I Know What you Did Last Summer

Good gravy (I have taken up saying this since Husband doesn't curse and I was the only one to blame for our household's junior potty mouths), it's Fall. And I still haven't shown you the before/during/after pictures of my kitchen update.

Before: greenish "marble" laminate counters with a yellowed fluorescent light cover--only one bulb working.

Carbon dating and a close examination of the many knife cuts evident on the laminate surface have led scientists to believe these counter tops date to the early Aquarius period or possibly late Happy Days epoch.

To save money on the almost airline-like add-ons involved in having a big box home improvement chain do this project, we removed the counter tops ourselves. I use the term ourselves very loosely, of course, in that Husband did it.

I thought we were well-prepared. Fortunately, they did not have a box on their billing slip for We Pulled out the Oven and OMGOMGOMG!! The workers even kindly looked away while I frantically vacuumed.

Because the gods of home improvement do not smile upon single-update efforts, we also decided to fix the ancient lighting in the ceiling.

My cousin "knew a guy" who actually turned out to be a great electrician and also managed to cut a hole in our ceiling that released a metric ton of icky insulation that had been brought over on the Mayflower.

After: A ceiling fan over our kitchen table and track lighting, of which half the bulbs have already burned out, thank you big box retailer.

With our new and improved lighting Husband was able to notice, for the first time, that the original two counter top sections did not match. He had them laying out on the driveway--because that's where country people are contractually obligated to store unwanted home fixtures--and said to me did you ever notice these don't match? I responded Only every single day for the last 14 years.

OK, back to the counter tops, because they are the piece de resitance of the room. We went with a blue speckled Corian--with built in sink, ahhhh. Of course, I wouldn't be the daughter of a plumber if I didn't also take the opportunity to install a sweet new faucet.

To summarize, this project had multiple steps, including a get rid of the fluorescent light and make a mess in the kitchen phase, a oh !@#$^ we better get a guy to patch that hole phase, a good grief what did your Dad do to the plumbing under the sink phase, a from the smell of it you really need a new garbage disposal phase, a basic clean-up phase and the inevitable wow this cost more than we thought it would phase.

Here's one of my favorite after pictures. All the crap that goes on that counter is behind the camera on the table. I just took this picture to make you think it's all nice like that right now.

So there you have it. What we did last summer in our kitchen. I was just getting ready to write something suggestive about Husband and open counter space and then I remembered that my Mom reads this blog, so The End.

Remembering my Grandma

Remembering my grandmother tonight... she spent hours reading us books from her well-stocked bookshelf, she always had chocolate pudding ready in little bowls when we visited, she used a wringer washer well into the 1980s, she made notes of the weather and occurrences daily on a calendar and she said "yallo" when she answered the rotary dial phone she kept on the wall in the kitchen.

She really hasn't been that Grandma for many years and I'm glad that after almost 97 years of life, she is at peace.

Grandma Brown with Ryan in 2001.

Cleaning Up at the County Fair

For many years, I dreaded the end of the county fair. The end of the fair meant saying goodbye to the 4-H animals we had fed and tended for months; the end of the fair meant saying goodbye to fairtime friends; and later, the end of the fair meant I wouldn't have the opportunity to flirt with the world's most dreamy pig farmer. Sigh.

I still am a little sad at the end of the county fair but for the last 14 years I have been able to go home with my handsome farmer, so now I can spend the end of the fair boasting to friends and family about all the great things my kids did that week.

In case any fashionistas have accidentally found this blog, I want to assure you that the above photo was taken before Labor Day. The boys (Ryan is on the right) are dressed in their white to show their dairy heifers. Why white? I don't know. Asking people who are about to work with cattle to wear white is about as ridiculous as expecting people who are about to paint a room or cut open a body to wear white--and yet we do.

Luckily, it will be a few years before we have to wrestle these three down and put them in white. Until then, we'll keep them enrolled in the dirt-eating contest they love so much.

But let's get to the bragging, shall we... Ryan brought home trophies for both his pigs and dairy heifer. Morgan won a blue ribbon for her flamingo cupcakes and a cute little pig trophy for winning pee-wee pig showmanship. Justin won a coveted pig brush for his pee-wee pig entry and also was the big winner in the Kids Bucks Game Show, winning a stuffed animal.

Oh, and there was a historical display of photos. Look at this cute little historical guy with his champion chicken. Who would have guessed he'd grow up to be a dreamy pig farmer?

I still get a little pang every year when we leave the county fair. It's a great week of family time, a celebration of our agricultural life and a place with so many memories.  Check out this year's memories here:

Unofficial County Fair Guide

I want everyone to have shavings on their rug and children with black knees. Join us at the county fair, won't you?  See my Top 10 fair attractions and treats at DaytonMostMetro.com.

I'm not sure what's more rare, my mother-in-law taking a photo, or me being in one. Here I am last Sunday, helping prepare the pig pen at the fair--sometimes I do actually help.

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

Every issue of Sports Illustrated has a brief quote titled Sign of the Apocolypse, a humorous but true sports news item that makes you wonder--have we gone too far? In that spirit, I present another installment of Sign of the Farmpocalypse, because I just can't make this stuff up.


Conversation Husband had at the local soccer fields:

Rural parent: Hey, how ya been. Say, you're a man about town, right?
Husband: (uncertain) I guess.
Rural parent: Well then, do you know where I could get a chicken dressed?

Husband was happy to help but we couldn't help laugh later. Apparently, where we live, being a man about town means knowing where to get your chicken butchered.