Brother George

What do you call it when a Baptist preacher dies and his funeral is in the Christian Church with the Assembly of God preacher officiating?

A Small Town World!

George Boston was born in Texas, but grew up in Pawhuska, Oklahoma. (Made me wonder if he knew the Pioneer Woman? Or her family?)

Brother George has been a C-Town Icon since 1964, when he moved his family here from Wichita, Kansas. Few people have lived here very long before meeting, or at least hearing about, Brother George . . . in one way or another.

Confession

Hydrangea macrophylla – Hortensia hydrangea, picture from Longwood Gardens (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve always thought I was too lazy to have an addiction, but I have one now.

My addiction is to . . . Gardening Magazines.

Weird, I know, but it’s true. I love reading magazines about gardens.

I have four magazine storage boxes full of them. And yes, I do go back and read them.

Why? you ask. What can they put in one magazine that’s not already been in?

Well . . . I like seeing new plants–right now I’m looking for a Penny Mac Hydrangea to replace the big azalea I lost in the drought last year, next to my porch–and I love seeing other people’s gardens, even if it’s only on paper.

It’s great to read hints and tips about making gardening easier. And I adore learning about people who also enjoy something about gardening. The terminal curiosity in me wants to know how they got started. Why they do what they do. How they know what they know.

There’s not one particular publication I like, really, but I find I most enjoy the  ones that make me feel cozy and in the country. The ones that are about gardens that belong in the Queen’s backyards . . . not so much. And mags about the biology of a plant make my eyes glaze over.

It used to be that I couldn’t pass a GM without buying it. They just held too much allure for me to pass them by! But then I started to notice one picture would be used in several magazines. And some stories were little more than reruns, so I’ve learned to check them out before I buy.

I was just thinking yesterday there should be a GM specific to Okie-Land. After all, we have our own climate issues and areas where one thing grows better than another. And native plants always grow better than imported ones.

Guess what? There is!

Naturally, I brought it home and inside, I saw a picture of the woman I used to buy my plants from when I lived in Pryor Creek.

The couple who owned the nursery started it next to a small motel. I’m not sure if they managed the motel or owned it, but they enjoyed plants and flowers so much, before long they were only in the nursery business. It’s good to know they’re still in it.

It was just a thumbnail pic of her, but she’d hardly changed. They’d asked her for her favorite bedding plants, and her answer was Greek to me. But that’s no surprise. I don’t recognize the “real” name to most plants.

Mine all have names like Hitler, Midget, Columbus and Lazarus.

Do you have GMs you like to read? What’s your fave?

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Wild Wednesday

I went with my man to check a few wells the other day, and since it’s springtime in Okieland, I took my camera along.

Don’t you just love wildflowers? I do! They’re like a gift, straight from God. All that beauty, and I didn’t have to do a thing except enjoy it. But my dad and son killed a rattlesnake at one of the wells a few years back, so I didn’t venture where I couldn’t see the ground and a long way around.

I’m not sure what these yellow ones are. Maybe a coreopsis? Whatever, I think they must be very taste, because I saw bugs eating several of them.

 Isn’t it odd the way the same bugs like the same kind of plants? Or maybe not.

Most family like to eat the same things, don’t they?

I know the names of very few wildflowers, but I THINK this is an Indian Paintbrush.

The state planted lots of IPs along roadways here in Okieland. They make beautiful orange swaths of color, but it’s a little difficult to stop where they are and get a picture. This one was all by herself.I don’t know the name of this blue beauty, either. I’m sure I’ve heard it.

This is a blackberry.

Toward the top of the picture, you can see the fruit forming.

I love blackberries. So do chiggers. And, I’ve been told over and over, snakes.

I don’t know what these are, but God must love them because in some areas they were everywhere.

 This was sitting near one of the wells. Just abandoned there, a long time ago. See how the windshield opens from the bottom? Cool, huh?

I told G-Man it was one of Bonnie and Clyde’s old getaway cars.

He didn’t know the make or model either, but he said it originally came in any color you wanted.

As long as it was black. LOL! (I think Mr. Ford said that first.)

Anybody out there a wildflower aficionado? Care to share a few names with me?

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Kiddo Lost and . . . ?

The other day, I heard a noise in the kitchen. Since it wasn’t lunch time, I went to investigate. Guess what I found.

This precious little girl, sitting in her car seat/carrier. She normally a very happy baby I understand, but when a girl’s in a strange place and an even stranger woman starts loving on you, it can be a little disconcerting.

She handled me well, though.

I soon heard a commotion down the hall. The sweet baby’s bigger sibling had found a place to have fun. This little girl cracks me up. She’s one who, being a very smart child, tests her boundaries very often. That’s Brother Jeffrey behind her.  This one found a bowl of licorice jelly beans and declared she loved them! (Unusual for a girl her age.)

She carried them with her for the rest of the time she was in the office. Didn’t finish them off, though. I imagine the flavor was intense for even a candy lover like her.

But this precious boy, who at his tender years rules the office with an iron fist holding most of us by the heart, nearly killed me yesterday.

I used to be his favorite. When he was upset, he’d occasionally come to me for comfort. That makes a wannabe grandmother feel wonderful! But I’ve been replaced.

His favorite person now is Rick. Rick has a pickup and a hat that he lets him wear. (What can I say? The Kiddo is into hats.) Rick takes him out and lets him play in the bed of his pickup truck. Kiddo loves that! He sets him in the fork of a small tree in our garden. Kiddo adores him.

Apparently, Kiddo has decided I’m chopped liver.

Vampires Are . . .

Vampires are Real! (You thought I was going to say US, didn’t you?)

*Cue spooky mood music.*

Have you been told there’s no such as vampires, my friends? Then you’ve been lied to.

Insert evil *bwa-ha-ha-ha* here.

They do exist. Oh, but not the vampires of TV and movies, my children.

The real vampires are much sneakier than that. These monsters creep up when you’re hard at work. They tiptoe their eight little legs along your body until they find a nice, tight spot where they wedge in.

Don’t think they’ll just dip a pair of fangs for an occasional sip now and then like our friend, Bela did. No, these devils bury their entire heads and drink for all they’re worth.

And a wooden stake won’t kill them. No. There are only two ways to be sure these little vamps are dead–flush them or soak them in gasoline and burn them.

Today, I’m ticked.

At least, I was yesterday.

TAX DAY!!!

Tax (Photo credit: 401K)

It’s National Tax Day! Are you ready for it?

Do you have your black suit all clean and pressed? (Black head to toe, if you please!) Your hat with the black veil? Your sad music READY to play all day long?

We only have this day once a year. Make the most of it!

Just kidding. It’s not really that bad.

G-Man and I don’t do our own taxes. Here in our Small Town World, one of my cousins married an accountant and we worship the ground she walks on! (I tell Cousin Rick if anything were ever to happen to their marriage, I get custody of her!)

Miss Barbara is one of those people who stays up on all the tax laws and never makes a mistake. At least, I haven’t heard of any of her clients going to jail. (Yet.)

She’s so good at the tax thing, she gives seminars for preachers. Apparently, the clergy has a special set of rules about what they can and can’t deduct, and she stays up on all of it. She’d be in trouble with God if she messed that up, so you know she does an excellent job.

My dad used to have a Tax Day tradition I love hearing about. Every year on the Big Day, he’d work on the company’s taxes (and his own) and get them finished just before the deadline. Then he’d rush to T-Town, just under the speed limit because he didn’t have time worked into the tradition for a chat with the law. Once there, he’d get in line with the others who honor that tradition at the downtown post office to mail them off just before midnight.

I believe they call it The Tax Day Parade.

Small Town Worlds don’t have post offices that stay open until midnight, but Big Cities do. I wonder how many people usually participate in it these days? Do they decorate their cars? Play music? Throw candy? Have dancing clowns and floats?

I hope to be there for it someday. Just to watch, of course. I don’t want to be part of those festivities.

I have a few suggestions for the IRS.

THINGS THAT SHOULD BE TAX DEDUCTIBLE

• Makeup, facelifts, beauty treatments.

Making these tax deductible would probably balance the budget deficit. Go with me on this. Women feel better when they look pretty. (And if it was tax deductible, it would be easier for us to go for more.) When we feel better, we’re nicer, which makes us easier to be around, so we’d work more and the men would enjoy working more. Am I right or am I  right???

• Diets. See above.
• Exercise machines–such as treadmills, ellipticals and weights. Above again.
•  Vacations with girlfriends.

While vacas with our men are wonderful, time with just the girls reminds us what it was like to be lighthearted and without responsibility. That would carry over into our everyday lives and the lives of our men. Everyone would be happier and work more.

• Dinner out. (Just because.)
• The latest computers/phones/iPads/whatever.  (Just because.)

Oh, I forgot to mention. Postage to mail your taxes on Tax Day should be free. After all, we’re mailing money to our government, using the government system to do it. So we pay them to deliver the money we’re giving them?

What’s up with that?

In case the IRS wants help writing tax code (whatever that means) I’m available. At least what I’d write would be easy to understand. Well, easier anyway.

So do you have any suggestions for our Tax People? If so, leave them here. I’ll be glad to pass them on.

Getting Loaded at the Red Barn

I promised to tell you how Sister Debbie and I got loaded the other night.

Thursday night, Sister Debbie, her daughter, granddaughter and I went to the Red Barn Boutique. The Red Barn is only open twice a year, and even though I’d never heard of it before, I didn’t want to miss that sale.

Now I know why! For years, I’ve been wanting a wheelbarrow. Two, actually. I wanted an antique, wooden one with a wooden wheel. G-Man promised to build me a look alike a long, long time ago. So long ago, the boys looked like this–

and this at the time.

Somehow, my man never got around to building it. I don’t know how he could have forgotten. LOL.

I also wanted one to cart stuff to my garden. It’s a loooong way from my car to the flower bed, especially toting mulch by the bag, so I really needed it. Really!

And while there, I found an adorable flock of chickens. Well, all I’d need if I were going to start of flock of chickens–a rooster and a hen. I’m not sure what the eggs will taste like, though.

Aren’t they cute?

 Did you notice? The hen is really wild about the rooster.

She lost her head over him! (No extra charge for the can.)

I started to take only the rooster, but the hen was a real bargain. And Sister Debbie warned me I’d probably regret it if I didn’t take them both. I’d probably be running around looking for her like a chicken with my head cut off.

And who am I to argue with my shopping guru?

 This is my adorable wheelbarrow. Don’t you love it?

Okay, it needs a new tire (right now it’s more of a drag-barrow than a wheel-barrow) but that’s no biggie. Right? Right?

Sister Debbie found a washtub on a stand, something like this.

but different. This one’s mine.

We stood in line

to pay for everything. The vendors were so nice! They even told us we could drive out the In gate, so we could pick up our heavy-duty purchases.

Of course, we had to park right in the way of everybody while we unloaded and reloaded. And unloaded and pushed and shoved and tugged and lifted. Finally, we ended up looking like this–

with Sister Debbie holding her washtub stand in the front passenger seat while we drove away. (I was in the backseat with the sweetie.)

For some reason, our driver thought that might be at least illegal and at most dangerous.

She was probably afraid she’d end up like my chicken, having to go around with a can where her head used to be. So she pulled into the school where she student taught.

(That doesn’t sound right, does it? Student taught? It couldn’t be student teached, could it? Hm. Well, it was where she was a student teacher.)

I was between two baby car seats in the back, so Sister Debbie got out and they completely revamped that car. Those two can organize! Especially if I stay out of the way.

They got everything fitted into Mel’s car, thank goodness. For a while, I was afraid I’d have to stay at that school while they took everything home, then came back to get me.

Not that I wouldn’t trust them to remember where they left me. Maybe. But I was thrilled to get to go home with everything else.

We all kept our heads and drove home, after a quick stop to munch tortillas at the Vaqueros (yum) where we drank nothing but water with lemon and DIDN’T get loaded. I promise.

Have you ever gotten a little over-enthusiastic when shopping and not had room for all your treasures? Surely the Spess girls aren’t the only women in the world who over-splurge?

Birthday (sigh)

I might have mentioned I had a birthday this past week.

Really, Susan? How old were you?

So old–

• I remember when the Beatles sang sweet songs like, I Want to Hold Your Hand, P.S. I Love You, and Love Me Do.
• I remember when boys quit wearing flat tops and burr haircuts and switched to combing their hair forward and letting it grow longer like Moe on the Three Stooges. (Now I see burr haircuts, but we call it a Buzz cut.)
• I remember the first time I saw a computer on a movie. It filled a huge room.
• I remember when Alan Shepard first shot into space.
• I remember the building my church was in before the one it’s in now. But not the one before that.
• I remember when they started building Keystone Lake.
• I remember buying vinyl records. (Not many, but I bought a couple.)
• I remember having fun with other kids without TV or video games.
• I remember watching Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.

• I remember when Saturday morning TV was Fury  and The Lone Ranger and Flicka. 

• I remember watching a short-lived TV show called Annie Oakley–my first save-herself-and-others-heroine. (Also known as a KA heroine.)

Yeah, I’ll bet you remember when the Mayflower got here.

No. It didn’t land in Oklahoma, and I’ve only lived in this great state.

But I remember when–

• it was cool to ride a bike to school and the bike racks were crowded with them.
• kids were taught to “do unto others.”
• if a kid flunked or caused a problem, it was the kid who was in trouble, not the teacher.
• nearly every child was taught respect.

So was everything just honey and light back in the olden days? Or do you just have a faulty memory?

Everything wasn’t honey and light, although it was a lot of fun.

I remember–

• People used to smoke anywhere they wanted–even on airplanes and in movies. (Inside the church building was off-limits, but that was about it.) TV and movies were filled with sophisticated people who nearly always had a cigarette.
• I remember barely being about to sound out the words over a drinking fountain in a store in Tulsa that said, “White People Only.”
• I remember three little girls being murdered at a Girl Scout Camp.

But rather than dwell on the sad things, here’s what I enjoyed.

• Friends.
• Bubble gum blowing contests.
• Carnivals.
• Going to the lake with family and friends.
• When homes didn’t have air conditioning.
• Camping out.
• Swimming in C-Town’s round pool.
• School.
• Vacations.
• Cousins.
• Passing notes in church. And in school.
• When girls had straight hair and bangs in their eyes.
•  Trying to get my hair straight.This is not me.

(Orange juice cans, gigantic rollers, using my head as a giant roller, and yes, even an iron and ironing board.)

• Forever Friends (siblings and parents included.)

Okay, come on. Tell us. How old are you? 

Sure. I’m 183 years and one day. I’m in pretty good shape to be that old, aren’t I?

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It’s a Trick. (Duh)

A few hours ago, I showed you a video of a man making a pop can reseal and refill itself, and I wondered, How’d he do it?

I believe in miracles, but not by men in hats who are entertaining party guests. So I checked and this is what I found.

(Now you, too, can amaze your guests. Unless they read my blog or Youtube.)

How they did it.

http://youtu.be/xsABNMj-xtA

The Can Can

Click on the link below. It’s a cute magic trick.

youtu.be/TN-AfrWgUTs

HOW DID HE DO THAT?