Transitioning Bites

Even my scarecrow has decayed!

I know that most people welcome fall.  After all, who doesn’t like Harvest Festivals, crisp air, pumpkins, and Halloween?  It’s a welcome change after the long hot summer, especially in the Deep South.

But there is a moment, a few weeks actually, where all I see is transition.  And it’s one I don’t welcome, not one tiny bit.

My beloved garden goes into a death march.  It quits producing.  Plants keel over, seemingly overnight.  And here in the South, it’s still warm during the day.  So I’m outside, staring death in the face.

Dead Daisies

Today, with my husband’s help, we weeded and tucked in our Peony bed for the winter.  The plants are long burnt and even decaying.  They remind me of the darkest part of winter; the part without gardening and sunlight and hope.  We buried them in cardboard and straw and prayed for their resurrection.

Joyless gardening:  Tucking plants in for the winter

I have always been a child of summer—of light, heat, and intensity.  I have no patience for transitions.

You can remind me of toasty fires and hay rides—of mums and pansies and hard cider.  But my heart is still sick about this whole transition business.  I am already missing the daylight, and the promise that warm summer days always bring to the farm.  Daylight Savings Time?  Don’t even get me started.

In a few weeks, I will adjust and reluctantly embrace fall.  But I need a little time to mourn what is lost until next year.  I’m sure I sound morose and some of you may be questioning my state of mind.  That’s ok.

Sunshine and color?  Bye-bye!

There is a season for everything. Yeah, yeah, yeah.  It’s this transitioning thing that really bites.  Hard cider, anyone?

Anyone else out there feel this way about early fall?  I’d love to hear your comments.

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

Hearing Weirdness



Image: Jeroen van Oostrom / FreeDigitalPhotos.net



My new hair stylist told me this story while trimming my hair:

This lady calls to check on her appointment.  At least, I thought it was a lady.  I have trouble on the phone, but I thought she said her name was Jamal Searcy.  I kept searching the book, but couldn’t find anyone with this name.  I repeated her name several times to be sure I had it right, and she kept saying Jamal Searcy.  Finally I decided it was the owner’s husband, who likes to place prank calls.  So I gave the phone to her and rolled my eyes.

Later I found out the lady really WAS a customer who was asking:  Is tomorrow Thursday?  Do you know how many weird conversations I get into because I can’t hear well on cell phones?

Ah, I do indeed!  My hub and I often have totally bizarre and nonsensical conversations because neither of us hears well anymore.  In hindsight, I’m wondering how many disagreements over the years were the  result of lame ears?  We have named this plight Hearing Weirdness.

Image: photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

And to make matters worse, we have similar vision issues because we can no longer see without readers (that never seem to be within reach).  No matter how many pair we have, we can’t ever seem to find them.  Part of the problem, of course, is finding them without being able to see.

Image: Stuart Miles / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

We are fifty-ish, not eighty-ish, so I’m wondering how much worse it will get.  I do a lot of lip-reading, but when we watch bad TV we sit side by side and I’m unable to employ my special powers.  That’s when the conversations get startlingly strange.  We’ll start talking and then one of us will look at the other with a “what the hell did you just say” look, and we crack up.  If we’re lucky, we’ll get it figured out on the second or even third try.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing more now—less chance to be totally misunderstood.  Or so I hope!

Have you had any weird conversations lately?  I’d love to hear about them—if only I could.  Please share!

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

Reinventing Everything

My husband gets a big kick out of the TV show Picker Sisters.  In case you aren’t familiar with it, two best friends (not actually sisters) hit the road in search of rusted out junk that they can turn into interesting furniture or décor.

The kicker in this for me is that these designers scour the Deep South, and then sell the reinvented stuff in Los Angeles!  My poor misguided brother (bless his heart) lives in L.A., and always comments about how glad he is that he finally escaped The South.  But The South is rising again and being sold for big bucks on Rodeo Drive.  Ah, the irony!

I do love the idea of reinventing everything.  It’s cheap, green, and highly creative.  I’m a big fan of rusted out farm stuff myself, always thinking about what I can do with it next.  The Picker Sisters would score big out in my neck of the woods.

We've also become addicted to Storage Wars, along with most of America.  I guess we all have dreams of finding buried treasure in unlikely places!  The hunt must be a predatory instinct.  It’s why we stop at garage sales and frequent flea markets.  And Antiques Roadshow has a good following because people are blown away by what things are worth (or not worth).

Lately I have begun to look around my house when I think I need to go buy something, to see if I can repurpose something that is already here.  It’s helping me manage our new downsized life and it’s also kind of a fun challenge.  I’ve come up with some crazy ideas that have worked fairly well, and saved money and time in the process.

When the Picker Sisters reinvented an old meat saw as a sink/vanity table, I thought I had seen it all.  But now I’m looking around the farm to see if I can outdo them!

Have you repurposed anything interesting lately?  I’d love to hear about it.  Please comment below, and thanks for reading, ya’ll!

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

Call Me Wrong Way

How come I never see this sign?

My sense of direction is so bad that when I first started driving, way before cell phones, my Mom always made sure I had a roll of quarters in my car so I could phone home when I got lost.  I miss my Mom!

Many years ago while having dinner with several friends in a revolving restaurant, I left the table to visit the restroom.  When I came out, I couldn’t find my dinner companions.  After several revolutions around the restaurant (while my dinner got cold), a sweet waiter finally came to my aid.

I once lost my car in a parking garage in Vail.  After walking the garage for hours in freezing temps, I had to phone a friend to come pick me up.  I missed an important appointment, was on the verge of frostbite, and was frustrated beyond belief.

One afternoon our credit card company called my husband to express concern that someone was driving around a two state area in circles and filling up, using our gas card.  My husband knew immediately that it was only me.

You’d think with a 50/50 chance to get the direction right, I’d come out on the right side of things every once in awhile.  But for some reason, that’s just not true.  Sometimes I even try going the opposite way of the direction I think I should be going, and even that strategy doesn’t always bring good results.

To me, the GPS is the greatest invention EVER!  But a few times it has led me majorly astray, so I still get nervous.  And sometimes it shorts out, which sends me into a meltdown.  Before I got a GPS, Mapquest.com was my salvation, but I printed so many routes that I never had any printer ink!  Nevermind what happened if I got off the route...

My husband, who almost never gets lost, finds it mind-boggling that I can drive somewhere and then I need the GPS to get back home.  I know, I know—I can hear the blonde jokes rising.

Now this sign has my name all over it!

My mother and my father both had an excellent sense of direction.  Does it skip a generation?  I really find the whole poster girl for LOST thing quite inconvenient.

I’m hoping that when my time comes the Lord will beam me directly up, ‘cuz if I have to find the pearly gates on my own I’ll be in a world of hurt.

How’s your sense of direction?  Do you think there’s any cure for me?  I’d love to hear your comments.

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

Mashed Potatoes: My Big Why

In these uncertain times, the motivational experts say it is critical to understand your Big Why.  They say it is the key to everything.

After a very short amount of thought, I can say with every certainty that my Big Why is mashed potatoes.

Because? you might ask:

1.      They are yummy.

2.      They are comforting.

3.      They are soooooo very Southern.

4.      I cannot imagine a life worth living without them.

I have two major items left on my Life Action List that involve mashed potatoes:

1.       Grow my own potatoes for mashing.  (Fresh is always better.)

2.      Open a Mashed Potato Bar.

At said bar you could take your heapin’ plate of mashies down a gourmet buffet of toppings, just in case you felt some odd need to embellish them.  They would be the only food served.

Appropriate beverages would be available.  Kendall Jackson Chardonnay is the perfect accompaniment to mashed potatoes, in my humble opinion.  But being your humble servant, I would also carry your favorite beverage.  Eating mashed potatoes is a soul-enriching experience, and I’d want you to achieve perfect bliss.

And speaking of bliss, if I owned a Mashed Potato Bar, there might be leftover mashed potatoes.  There are never any of those at our house! 

It is a documented fact that you feel better when you help others.  Make yourself feel great:  Message me your favorite recipe for mashed potatoes!  If you like, I’ll send you mine.

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com/
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com