Huntin, Fishin, and Cars

Author's note: Yes. Two posts in one day is a little extreme. I'm sorry. Once I get going, I forget what time it is, where I am, and any household responsibilities that should have been done yesterday. If you think I've gotten off the couch much today....well, you'd be mistaken. Enjoy.

I know I need to get busy on the next installment of Love Story. But I have to satisfy the men in my life, too. As promised, here is that story about hunting, fishing, and cars.

I will start with hunting. I'm very proud of this picture. The camo shirt, orange vest, and stylin' hairdo all do really great things for the look I'm going for.... I like to think of it as retro. Fashion-forward. Hip. Glam. Oh. It's none of those things? Well. Okay then.

The sweet Cori Dog on my lap makes up for my wardrobe malfunction. And there is a kitten by my knee, but it's too dark to see her. Anyway, I am dressed like this for pheasant hunting. I took some class in college that had pairs of us doing some sort of wacky project (I have a really great memory, don't I?). Long story short (mostly because I can't remember the details), my large, un-stretched cowboy friend Nick came to yoga with me one night. He was a hero to the ladies, even if he couldn't touch his toes. And I went pheasant hunting with Nick.

We didn't see a single bird that day. Well, shoot. No pun intended. I crack myself up! When I got home to Mom's, I decided I should take matters into my own hands. I did see a bird that day. After taking way too long to decide if it was a hen or a cock (it pains me to do illegal things), I fired off a couple shots. Cori and I came home empty-handed. But it wasn't for lack of trying.


This next picture is near and dear to my heart. This is the first (and only) animal I have ever shot and killed. It is debatable whether I actually made the kill shot. I took aim and fired, and Ted also shot at a squirrel a minute later. I told him I didn't think I had hit him, but I was aiming at his left haunches. Ted wanted to know why I was aiming at his left haunches. I don't know!
But sure enough, there was a hole in his left haunches. And in his head. My studly stud's a good hunter. But still, surely I slowed that cute, fuzzy little varmint down or something. Eventually he might've bled out and died. Right? I was proud. Then Ted skinned him and put him in the fridge for eating. Bet you didn't really want to know that, did you?

And can I just say, you really haven't lived until you've been hunting in the timber wearing sweatpants and tennis shoes.

Now, for the fishing.

Here's my handsome with a catfish he caught at Mom and Bob's pond. Isn't he wonderful? We'd do really well if we lived in a little house on the prairie. He could hunt and fish for our food, and I could....sweep the porch?

It's debatable whether the fish was caught with a lure, or with the fish food Bob kept throwing out there, but it doesn't really matter to me. Ted is still skilled in all the virtues of manliness, and that's one of the reasons I love him so. And why is everything debatable today? I must be feeling contrary.

Here I will show you the "car" photo.


I admit, I know nothing about cars, or fixing them, or anything of the like. But this is my little brother, Matt, and he is working on his Suburban (it is a Suburban, right??). I was waiting for him to fall in head-first, so I could get a picture. And, uh, provide first aid if he blew himself up or caught on fire.

I was going to use a picture of Ted fixing the car, but I came across this little gem and I thought to myself, "Matt has never made an appearance on my blog!"

This is a test, to see if he actually reads it. Matt, if you respond via email, telephone, Facebook, or messenger pigeon within 30 minutes, next time I will use a picture of your face, rather than your...umm..
Ha. I love my brudder.

Thank you for your time, gentlemen. Ciao for now.

Hello, God.

After 72 hours of gloom, doom, and rain comin down so hard my living room carpet is still wet, there was a break in the clouds. I was driving home from town as it was starting to get dark (refer to earlier post, and the section about going to town, if you're confused), when the heavens started to bleed out of the sky. When I see something like this, I can't resist. I stormed up the stairs, almost died on the evil, twisty marble staircase, and grabbed my camera. Please enjoy. And I'm sorry if the blurriness hurts your eyes. I like to take pictures, but I'm not really sure what I'm doing- I very literally "point and shoot." And I don't have photoshop. So do forgive.

Hello, God. Yes, I see you there.

God? Thanks.

And, just in case, Hi, Grandpa Skeeter. We miss you.

Not to take away from the moment, if you're having one, but I just read through this and noticed that after each sentence I only put one space before starting the next sentence! What in the world?! I have never, ever in my life (well, since I started learning grammar and writing) had to think about how many spaces to put after a sentence. It's as natural to me as eating chocolate. Is this a new blog-post mind-block? Is blogspot removing one of my spaces? How long have I been doing this? Am I losing it? Only time will tell. Sorry, I'm "lotta crazy." My husband told me so.

Note: 5 seconds later, when I posted this blog, all the second spaces were gone again. Guess it's not me. Ha!

Note: 30 minutes later, Ted says he has never put two spaces after a sentence. Uh oh. Did I make that rule up??

Quick Note

I just set up my account so that when I post a blog, it emails some of you. If you got the email and you don't want it, just let me know and I'll take you off. If you didn't get the email, and you want to, all I need is your email address. :) Send it to me at arknust@gmail.com

It's a Love Story!

Who doesn't want to read a love story? Raise your hands.

Grandpa Pete? Matt?

Oh. Well, Sorry. I'll write another post about hunting, fishing, and cars real soon.

My mama has made another request for her scrapbook. She wanted me to write a little bit about how Ted and I got together. I haven't done it yet. I'm very busy watching it rain. Sorry, Ma.

But I have been thinking about it. It is a good story...and I do like to tell stories. This one won't fit in the scrapbook, but sit back, make sure you have a free hour to try and follow my rambling nonsense, and grab a steaming mug of cocoa. You're in for a treat! Maybe not, but I like it, and this is my blog, so tough.

We'll start with Chapter 1: August 10, 1985.

Just kidding. As much as I would love to walk you through all twenty-four years of my life, I'm afraid of what 800 hours of reading would do to your eyes. I just wanted an excuse to put up our baby photos. Enjoy.

This is me at 3 weeks old. Sorry you can't see my face. I'm a million miles from home and all the photo albums. So work with me. It's still cute. I showed Ted last night and he says, "Your butt was always big!" Isn't he lovely.

Here's Ted at 3 months. Hi, happy baby! Cute 'lil booger.

.....To be continued next week.

Just kidding, again. I love joking around with you guys. That was hardly worth booting up the computer for! I'll give you a 'lil more.

Fast forward fourteen or fifteen years. Put yourself at the Marion County Fair. Breathe in the scent of hog, lamb, cattle, and horse. Mmmm. Go stuff some hay down your shirt and squirt your underarms with a spray bottle if you want the full effect. Make sure extra hay dust is stuck to your face. And put some in your hair, for good measure. Chris LeDoux, anyone? No? Maybe that's just me.

Anyway, I can still remember the first time I ever, ever met Ted. We met in the cattle barn. His cattle were always right next to mine. At that point in my life, I wasn't completely socially inept, and I introduced myself. Ted was a man of many words. I found out his name was Ted, and he worked at Hy-Vee. Or maybe that was the next year, when Ted spoke his second sentence to me. Yep, there was a next year, because our cattle were always right next to each other. Divine intervention? Maybe. Then again, I was in County Line 4-H club, and he was in the Dalcher Go-Getters (snicker snicker- that name busts my gut every time). But I like to think God had something to do with the alphabet, too.

Here's Ted at the fair. Look at that tall drink o' water!

Ted and two of his prize-winners / steak dinners

Moving on. Any country kid knows you spend an awful lot of time (read: every second of every day for a week straight) at the County Fair. Ted and his cronies spent their time in the cattle barn, playing cards on his showbox. I was intimdated. I also had horses, and I spent more time in the horse barn. Now and then I would drop by the cattle barn to make sure none of my beefburgers had escaped and run down the railroad tracks all the way to 3M (that disaster happened to someone else) and I could feel all those Melcher boys watching me. I was quite convinced they were making fun of me, and I was embarrassed to find out that my lovely dear of a black steer named Cletus (who had a bit of an issue with most of mankind- what can I say, I like a challenge) had been kicking violently at the boys' card game. Besides that, it's hot in Iowa in July, and I was stinky, dirty, and I'm sure I had manure on me somewhere. If I knew what makeup was back then, I didn't know how to put it on right. In fact, I'm still not sure I'm putting it on right. If any volunteers want to step forward and save me from myself, by all means...

And here's me. I guess I have a thing about showing my face in pics today. It's all I have. Sorry about the outfit. It's hot in July in Iowa. Also sorry about the poop-smeared butt. Hope you already finished your cocoa.


Me again. This may not really be at the fair, but it's highly representative. I did win that schnazzy belt buckle at the fair. I probably wore those snowmen socks there, too. All the boys chased me (snicker, snicker).

Needless to say I didn't spend too much time parading myself in front of those fellas who surely must have noticed that I didn't know nearly as much about steers as they did. I didn't find out until my animal science class in college that everyone in the show ring was using hormone implants on their steers. Everyone but me and my brother. Hey, we fought the good fight. Me and Cletus. And Buddy. Rest their souls, but they made a good steak.

I keep getting sidetracked. Traipsing back through memories will do that to you. The point of all this is that I had a great time showing my cattle, even though the Melcher boys always beat me out of a win. And that one pretty girl who always won everything in everything. We did not like her. Everyone who showed at the County Fair during those years knows who I'm speaking of. Yep, I had a great time, and though I was totally clueless, I had met my future husband. I still have a love affair with cattle, and some day I will have my very own herd. Wait and see.

Many years later, after Ted and I were engaged, Aunt C. let it slip that Ted had a little thing for me back in those County Fair days. Aunt C. is a teacher, and she had some connections in Pella. My darling husband (who was not a man of many words, especially to his family, about girls) went so far as to ask her if she knew anything about me. It still makes my heart go pitter patter to think that even then, he had his eye on the scrawny blonde girl who shoveled poop two cows down. I think that's what caught his eye. I shovel poop without protest.

Stay tuned for the next installment. I'm not sure when it will be. It will take you to Wisconsin. It's a wild ride. Not really. See you then!

The Shred.

I am not a patient gal. Ask anyone, they'll tell you: I do not like to wait. I do like instant gratification. I'm working on this whole patience thing, in this land of stores closing at 6, and the utter lack of American products helps too. I'm just not cured yet.

See, I've been on a kick lately. To lose some weight. It was going pretty well. I was down six pounds! Then one fateful weekend not so long ago, I took a PT test, starved on a pistol range for 14 hours, and proceeded to stuff my face for the next...72 hours. Prime example. I was instantly.. and continuously... gratified. In my world one cheeseburger = 3 pounds to the gut and 3 pounds to the butt (do you consider that to be fair? I don't). So do you see where this is going?

Well, today, I had this plan. Actually I had this plan yesterday, and the day before, and even the day before that, to go running. Monday morning, I woke up, and it is raining and thirty-five degrees. Oh shoot.

Tuesday I put on my gym clothes, gathered my gym "stuff", and made it all the way to town. I always run any errands before I go to the gym, so I don't subject unsuspecting people to my red-faced rankness. Besides, I'm always looking for new friends in the checkout line. People tend to shy away from real-life, sweating tomatoes.

So I'm running my errands, and Ted calls while I'm at the post office. I tried to answer, but ended up dropping the phone on the floor so that every removable piece fell off amongst the other postal patrons' feet. Does this sort of thing only ever happen to me?? I finally get him called back. He wants to know if I want to meet him for lunch in twenty minutes. Heck yes I do! I do the math. Can I get to the gym, work out, and get back to the restaurant in twenty minutes? I think not. "I'll see ya there, babe."

A cheeseburger (ketchup only), fries, and Mountain Dew later, I know there is nothin in that gym that would be a safe bet anymore. Darn. Guess I'll just go home.

Four hours later, I'm still in my workout clothes, but I'm sitting on the couch. I run across a blurb about Jillian's 30-day Shred (she's from the Biggest Loser). I'm weak. I'm gullible. I fall prey to all sorts of marketing. And I hate running. I must have this Shred, and I must have it right now. I cannot be bothered to wait for this video to cross the ocean to my continent. The U.S.P.S. just would not understand the time-sensitive nature of my package. I must drive to town right now and buy it! It did cross my mind that the PX might not have it. I already know that the PX does not have most of the things that I want or need (that's another story for another day). What can I say, I'm an optimist. So I got in the car and drove fifteen minutes to town to "get my shred on." I'm so ashamed.

Let me digress for a quick minute. When I say, "go to town," I confuse a lot of people here. Not you Iowa people- most of you "go to town" or "run to town" every day. Yesterday I told a friend I was "on my way to town" and she said, "What town?". Turns out I already live in a town these days. Anyway, I trust that you country folk know that when I say I'm "going to town," I mean I'm going on post, where the action is, and the stores are. Thank you for being like me. It makes me feel good about myself. I'm so ashamed.

But anyway. I get to the PX, and I swear I can feel the pounds drop off the closer I get to The Shred (I told you, I'm an optimist).
Oh. My. Gosh. They don't have it (I'm sure you're all very surprised at this point). I'm just so crushed. My only hope at losing weight, and they don't have it (I've also been told I'm a drama queen- I'll let you decide for yourself). This PX doesn't have a single workout video. What kind of joint is this, anyway?! What do they think we ladies do all day? We eat chips and chocolate, and then we put in a workout video, to watch or do at our discretion. I could tell the PX a thing or two about the kind of joint they run, but I leave the store. But, as an optimist, all hope is not gone yet. The library is open until 1900 (7 pm) on Tuesdays!

Well. I'll tell you how that turned out by saying that Hit the Spot Pilates is on my coffee table.

Jillian, you let me down. I don't even want you anymore.

Click.

"You have added 1 item to your shopping cart. Proceed to checkout?"

And guess what. It's too dark to go running now.

'Til Death

Here's just a quick shot of our wedding rings. My mama is scrapbooking, and made a special request. They're looking a little dinged up and not-so-shiny.... mine because I wouldn't know where to find a jeweler here, and if I did, with my luck there would be a misunderstanding and my ring would have been sold to a young soldier and his lovely German bride. But would you like to know why Ted's ring is dinged up? Not because he lovingly wears it every day of his life. Not because he lovingly adorns it on his left hand over the weekend. It's because he has bounced it on the floor, bouncy-ball style, a million and one times since the day I put it on his (wrong) finger at the ceremony (I never was good at left and right) until the day he stopped wearing it 9 months or so ago. The bathroom floor, the kitchen floor, the church sanctuary. The man could not leave it alone. He actually started to get a blister on his ring finger from twisting it and messing with it all day long. Rather than wear it as a labor of love, he keeps it on the nightstand. Oh well. Some men just weren't meant for jewelry. I tried.

Oh, the places you'll go!

List of 5 places I will need to be shortly upon landing in Des Moines, in no particular order (after 13 months outside the continental United States):
1. Subway (yes, they have them here. But no Seafood Sensation- my fave)
2. Casey's Pizza (but not from Melcher, unless it's changed since the last time I had it). Pizza Ranch, Pizza Hut, and Georges are also welcome.
3. Panda Garden (or something similar)
4. Wal-Mart (don't judge...I miss it!)
5. The Mall (I have nothing to wear on said trip home)
6. Oh, and number 6 will be Dairy Queen, for my husband, who loves all things soft-serve.
You would think I would have more refined tastes....but I'm not generally a steak and lobster kind of girl. Basically I'm hungry for anything that's not schnitzel, bratwurst, or pizza with a flat cracker for a crust!
I better go have a snack.
Oh, and now that you've joined us in ending daylight savings time, we're back to being 7 hours apart. Just FYI.