Volume 2 is back from the printer and looking pretty slick.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Volume 2 is up and running
Woah, its been awhile since I've up-dated.
Volume 2 is back from the printer and looking pretty slick.
Volume 2 is back from the printer and looking pretty slick.
Friday, December 31, 2010
"Snowed In"
A story from the book "Very appropriate for our current four day blizzard"
I have a love-hate relationship with snow. The little kid in me wants a
couple feet of the beautiful fluffy playground material, but the mature
adult side of me says, “Snow stinks!”
Waking up to ten new inches of the crystallized H2O puts one in such a
joyful mood. Shoveling used to be an aerobic exercise, and if one was creative enough, initials and secret messages could be carved all over the sidewalk and entire farm. This year, I would first test myself on rememberingwhere the shovel was, and if found, would break the handle off andshrug my shoulders while pointing to the dog.
I stuffed myself into my insulated coveralls, but the dang things wouldn’t zip up again. Last spring I promised myself they would close with room to spare by this snow season; maybe next year.
The house cat did his little Garfield dance, followed by two short meows that meant he wanted outside. I told him the snow was deep and he was a foolish feline to attempt it, but out the door he dashed, totally disappearing under the snow except for his tail. The tail did a huge loop around the front yard, sticking out of the snow, and back through the front door in a matter of seconds. Shame on me, but I had to laugh, and it was a good snow moment.
These leg muscles that we must use to trudge through the fine ice crystals should be warned in advance. By the time I got to the barn to let the horses out, I was walking like Old Saint Nick himself, with no bend-ability left.
After the first heavy snowfall, I’m pretty good to remember to not kick the bottom of the barn door when opening it. Yep, down it came off the roof right on top of my head and onto the back of my neck to make a very bad and foul-languaged snow moment.
Anxious to see the weanling colt’s first snow steps, I found it a fine, fine moment watching him hit the powder and do the hot-potato hop as he was eaten alive by ten inches of white wolf.
Watching the warnings and closings scroll across the bottom of the television screen, I could swear I saw that in between Eagan and Enderlin it scrolled that “Emily” was closed for the day. So be it; as I was stranded in the house, I would get out my long-lost list of “to dos” and accomplish great things.
I will never list patching jeans as number one on my resume. After breaking the third needle and sewing the legs together, it was time for a snack. All I could think of was cherry cheesecake, and according to the date on the Philadelphia package, we wouldn’t be baking a pan of that today. Improvising, I crushed up graham crackers and sprinkled them on top of an open can of cherries.
Settling on the couch with my very own personal cherry-tart concoction, I tuned in to a soap opera I hadn’t seen for a year. Some of the main actors were the same but married to different people. One gal was having a baby—the same lady that, a year ago, had introduced her granddaughter on the show. Bridget was baking cookies while concealing the identity of her child’s father to her cousin’s maid who used to be the main character on a different channel.
Those cookies looked a lot better than my cherry-tart mixture so, during the fifteen-minute commercial, I put the Kitchen-Aid mixer to work on some chocolate-chip delights. Finding no chips in the pantry, I sat down with the mixing bowl and ate most of the dough. “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”
After a breather, the next item on the list read “clean closet.” Mad at myself for actually buying the containers to organize the closet items a very long time ago, I dug in. After making a big pile of “no fit” clothes, then putting them in a “maybe next year” tote, the next item I pulled out to save or toss was an electric ice cream maker Ed and I had received as a wedding gift. Blowing the dust off, I thought, “What the heck,” and
hauled it off to the kitchen.
Some of the directions were missing, but a stubborn, housebound woman wouldn’t let a little thing like that tarnish a good bowl of ice cream!
The Abominable Snowman himself couldn’t have made a bigger mess than that ice cream maker did to my kitchen. Finding out way too late that the missing directions were taped to the lid, I penciled in “wash kitchen ceiling” on the “to do” list after I finished eating what was left in the bottom of the container.
Digging in the cupboard for some rags, I discovered, there, on the very back shelf, an entire box of Little Debbie’s fudge brownies. “Who can eat just one?” I thought as I sat down, immensely enjoying my little
snow party moment.
Ed came in that evening and asked what was for supper. Well, dear, we’re out of everything and I couldn’t make it to town for groceries because of the snow; besides that, we should try to cut back…
I have a love-hate relationship with snow. The little kid in me wants a
couple feet of the beautiful fluffy playground material, but the mature
adult side of me says, “Snow stinks!”
Waking up to ten new inches of the crystallized H2O puts one in such a
joyful mood. Shoveling used to be an aerobic exercise, and if one was creative enough, initials and secret messages could be carved all over the sidewalk and entire farm. This year, I would first test myself on rememberingwhere the shovel was, and if found, would break the handle off andshrug my shoulders while pointing to the dog.
I stuffed myself into my insulated coveralls, but the dang things wouldn’t zip up again. Last spring I promised myself they would close with room to spare by this snow season; maybe next year.
The house cat did his little Garfield dance, followed by two short meows that meant he wanted outside. I told him the snow was deep and he was a foolish feline to attempt it, but out the door he dashed, totally disappearing under the snow except for his tail. The tail did a huge loop around the front yard, sticking out of the snow, and back through the front door in a matter of seconds. Shame on me, but I had to laugh, and it was a good snow moment.
These leg muscles that we must use to trudge through the fine ice crystals should be warned in advance. By the time I got to the barn to let the horses out, I was walking like Old Saint Nick himself, with no bend-ability left.
After the first heavy snowfall, I’m pretty good to remember to not kick the bottom of the barn door when opening it. Yep, down it came off the roof right on top of my head and onto the back of my neck to make a very bad and foul-languaged snow moment.
Anxious to see the weanling colt’s first snow steps, I found it a fine, fine moment watching him hit the powder and do the hot-potato hop as he was eaten alive by ten inches of white wolf.
Watching the warnings and closings scroll across the bottom of the television screen, I could swear I saw that in between Eagan and Enderlin it scrolled that “Emily” was closed for the day. So be it; as I was stranded in the house, I would get out my long-lost list of “to dos” and accomplish great things.
Settling on the couch with my very own personal cherry-tart concoction, I tuned in to a soap opera I hadn’t seen for a year. Some of the main actors were the same but married to different people. One gal was having a baby—the same lady that, a year ago, had introduced her granddaughter on the show. Bridget was baking cookies while concealing the identity of her child’s father to her cousin’s maid who used to be the main character on a different channel.
Those cookies looked a lot better than my cherry-tart mixture so, during the fifteen-minute commercial, I put the Kitchen-Aid mixer to work on some chocolate-chip delights. Finding no chips in the pantry, I sat down with the mixing bowl and ate most of the dough. “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”
After a breather, the next item on the list read “clean closet.” Mad at myself for actually buying the containers to organize the closet items a very long time ago, I dug in. After making a big pile of “no fit” clothes, then putting them in a “maybe next year” tote, the next item I pulled out to save or toss was an electric ice cream maker Ed and I had received as a wedding gift. Blowing the dust off, I thought, “What the heck,” and
hauled it off to the kitchen.
Some of the directions were missing, but a stubborn, housebound woman wouldn’t let a little thing like that tarnish a good bowl of ice cream!
The Abominable Snowman himself couldn’t have made a bigger mess than that ice cream maker did to my kitchen. Finding out way too late that the missing directions were taped to the lid, I penciled in “wash kitchen ceiling” on the “to do” list after I finished eating what was left in the bottom of the container.
Digging in the cupboard for some rags, I discovered, there, on the very back shelf, an entire box of Little Debbie’s fudge brownies. “Who can eat just one?” I thought as I sat down, immensely enjoying my little
snow party moment.
Ed came in that evening and asked what was for supper. Well, dear, we’re out of everything and I couldn’t make it to town for groceries because of the snow; besides that, we should try to cut back…
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Book Signing December 4, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
News and Views
They say its all who you know and in some circumstances that's very true.
They also say something about being in the right place at the right time and I've found that to be quite accurate on many occasions also.
Don't you ever wonder who THEY are?
(They) said I most certainly needed to add a blog to my web site. So, here it is and I feel like I'm 10 years old again, writing in my diary with big brother holding it up for the whole world to see.
Since I'm obligated to share some thoughts, the picture is a poster announcing a book signing I got myself into at Mills Fleet Farm in Fargo, ND.
Writing a book was not on my list of things "to do" when I grew up and I've never even seen a book signing so this should prove to be a very interesting and hopefully not to embarrassing day.
The stores manager is parking me next to a display of salted nut rolls and gave the go-ahead to offer one to each costumer that purchases a book. I'm thinking maybe some extra cash in my pocket may also be helpful for a bribe or two "if it's slow and I'm hungry."
Here's my column that will published in this Thursdays paper http://www.thefmextra.com/
Writing my first one over five years ago, the publisher said "you wrote one, now you have to keep going each week."
Not sure if I was in the right or wrong place, guess we'll see.
Listed by Craig
I don’t know who this Craig fellow is, but he’s made up one heck of a list. Stumbling upon his Web site a few months back after typing in a search for craft supplies, I was astonished at the absolute smorgasbord of goods and services offered.
All in one shot I could rent a limo, talk about my cat’s burping problem and find him if he was lost. If I were lost, I could purchase a map, buy a new truck and learn how to replace the engine in one easy step after renting a live clown for a birthday party and buying tickets to a concert.
This guy must also have a screw loose as he also gives tons of good stuff away, for free!
Honing in on the Farm & Garden category, I hit the jackpot with everything from a fainting goat to a combine for sale. Craig really knows how to pique a person’s interest with every category imaginable, and – get this! – there are photos of most of the items. Now, how cool is that?
The ringing phone was hopping around on the receiver very suspiciously and I should have known it would be one those “Honey I need a pull” calls, or on the same order. Craig’s inventory would have to wait; the cows were out.
Rounding up the critters was no easy task; harder yet was keeping my mouth zipped as the hole in the fence was fixed with the last of what I had thought were my well-hidden spare boards for the horse arena.
Ed had hammers and nails flying all over the place. In between ducks, I heard him mumble something about needing solid oak boards as they were pretty much unbreakable. A little idea popped into my head as I fended off a flying board: Maybe Craig’s catalog would hold some nice long plains of oak, if I asked nice.
Listening to the lull of rounded-up cattle out the open window, I set about on my computer to inquire on Craig’s well-thought-out list if he’d seen or heard of any boards of the oak variety. Placing the “wanted” ad was easy until step three asked for a photo. Debating whether to go back out and knock the fence down to take a picture of “missing and broken boards,” I opted to explain my needs in a well-thought-out line.
Wanted: Oak Boards.
Hoping that Craig would find me a lumberyardful, I went about my chores and headed to the horse barn to stake out a bigger arena.
The next morning there was an e-mail from a guy not too far away explaining that he had a bunch of oak in many different board feet and I was welcome to give him a call. Not sure if I dared ask what “board feet” were, I dialed with caution. Mr. Johnson’s kind clarification of how boards were measured “by the foot” was good enough for me, and I called Ed, who was off to pick up some machinery thing-a-ma-jig and wasn’t too far from Johnson’s residence.
Ed wanted to know who Craig was and why he was calling me about some boards he had for sale; I had to pick my words carefully. Trying to explain the “list” and that, yes, there was a guy named Craig but he was in some distant land, I had to cover the receiver when the giggles kicked in. As I clarified that I had never met Craig in person, Ed seemed to “get it” that this was an Internet site and I was just trying to help him find some boards.
Repeating the directions I was given by Mr. Johnson, I wished Ed a happy day and good luck purchasing his lumber.
I was thinking I would have to dig out the directions when Ed called back a while later. His stern voice relayed that Craig wanted to know if 10-foot boards would work for my horse arena. Embarrassed, I explained to Ed that Craig was probably not even a real person at all and that the e-mail from Mr. Johnson was just an inquiry off my Internet posting and, no, Ed, I’ve never met the guy before.
The pickup pulled into the driveway loaded with oak boards and I was handed a receipt in a huff. Thinking this was the last dang time I would try to help out, I glanced at the paper and then had to do a double-take as Ed stood waiting for an explanation. Oh, crap – at the top there was a photo of Johnson (a very handsome photo), and at the bottom was the name of his company: Craig Johnson’s Lumber Yard…
They also say something about being in the right place at the right time and I've found that to be quite accurate on many occasions also.
Don't you ever wonder who THEY are?
(They) said I most certainly needed to add a blog to my web site. So, here it is and I feel like I'm 10 years old again, writing in my diary with big brother holding it up for the whole world to see.
Since I'm obligated to share some thoughts, the picture is a poster announcing a book signing I got myself into at Mills Fleet Farm in Fargo, ND.
Writing a book was not on my list of things "to do" when I grew up and I've never even seen a book signing so this should prove to be a very interesting and hopefully not to embarrassing day.
The stores manager is parking me next to a display of salted nut rolls and gave the go-ahead to offer one to each costumer that purchases a book. I'm thinking maybe some extra cash in my pocket may also be helpful for a bribe or two "if it's slow and I'm hungry."
Here's my column that will published in this Thursdays paper http://www.thefmextra.com/
Writing my first one over five years ago, the publisher said "you wrote one, now you have to keep going each week."
Not sure if I was in the right or wrong place, guess we'll see.
Listed by Craig
I don’t know who this Craig fellow is, but he’s made up one heck of a list. Stumbling upon his Web site a few months back after typing in a search for craft supplies, I was astonished at the absolute smorgasbord of goods and services offered.
All in one shot I could rent a limo, talk about my cat’s burping problem and find him if he was lost. If I were lost, I could purchase a map, buy a new truck and learn how to replace the engine in one easy step after renting a live clown for a birthday party and buying tickets to a concert.
This guy must also have a screw loose as he also gives tons of good stuff away, for free!
Honing in on the Farm & Garden category, I hit the jackpot with everything from a fainting goat to a combine for sale. Craig really knows how to pique a person’s interest with every category imaginable, and – get this! – there are photos of most of the items. Now, how cool is that?
The ringing phone was hopping around on the receiver very suspiciously and I should have known it would be one those “Honey I need a pull” calls, or on the same order. Craig’s inventory would have to wait; the cows were out.
Rounding up the critters was no easy task; harder yet was keeping my mouth zipped as the hole in the fence was fixed with the last of what I had thought were my well-hidden spare boards for the horse arena.
Ed had hammers and nails flying all over the place. In between ducks, I heard him mumble something about needing solid oak boards as they were pretty much unbreakable. A little idea popped into my head as I fended off a flying board: Maybe Craig’s catalog would hold some nice long plains of oak, if I asked nice.
Listening to the lull of rounded-up cattle out the open window, I set about on my computer to inquire on Craig’s well-thought-out list if he’d seen or heard of any boards of the oak variety. Placing the “wanted” ad was easy until step three asked for a photo. Debating whether to go back out and knock the fence down to take a picture of “missing and broken boards,” I opted to explain my needs in a well-thought-out line.
Wanted: Oak Boards.
Hoping that Craig would find me a lumberyardful, I went about my chores and headed to the horse barn to stake out a bigger arena.
The next morning there was an e-mail from a guy not too far away explaining that he had a bunch of oak in many different board feet and I was welcome to give him a call. Not sure if I dared ask what “board feet” were, I dialed with caution. Mr. Johnson’s kind clarification of how boards were measured “by the foot” was good enough for me, and I called Ed, who was off to pick up some machinery thing-a-ma-jig and wasn’t too far from Johnson’s residence.
Ed wanted to know who Craig was and why he was calling me about some boards he had for sale; I had to pick my words carefully. Trying to explain the “list” and that, yes, there was a guy named Craig but he was in some distant land, I had to cover the receiver when the giggles kicked in. As I clarified that I had never met Craig in person, Ed seemed to “get it” that this was an Internet site and I was just trying to help him find some boards.
Repeating the directions I was given by Mr. Johnson, I wished Ed a happy day and good luck purchasing his lumber.
I was thinking I would have to dig out the directions when Ed called back a while later. His stern voice relayed that Craig wanted to know if 10-foot boards would work for my horse arena. Embarrassed, I explained to Ed that Craig was probably not even a real person at all and that the e-mail from Mr. Johnson was just an inquiry off my Internet posting and, no, Ed, I’ve never met the guy before.
The pickup pulled into the driveway loaded with oak boards and I was handed a receipt in a huff. Thinking this was the last dang time I would try to help out, I glanced at the paper and then had to do a double-take as Ed stood waiting for an explanation. Oh, crap – at the top there was a photo of Johnson (a very handsome photo), and at the bottom was the name of his company: Craig Johnson’s Lumber Yard…
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Good News
Found out yesterday that Mills Fleet Farm will stock the Outhouse Books in all 31 stores.
Surreal!
Pictured is owner Stew Mills and I.
Give the little guy a chance...not many big outfits will do that now days.
A huge "thank you" to Mills Fleet Farm stores!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Patience
A good word if a person has no clue how to set up their blog or what to write.
Soon, I'll start from the beginning how The Outhouse Life on the Farm with Emily's newspaper column was started (by mistake) five years ago and the brainstorm idea of putting the columns into a book. Three weeks from start to finish!
Monday, May 10, 2010
Test
This is just a test blog to see how everything works, More blogs to come... Make sure to grab a copy of the book
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