Tuesday twitter and glitter

I love twittering days because I've always thrived on a little of this and a little of that.

First, the announcements:

Helen, welcome back. Missed ya. And, happy late birthday. Hope your Alaskan Thanksgiving with Pam and family was special.

Ken from Paradise: It will be January before Mother and I make it over your way. Since we talked on the phone the other day, I've looked at the schedule, and to try to schedule something this month just isn't in the cards. Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to our visit about North Boyer history.

GF Dooley, do you remember the words to that cheer you made up about "erudition"? That would have been about 38 years---give or take a few--ago. I need 'em for something I'm writing. So, if you can remember anything, I'll take it. You'll be proud to know that I never forgot the meaning of "erudition" after that night of practicing our cheerleading in the cafeteria.

Okay, announcements are complete.

Now, among the laundry list of "things to do and to pay for" that I posted yesterday, I have a new one: the laundry itself. Maytag washers have transmissions, and ours has one with a part that's whirling around going "clunk, clunk, clunk" during one of the washing cycles, causing the agitator great consternation. And, also causing a $400 repair bill.

So, I'll be washing by hand for the next few days while the new transmission comes to town. Add that to the "depression" potatoes, as Bill loves to call this year's crop which is sitting out in the motor home, and we're getting a bit nostalgic about the era our parents lived through.

Then, again, I think about my conversation with Ken from Paradise the other day where talk of 12 kids, no running water and goose butchering entered the discussion, and I'm thinking life is still pretty darned easy. Ken told me there was a family named Thompson with 12 kids who lived in our North Boyer home before the Howard Balches who were there before we moved to the farm in 1950.

I honestly don't know how women survived during those days. Every time I press the microwave button and tell it to warm up my coffee in 30 seconds or defrost my "depression hamburger" in six minutes, I have great admiration for Mrs. Best and Mrs. Thompson who cooked three squares a day for their families with water brought in by bucket and on stoves, no doubt, heated by wood. Electricity didn't come to North Boyer until the late '40s.

They could never have imagined pushing a button for that instantly hot cup of coffee, just as we could never imagine the thought of washing clothes for 14 people. Their clothes-washing transmission came in the form of their hands, which were already busy doing a million other chores a day.

Yup, we're experiencing some tough times for us---------but it's definitely all relative.

Now, it's time for all things festive as we begin the Advent season. I'm trying to keep it simple by sticking with the nostalgia of pretty lights and steadfastly working away at my Christmas card list. I do agree with Connie Lloyd that Christmas cards are always one of the highlights of the season.

They're a lot of work, and invariably, I've forgotten someone's address, but each year I love going to the mailbox and getting visual reminders of all the family and friends who've been a part of our lives forever or from the new acquaintances we've met along our way, even if our meeting lasted for just a few minutes. They all mean something to us, and hearing from them means even more.

I've got my cards, I have my list typed on a Microsoft Works program so that this year I won't have to cut out the addresses with my less-than-skilled cutting hand and then scotch tape the homespun labels to the envelopes. People will surely be surprised this year when they see actual mailing labels identifying to whom and to where the card must go.

It's definitely a step up, and maybe by the time I die, I'll have the annual production perfected. For this year, there's still the letter to write, the stamps to buy and the envelopes to stuff, so with luck, in about two weeks, my cards will go out.

Yesterday, I started looking for Christmas lights to put outside. I noticed that the Filipowskis, the Butlers and the Johnsons are well ahead of the game with their outdoor decorations, so that gave me the impetus to get busy and figure out this year's Lovestead production, which is never as well organized as what Annie did when she organized the light display two years ago.

I know it's against the law in Clark Fork to leave your Christmas lights up all year and save yourself some time. So, keeping that in mind, some time in either May or June of this year, I did my civic duty and took my lights down. That was after the 5-7 feet of snow melted enough to allow me to pull full strings of lights from the spots they had inhabited since last December.

This was also the year our storage shed caved in. That meant we had to move everything out of our storage shed. That complicated things for me and my memory. I haven't a clue where I put all those lights. I spent half the day yesterday, checking out in-house storage spots, the barn tack room, the loafing shed----anywhere that I may have left the lights.

In my search, however, I did find a big bag of lights we had used at our Great Northern Road home for several years. This brought to mind another aspect of Christmas take-down that needs perfection. Storing half a dozen strings of twinkle lights in one garbage bag is not wise.

As they sit within the bag, they tend to fall in love and get married.

So, when someone comes along and wants to drag them out of their marriage bed, they cling to one another in hopes of eternal bonding. To those of us who have spent hours untangling an unruly necklace chain, we fully understand the challenge involved with 400 feet of lights.

I didn't have time to continue looking for the new Christmas lights cuz I spent the whole afternoon on the garage floor, trying not to lose my patience or my temper while carefully threading pesky, clingy lights through openings, hoping for a sudden end to the complicated process.

That was not to come soon enough because the appliance doctor and his assistant showed up. They had to wind their path through the garage twinkle-light crop to do their work. By the time they left, I couldn't remember which string of lights worked and which didn't. I managed to get two or three strings of lights out of the mess and attached them to the spots where we may just go illegal and leave them attached in those spots all year long.

And, while we're on the subject of lights, I must mention equal frustration detected from my husband last night as he climbed that scary ladder with the new yard light bulb, only to discover that it was the sensor, not the bulb, which was not working.

He moved from there into the kitchen to attempt his fourth assault on the overhead kitchen light. I heard sounds out there as he worked for nearly an hour. Though his frustrated utterances bordered on those F-words that Presbyterians would be surprised to hear coming from Bill Love's lips, he kept his his language fairly tame, albeit obviously difficult.

Neither the overhead kitchen light nor the yard light work as yet.

And, so on this Tuesday, we begin anew at solving the challenges that cause us such discomfort. And, on this Tuesday, I once again think of Mrs. Best and Mrs. Thompson who lived when times were much simpler but, oh so much more difficult, and I think we'll manage.

Happy Tuesday from the Lovestead.