect shot, or so they said. I didn't care much that I had gotten 'the Big Boy,' that I was on a TV show, or that they had gotten the prized 'over the shoulder shot.' I was simply ecstatic that I was not being charged by a wounded, crazed animal. So we walked up to examine the trophy bull.
And then I was mauled by a dead buffalo.
It went something like this:
The guide, producer, and video photographer walked up to the dead buffalo. I was still a bit scared of the buffalo, though it was clearly motionless, and tip-toed carefully about 30 feet behind. Someone decided to poke the buffalo on the head, and it then started grunting and wildly shaking its head and trying to roll around, minus the use of it's legs. I immediately sprinted the opposite direction, really wishing there was more than sagebrush in the near vicinity. The producer yelled to the guide, "THIS THING AIN'T DEAD!! GET THE #$#$&* GUN OVER HERE NOW!" The guide had been smart enough to leave the gun back by the truck, and ran off to get it.
Luckily, the buffalo was mostly paralyzed, and I actually was not mauled by a dead buffalo. The buffalo was then, ahem, taken care of. After much convincing, I was made to crouch next to the buffalo for some post-hunt shots. The buffalo was just like a big teddy bear and I immediately lost my fear of buffalo. NOT.
Disclaimer #1: Yes, this actually happened and yes there was a TV episode made with me hunting said buffalo. Yes, I have watched it, and No I do not have a copy, so No you can't see it. I once had a copy of it, but for some reason it 'disappeared' during our move out of state.
Now, on to the story. Some time in the 90's, my eccentric dad decided that it would be cool to raise elk, buffalo, skunks, and other wild animals. This is probably why I rarely had friends come over growing up. Or maybe it was because I didn't have many friends to begin with, I'm not sure. Anyway, one of the main reasons for keeping wild animals was so that hunters could hunt a trophy animal. And I actually did it. Twice. And I'm not really a hunter. The first hunt wasn't that exciting, other than the super cool picture of me, a trophy elk, and my first love, M.H., that I routinely show off to any guys that think I'm a weeny. The second hunt was more interesting.
First of all, let me tell you about my fear of buffalo. Buffalo enthusiasts, like my father, will tell stories of how buffalo can flip a semi with a swing of their heads and charge faster than a cheetah. Tail up of course. I lived in fear of these large creatures. And let me tell you, they are VERY large up close.
One of the scariest memories in my childhood happened when some seemingly responsible adults drove out into the pasture with a bunch of kids in the bed of their pickup. I was one of those kids. After a buffalo was spotted, the seemingly responsible adults decided to drive over to the buffalo. RIGHT NEXT TO the buffalo. Then the bunch of kids (with the exception of me) decided it would be cool to pet a buffalo, so they hung out of the pickup bed trying to touch the buffalo. I was in the fetal position underneath of a spare tire shaking. All that I could think of was upside-down semis. And never reaching my fifteenth birthday. (One of the adults is a high school teacher in Edgemont!)
Long story short, I survived, entered adulthood, married a 'normal' person, and lived happily ever after. Then one day my dad called me up, and somehow convinced me to be the star of a hunting show that was set at his ranch. So I found myself back on the ranch wearing camo, holding a large rifle and saying things like "There are 5 BIG buffalo, just the other side of that ridge."
Soon I was nearly ready to hunt my first (and hopefully last) buffalo. As I started getting the rifle ready, the producer & video photographer decided that it would be amazing if we did what is apparently called an 'over the shoulder shot' or something simple like that. For some reason it is really hard to get and unique. Soon I realized that this required me to crawl on my belly very close to the buffalo. VERY close. And there were five of them.
Since it would have been awkward to back out at that point, I crawled, terrified, to a fallen tree. I noticed there were no other trees around that I could quickly scamper up just in case. I had no way out. But I did have a gun. I was told that it was essential that I hit the buffalo in a very small area behind his ear, or else the buffalo probably wouldn't die, and would require more than one shot. So I aimed carefully, said the line "It's just you and me now, Big Boy," and pulled the trigger. Then my shoulder was nearly detached from my body and I opened my eyes, I was very pleased to see the buffalo had crumpled to the ground. It was a perfect shot, or so they said. I didn't care much that I had gotten 'the Big Boy,' that I was on a TV show, or that they had gotten the prized 'over the shoulder shot.' I was simply ecstatic that I was not being charged by a wounded, crazed animal. So we walked up to examine the trophy bull.
And then I was mauled by a dead buffalo.
It went something like this:
The guide, producer, and video photographer walked up to the dead buffalo. I was still a bit scared of the buffalo, though it was clearly motionless, and tip-toed carefully about 30 feet behind. Someone decided to poke the buffalo on the head, and it then started grunting and wildly shaking its head and trying to roll around, minus the use of it's legs. I immediately sprinted the opposite direction, really wishing there was more than sagebrush in the near vicinity. The producer yelled to the guide, "THIS THING AIN'T DEAD!! GET THE #$#$&* GUN OVER HERE NOW!" The guide had been smart enough to leave the gun back by the truck, and ran off to get it.
Luckily, the buffalo was mostly paralyzed, and I actually was not mauled by a dead buffalo. The buffalo was then, ahem, taken care of. After much convincing, I was made to crouch next to the buffalo for some post-hunt shots. The buffalo was just like a big teddy bear and I immediately lost my fear of buffalo. NOT.
Disclaimer #1: Yes, this actually happened and yes there was a TV episode made with me hunting said buffalo. Yes, I have watched it, and No I do not have a copy, so No you can't see it. I once had a copy of it, but for some reason it 'disappeared' during our move out of state.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Trial of a Marriage
Three words: Home Improvement Project.
Spoiler Alert: Wayne and I are both still alive. And we are sleeping in the same bedroom.
We have been talking for a while about making our backyard patio into a nice place where we can relax and barbeque during the summer. There were several drawbacks that we had come across, so we kept putting it off. First of all, our beautiful view is on the front side of our house, the backyard faces houses, sagebrush, and lots of dry Nevada landscape. The backyard also has no shade, and is very hot and bright during summer evenings. The project would also cost quite a bit, starting with rock or pavers on the ground.
In June, Wayne and I came up with a grand idea. On the front side of our house, there is a cement pad that extends off of our garage. We decided if we made an outdoor relaxing area there, we would have the nice view and we could build a privacy wall for shade and, well, privacy. Since there was already a cement pad, there would be little cost involved, and the work could be done ourselves. We should have stopped right there, felt our soft palms, and thought of a better idea. But we didn't. Who can't build a simple fence? A simple fence that you buy 'pre-assembled' at Home Depot? It couldn't be that hard, and we were excited about doing something ourselves, and thought of the satisfaction we would feel when it was completed. (I should have remembered the time when Wayne asked me where the tools were kept.)
We went to Home Depot and bought fence panels, posts, cement, and a few energy drinks. Energy drinks are one of those things, like candy, that find their way into shopping carts whenever Wayne comes shopping with me. They probably weren't needed. Looking back though, something a little stronger maybe would have been a good idea, but I don't know if Home Depot sells anything like that. I will have to check, if in fact I ever go into a Home Depot again.
We realized ahead of time that digging post holes ourselves WAS a bit of a stretch, so we smartly rented a post hole digger. We also were smart and realized that there MAY be electrical wires underground, so we called the 'call before you dig' number to get the lines marked. That set us back a few days, but we were glad we waited when we saw that there were electrical lines where we were to dig one of the posts.
Things were going smoothly until I realized that the post hole digger required two people to operate, and the only people I saw were Wayne and Penelope. Once Penelope was in bed, I somehow managed to assist Wayne with the holes, with the help of a bag of cement on my side to add some weight.
After waiting for the weekend - and my sore muscles to revive - we continued by lining up the fence posts and six foot fence panels. It was then that we discovered that a 'six foot fence panel' is not six feet, but rather 67 inches. So the fence panels wouldn't work. We decided to find six foot panels that were actually six feet rather than drill new holes. We ordered them online, returning the others to Home Depot. Our fence building was set back another few weeks.
We were a little bit set back when the fence came and it wasn't all together, but a 'self-assembling' model. So we started putting the fence together, on a day when it seemed to be 95 degrees by 8AM.
Soon Wayne wanted me to help him make something 'level'.
Me: It is level.
Wayne: No! Level with THIS.
Me: It is level!
Wayne: NO! Level with THIS!
Me: I have no idea what you mean, because it IS level.
Wayne: NO! Here, take the level here and here and make sure it's equal.
Me <<(It was level...but I used the tape measure, pushed the fence this way and that, and grunted a few times.)>>OK It looks level.
Wayne was satisfied, and we continued. The next few hours were filled with noises that sounded like this: "AAAAHHH!" "OUCH!!!" "Hold it steady. No, right here!" "ARGGG.." "I'm never doing any home projects ever EVER again!" and "Waaaahhaaaahh!" The "Waaaahaaahh" didn't always come from Penelope either.
Somehow the fence got put together, with the exception of the panel and post that would have electrocuted us if we had drilled. Unfortunately the fence is a bit crooked, but Sunday night when we had guests over for the evening, it worked perfectly. And we felt a huge sense of accomplishment in our crooked three-panel fence. However, I don't think we will be doing any more 'projects' around the house any time soon. If we do, no matter what the contractor charges, it will be a great deal.
The outdoor patio area
Figuring out what boxes are for.
Already trying to wear mommy's shoes.
I came in the living room to see this - she had pushed the car to the piano, climbed up to the piano bench and was playing a song.
Penelope and her buddy Tanner
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Oddities of Life (Since I'm so normal)
I bought some sliced cheese the other day, and upon using it I noticed something on the package. In bold letters, apparently to be a selling point, it says, "CHEESE IN EVERY BITE." So I'm wondering - what if you take a bite of cheese and it's NOT cheese? It's....something else. Can you contact the company and get a refund? And if it's not cheese, what IS it? I have never had the experience of eating something out of a cheese package that is NOT cheese, and now I'm not even going to know what to do when I do get a bite of cheese that isn't cheese.
A few weeks ago we were in Salt Lake shopping. When I was checking out of a store, the clerk asked where I was from. I told her Nevada. "Oh!" She said, "We are getting a new store in Denver!" "That'a nice," I replied politely. "Yeah," she said, "That will be so nice for you to shop there."
How to let sleeping babies lie:
That blessed moment has arrived when two tiny eyelids have finally found their and you gently place the baby in the crib. Now, as you quietly exit the room, you step on a Lego. You continue to exit, while clenching your teeth and hopping on one foot. But you are alive and the baby is still asleep, so all is well. You grab the snack and drink you were smart enough to prepare before the baby went to sleep, so you wouldn't have to make any noise, and mentally pat yourself on the back for being so intelligent. As you sit down and put your feet up, you check the video monitor, and realize that the cat is trying to get into the baby's crib. So you quietly tiptoe back to the nursery, and hiss quietly, "here, kitty, kitty," to which the cat responds with a loud "MEOW?" You grab the cat and take put it outside. Finally, you c tip toe across the dark living room floor, when your foot touches something. "HI! I'M ALPHABUG! LETS SING THE ABC'S! ABCDEF..." You scramble blindly in the dark to turn the toy off, when you hear the cell phone ringing. You run quickly to get it, room to room, trying to find it. Then it hits you, you left it in the baby's room. The phone finally stops ringing, but you get it anyway, so it doesn't ring again. You are amazed at how your wonderful baby has slept through all of this. You blow her a kiss and then walk out.
...WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
A few weeks ago we were in Salt Lake shopping. When I was checking out of a store, the clerk asked where I was from. I told her Nevada. "Oh!" She said, "We are getting a new store in Denver!" "That'a nice," I replied politely. "Yeah," she said, "That will be so nice for you to shop there."
How to let sleeping babies lie:
That blessed moment has arrived when two tiny eyelids have finally found their and you gently place the baby in the crib. Now, as you quietly exit the room, you step on a Lego. You continue to exit, while clenching your teeth and hopping on one foot. But you are alive and the baby is still asleep, so all is well. You grab the snack and drink you were smart enough to prepare before the baby went to sleep, so you wouldn't have to make any noise, and mentally pat yourself on the back for being so intelligent. As you sit down and put your feet up, you check the video monitor, and realize that the cat is trying to get into the baby's crib. So you quietly tiptoe back to the nursery, and hiss quietly, "here, kitty, kitty," to which the cat responds with a loud "MEOW?" You grab the cat and take put it outside. Finally, you c tip toe across the dark living room floor, when your foot touches something. "HI! I'M ALPHABUG! LETS SING THE ABC'S! ABCDEF..." You scramble blindly in the dark to turn the toy off, when you hear the cell phone ringing. You run quickly to get it, room to room, trying to find it. Then it hits you, you left it in the baby's room. The phone finally stops ringing, but you get it anyway, so it doesn't ring again. You are amazed at how your wonderful baby has slept through all of this. You blow her a kiss and then walk out.
...WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Worst Dive Ever!!!
During the Olympics I saw this headline: Video of Worst Dive Ever!! So I had to check it out. Here it is:
http://www.thehollywoodgossip.com/2012/08/worst-dive-ever-stephan-feck-flops-at-olympics/
So, worst dive ever huh? What I see is a crazy spinning twirly jump through the air, that just happened to end with the diver doing a back flop, instead of diving into the water. So the guy messed up. Big Deal! I wouldn't exactly label it as the 'worst dive ever.' It is twenty times better than 99.993% of the world's population, but because he didn't do it PERFECTLY the media labeled it as 'worst dive you'll ever see.' Imagine how many little swimmers' dreams have now been crushed by the fact that their pool-diving is worse than the 'worst dive ever'.... Pathetic.
http://www.thehollywoodgossip.com/2012/08/worst-dive-ever-stephan-feck-flops-at-olympics/
So, worst dive ever huh? What I see is a crazy spinning twirly jump through the air, that just happened to end with the diver doing a back flop, instead of diving into the water. So the guy messed up. Big Deal! I wouldn't exactly label it as the 'worst dive ever.' It is twenty times better than 99.993% of the world's population, but because he didn't do it PERFECTLY the media labeled it as 'worst dive you'll ever see.' Imagine how many little swimmers' dreams have now been crushed by the fact that their pool-diving is worse than the 'worst dive ever'.... Pathetic.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
It's Rally Time!
Every August, I get a little big nostalgic for the Black Hills, the home of the famous 'Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.' Which is rather odd, since I'm not your typical Harley-girl. In fact, I don't think I have ever even gone to the actual rally. But it still reminds me of hot summer evenings, loud rumbling Harley Davidsons and college life in Rapid City.
As thousands of motorcycles descend on the Black Hills, many people cringe or leave town for the week. Some cyclists are rowdy and some are strange, but all are good for people watching. Once, while driving in Rapid City, I witnessed what I was certain would be a gory, blood-splattering event. A motorcyclist zoomed up beside us and proceeded to stand up on the seat of his motorcycle. I know, some people do tricks and can do all sorts of things on a motorcycle. This man was not one of those people. He had no skills whatsoever, and my stomach did summersaults while his motorcycle wobbled ferociously side to side. At the last minute, the man sat down, steadied his bike and zoomed off.
Motorcycles remind me of the time I tried to give Wayne a heart-attack. I almost succeeded. Wayne went through a phase one winter when he bought a Gold Wing. It was nice, and had a cushy seat for me on the back. However I was always cold on the motorcycle, since Wayne insisted on driving it year-round. So Wayne bought me a nice jacket that you could 'plug in' to the motorcycle and it would keep you warm. Sort of like an electric blanket jacket. This jacket required some kind of wiring to be done, and Wayne did it himself. After completion, Wayne suggested I try it out. I sat on the back of the motorcycle and Wayne attached the wires. Everything was great. Wayne then started the motorcycle, and as it rumbled to life I started convulsing. Wayne FREAKED out, killed the motorcycle, and as I nearly fell over laughing, insisted that I was never EVER to do that again.
During the rally, you can often see 20-30 motorcyclist together on a highway. They rumble through the hills like this in their motorcycle 'gang'. No helmets, of course, because you can't be a scruffy motorcyclist if you are wearing a helmet. There is no law requiring it, and helmets are rarely seen. Now that I live in a state where there is a helmet law and fewer motorcyclists, I get a huge kick out of seeing a 'gang' of Harley dudes out for a drive. There are usually three, MAYBE four riding together, trying their best to look really mean in their safety helmets.
Recently we were in line at the local deli 700 miles away, when the man in front of us had a Sturgis Rally shirt on. I got excited and said, "Oh, hey, Sturgis Rally! We used to live there!" The man's wife was standing next to him, and apparently what happens in Sturgis stays in Sturgis, because he just kind of 'humphed' and didn't say much about it. It's always too late when I get a brilliant idea, and like always, I got a brilliant idea too late. What I should have said was, "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? Oh YEAH, that night at the Sturgis Rally!" And proceed to go into details about the wild things I allegedly saw him do in Sturgis. Oh well, I will just have to chuckle to myself about all my great ideas.
As thousands of motorcycles descend on the Black Hills, many people cringe or leave town for the week. Some cyclists are rowdy and some are strange, but all are good for people watching. Once, while driving in Rapid City, I witnessed what I was certain would be a gory, blood-splattering event. A motorcyclist zoomed up beside us and proceeded to stand up on the seat of his motorcycle. I know, some people do tricks and can do all sorts of things on a motorcycle. This man was not one of those people. He had no skills whatsoever, and my stomach did summersaults while his motorcycle wobbled ferociously side to side. At the last minute, the man sat down, steadied his bike and zoomed off.
Motorcycles remind me of the time I tried to give Wayne a heart-attack. I almost succeeded. Wayne went through a phase one winter when he bought a Gold Wing. It was nice, and had a cushy seat for me on the back. However I was always cold on the motorcycle, since Wayne insisted on driving it year-round. So Wayne bought me a nice jacket that you could 'plug in' to the motorcycle and it would keep you warm. Sort of like an electric blanket jacket. This jacket required some kind of wiring to be done, and Wayne did it himself. After completion, Wayne suggested I try it out. I sat on the back of the motorcycle and Wayne attached the wires. Everything was great. Wayne then started the motorcycle, and as it rumbled to life I started convulsing. Wayne FREAKED out, killed the motorcycle, and as I nearly fell over laughing, insisted that I was never EVER to do that again.
During the rally, you can often see 20-30 motorcyclist together on a highway. They rumble through the hills like this in their motorcycle 'gang'. No helmets, of course, because you can't be a scruffy motorcyclist if you are wearing a helmet. There is no law requiring it, and helmets are rarely seen. Now that I live in a state where there is a helmet law and fewer motorcyclists, I get a huge kick out of seeing a 'gang' of Harley dudes out for a drive. There are usually three, MAYBE four riding together, trying their best to look really mean in their safety helmets.
Recently we were in line at the local deli 700 miles away, when the man in front of us had a Sturgis Rally shirt on. I got excited and said, "Oh, hey, Sturgis Rally! We used to live there!" The man's wife was standing next to him, and apparently what happens in Sturgis stays in Sturgis, because he just kind of 'humphed' and didn't say much about it. It's always too late when I get a brilliant idea, and like always, I got a brilliant idea too late. What I should have said was, "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? Oh YEAH, that night at the Sturgis Rally!" And proceed to go into details about the wild things I allegedly saw him do in Sturgis. Oh well, I will just have to chuckle to myself about all my great ideas.
Vintage Frocks & Friend Leah
Penelope in her cute skirt and vintage frock. Actually I know it's not vintage, and I have no clue if it's a frock, but that's what it would be if Duchess Kate where wearing it. Anyway, this super cute outfit came in the mail from Aunt Joanna this week. Thanks!
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)