The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

We have lived on top of our mountain for 12 years now. I have changed a LOT during that time. Not by choice mind you, but living this off grid life on a mountain in Montana tends to have an effect, which epitomizes the saying, "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger". 

I am indeed stronger. I am calmer and at peace. I'm less afraid of everything (except our scary road). I have more faith. I'm freer and know better how to be content. All good changes for which I'm grateful to God. 

Some things haven't changed - Butch is still funny, we still have a ton of dogs, and I still hate our scary road in the winter. 

Another thing that hasn't changed is my attitude toward drop-in visitors. I thought for sure my bad attitude towards unexpected visitors would change over the years. But alas, no. That's stayed exactly the same. 

When we first started building up here in the Montana wilderness, even though there were only a couple other people living here back then, we had drop-in visitors constantly. Butch welcomed them all with open arms, a big smile and tons of hilarious stories. I welcomed them with smiles too because I'm polite but I was surprised at how annoyed I felt. They couldn't have called to see if we were busy?  Or let me know they were coming so I could put a bra on?? What if I hadn't had any makeup on? Or what if my house was a mess? Gasp!! I just wanted to look my best and be ready to receive visitors. Is that too much to ask? 

After talking this over with Butch, whose attitude was the polar opposite of mine, I realized I was "too city, too uptight, too fussy, too controlling, too worried about superficial things and that I needed to relax and change into a normal, friendly person with a 24-hour-a-day Open House policy. We lived in the country for Pete's sake!"

Oh. Well pardon me.

So I tried. I tried not to worry about how my house looked, how I looked, whether we were busy or not, whether I had proper undergarments on or whether I had tea and cake ready to serve. I tried. I truly did. I really wanted to be an honest to goodness, real live, good ole country woman who invited all and sundry in for coffee no matter who they were or how busy she was, just like in the good old days.  

And I did make some headway.  I began to wear a bra every day. I learned to keep my house somewhat picked up. I tried to convince myself that SPAM on Wheat Thins was an appropriate refreshment. I  relaxed a bit on being interrupted when I was working. I tried to shake off the inbred Southern, ironclad city rules of never ever ever dropping by someone's house uninvited, nor calling and asking to come over. These were taboo. They just weren't done. But I tried to free myself from these constraining rules, just let go and enjoy people popping up, whenever. 

To my utter frustration, I didn't do that well, which was so weird. I loved people! I love having fun! I had parties all the time. I invited people over for dinner and to stay with us all summer, every summer. I went to other people's homes all the time (when invited). I was the one who hosted all the dinners and parties for every major life event and holiday for most of my adult life. I've had hundreds, nay thousands of dinners and parties in my lifetime. 

So what was my problem?? It wasn't people obviously. It had to be the unannounced dropping by. I don't like it. Even calling me beforehand and asking to drop by. I don't like it. It makes me nervous. It always makes me nervous. I'm fine once they're here, laughing and talking, but it takes me a while to adjust. I'm all right if I'm the one doing the inviting, which I do all the time. But if a wrench is thrown into my schedule, it totally throws me off.  

And after 12 years of country living I am still the same. Living in the country has not changed that part of me like I hoped it would.   

But you know what? It's okay. I realize now that I'm an introvert, plain and simple. I never thought I was because I've always been such a clown and I like making people laugh. But I like my alone time. I like my schedule.  I don't like being interrupted. I don't do spontaneous and last minute. I don't like surprises. I'm not a fan of change. I like predictability.  I like a plan and order.  And I fit people in when and where I can because I like them too. But they have to be part of the plan. 

After all these years of beating myself up about this personality trait of mine and trying so hard to change, I realize that I don't need to change. This is who I am and there's nothing wrong with that. I accept myself and stop demanding that she change so I can like her better. I can be a friend to myself, love her, leave her alone and let her be... She's okay just the way she is. In fact, she's more than okay, she's awesome and amazing and tough and sweet and funny. 

Even if she is a little chunky. Hey, more of me to love. 

So there. Nyah.  ;)

Tennis and Other ... Lessons

When Butch and I were in our first year of marriage I was somehow able to get him out of the house for fun occasionally. One of the things I convinced him to do was to play tennis with me. Being a hard-working, real live country boy, he had never played it before. I, being a true city girl, had played tennis most of my life. I wasn't bad. And I loved it. So when he agreed to learn how to play, I was surprised and delighted. 

At the time, we lived in a small town in Texas, northeast of Dallas, where it is always hot as Hades. And humid. And HOT. So, one dresses accordingly, meaning: as little clothing as possible, just this side of  getting arrested for indecent exposure.  

Here I was, in my 40's - tan, fit, in shorts and tank top, looking mighty cute with my bouncy ponytail. And then here comes my manly man Butch, dressed for ... what in the hey? Picture this if you will, across the court from me on this fine, warm, sunny, June morning: my tennis partner dressed in Wrangler jeans, boots, wife-beater t-shirt and cowboy hat, complete with cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I rose up out of my tennis-ready crouch and stared open-mouthed at this dazzling wonder before me. "Seriously? He's going to play tennis in jeans and boots? He'll die from this heat but if I can stop belly-laughing, he'll be easier to beat, so ... game on!" 

I did not take into account this man's physical fitness from years of very hard work, hauling hay and building houses in Texas summers. I did not yet know about his innate athletic prowess. All I knew at the time was that he looked hilarious and I was about to sweep the court with him. 

Even though he did manage to hit the cigarette in his mouth with his own tennis racket, sending said cigarette flying, he did pretty well that first day. I was handicapped by the fact that I couldn't stop laughing at what he looked like and, I discovered, he was a quick learner. 

Fast forward one month. It is now July and even hotter. We have played tennis about twice a week and he has improved greatly, alarmingly even. He has also progressed in his tennis attire to actual shorts and tennis shoes, neither of which he owned and had to be sought out and purchased, with much grumbling and covertness. He reluctantly left the cowboy hat at home but kept the ever-present dangling cigarette. 

Again, behold the spectacle before me. The top half of this man tanned and muscle-y from years of working in the sun; bottom half stark white and skinny, with two perfect chicken legs sticking out of the shorts and above the dorky old man socks. Again, me laughing my butt off and again, underestimating this man. 

He whipped my butt that day as if in an effort to make up for the less than usual manly appearance. 

Fast forward another month. It is now August, so hot the tar is melting on the streets. Butch is across from me on the tennis court, legs tan, looking not so chicken-like, comfortable in his shorts, no cigarette, crouching with racket in hand, seriously ready to flay me. Which he did. Every time we played. 

I'm not laughing anymore. 

In two short months this man went from never holding a tennis racket to giving me, a life-long tennis player, a sound beating on the court, every weekend. How? How could this be?? I know the whole point of our playing tennis together is (supposedly) to have fun and get some exercise, but I don't like losing. And I shouldn't be losing to this chicken-legged country boy who's never played tennis before. He's not nearly as cute as I am. And he's smug about it. And laughing!  At me! 

Well now. 

Just as I was coming up with some nefarious plan to knock his smug self down a few notches, lo and behold, who is driving by but his two beloved 20-something nephews who adore their cowboy/carpenter uncle and have never once had the thought that Butch might lower himself by playing tennis or EVER wearing shorts or tennis shoes! Egads! We could hear the guffaws two blocks away. Butch tried to run and hide but it was too late! He'd been seen! Oh no! His image destroyed!  Sacre Bleu! 

He sticks a manly cigarette in his mouth, saunters casually over to his nephews' car and sheepishly says, as if he's let hoards of manly men down, "Heh, heh, heh. Hey boys." 

The smugness is gone. 

I am again laughing.

 I feel much better now.

Order has been restored.  ;)

Oh Those Wonderful Butch-isms!

My husband Butch is from East Texas, the land of colorful and funny people with enough delightful expressions to fill a big ole cracker barrel. He always has a pocketful of these hilarious old sayings, ready to whip them out at a moment's notice, making mundane, everyday things infinitely more interesting and flavorful, much like a chef sprinkling salt on everything, everywhere. After sixteen years together, his expressions still make me laugh out loud. 

I mean, most of us might just say we were scared of heights, plain and simple, but no, not Butch. He says, after being up on a high ladder, "I was quivering like a cat poopin' peach seeds!" Descriptive! Or when us boring, normal people might simply mention how dark it was outside, he can't just say it's dark. He has to say, "It's dark as the inside of a cow out there!" And if something is shiny, Butch (for some reason that still escapes me) quips, "Shinier than a diamond in a goat's butt." See? Colorful! And such nice mental images too! 

And to add even more flavor to life, he has this endearing quirk of suddenly popping out golden morsels of 'truth' at the most unexpected moments (most of which I have no idea what to do with). 

Last night we were innocently discussing pine nuts. Butch then pops out, with the complete assurance of a kid telling a story, "Euell Gibbobs died from choking to death on a pine nut."  I paused to take in this tidbit of Butch trivia. (Okay, Euell Gibbons the Grape Nuts cereal spokesman? Hmm... Really?) I respond, "Really? Huh. I don't remember that." Go to handy Google and see that, in reality, Euell Gibbons in fact died of an aneurysm, which I informed Butch of. He says, "Nooo, I don't think so." Oh, well okay then! Choking to death it is!  

Recently we were having a run o' the mill discussion about yams. Why? I have no idea but then Butch comes out with, "Daniel Boone died from eating too many yams." as if it were the God's honest truth. I again respond with suspicion at yet another bit of Butch trivia and go straight to my phone. Nope, Daniel died of natural causes. I then inform Butch of this *actual* truth, which will make absolutely no impression on him. Google is lying. We will have this discussion 5000 more times. 

But I think my favorite of his interesting beliefs is that people who go on vacation and get hurt got EXACTLY what they deserved. If we hear a story of something terrible happening while people are doing anything other than working or sleeping, such as the 40 year old woman who fell to her death after skydiving with a faulty parachute, Butch proclaims, finger in air, "That's what happens when you're having fun! They should have stayed home and at work where they belonged!" Hence the very understandable reason that we never go anywhere, do anything or have any fun whatsoever because it's apparently DANGEROUS and frivolous and you'll get your just reward for doing it. So now whenever we hear of someone getting hurt or killed on vacation, we say, in unison, (mine with a hint of sarcasm), "That's what they get for having fun!" 

And for some reason, it never fails to make me laugh. All of it. It definitely keeps life interesting and flavorful. I think I'll start calling him the Verbal Chef. He won't get it but I bet he'll have something funny to say about it!  "Whut? I'm no Verbull Sheff. I just speak the truth like a black hog in a waller talking to a blue frog on a log, as full as a tick on a hound dog's belly who would stretch a mile if he didn't have to walk back. Verbull Sheff. Psh."

A Rich Legacy

Sooooo, I was at a mountain dinner party recently. Three of us off grid girls were talking about life in general when one of us, not me, mentioned what she did that day. 

In the middle of recounting her day, she said very matter of factly, and I quote here,  " ... and I ironed for a couple of hours while watching Tom Jones and then I ..." 

To which I rudely interrupted and said, in fine Tom Jones fashion, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute. You did what? Go back. What were you doing? "Ironing to Tom Jones"?? You mean Tom Jones, the singer?" 

She looked at me, forehead all scrunched up, and said, "Is there any other?" To which I burst out laughing because, no, there is no other and then I said, "Do tell. I must hear more." because Tom Jones was indeed handsome and I get it, but he was more of our mothers' generation of heart throbs, not ours. 

She then explained that her mother had always done the daily ironing during the Tom Jones show, so, to my friend, forever thereafter, Tom Jones and ironing simply go together. She has a set of dvd's of the Tom Jones show that she puts on while she irons. 

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is a perfect example of passing down a rich legacy and being an exceptionally good role model. Because if you can't sing and dance with a good-looking man while you're ironing, then what's the point of ironing at all?  ;)

 "It's not unUsual to be loved by anyone, nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh!" 🎵 🎶 🎼

The Struggle is Real

Ahhh ... life's little dilemmas. How to stay on a diet when one has company? 

Obviously you don't use the excuse of company to pig out while they're staying with you. One must maintain discipline and self-control. But there are meals to make that will please your visitors like Jacques Pepin's creamy Chicken Pot Pie, cheesy potatoes and Sour Cream Chicken Enchiladas. And nothing goes with Steak like homemade French Fries! They are a must! You simply cannot disappoint your guests and feed them boring health food. And you can't let them eat alone either. That would be so rude. Nor can you eat a salad while they scarf down immeasurable calories. This would make them feel uncomfortable and good manners are all about making others feel comfortable, right? Can I get a witness?

And no visit would be complete without homemade bread and cinnamon rolls. These are actual basic staples that no good hostess would be without  and I'm nothing if not a good hostess. 

And one must have plentiful desserts around. These people are on their vacation! They need to be treated well and spoiled rotten! And if you don't join them in a bite or two of tart Huckleberry Pie or Double Chocolate Brownies with Coffee Ice Cream or yummy Blackberry Cobbler they will be hurt. One cannot make their guests feel like piglets. 

And once your guests leave, THEN there's the issue of leftover food! There are bananas to be eaten! Pie left over! Enchiladas still in the fridge!  One absolutely cannot let these go to waste. And some things just don't freeze well. Yes you can stick bananas in the freezer "for smoothies later" but does anyone ever really remember these hard, brown, shriveled, frozen things in the back of their freezer?? I think not! They will end up being thrown away anyway so one simply must do what one can now. The dogs don't like bananas so even though peanut butter banana sandwiches fried in butter and covered in honey isn't quite on my paleo diet, I will make the sacrifice and do the right thing by having one so as not to add to the terrible plague of food-wasting. This goes for the leftover huckleberry pie and the enchiladas as well. It's my duty.

But even with ALL my impressive self-control, I still cannot figure out why I gain weight when we have people here! It is such a mystery! 🤔

I'm Published!!!

 I'm finally published y'all! The book is available on Kindle right now. The paperback will be available in a few weeks. Whoop!! 😁

The Initiation

I played a trick on my little sister a few years ago that still makes me laugh out loud. I crack myself up.

We had just moved to our Montana mountaintop home the year before and my younger sister Lauri came for a visit. First, let me paint a picture for you of my sister. She is nothing like me. She's a real city girl. She likes expensive clothes, nice cars and take out food. She's a successful, professional, business woman, who works for a big pharmaceutical company. She looks like a Barbie doll - blonde, about 5'6", a size two and boobs big enough that always make me wonder how she doesn't just topple right over. She may have been 49 at the time but she looked 30. And even if she's not my favorite sister (oh please, don't even pretend you don't have favorites), she's really funny. 

Now my sister may have been a city girl but she was a real trooper. She handled all of the inconveniences of our off grid life very well. But still... she was such a fish out of water here. When we took walks, she insisted on carrying my big shotgun and spent the entire walk looking behind us for the bear or mountain lion that she KNEW was coming to eat us. And she wouldn't go anywhere by herself. She thought our mountaintop place was beautiful but it was really scary to her. She couldn't believe that I wasn't afraid to live here.

While Lauri was visiting, our bestest mountain neighbors Tim and Sue invited us all down to their little cabin in the woods for a get together, which we gladly accepted. 

As we drove down the mountain, on the curvy road in the trees, husband Butch driving, Lauri in the front seat as the Guest of Honor gabbing away, me in the backseat being ignored and all, I decided to play a trick on her making her think she was about to have to do something horrible. I was hoping Butch would just go along with it. 

Lauri had never met Tim and Sue and had not been to any of our mountain friend's homes. I said, out of the blue as we headed down there, "Lauri, ok I need to tell you something. The first time you go to a mountain person's house, there is a type of um, initiation and there are things you have to do. It's just part of mountain life. Just do it ok? It's expected. It wont hurt... that much and..."

Lauri, who even though tiny, has a HUGE mouth on her, looks a little alarmed and then her mouth starts running, "NO. No way. Unh uh!"

I continue on, "Really, it doesn't taste that bad. It won't last long. I only gagged a little! I did it. You can too!"

Lauri's mouth is still going a mile a minute, "Nuh uh bulll dookey I'm not doing it you can't make me let me out..."

I'm trying so hard not to laugh while Butch keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror, nodding his head seriously like what I'm saying is true. I went on, "Look you need to do this ok? If you don't, it will hurt our relationship with the mountain people. It's not that bad! Really. Just hold your nose and look brave. It's not THAT horrible. These mountain people are scary. We can't show any fear here or we're done, ok?!"

Lauri has her hand on the door trying to open it as we were going down the road, "I'm getting out now I'll walk home I'm not doing it no no no no NO!"

I finally started laughing and decided I'd better tell her the truth before she jumped out the window. I told her I was just kidding, there wasn't any initiation, that I made it all up. She looked at me with squinty eyes to see if I was telling her the truth and she couldn't tell. She thought it was just a plot to get her down there. To her credit, she stayed in the car and then met Tim and Sue with obvious trepidation. She looked like she was prepared to take off running at any moment. 

When I told our friends at the dinner table what I did to Lauri on the way to their house, we all had a hearty laugh together then Tim slowly stands up, grabs a bowl off the counter and starts to walk toward her with this scary look on his face. Lauri bolted out the door and we never saw her again.

Ha ha! Just kidding. Tim got her to come back in, eventually. It was dark outside. I guess she was more afraid of the bears than she was of a possible Initiation. 🤣 Poor thing! 

So now you know - all work and no play makes me ornery, so visitors will be treated as playthings for my personal amusement. I apologize ahead of time. 

Next: The Sasquatch Head

(👇That's not the Sasquatch below. That's Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top with us. Although he kinda looks like a Sasquatch, doesn't he? ;) )