My current desktop is just some leaves in the process of changing from green to red. It’s funny but this photo was on my desktop for six days before I saw the bug sitting on the leaf.
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My cute little redheaded brother continues to be in our thoughts and prayers for the loss of his wife Cindra. How hard it must be to be alone after twenty-four years of marriage.
Richard has asked me to extend his deepest thanks to all of you for all your prayers and cards, notes of encouragement and phone calls. He really appreciates it.
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I wrote about making my own homemade yogurt a few weeks back, do you remember?
Well, I have an update for you, if you can stand it.
I have learned something that many of you already know. Actually I knew it too but I can be selective in what I believe.
“What are you going on about now Peg?” I hear you ask.
Not everything you read on the internet is true. Not only that, I think sometimes people go out of their way to post stupid things like, “Cat shit will remove scratches from your furniture,” just to see how many people will try it. But that was just a little digress.
Even helpful and credible websites can get it wrong sometimes.
The first time I made yogurt I did everything right, quite accidentally as it turns out because then I had to suffer through several rounds of failures as I tried to figure out what I had done wrong.
During the course of investigating, many website said the kind of milk you use doesn’t matter, so I believed it.
Great! Because the first time I made homemade yogurt I had used Fairlife Milk which was hard to come by in Wyalusing, Pennsylvania. It would mean a seventy-two mile round trip to Sayre, our closest Wal*Mart store that carries Fairlife, to get more. Since the websites said I could use any kind of milk I went four miles into town and got a gallon of regular old cow juice. That was when I encountered lots of whey, which I didn’t have the first time, but keep in mind I still thought I was doing something wrong.
The lady that hosts the website Salad In A Jar dot com said she liked her yogurt thicker so she would heat her milk to one hundred eighty degrees then let it cool to one-twenty, make her yogurt and strain it.
Sounds like a lot of work doesn’t it.
Salad In A Jar was using a half gallon of milk to make her yogurt and by the time she strained it she would end up with half that.
Fairlife is more expensive than regular milk and comes in fifty-two fluid ounce bottles (not quite a half gallon) but I end up with that much yogurt! I don’t have to heat it before hand and it doesn’t separate so I don’t have to strain it afterward and I don’t have all that doggone whey to figure out what to do with!
Mike wouldn’t eat my yogurt with me for a while, then he would eat it with a little honey in it and now, for reasons he has never disclosed to me, he has decided to eat plain yogurt with me and we have a half cup of yogurt everyday.
Bottom line, moral of the story, it does matter what kind of milk you use.
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I have slipped.
One thing has led to another and gradually, before I knew what was happening, I was falling out of my healthy eating and exercise habits.
I ate healthy because I was healthy. I hardly ever ate anything that was bad for me because I was always conscious that I would have to work it off. It was easier to not eat it.
My six day a week interval running habit dwindled to a couple of times a week then slipped into once a week and then disappeared.
I’ll start again after this trip, I thought in May, but it didn’t happen.
I’ll start again after this building project, I thought in July and that didn’t happen either.
I’ll start again when we get to our Mountain Home, I thought in September. It didn’t happen.
I’ll start again when we get back to Missouri.
Guess what?
We are back in Missouri and that didn’t happen either. Now I’m thinking I’ll start interval running again in the spring and that will make it a whole year that I haven’t run.
Sigh.
So hard to take off, so easy to put on.
In the meantime I’m thinking about starting my Curves diet again. I kept all of my guides on my old computer so I went into the storage area of the garage and dug out my old laptop, hooked it up and printed my diet guides.
Poking around on my old laptop I found my 3003 Crystal Mazes game. I opened it and played a few rounds. I love this game! I gave Kat the disc with this game on it so she could download it and play on her computer but she could never get the program to run.
“Mom, I think the disc is corrupted,” she told me. “Do you want me to send it back to you?” she asked.
“No. If it’s bad, I don’t want it back. Just throw it away,” I told her.
I sure would like to have this game again, I thought. I got on Amazon.com and found the game. Six ninety-nine. I didn’t buy it. The next day, on a whim, I searched for the root of the game on my old computer, stuck a thumb drive in the USB port and transferred the game. Would it work? I didn’t know. Transferring information onto a thumb drive is easy, but with games it can be a little dicey. This game was part of a much larger game package and if I don’t get all the files, it might not work. But what did I have to lose by trying? Nothing. It didn’t take it but a few seconds to transfer so I wasn’t holding out any hope that this was going to work.
Expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed when that’s what you get.
I took the thumb drive out of my old computer, plugged it into my current computer, opened it, found the game and downloaded it. I saved it to my desktop so I could find it and when I opened it, it worked! Yay! I played a couple of rounds and closed the game.
Hmmm.
There was a new file on my desktop. It looks like a piece of paper with a cog in front of it.
What’s that for? I wondered. What if I delete it? I picked it up and dropped it into the trash bin. I figured if the game didn’t work after I deleted it then I would go into the trash bin and restore the file or just reload the game again.
I clicked on the game icon and it opened --
-- it opened okay but it opened at the very beginning. It would normally remember the puzzles I’ve solved and open on the next one. It wouldn’t be near as much fun to play if I had to search for the next puzzle every time I opened it. But I had a suspicion that the file I deleted was the one that remembered what puzzle I was on. I solved the first two puzzles again and clicked on the Select Puzzle tab. Sure enough the puzzles I completed were checked off. I closed the game and there was that file again!
I deleted the file a second time.
Guess what happened when I opened the game this time!
Yeah. It started me at the beginning again. (Stop laughing.) I opened the Select Puzzle tab and there were no green checkmarks on the two games I had completed before closing it last time. So I played the first two games again, checked for the check marks (yep, they were marked off) and I closed the game. For the third time this file shows up on my desktop. I left it alone, reopened the game and this time it opened to the puzzle I had stopped on.
Okay, now I was sure. I wasn’t being slow, I was just being thorough. I hadn’t looked to see if the games were checked off the first time I played it and now I knew they were. I would just have to leave the file on my desktop because I don’t know how to hide it.
I love this game! The puzzles are so clever!
When I played this game a year and a half ago I was stuck on one puzzle for two months! (I think I even wrote about it at the time.) But I stayed with it and wouldn’t move on to the next puzzle until I figured it out. Boy, was I ever proud of myself when I found the answer.
There are only two rules in this game, which makes it easy to learn. Rule number one is you can only push the crystals. Rule number two is you can only push one crystal at a time.
You know something?
It occurred to me, as I wrote this story that the reason the extension file was saved to my desktop was because that’s where I’d saved the program. If I save it in my Programs file, the extension file would be saved there too, right?
Wait a minute, I’ll be right back…
Yep! It worked! And now my desktop looks like this again. Yay! The only file on my desktop is my trashcan. Patti, my beautiful older sister, showed me how to pin all of my programs to the task bar and trash the desktop icons so they don’t interfere with the photo.
So I got my game from my old computer and I got my Curves diet and the old computer went back into storage.
I dieted for four days before I fell off the wagon, so to speak, and I still lost a pound and a half.
I haven’t failed. I’m not quitting. I will set my sights on a new day and start again.
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Something that has been on my list for a while that I wanted to talk about is essential oils.
Essential oils are a big thing right now and have their bases in natural medicine. Things our ancestors used to know and things that actually work.
My beautiful niece Bambi suggested peppermint oil to repel ticks and chiggers, critters I suffer with while shooting wildlife photos. “And who doesn’t love smelling like a candy cane?” she said.
Essential oils are not new. They have been around for a very long time.
Probably fourteen years ago I splurged in a little endeavor called Peggy’s Kitchen. I only ran it for about nine or ten months and even though it paid it’s own bills, it was a lot of time and work for little gratification. So I closed it. But it was during this time that I wrote about a burn I suffered.
My cousin Lorraine, daughter of my beloved Aunt Marie and seen here with her older sister Rosemary (Boy! You sure can tell these two beauties are related, can’t you?). Rosemary is on the left, Lorraine on the right as you look at the photo…
But anyway, my cousin Lorraine took the time and expense to send me a bottle of essential lavender oil. “This is really good for burns,” she wrote me.
I am not sure that I ever properly thanked her for the kind and thoughtful gift. I am so blessed to have such an amazing family! But I always remember what she did for me and lavender is really good for burns! It actually helps fight infections, lessens blistering and scarring, promotes healing and helps to relax you. Now that's what I call magic in a bottle!
Lorraine, if I never thanked you for the lavender oil would you please accept this heartfelt and long overdue thank you?
Another beautiful lady in my life is our Pennsylvania neighbor Stephanie. Steph has been dabbling in the essential oils and when she found out that Mike is having trouble with his knee she made him some pain cream.
“Just try it,” she implored. “If you don’t like it or it doesn’t work, you don’t have to use it.”
Mike was a skeptic but gave it a try and was astounded when it did help. “How can this work?” Mike questioned. “What’s in it? Why does it work? I just don’t understand it!”
The effects of the essential oils are not long lasting and you do have to reapply, especially if it is a deep pain, but there are no nasty side effects, no getting hooked on it, and it does work! Mike was so amazed that he spread the word to anyone and everyone who would listen. He even gave some of his now precious pain cream to our other neighbor Rosie who has a hard time crocheting because of an arthritic thumb.
“I can crochet four rows before I have to put more on,” Rosie told us after having used the pain cream.
And Mike purchased three quarts to bring to Missouri with us - one for our youngest son Kevin.
Our last Saturday morning breakfast with the Robinson’s was a bit of an eye opener for me.
“I have to tell you something about your letters,” Steph started. “You did something a couple of times and it made me very angry.”
My heart sank the whole way down into the pit of my stomach and I’m sure it showed on my face but I put on my big girl pants, straightened up in my seat, braced myself for the stinging barbs of criticism and bravely asked, “What is it? I’ll fix it if I can.” I’d print a retraction, I thought. Not the first time, probably won’t be the last either.
“And I say this with love,” Steph starts.
Now you know it’s going to be really bad, don’t you. All bad news begins one of two ways. “I say this with love,” or “We have to talk.” Neither one is EVER a good thing.
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. “Okay?”
“Two or three of your last letters ended very abruptly,” she said.
And I laughed. I should have known she was setting me up. But if she ever did have to give me bad news that is how she would do it, with kindness and love.
“If that is the only problem you have with my letters then I count myself pretty lucky!”
Steph laughed. “There was no hash tag, no ‘This is the end,’ no ‘Let’s call this one done,’ no, ‘Go shit in your hat,’ - nothing! Right in the middle of a story -BOOM!- end of subject.”
Steph picked up her new fangled cell phone, the kind everyone but me has these days and the device she uses to read her emails on, and starts swiping at the screen.
“I’m looking and looking on my phone to see... Hmmm maybe there was another email.” She rolls her eyes. “There was no other email! That was the end of the story and I don’t like it!” She puts her phone down and looks at me. “What’s up with that?”
And I laugh at her expressiveness.
“Didn’t you think it was long enough?” I asked.
“But it didn’t...it didn’t have a conclusion! It can’t be long enough if it doesn’t have a conclusion!”
“I probably got to the bottom of a page and said, ‘That’s it, I’m done.’” I paused and thought of the country euphemism that Stpeh used. “Go shit in your hat Stephanie,” I added.
We laughed.
All joking aside and in all seriousness Stephanie said to me, “So that’s really all it was. And from now on I would like for you to please finish your letters with an ending so I know this is the end of the story and I don’t go back to my email looking for a page two or a part two!”
I think I can oblige her in that request. But as my readers you have to do your part too. If I bring up a point and don’t get back to it, you have to let me know. Think of writing as a beast. It takes form and grows and if I’m not careful parts of it get away from me, parts I meant to tie up.
Plow Day was a story I ended with, “ What a great day it was, getting to meet new people, see new things, and travel new roads.” Originally I had another line on there. I had something like, “And with that we will call this one done.” But in subsequent rewrites I decided it was redundant so I took it off. Maybe I should have left it on?
Now since you brought up Plow Day!
I got a very nice response from Brenda Kellogg, the lady I sent photos to of that day. After I wrote Plow Day I sent her a copy of the story. I wanted her to confirm I had the photos of Busty and Monty in the right places. I have very bad facial recognition skills. I might know the teller at the bank but if you take her out of the bank I won’t recognize her. I have to really know someone to pick them out of a crowd. So for me to know which man was Busty and which was Monty after spending only a few minutes with them wasn’t going to happen. And I knew that, that’s why I asked for help.
During one of my final edits on the story I realized Maxine had told me that Busty was older. I looked at the pictures of the two men and judging by gray hair alone, I had them in the wrong place. I switched them.
Later, Stephanie tells me I got it right. I didn’t know she knew the Kellogg’s.
A few days ago I got a reply from Brenda Kellogg. “I printed your article and gave it to Charles and Maxine. They were both very touched and enjoyed it. They wanted me to extend a very big Thank You. Hope your blog readers enjoyed it also.”
Our last afternoon at our Mountain Home found us at the Kipp’s. I love the Kipp’s home. It is so full of warmth and kindness and love that it fairly overflows!
“I made a Date Pecan Apple Pie, would you like to have a piece?” Rosie asked as we shed our jackets and made ourselves comfortable at the table.
“Well yeah!” I answer with no hesitation at all. Who in their right mind could turn down an offer like that!
Lamar helps to get plates and forks around and guess who shows up with a bag full of butternut squash?
If you said Rosie’s Uncle Jim then you would be right.
“Come on in Uncle Jim,” Rosie called cheerfully.
“I was just going to put these here on the porch and leave,” Uncle Jim said.
“Well, you are just in time for pie. Won’t you stay for a slice?”
“Well I guess I could stay long enough for that,” he replied.
See! In the face of homemade pie, no one refuses.
“Peg, what’s with Lamar?” you ask. “Is he kneeling on the floor or what?
Yeah, it does kind of look like that doesn’t it. Well, there are four chairs at the Kipp’s table and with Uncle Jim there that made five of us. Lamar, ever a gracious host, pulled a small kid’s chair from the corner and sat on that.
The conversation was just good old fashion down-homey chatting about gardens and apples, the weather and stuff like that.
I just listened because I was way too busy eating this delicious pie to add anything to the conversation.
After Uncle Jim took his leave and we saw him out of the driveway (he had to back out onto the road) Lamar asked, “Do you want to hear a story?”
“Sure!” I love stories.
Lamar went into the other room and came back with a rolled up and dog eared copy of Plow Day. “Okay, right here you see a Plow Day sign against a stop sign,” he said pointing to the picture.
“My dad had a Model A Ford, I wasn’t old enough to get a driver’s license yet, but I took a car load of younger kids, I went up Dempsey Hill Road to where you took this picture (he flipped a few pages back) and I turned around there,” and he stabbed at the picture of the barn with another Plow Day sign on it. “I come back down to the foot of the hill and I stopped there at the stop sign and the town cop, P.D. Hugo, was sitting there. Now this was in the 1950’s. P.D. Hugo came over to the car and says, ‘Do you have a license to have that car on the road?’
I said, ‘No sir.’
And he said, ‘Does your dad know you have that car on the road?’
And I said, ‘No sir.’
And he said, ‘If you do it again I’m going to tell him.’”
We all laughed.
“I never did it again. I don’t think he ever told him. My dad never mentioned it anyway.”
“I love that story!” I told Lamar.
“To me, policemen are supposed to serve and protect. He did both that day. You know? I never had a car load of kids out on the road without a license again. He did what he was supposed to do, serve and protect,” Lamar observed.
Do you think a police officer would let a kid go like that today?
We chatted for quite a while as Lamar flipped through my story and pointed out different landmarks to us including where his parents house and barn were, the pasture and the creek.
“My dad’s pasture backed up to the Kellogg farm,” Lamar said.
Then he came to the YOU KEEP OUT house.
“Oh, and after Rosie and I had gotten married we were living in Evergreen, we were renting from Uncle Jim, and my dad said, ‘You outta buy that place!’ So we drove down Moon Street to see the place and there was a woodchuck on the porch living there at the time. When he saw us he ran in the house.” Lamar laughed at the memory. “So we figured we’re not buying this place, it’s already taken.”
I, for one, am extremely happy that the Kipp’s didn’t buy that house because then we might never have met! And when we left that day, I had a butternut squash!
So, Stephanie, put that in your pipe and smoke it!
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