Tents & Roads Not Taken

It's sad how words come back to haunt you. Something said yesterday or 20 years ago creeping back into your head & making you think of things best left alone.

I wonder if other people do this. Or do they just bubble along from day to day like never a care can touch them. Guess I think too much, especially when I'm down.

In these times, when I'm wanting so not to be in this life I'm living, I try to lift myself up & say it's all for a reason; there's a lesson to be learned that I need to learn. But that little irritating voice pipes in to say 'naw that's not it, you made a bad decision along the road.'

'A bad decision.' I've heard that recently from someone in relation to someone else. Is that how people explain the wrongs that happen. Is everyone in two neat little groups; the ones that have made bad decisions & the ones who have it made?

So where is the line? Someone that has lost their job through no fault of their own, then lost their home, then the family fell apart, was that a bad decision to have taken that job because they were gonna lose it? Or was it a bad decision because they didn't foresee losing the job & seek another before failure hit them?

When I see one of the have it made's, I think they've never known how it is to get down & nothing you seem to do makes it right. They seem to overlook the scenario that one day could be their day to find out.

And sometimes Christians are the worst at seeing their blessings for what they could be; a taste of what they could be doing without. There is this thing called practicing humility. Sort of like practice what you preach. 

I've kinda taken off down a different road myself. Meaning, I'm trying to look at something that happened in my family yesterday, take out the anger, the hurt feelings & see where it leads me.

Seems all thoughts lead me back to bad decisions & roads not taken. And the thought just occurred to me, how blessed it would be to be satisfied with your life. But would it really be a blessing. When you really think about that it seems sorta like sleeping in church; you miss a lot.

So what to do about this dilemma I have of not wanting to be living my life. How many times have I said, 'when all else fails, read the directions.' Now THAT would be turning it over to God & truly trusting Him to walk with me through whatever happens.

But I always think I have to fix it; it being whatever is broken. Just who do I think I am?

At least 20 years ago, a friend & I were talking about relationships. She was having hubby problems & me, I don't remember, except that I was divorced at the time. And the words that are coming back to haunt me now, "if I had someone who truly loved me, I would live in a tent & pee in the woods."

At the time, that statement was the personification of the love I could have for someone who truly loved me. Although I couldn't physically survive or pee in the woods now, the jest of it remains true.

But where I am now, I do not feel loved. So why am I here? And am I here to learn a lesson I need to learn. I can think of a few I know I should learn. And if this is where God wants me to be to make me into who I should become, who am I to say this is a bad decision.

A road is a road. You never know what's down at the end of it until you get there.

Turkey Juice Explosion - How Was Your Christmas?

I'm cured of turkey!  Never to infinity do I ever want to feel the urge to cook turkey again.  Don't think I even want anything made of turkey, at least for a long while.

Sitting here thinking of the event, I still can't wrap my head around it.  Even during, it was surreal; like slowmo.

I've been without a conventional stove for several years now, at least, the oven part.  You have to learn to adapt in situations like this.  So far, a toaster oven and a crockpot have sufficed.

Thought I was doing so good for this Christmas even planning to fix turkey and trimmings. Once several years ago, my hubby and younger son actually had the nerve to gripe about a Christmas meal after I had slaved for two days cooking.  For about the next three years, they got hot dogs for all holiday meals.

The huge food fixing frenzy at holidays has always been a big tradition in our family, as probably it is with most families.  I may not be a five star, own TV show chef type, but I am by no means an amaetur at the game.  I think mom put a paring knife in my hand as soon as she trusted me with one.  And even before that, I helped with little kid stuff like peeling eggs or mixing stuff.

So I had bought a turkey roaster last week for the 13 pound turkey I had bought at Thanksgiving and couldn't cook cause it wouldn't fit in any of my alternative cooking appliances.  Man was that a bummer!  Thaw turkey, get up early to start cooking, wash and baste it, mess up everything in the kitchen trying to find something it'll fit in, end up wrapping it with plastic wrap, throwing it back in the freezer and going back to bed.  Don't remember what we had, but it sure wasn't turkey.

Yesterday I roasted this wonderful turkey.  The roaster oven cooked it up so well and fast, even browned the skin.  Was so pleased.  Planning to cook ahead a little, I wrapped my turkey up good after cooling, so it wouldn't dry out and strained the juice in a stainless boiler ready to heat up to mix dressing.

This mornings finishing touches were to be so simple.  Make the dressing.  That was the only really time consuming part left to do.  Oh, but my turkey broth was already strained and in a boiler all ready to heat and add to the cornbread cooking.

So I put this golden liquid on the stovetop to heat.  I turn my back for two seconds and it boils over.  Ok, caught it.  Not too much damage.  Weird though.  The stuff isn't even hot.  Maybe it boiled over because I had the lid on.

I turn the eye back on, tilt the lid and turn to work on the celery.  In the mist of all this, I've called Caleb in to retrieve a bottle of sage that I couldn't find.

That's when it happened!  I am so glad I had a witness cause I still can't believe it myself and I was there.  Just as we were turning from the pantry, that lid exploded off the top of that boiler and turkey juice was fueling it's climb!  The only thing the juice didn't cover was the space behind my body!  How it missed my hair I can't figure out, but everything else was dripping with greasy turkey juice!

It got the ceiling, the walls, the window by the stove, all my canisters, counters and the floor was so covered, I was scared to move for fear of sliding down.  It even got the toaster and the toaster oven that were plugged in.  It would have kept going if it hadn't blown out the gas burner under it.  And I didn't even think until now, it could have caught fire!

Of course, with Caleb being a teenager, he laughed so hard I thought he was gonna pass out.  Me?  I was thinking: cry, throw-up, or leave.  But instead I had to play grownup.  Rats!  I really would have liked to have chosen the latter.

I think I hate turkey!  Still can't figure out why.  I mean, the stuff still had not gotten hot.  I'm sure someone smarter than me could come up with some scientific explanation, but here's a real scientific fact from actual experimentation; luke warm turkey grease can be used as a cleaning agent.

Yeah, you heard that right!  When I got to wiping up all that mess, that burnt on gook around the burner eyes came off with just soapy water.  And you should see the bottom of that copper clad Revere Ware boiler the juice was in.  So shiny!  If only I had thought soon enough and set my entire set of copper cookware on the floor before we mopped up the grease!  Duh!

Maybe next time.  Oh, but there's not gonna be a next time cause I hate turkey!

You should have heard my hubby later when I finally finished cooking.  He complimented the meal so many times it became comical.  Like if he didn't, I might never cook again.  Now there's a thought!

Every 20 Years or So - Part 3

The incident about the teacher finally made it to a local newspaper.  Probably only because someone had recorded it and posted it to You Tube. Still just unreal to me.

There have been times in my life that I was pretty much satisfied with myself and times when I was pretty much disgusted.  Been thinking lately about where I am right now, where I've been and where I'm headed.  Most of this type of thinking brings me back to my first son, Ben.

I was twenty when he was born and it was kinda like we grew up together.  I was married to his father at the time, but we divoriced two or three years later.  Because of our closeness, I always trusted him completely.  Looking back, that was my greatest mistake.

Only fair to say he doesn't see things as I do.  Our relationship now is strained to nonexistent.  Sometimes it feels like we never knew each other at all.  Or like it was another life.

When I'm in this mind set, I look back and try to figure out where it went wrong.  Like I have to pinpoint a certain location in our history and label it, but life isn't like that.  Instead it's little bunches of this and that until they just pile up and spill over.

One flashback I had this morning happened when he was about seventeen.  I had bought him a car that was nothing but trouble from day one.  It was a classic Camero; too much work, too powerful.

This particular a.m. I woke from a dead sleep knowing Ben was in trouble.  Checked to see if he was home, but already knew he wasn't, got up and dressed and started cruising town to find him.  It didn't take long.  He was on the road talking to a policeman, his car was down a six plus foot imbankment and a wrecker was on the scence trying to pull the car up.  He looked up and saw me and the first thing out of his mouth was, "momma, how did you know?"

That was probably gonna be one of those secrets he kept from me.  Yet even then I trusted him; I wanted to trust him.  Is it wrong to want to trust your child?  No, but it's wrong to believe you can.  Sure there's a time when you as a parent have no more say or influence; when children are almost grown and they are sure they know everything.  Believe it or not, even I was once a teenager.

But still I pick at all this stuff and try to figure out what happened.  I hope it ends up being a good thing, but my son now, Caleb, hears way too many horror stories about those days with Ben.  It's like this, I'm not going through that crap again and now I know what to watch out for, so Caleb doesn't have a chance.        

It Would Be So Easy

When I mentioned to my family that I was going to start a blog, they asked what did I have to write about.  Then, almost in the same breath, my husband announced he didn't want me writing about him.  Oh but it would be so easy to write about him.  He's the reason my life borders between insanity & halarity.


Take the other week for instance.  I needed to run to town and pay a bill.  I've got to set this up though.  I'm southern so 'run' doesn't necessarily mean in the literal sense.  In this case it means 'to drive'.  The bill I needed to pay is only two blocks away so I always pay in person. 


Our driveway is on a slight incline and on a corner intersection, so when backing out you need to proceed with caution but quickly.  I don't like to change into drive until I've come to a complete stop so of course there's the brake action put into play here.  Then I have to almost immediately stop again for a stop sign.  Then there's a wide left turn, slow down for another intersection, pot hole, stop sign, turn right on major highway, then pull over & park.  Sounds a bit complicated for two blocks, but really quite simple.


OK done and I'm there getting out to pay my bill.  Only by accident do I walk around to the back of my truck and I find a surprise sitting on the bumper.  Our mail from yesterday!  And sure I know who put it there and it wasn't the postman.


Ok maybe the postman is a little to blame since he's started running later.  Caleb usually gets the mail when he comes in from school.  But since now the postman hasn't run, he comes on in the house and we get busy with stuff and forget about it.  Hence yesterday's mail, but important none the less.


I could probably write a book, but instead I turn the truck around and retrace my path and hope that if something fell off no one else got it and I see it.  Yeah it would be so easy to write about him, but I'll try real hard maybe to refrain.  Hey, I don't think he's gonna read this anyway.

I just love family.  Don't you?