The Other Half

          We left Towanda and on the way out of Wysox I got my surprise. Instead of going home the way we normally go home, we took a road Mike doesn't really like to drive on. That gave me an opportunity for more road pictures for you, is how I left you the last time.

          "Yay! New-road pictures!" I said to Mike.

          My surprise, the one Mike spoke of, may have been an opportunity for me to get some new-road pictures, he certainly didn't disillusion me of that, but then I found out he had an ulterior motive for taking me on this road. As it turns out there's a new gun shop opening up on this road. We'd gotten a notice in the mail for a grand opening to be held on Saturday, and this day was only Wednesday. Mike wanted to make sure he knew where the place was. As we got close we saw it was open so we stopped and went in. Mike checked out the AR-15's. There's just something about having the government telling you you can't have one to make you want one. He isn't really going to buy one (I don't think so anyway) but we were going to buy some bullets.

          "If you're coming back on Saturday," Joe, one of the owners told us, "everything will be 10% off, except the guns. I can't discount those. And if you still want them today, I'll give you the 10% off."

          "So we're going back Saturday for the grand opening," I told Momma on the phone. "They're gonna have food and Mike wants to get some fresh bullets,"

          "I wasn't aware that bullets went bad," Momma said. "Unless they get wet."

          "It's been more than 20 years since we've bought bullets so Mike just thinks it's a good idea to get new ones," I told her.

          I listen to a weekly program called Understanding The Times. It's hosted by Jan Markell and looks at current events, Bible prophecy, and apologetics with interviews of well-known authors and prominent leaders from around the world.

          On March 24th she played a sound bite on her show from a pastor I'd not heard of before but maybe you have. Pastor Carl Gallups gave us a piece of history and I was stunned.

          He said, "On April the 30th, 1789, on that day the United States government was born; the house, the Senate, the president, all gathered in the first nation's capitol together. It was the inauguration of George Washington. It was the nation's dedication day. On that day, President Washington addressed the crowd and told them that if they did not keep their eyes on God, our nation would fail. On that day, Washington and all the other officials, the senators, the House of Representatives, the vice-president, they all left the place of inauguration and traveled on foot to a small chapel. They went inside for two hours where they prayed, and committed, and consecrated this nation into God's hands. The entire government was now kneeling before God. And where is America's ground of consecration? Where was America dedicated to God? The first inauguration did not take place in Washington, D.C. Not in Washington at all. Nor in Philadelphia. The first capitol of the United States of America was New York City, declared so on September 13, 1788 by the US Constitutional Convention. It was in New York City where American began as a nation. It was there where the nation was started, and it was there that the warning of the judgment of God was given on September 11, 2001. America, on its day of birth as a nation, was dedicated to God at the corner of a plot of land now known by a more ominous name, now known as Ground Zero. Ground Zero is the mystery place of American history. It was right there at the corner of Ground Zero that our nation's first government knelt and prayed and it was there on September the 11th where God spoke again. What happens next to America, and probably soon, will depend upon whether America is willing to repent and turn back to God."

          It sounded to me like the man had all his facts, but are they true facts?

          "Peg, you can't say true facts. It's redundant," you say.

          I know, right! I've tried to verify some of this stuff but haven't been able to find out much more than a church did once stand on that site. Research is time-consuming and I'm too busy. However, I thought what he said about the Twin Towers having stood on the site of the church where President Washington and the others prayed and gave America to God was very profound. Did anyone else know this?

         

          I have a strong connection with my beautiful sister Phyllis. Every morning I write out a few lines for her, always ending it by declaring my undying love for her. I love it when I write something that smoothly segues into a comparison. I never plan what I'm going to write and sometimes I have little to say. But one morning this past week I was inspired to write her a poem. I want to share it and my email with you.

          "Good morning sweet beautiful sister. Well, I can't put it off any longer. I think I'm going to have to run the sweeper today. Maybe use the duster a little too. Toss a load of laundry in.

          Housework,

          Oh, housework,

          How I abore thee," went my little poem, then I thought I should check the definition of abore just to make sure I'd used it right.

          "Well, I looked up the definition of abore," I went on to tell my sister, "cause I thought it meant strong dislike. Turns out it means to put up with, tolerate, abide. Oh well. We shall let it stand cause to change it would mess up my poem. One thing I would never-ever-never change and that's having you for a sister. I love you!"

          Sweet, don't you think?

          "I thought it meant a strong dislike too," Phyllis told me.

          Later in the day, I made my daily call to my mother.

          "Momma, did you know that abore means to tolerate something, not to actually hate it?" I asked.

          "No. I did not," she told me.

          All of this took place on one of the days where I meet with my ladies group for exercise. Miss Rosie and I usually get there early —

          Oh my gosh! I have to tell you. I am so incredibly proud of my girls. Miss Rosie, who's got almost 20 years on the rest of us, comes to class almost all the time (she can't if she's out of town), and works just as hard as the rest of us do. If she can't do a particular move, she keeps moving anyway. If she can't go as deep into a move, she goes as deep as she can. I'll tell you what, that lady has gumption and tenacity.

          And my best gal Joanie? Last night I saw her do at least 10 push-ups in the traditional style. I was so impressed I sat back and watched with my mouth hanging open. I'm trying to build up my strength to do what she just did (and made look so effortless too) and I usually start with the traditional man-style push-ups but I can only manage three — four on a good day before I collapse onto my knees to finish the set with the girlie push-ups.

          "Peg, you shouldn't call them girlie push-ups. Some people might find that term offensive," you inform me.

          Really! Okay, sorry. What should I call them?

          "Modified push-ups or knee push-ups," you tell me.

          Duly noted. But anyway, Miss Rosie and I get to class early so I was telling her about the definition of abore.

          "No, Peg, I don't think that's right." She didn't actually come right out and say I was wrong. "I think it does mean to strongly dislike something," she told me.

          Our church, where we meet to exercise, has a computer and internet. "Well, com' on. Let's look it up." I booted up the computer, connected to the internet, and started typing, saying the letters out loud as I typed them into the search bar. "A-b-o-r..."

          "H," Rosie said.

          "E," I finished totally not catching what she was saying. "What?"

          "Abhor is spelled with an h."

          "Oh. A-b-o..."

          "No Peg, a-b-h," Rosie corrected.

          "Oh," I repeated. Yeah, sometimes I'm like that. "A-b-h-o-r-e," and I slapped the enter button.

          "No e," Rosie added.

          "Huh?"

          "There's no e on the end of abhor."

          I'll tell you what. In that respect, I was a frustration to my mother. When I was growing up she'd help me with my spelling words and I was constantly sticking vowels in where they didn't have any business being. "Why do you do that?" she asked me once. I didn't know the answer then but I think I know why now. It's because vowels are sneaky little things and can hide where you can't hear them. So I just do a preemptive strike.

          I didn't have to fix the spelling of abhor though cause Google search automatically corrected my spelling. Do you mean abhor? it asked and the definition came up.

          "Regard with disgust or hatred," I read. "How about that. Spelling matters."

          Rosie laughed. "Yeah, spelling matters."

          The next morning, as I wrote out my morning loves to my sister, I made her a new poem.

                    Abore, Abore,

                    How I bear with thee,

                    Put up with and tolerate thee.

                    And you Abhor, 

                    How do I regard thee?

                    With hate and disgust.

                    You are repugnant,

                    Loathsome,

                    And utterly detestable!

          "Peg, your poem doesn't even rhyme," you say.

          I know, right! It was just something I knocked out in a few minutes time but I think it gets the point across and wanting my mother to know that my mistake was in my spelling, I sent her a copy of my poem too.

          "Spelling is everything," she told me. "And a-b-o-r-e is not in my dictionary."

          Online it says abore is the simple past tense of abear, meaning carry, put up with, bear, tolerate, abide. Abear's probably not in her dictionary either.

          Saturday, a week ago now, we drove out to the grand opening of the gun store.

          Here's some road pictures.

          And then the gun shop came into view. "Good. They have a tent," Mike said.

          We saw this giant gun when we'd been there earlier in the week, we did not, however, realize that it was a barbeque grill. How cool is that!

          I asked for a cheeseburger and had to wait a few minutes.

          "How's that new grill workin' out for ya?" some guy asked the grillmaster.

          Must be the first time they're using it, I thought.

          "Great!" he responds.

          "Do you grill for a living?" Mike asked him.

          "Nooo! I work in construction. I'm just grilling because I'm part owner in the business here. Joe's my brother," he explained.

          While we waited for our food, I tried a piece of bacon wrapped duck. I'd never had duck before and I didn't know what to expect, but it was good.

          "Here," I said shoving one to Mike. "Try one. They're good."

          He didn't really want to but he did. "Not bad," he said. It shows to go ya, you can wrap anything in bacon and make it good.

          My cheeseburger came and Mike got pulled pork; both were good. After we finished our sandwiches, we went in and bought bullets for two of our guns, grandpa's old hexagon barrel shotgun and a little 25 pistol that we have. Holy cow! I had no idea how much bullets were but they are not cheap! I think the days of shooting just for fun are over.

          Back in the Jeep, Mike offered a suggestion. "Peg, I'd really like to finish your pan rack. I'm tired of seeing your pans stacked up all over the stove and counter. Why don't we stop at the hardware store and get the iron bar?"

          "Okay by me."

          Down in Wyalusing, at our local Ace hardware store, they didn't have a black base in the size of the black pipe I thought I wanted.

          "Let's just run over to Wysox. Arey might have it," Mike suggested.

          So I get more road pictures for you.

          In Wysox, Arey was already closed for the day. "We're halfway to Sayre," Mike said. "You just want to run up to Lowe's?"

          And that's what we did!

          More road pictures.

          The Saturday morning eagle watchers were out. I snapped a picture on the fly.

          Once we picked up our pipe from Lowes we came home a different way. More road pictures!

          I didn't know there was so much history in Athens. Actually, Athens and Sayre run together so I won't swear these were taken in Athens.

  

          There's just something about a yard full of heavy equipment that men like, you know what I mean? Mike cruised through the local Kubota dealer. 

          It didn't take Mike long to put my new pan rack up.

           This story takes me up to Saturday, and mind you, that's Saturday a week ago! I had some updates to download on my phone, plus I had some Nook books I wanted to download.

          A lot of people have internet in their house with a router that broadcasts the signal throughout the house that can be picked up by many devices. Not Mike and me. Because we travel in an RV we wanted to be able to take our internet with us. We have a Verizon air card that plugs into the USB port of our computers. Only the device it's plugged into gets internet and our phones and my Nook don't have a USB port. So that means when I have phone updates or Nook books to download, I call our friends and neighbors, the Robinsons.

          "How about dinner and a game night?" I invited myself. "I have Nook books I want to download and I'll make homemade bread and a dessert."

          "How about Sunday night?" Steph suggested.

          "Great!"

          Saturday afternoon I got busy making a candy I'd wanted to try for a while now. I thought I'd take it to game night. This recipe was in one of my old cookbooks. When I read the recipe for Maple Balls it reminded me of my old friend Carolyn. This beautiful lady and I worked together in a factory in Indiana for many years. Carolyn's favorite candy was Maple Nut Goodies and even though I can buy them at Tractor Supply, and occasionally do, I thought homemade might be better.

          This recipe is simple, with only a few ingredients. It called for a box of powdered sugar, which I'm guessing used to be a one pound box and it called for you to mix paraffin wax in with butterscotch bits. These days, our chocolate chips and butterscotch chips come with enough wax already in them that you don't have to do that anymore.

          I made the centers and stuck them in the fridge for a while, just as the recipe said to do, then I melted the chips and started dipping. The candies were setting up really quickly. Being impatient, I tried one — and hated it. I did NOT like the flavor of the store brand butterscotch chips I'd bought and it did NOT taste anything like Maple Nut Goodies. One thing at a time though. I got in my candy making supplies and pulled out some green chocolate candy coating and thought I'd see if that was any better. After I'd dipped a few, I stopped and left the rest un-dipped. Mike liked the naked centers but not the coated ones.

          I left the candies to setup.

          When I came back, I found a wasp gorging on a sugary sweet.

          This wasp, this particular guy, showed up on the inside of my kitchen window the day before. He was hungry, I could tell he was, but I never thought about feeding him. I picked up the chocolate he was on and broke off the part he was on — I popped the other half in my mouth. Chocolate did not make them taste any better than the butterscotch did. This guy was so engrossed in feeding that he never pulled his head out even a little bit. I set him back down on the paper to let him finish. Yeah, I'm like that.

          I divvied the rest of the candies up between the Robinson's the Kipp's and the Luby's. Our portion I tossed in the freezer thinking if Mike needed a little somethin' somethin' to satisfy a sweet craving, they might come in handy. Then I got busy making a cheesecake for dessert on game night.
          Later on I went to capture the wasp and put him out. Having had a little food in his belly he was much more active than the lethargic bees I normally toss out.

          Sunday morning I tried one of the Maple Balls and I have to tell you, they were much better frozen. That evening, at the appointed time, we took the homemade bread, cheesecake, and Maple Balls to the Robinson's.

          Jon opened the door for us. "Were you napping?" I asked.

          Jon reached up and scrubbed his head messing up his already messed up hair even more. "Yep. Come on in," he said and moved away from the door.

          I love the Robinsons. No false pretense, no fake facade. We've been friends for a long time and a little messed up hair don't bother nobody. In fact, it makes some of us laugh, as Steph is when she realizes Jon's messed up hair is going to be in my letter blog.

          Steph made her yummy chili and we had Frito Pie. After that, we played a few rounds of Rack-O, followed by a few rounds of Mexican Train dominos. All in all, it was a fun night.

          "Peg, did you get your Nook books?" you ask.

          Funny you should ask, but no, I didn't. I purchased the books online, put them in my shopping cart and neglected to finish the process.

          Sigh.

          It's all good though. It just gives me an excuse for another game night.

          And now my loves, I've finished the week out. I thought I was going to give you the treat of having an extra letter blog this week, but it's now Friday and almost time for the regularly scheduled one.

          What to do... what to do...

          Post this one now and write another one for Sunday?

          Save this one and post it Sunday?

          Keep writing until I get you caught up?

          Post this one and skip Sunday?

          I don't know what to do — and you can't help me. Ask six different people and you'll get six different answers.

          Time will tell how this all shakes out.

          Let's call this one done!