Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 153

Family Dining

Guaranteed to make mealtime . . . interesting.I had been smart.I had managed to find two of each of the four patterns of the Campbell's Kids soup bowls.All cute.All capable of holding soup.And none of which was ‘the right one’ at any given meal . . .Dinner is served. Shining, clean silverware catches the light. Sturdy, colourful bowls and equally colourful cups create a cheerful, festive ambiance to the meal.A large tureen of luscious, homemade soup, rich with meaty broth and thick with chunks of potatoes, carrots, onions and other vegetables--together with a platter of fresh-baked bread, flanked by a dish of creamy butter--is arranged at the center of the table, with careful attention to proximity for all who are gathered.Grace is said.Then . . .Child #1: Mom! I wanted the skater bowl! It’s my turn to get the skater bowl!Child #2: She always gets the skater bowl! I wanted it this time!Me: I bought two of them! Where is the other one?Child #3: I have it.Me: Well, would you mind using the soccer bowl instead?Child #3: I already started eating.Child #1: Yuck! I don’t want it if he’s been using it! I’ll get his germs!Child #4: I'm not hungry.Me: Gaaahhh!Moving ahead twenty years . . .Dinner is served.The table has been laid with the finest of paper-thin, bone china and glistening, polished silver.Crystal goblets catch the light of myriad candles.Heavily laden dishes, steaming hot and breathing out the teasing, tantalizing scents of basil, thyme and rosemary have been placed with distinct attention to both aesthetic detail and practical access.Family has gathered.In a surge of thankfulness for the bounties before us, Grace is said.And then, from the kids’ table . . .Grandchild #1: Gramma! I wanted the blue cup!Grandchild #2: She had the blue cup last time! It’s my turn!Grandchild #3: I don’t want the pink cup ‘cause it’s a girl colour!Grandchild #4: I'm not hungry.Gramma: Gaaahhh!Sigh.

Pit Spitting

Summer has come to Edmonton!!!
We have a fire pit.
The gathering place for our family for every day of the summer.
When the weather allows.
It is the scene of wiener and marshmallow roasts and long, long talks into the evening, watching the flames and embers glow.Where parking toes within comfortable toasting distance and children running dangerously close (to the dismay of their parents) are the norm.
Oh, and because it’s the Tolleys, the fire pit is also the scene of . . . pittings.
Let me explain . . .
Our favorite summer food is cherries.
Cherries have pits.
That are fun to spit.
Pit spitting.
Or pitting.
See it now?
Over the years, my Husby has been able to hit that fire pit with better and better accuracy. He taught his children.
It was fun.
Until they grew up, got married and discovered manners. Or rather, discovered that their spouses had  manners.
Thus, the pittings ended.
For a while.
But in recent years, he has discovered a whole, new group of neophytes. Small people who are ready and willing to embark on any adventure he introduces.
Imagine this: A line of children, of various sizes, cherry juice dripping down their chins, spitting enthusiastically towards the fire.
Sound like fun?
Their parents don’t think so, either.
But Grampa and Gramma do.
And it’s our pit.

Arrival

My Hero.It’s happened.For forty years, we were knee-deep in cossetting a career, raising kids, paying bills, grooming a home and living.With the turning of the stars, we have become empty nesters.And retirees.All at once.Now, our mornings consist of: visiting as we leisurely climb out of bed.Bike rides with grandkids.Breakfast together.Gardening.Lunch together.Projects.Naps.Supper together.More visiting.And the final cap on the day, a favourite movie.We’ve stepped into an alternate universe.And I’m discovering I like it.Now, before you think it’s all sunshine and roses, let me bring you to this morning . . .I was seated by the computer, reading.Husby was pottering about. Getting dressed and organizing himself for heading outside to tend his jungle garden. He had donned a shirt, then become distracted with putting in his ‘ears’ and grooming his hair and beard.Then he stood in the middle of the room. “I’m ready to go out.” He frowned. “But I’m forgetting something.”I looked at him over my glasses. “Pants?”“Pants!” He happily dug some out of his dresser and put them on, then disappeared.Yep. We’ve arrived.

Don't forget to enter the contest for an E-copy of Searching for Irene! Wonderful new mystery by my good friend, Marlene Bateman!Enter simply by commenting on this post! Or this one!
Winner announced Friday!

I Guessed Wrong

I love a good mystery.
Let me rephrase.
I LOVE a good mystery!
A page-turner that simply won't let you put it down.
With a plot and characters that keep you reading.
And make you wish the book was longer!
Searching for Irene has it all and more: An innocent young woman hired by a mysterious wealthy family. An enigmatic (and magnetic) heir. A missing secretary. Suspects. Clues. Red herrings.
Clandestine meetings.
Family feuds.
And remodeling.
All packaged together in a bonafide modern castle.
The quiet Virginia countryside will never be the same.
P.S. I totally guessed the wrong murderer. I'm so dead.
Yikes.
I'm hosting a giveaway! One lucky comment-er will be given an e-copy of this book. Don't miss out. Simply comment to enter!What happened to Irene?
When Anna Coughlin, a modern 1920’s woman, travels to the secluded hills of Virginia to work for wealthy Lawrence Richardson, she discovers that the previous secretary, Irene, mysteriously disappeared a few weeks before.  Upon arriving at the castle-like mansion to begin working, Anna finds that Lawrence’s handsome, but antagonistic son, Tyler, wants nothing more than to have her gone. And he isn’t the only one—

After Anna sets out to find the truth behind Irene’s disappearance, a series of frightening incidents ensnare her in a maze of intrigue. Anna is helped—and often hindered—by the temperamental Tyler Richardson, who—despite her best intentions—begins to steal her heart. 

But even as Anna begins to uncover dark secrets in a troubled household, she must continue to hide a significant one of her own. When her life is threatened, Anna is left to wonder if she’ll be able to unravel the mystery before she disappears as mysteriously as the unfortunate Irene—

Purchase Links:Amazon:Seagull BookBarnes and NobleGoodreads
Marlene’s websiteMarlene Bateman Sullivan grew up in Utah, and graduated from the University of Utah with a Bachelor's degree in English. She is married to Kelly R. Sullivan and they live in North Salt Lake, Utah with their two dogs and four cats. Marlene has been published extensively in magazines and newspapers and wrote the best-selling romance/suspense novel, Light on Fire Island. She has written three other cozy mysteries; Motive for Murder, A Death in the Family, and Crooked House, as well as the romance, For Sale by Owner.

Foreign Friendship

HomeTo a globe trotter, I am wed,His in-ter-ests are quite widespread,And so this rancher girl has foundThat, with her man, she gets around.
Our travels started out quite slow,To those who spoke as us, we’d go,But soon he wanted more: To get,Our foreign travel toe-sies wet.
And so to Rhodes. He booked us there,A hotel ‘near the Old Town square’.Online was in it’s infancy,And still had glitches, as you’ll see.
So when we told the taxi man,He frowned while loading up his van.But drove us far away from town,Then stopped and took our luggage down.
The inn was nice, as we supposed.Just one thing wrong, the place was closed.We pounded on the door, in hopeWe’d raise someone to help us. Nope.
The taxi’d started moving: slow,Something was wrong, he had to know.We ran and flagged him. Me in tears.This trip was feeding all my fears.
His white teeth showed in a wide grin, He stopped and helped us climb back in.Then gently told us not to fret.“I’ll have you settled soon, I bet.”
To ‘his cousin’s’ place, he said he’d drive.(I was simply glad to be alive.)He drove us to the Phaedra then,So we could somehow start again.
A man came out to greet us there,All white of smile and dark of hair,His arms were—to us—opened wide,“Welcome home, friends! Come inside!”
The Phaedra proved a real God-send,It’s owner, soon a trusted friend.Ironically, it proved to be,What we had sought originally.
We travel lots, my man and I.We drive and sail and hike and fly.Some people speak like us, and someUse foreign words to get things done.
My fear is gone, I must admit,Though, at first, it hampered. Quite a bit.Cause I won’t forget (I can’t pretend),The kindness of that first sweet friend.

It's Monday.
Poetry day!
Zip over to Delores and Jenny and see what their Monday is like!

That Summer: Summer's End

More of the story, as told by my Mom, Enes. From her journals . . .Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five. Part Six. Part Seven. Settled. Finally.As the summer progressed, new items were hauled into the quonset from the old ranch.Our summer home began to look more and more like the back yard of a junk dealer.Soon there was only a foot path past the 'clinic' to the 'living area'.We had to do more and higher leaping over this and jumping over that to find items that we wanted. But we finally became so efficient at finding things we almost knew which box contained what.It was like watching a movie to see all the different expressions of our clients as we met them at the door.I often wonder what went though their minds as they drove up to the quonset and faced that huge sliding door with the shingle hooked to the latch which said: Dr. Mark Stringam. Veterinary Office.They always knocked and waited. So if they felt a little over-whelmed, they at least had a little more time to assemble their mixed feelings and shattered thoughts.A quick survey never failed to bring a look of shocked amazement.It usually took a few seconds to pull themselves together."Everything is sure handy, isn't it?""Imagine! Everything you own right here!""Sure is cozy in here!"We had set up our clinic in a corner of the quonset next to the double doors.And right next to our 'living room'.Our examining table was three boards on two saw horses.Clients brought their animals to be examined and we dispensed drugs right there.One day, we had just managed to straighten the bed covers when we heard a car drive up.A friend knocked, and then brought in his dog for a distemper shot.Before we could guess the animal's intentions, he had made a bee-line for the corner of our couch, lifted a leg, and sprayed all over it.Our friend was so horrified, he apologized for his dog every time he saw us for months afterward.
But all good things must come to an end.An early snow storm was predicted.The quonset was chilly in the 'warmer' summer months. What would it be like with the world around it encased in ice?Sub zero.And that would just be a start.There was only one solution. We had to move into our unfinished house.Throughout the day, with the clouds piling up on the horizon and looking more and more threatening, I carried loads of household goods from the quonset to the car and then drove them across to the house.It was hard, tiring work, but one look at the horizon would always serve to steel my muscles and lengthen my stride.By evening, we had a cozy set up in the basement, with a tidy fire crackling in the new fireplace and stuff sitting or hanging everywhere.We could hardly move!But at least we were warm!The promised storm swept over us, howling in frustration as it flew past the windows and chimney, trying to find a crack.But the house was solidly built and we stayed warm and comfortable inside.Imagining what life would be like back in the quonset on this night.For the children, this was just another phase of the adventure.For me, it was a glimmer of hope that one day, soon, I would again have running water and flush toilets.And a bath tub!Sheer luxury!

That Summer: Part Seven

More of the story, as told by my Mom, Enes. From her journals . . .Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five. Part Six. The only existing picture of Mom's 'kitchen' in the quonset.
Behind her are The Shelves.Our popping bolt friends announced the rising of the sun and we found we didn't need any other alarm, though, in fact, we weren't just exactly ecstatic about rising at 4 A.M.!Sleep became impossible as flocks of birds began their daily effort of trying to gain a foot hold on the slippery dome of the shed.They chirped excitedly as they scratched and slid.We could see the shapes of their fluffy little bodies and wings as they lit on the sky light.They were having such great fun sliding and flying.We snuggled down in our warm beds watching and listening.Soon, our bull chorus greeted the day with their lusty song. Where is everybody this fine day! Where is my breakfast, my grain and my hay?We quickly shivered into our clothes and rushed through breakfast.I filled my canning kettle with cold water and set it on the stove to heat while we ate.I was always anxious to finish dishes and straighten our 'apartment' before a veterinary client came.On this particular morning a Matt Clemens was bringing his cat for a rabies shot.He brought him in a sack.Mark laid the sack on the clinic table (three boards over two saw horses), put on some leather gloves, and began rolling the top of the sack down to the wild cat in one corner.Two beady eyes gleamed from the depths of the sack.Before the cat could spring, Mark clamped one hand on the neck and head, and the other hand on his back through the sack.He extracted the cat and held him out flat on the table.Then it was my turn to hold the creature.I had done this many times but my courage had not improved with the practice.In each hand, I clamped two legs just above the claws and wedged my wrist on the neck of the cat, forcing the jaw over and the vicious teeth away from me.He flexed every muscle as he strained to be free making a desperate attempt to turn his head and slide it out from under my arm. His head was small and he could turn it almost completely around.Like an owl.His sharp teeth were just grazing my wrist.Just as the needle penetrated into the muscle of his hip, I moved my arm a little to try to get a more secure clamp on the cat's jaw.The movement released the animal just enough for him to twist his head a fraction more and he clamped his teeth into my wrist.“He's got me!” I whispered, transfixed as numbness crept through all of my muscles.Very slowly, Mark said, “Let . . . him . . . go . . . both . . . hands . . . at . . . once . . . quickly!”I couldn't move!The cat couldn't move!There was no pain.“Let . . . him . . . go . . . now!”I suddenly came to life and obeyed.The cat, too, came to life. Extracted his teeth and shot like a bullet off the table and across the floor and up to the highest far away place.Which happened to be the steel shelves where I had all of my dishes and kitchen supplies.There he sat, with every muscle tensed for a spring, looking down on us with all the venom of a rattle snake.Our 8-year-old, Blair, had been watching all the proceedings with much interest.He suddenly grabbed the sack and said, “I'll get him Dad!”For a moment, we were so astonished we couldn't move.The he advanced towards the cat.I climbed a ladder at one end and Blair climbed the table at the other end and held the sack open near the cat's head.The creature turned its head and looked at me and leaped right into the sack!Well.I thought I had a face that would stop a clock, but I didn't know it would scare a wild cat!At that moment, my arm began to give me the most excruciating pain.Feeling faint, I lay down for a moment while Doc called the M.D.He advised us to get a tetanus shot immediately, which we did.Three or four hours later, my arm was aching from my finger tips to my shoulder and the swelling was beginning to move into the upper arm.As night came on I became increasingly nauseated and dizzy.I can't remember too much about the next three days except the pain and dizziness.I spent most of the time in bed.However all 'good things' must come to an end.At the end of the third day, I was out pulling weeds in the lane of new trees we had planted in May.

That Summer: Part Six

More of the story, as told by my Mom, Enes. From her journals . . .Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five. Quonset and nearly completed house.
There's a garden in that yard somewhere!I thought I would have so much time for various projects as the lazy summer stretched out before me, but as the days lengthened, so did our stride!There was no grass to cut or watering got do, but there was a garden to hoe and we discovered we had planted it in the original garden of Adam and Eve. The one they had when Heavenly Father punished them for being disobedient by sending them weeds so they could 'work by the sweat of their brows all the days of their lives'.I decided that Adam hadn't tended his garden very well because there were a great many prolific varieties there that had undoubtedly sprouted from seeds of plants he had not pulled.I crawled on my hands and knees trying to sort out my tender green vegetables from all the other abundant growth.And then there was the rain.It seemed like every time I thought I had a few minutes for my garden, it would rain.All summer we alternated between a cold drizzle or a down pour. (The word COLD became part of us like our arms and legs. We had cold noses, cold toes, cold fingers, cold ears, cold tongues. Our whole internal tract must have been COLD.)Rain sounded like several million marbles on the ribs of the quonset.The first time I heard it, I thought it was hail. I ran anxiously to the door and discovered that it was only a light rain falling softly on the pasture grass.When it became a downpour, the sound really rattled your brain.One evening, we had just settled into our beds for the night when we heard the sound of thunder in the distance.Would it come this way or would it pass?Faint flashes of lightning lit the sky light and seconds passed before we heard the thunder.I began to count the time between the flash and the crash. When the flash and crash came close together, I hid under the covers.Unfortunately, it didn't shut out the sound.We had given our children some instruction on what to do if there was lightening - stay away from fences or puddles or trees.Just lately, we had added 'don't touch the side of the quonset'.So when there was lightening, even in mild form, our children would pull their beds away from the walls.We must have spread the alarm very impressively because they moved their beds about 16 feet from the wall!This storm moving in on us sounded like a particularly violent one.We could hear a roaring sound with the approaching rain.When the pellets hit the shed, we knew it must be hail.We covered our ears trying to cut out the awful sound.It was like being inside a barrel with a million hammers pounding on its side.Just when we thought we would surely go mad, the storm quit and we found the quiet almost as hard to adjust to as the noise.This was our first experience with a hail strike in the middle of the night.We felt we had been punished in a strange way and we fell into a restless sleep as the moon again lit the skylight.

That Summer: Part Five

More of the story, as told by my Mom, Enes. From her journals . . .Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four.
Mom's 'home away from home away from home'.There were problems with the clothes washing and the baths, but somehow, everything seemed to work out.We 'borrowed' the bathroom of a friend for showers and baths.But the twice weekly trip to the Laundromat was an experience in itself.I never knew there were so many interesting and unusual people in the world.They must all frequent Laundromats.I was constantly amused, entertained or shocked.Laundromats seem to have a way of revealing and exposing personalities.For instance - some people are very careful with their washing. The clothes are sorted in batches as to colour and material. White with white, dark with dark, nylon fabrics and socks and overalls separate. Warm water for most fabrics and especially wash-and-wear materials. The shirts and towels were washed separately and the white shirts and under clothing usually went about half through the cycle before the synthetic materials were added and so on.Very particular.Then there was the careless type who threw all the clothing into the washers in reckless abandon. Lumps and tangles with no thought of colour or material. The water temperature was set on hot and the sheets and dainty under things sloshed around with the overalls and socks. This type usually reclined in a corner with a package of cigarettes, a bottle of coke and a tabloid magazine.There was obviously no communication with the bread-winner or 'clothing provider' in that household. It must have been a monumental task to provide enough money to replace all the 'shrunk up' socks, 'shredded' underwear. And TV dinners.The Laundromat was also frequented by frustrated young fathers with baskets of dirty diapers. The rude awakening from the romantic courtship and few short months of happy wedded bliss had left its anxious furrow forever etched on their foreheads. The diapers were dumped (lumps and all) into the washers and the wastes gradually wore away in the water. If they hadn't dissolved, they were left in the washer or caught in the dryer or dried on the diaper to be peeled off at home, before the baby wore it again.I had a pleasant conversational exchange with many men and women, young, old, or medium.Many revealed all their family secrets with was sometimes embarrassing. I couldn't help but think that it would be convenient, sometimes, to have a little switch that would cut off anything you didn't want to hear!One old retired gentleman would come in with his small bundle of smelly laundry and the only family he had in the whole world, a skinny red Irish setter. He would dispose of his varied assortment of clothing into the washer and then he would settle himself on a bench and look about hopefully for a willing ear. Having found one, he would unwind and unload all his experiences of the last 75 years.Many times, I provided the 'ear' for him and often wished I had more time to listen to him. He always talked me right out the door and I always felt as if I had very rudely left in the middle of the conversation. All the way home and most of the day I would chastise myself for not giving up a little more time for the sake of the poor, lonely old man,Several times I invited him to come out and visit but he never came.One day, I happened in as a young mother was taking her clothing out of the drier. She had thrown her husband's wash-and-wear trousers into the washer and set the dial on 'hot'. You never saw such a wrinkled up mess in your life.She was almost in tears. "What can I do?" she whispered.I tried to console her. "Maybe if you washed them again in warm water, the wrinkles may come out."They never did and her husband must have been furious with her.

That Summer: Part Four

Summer in a Quonset Part Four Coldest summer on record - and no heat!In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.There were myriad challenges.But the most important was that it was bare land.Absolutely everything needed to be built.Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.And that left us in a further dilemma.Where to live.The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.It was an adventure.And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three.)
Mornings were always very chilly - as was the whole summer!With the exception of about two hot days, who could have foreseen the coldest summer in history?Well, maybe Grey Eagle Child who forecast the coldest summer or fiercest winter every year. Sooner or later, he's right!We never lingered over dressing in the morning, for with a Swish! Swish! on would go our clothes, socks, sweater, snow boots and usually jacket.I would shiver my way over to the stove and turn the oven and all four burners on at once, even if I only needed two.They must have given psychological heat because any heat calories were certainly lost in the voluminous stratosphere of the shed.All plates and bowls would go into the oven while I prepared the meals and in order to conserve every calorie of heat.And every one would be seated at the table and the blessing asked before the plates and food were brought out.Then, if we hurried, the first mouthful of food would be too hot and the last one would be too cold!Most of the time, we could see our breath. Our youngsters had great fun huffing and puffing about.Every day brought a whole new series of unusual experiences.Friends dropped in regularly for a momentary cheerful exchange and we enjoyed their ribbing."When's the auction?" one asked as he came through the one huge sliding door."Should get a blueprint of this," said another. "House, barn, shop and garage, all in one!"Meanwhile, our new house was slowly taking shape.Our amiable carpenter was trying to keep a dozen people happy by spreading his services around so thinly that he managed to put three nails in our house each week - and I believe sometimes he only managed two.It was most frustrating and when the rain poured down along with the temperature, my temperature rose."Oh, what I would like to do to that carpenter," I fumed.However, there were other days.We were constantly amused by the sudden flood of traffic past our 'summer' home.Necks would crane and eyes would stare.One gal drove clear off the road!Usually we made an effort to give them value for their effort.I would come out with a bin full of garbage or we would scoot one of the youngsters out to the outdoor privy.It was most interesting to watch the children on the school bus.When it stopped, there would be a sudden surge of eager youngsters to the 'viewing side' and the bus would lurch dangerously over the roadside ditch.I would dispatch our youngsters with a cheerful smile and a kiss and a tiny prayer in my heart that they would not be ostracized from humanity.It takes a great deal of courage to meet the challenges in our lives without any discrimination of our fellow beings - how much more courage we need with it.I believe our children were faced with an overload.I certainly admired them for their determination and diplomacy. They were in constant contact with the human element and from my observation, carried on beautifully.I imagine the conversations went something like:
"Are you really living out there in the shed?""Why yes, we are. We love it out there. Everything is so convenient and we have lots of fresh air and no grass to cut! We can just step into the car and drive out or our friends can drive in! We only have to walk a few steps and we can pet the animals! We don't have to worry about our muddy boots, though Mom does insist that we leave them by the door. We have great times playing hide and seek among the crates and boxes and the hopping game is the best of all. That is when you hop from box to box without touching the floor. We only play that game when Mom isn't around!"By this point, the little friend was so entranced she couldn't wait for an invitation."May I come and stay with you sometime?""Sure. You can come any time you like," was the superior reply.And the children did come and they danced about in happy glee. They fetched and carried and made the beds. They swept the floor, washed and dried the dishes and tidied the living room.They helped me make pies and set the table. It was a happy, carefree experience.And they left wishing they lived in a quonset