The mail gets delivered came rain, sleet, or accident

Today started out with a bang.

Literally.

The girls and I were in the van by 10:30 a.m. heading for Darcy's annual wellness doctor visit. I backed out of the garage and then stopped to make sure the garage door was closing because the day before I had backed all the way into the street before realizing the garage door had not closed.

Seeing that the door was in fact moving, I proceeded to back down the hill of our driveway where I stopped once again to do my annual check:

• Look left - The mail lady (her name is Cherie) was at my neighbor's mailbox across the street. She looked to be sorting through the mail which I figured would give me time to back into the street.
• Look right - Totally clear.
• Look left (because this was taught as the way to cross the street)

Only I didn't look left again because I wanted to track the damn garage door.  So, instead of looking left, I faced the front of the house and eased up on the brake to back out the van into the street. 

Yep. You guessed it.

Right into Cherie's mail truck. Because she, like me, wasn't paying attention to her surroundings. She closed my neighbor's mailbox and then accelerated so that my bumper met her driver's side.

It was more of a bump. Neither of us was traveling more than a snail's pace but these postal trucks are made of tin. There were so many dents and indentations in her door we couldn't tell which one came from my bumper, but because Cherie had her window rolled most of the way down, when I tapped into her, the window, with most of it inside the tin door, shattered...into a million gazillion pieces the size of a million gazillion peas. 

Fortunately, most of the pieces fell inside the door and into the truck with only about nine pieces falling into the street.

She was shaken. I was shaken. A crowd gathered.

Not really. My neighbor Garnet, two doors down, came out and made a few jokes to relax us. My other neighbor, a retired cop, came over and offered helpful suggestions.

Sid: "What you do is tell the supervisor that you were trying to get the mail lady's attention and when you knocked on her window the entire thing shattered."

Cherie was a good sport. She called her supervisor while I called the doctor's office to cancel our appointment. She pulled out a kit kept in the mail trucks for accidents and when she opened it a piece of chalk rolled out. This sent us into much laughter, and we made several jokes before concluding that it would be fun to draw the outline of a body behind the mail truck.

Thank goodness we only joked about it because when the supervisors arrived they were not amused by anything.

Supervisor One: (to Cherie)"Are you okay? What happened?"

Cherie: "I'm fine. We're fine. Cara, you tell the story."

Me: "I needed to get Cherie's attention regarding my mail. I knocked on her window and the damn thing shattered!"

The four of us snickered, but boy were the supervisors unamused. They stood, backs ram-rod straight, staring at us with VERY serious faces. We immediately stopped laughing. Cherie wiped her smile off her face. Both neighbors muttered under their breaths about getting back home and then did just that. I sighed and launched into the truth.

It began to rain.

One supervisor began taking pictures like it was a murder crime scene. I kept waiting for him to pull out gloves and a fingerprint kit. What he was taking pictures of was beyond me. There wasn't any damage to photograph unless he put the lens down inside the door of the mail truck. As for my vehicle, there was zilch. Nada. My big, ass, plastic bumper that has protected me in a few rear-end hits had no damage except for two pea-size pieces of postal window glass sitting on it.

Supervisor One: "Insurance information?"

I gave it to him. Cherie was sent on her way. I suggested everyone come into my garage out of the rain to finish filling out the paperwork. Both supervisors declined as if that were against the rules.

Camera Guy - "So, you admit you are at fault?"

Me: "Oh, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to admit fault, am I? I mean, I watched a lot of NYPD Blue and Cagney and Lacey in my youth."

Camera Guy (unamused) "Because usually we would have to bring the police into this."

He didn't look at me when he said this but stared out into my neighborhood. As if he'd delivered a very major line in a very major Oscar movie.

I too stared into my neighborhood, playing the part of the good guy being made to look bad by the evil supervisor with no sense of humor. I said nothing.

Inside, however, I was raging.

Me: "Are you kidding me?  By all means, please call the police. Please report that I broke a window in your postal vehicle. Bother the police with this nonsense while real crime is being committed in this county. I never said I wasn't going to pay for what I did. I gave you my insurance information. I told you what happened. You want me to get a ticket? For coasting down my driveway? Let's face it, both of us were not paying attention. It was a stupid tap. If her window hadn't been down, we wouldn't even be standing here in the rain having this discussion like its a matter of national security."

Silence.

I refused to give in.

Camera Guy: "Okay, so you'll have to pay for the window."

Me: "I gave you my insurance information. I'm sure I have coverage for a broken window."

They left. I called my insurance company. The agent asked if I had any paperwork. Uh no. I had Cherie's name but not her phone number. He suggested I get that information from her tomorrow when she blew through the neighborhood delivering our mail.

About two minutes after I hung up the phone with the agent, I spied a mail truck out delivering the mail to those three neighbors who hadn't gotten their mail due to my fender bender with Cherie. 

I took off running. I was in flimsy flip flops because of an inflamed ingrown toenail and couldn't move as fast as I wanted. I shuffled through puddles, waving my arms and shouting Cherie's name. Just as I reached the back of the truck, it accelerated and moved on to the next mailbox. I shuffled faster, increased my waving, and upped the volume on my shouting.

Again, I crept up to the driver's side window and off went the truck to the next mailbox. 

Seriously?

I just knew my neighbors were all looking out the window and laughing their asses off at me.

I screamed like a madwoman and apparently, that did it. The truck stopped. Huffing and puffing,
I went to the passenger window. It was up. I knew then this wasn't the same truck nor was it the same mail lady.

I hung my head, shuffled around to her open side, apologized for scaring her, got the number, waved her on, and started walking back home. I walked completely out of my flip flops and contemplated leaving them right where they were but I didn't. I picked them up and splashed my way home barefoot.

This will be the talk of the hood for the next few weeks.

Looking back over the entire incident, the one thing I vividly remember is that while standing with the mail lady, dealing with the supervisors, standing in the rain, and chasing down the mail truck the one thing that kept going through my head the entire time was how this was going to be a great thing to blog.

Punch Buggy!

Last year my children, while on a trip with some other children, picked up the saying that comes after seeing a Volkswagen beetle: "Punch Buggy, no punch back!"

This is accompanied by a punch in the arm by the beetle spotter. I'm told this was done during my childhood era, but I never experienced it and never knew about it.

After enduring this for some weeks I joined in the fun. The problem was that I was the driver and to punch those in the back seat I had to reach my arm back in hopes of connecting with a body while keeping my eyes on the road. My children, who are usually in the backseat, got very good at dodging my reach and then would lean up and punch me shouting, "Punch Buggy, no punch back!"

I had more success when someone else was driving or was riding in my passenger seat. Unfortunately, for me, those people were usually my friends and so to protect themselves they too would join in the game. One of my friends was quite a little puncher and my poor arm felt all black and blue like back in the day when my brother punched me, so I decided that this game was getting a little too violent. I came up with just yelling, "Punch Buggy!" upon spying the beetle and being rewarded with a point. At the end of the day the person with the most points won. Thus the punching was taken out of the game.

The problem with this little game was that I began yelling, "Punch Buggy!" even if no one was in the car. This has gone on now for over a year, and I'm becoming insane over this little game. Beetles are everywhere. They are here in Florida. They were everywhere in Indiana. We now have a neighbor who has one that he parks in his driveway every night so we all try to be the first to yell, "Punch Buggy" when we drive out of our street daily.

After I returned from my Indiana vacation, I declared a cease-fire. I said that was it. No more yelling, "Punch Buggy!" I couldn't stand it anymore. I was doing it inside my head now instead of yelling it out into an empty car. It just had to stop. For me at least. I would not be participating in anymore Punch Buggy games, and I didn't want to hear anyone yell it within my car. We were done. Finished.

Last night I sat down to watch my recordings of some Gene Simmons Family Jewels which I have saved on my DVR. This episode was the one where Gene takes his son Nick out to buy a car. Gene is, of course, giving advice on salesmen and how to handle them. His son, of course, is not listening. 

They arrive at a dealership that sells Volkswagen cars, go inside, with Gene explaining to his son how the dealers are going to rush over and start right in on them. In the middle of his advice Nick shouts, "Punch Buggy!" and he gives his father a punch. The camera pans to a beetle car on display. Gene ignores him, starts again with the advice, and Nick spies another beetle on a poster on the wall and shouts, "Punch Buggy!" this time giving his father a little harder punch. At that point, Gene rubs his shoulder, whines, and gives up.

I laughed myself silly and had to rewind it a couple of times to watch the scene over again, and I realized right then and there that I'm doomed. This is one of those "things" that my kids are going to remember from their childhood. One day they will have their own children and a beetle will drive by, and they will reach back and give their children a thump on the arm and yell, "Punch Buggy!"

 And if they don't.....their grandmother certainly will!

It ain't easy

Since I haven't been working out regularly since April, weight has appeared on my large frame and before I head off for another vacation in less than two weeks I've been trying to diet. This is never easy, but I figured I would start by getting my fat butt back to the gym.

Tom awoke me Monday morning at 7:21 AM to say good-bye for the day so I hopped right up, washed my face, got on my workout clothes, and was out the door by 7:45. I got to the gym with my eyes still squinted from the early morning sun and jumped on to the elliptical for my normal 30-minute routine.

That is when I realized I forgot my IPod. That is what happens when you have been out of touch with the gym. Instead, I sucked it up and read the closed caption on the CNN channel that I could see from my angle on the elliptical. At about 10 minutes I thought for sure it had been at least 20 minutes.

By the time 30 minutes rolled around my knees were aching, but I wasn't huffing and puffing like I was each time I had to go downstairs in Susan's basement to get something from the guest room or when I had to go upstairs in Susan's house to take a shower. No, I was slightly limping as I made my way to the stationary bike, but my breathing was good.

I got on the bike, turned on the fan and started pumping. I opened my book and started reading to pass the time as I had exhausted the closed captioning. I came to a part where the main character breaks into a house with a hidden key. The next four paragraphs went into detail about how easy it was to break into a house, and suddenly I thought about someone breaking into my house while my children were sound asleep and I was at the gym.

I began picturing the creep standing in my house. How scared my poor children would be. I got so consumed with worry I started sweating from the sheer horror I was imagining, and I peddled faster as if I were headed their way.

When the 30 minutes ended I was off the bike, out the door, and into my car faster then I had used either piece of equipment.

The girls were still asleep safe in their beds when I returned, but the whole experience has made me decide the gym will have to wait until the girls go back to school. The worry today caused more stress that will lead to health problems than my being overweight.

I'll eat better food and lay off the sweets. You can find my success to the right of this blog...

Is anything clear?

While I was away on vacation my husband visited the eye doctor that the girls and I use. After the visit, he discovered, while paying, that our insurance had changed without it registering on our radar. I even had an exam in January using the old insurance! Bottom line? Our doctor isn't on this new insurance plan, so feeling like he was helping matters, my husband canceled the girls' eye appointments, asked the receptionist at the eye place for a recommendation, and called up and made new appointments.

Today was the day of those new appointments. I will admit that I entered the office with a chip on my shoulder. I hate changing doctors. I take great care in researching my decision in the first place, and having to change for reasons beyond my control really causes me great stress.

My old office was a huge building complete with a laser surgery center and all sorts of eye doctors from optometrists to ophthalmologists to pediatric ophthalmologists to eye surgeons. This new office was in a two-level strip mall of six offices, three of which were empty. The parking lot only had enough parking for about 8 cars. Strike one, I thought.

We entered the office and practically walked into the big counter desk that was situated quite close to the front entrance. To the left was a room for fitting glasses. To the right, lined up against the wall, were seven chairs. Two of the chairs were occupied; a young man, late '20s, with a horrible case of what I thought might be acne, playing a Nintendo DS and a younger girl, maybe 14, next to him slouching. No one was at the desk, but there was a row of clipboards with new patient forms attached sitting on the counter so I picked up one and sat down one chair away from the man. The only light in the room came from recessed lighting above the counter desk. There was no light anywhere in the area of the seating. Luckily, the floor to ceiling windows of the strip mall allowed natural light to help me begin to fill out the form.

I had just filled out the date when an older woman, I'm guessing 70's, with dark brown hair and glasses entered from the area behind the counter. She turned toward us in the chair area, squinted at me, leaned across the counter and squinted some more. Her little head was just shaking with Parkinson's, but she was smiling. I gave the girls' names, she replied, "Good", turned and sat down behind the counter. She never asked for anything, nor did she tell me to fill out the form in my hand. I waited for instructions and when none came, I continued filling the form. When I finished I watched her answer the phones and greet people as they entered. No one else joined us in the chairs.

Her: "I don't need your insurance information,"

I inquired if she needed me to fill out two forms. She did so I got up, gave her the filled out form, got another, quickly filled that one out, and returned it to her. I sat back down and observed my surroundings. The office was small, decorated sparsely, and the floor needed a good sweeping. I was chalking up Strike Two on the dirty floor when the man spoke to me.

Him: "I've been here three times and not for my eyes."

I thought maybe this place also dealt in dermotology.

Me: "Really? What do you mean?"

Him: "I've brought my girlfriend, her daughter, and now her son. That's who is there now." He pointed toward the door at the end of our row of chairs.

Me: "Have you always waited this long?"

Him: "This is the longest wait yet."

Darcy was sitting between us bouncing a super ball she had found under her chair. The ball kept getting away from her while we talked, sometimes hitting the man, but he seemed oblivious. Suddenly the woman behind the counter stood up, leaned over it, and gestured to Darcy, who was once again seated.

Her: "Stand up, please."

The man looked at Darcy. I looked at Darcy. Darcy looked at me and then at the woman. The woman gestured up with her hand so Darcy stood up. The woman looked her up and down.

Her: "I guess you are tall enough. Come on."

She then disappeared back into the area behind the counter. The man looked at me. I looked at him. Both of our faces had, what the hell was that expressions.  Suddenly she reappeared at a door to the side.

Her: "Come on, here. Up. All of you. Come this way."

We entered through the door into a hallway that twisted and turned so many times I was sure I was in a Harry Potter novel. Off the twisting hallway were doors into exam rooms and offices. The place was quite large once you got into its depths. She finally stopped and settled us into an exam room. She left. I surveyed the scene.

The office was clean. The border was of a cat sitting in a library not far from an empty birdcage. The bird was next to the cat. I gave up on figuring out the meaning.

The equipment in the room was all eye equipment I recognized, but instead of bringing me relief I was annoyed that it was modern and not ancient so that I had Strike Three and could just walk out the door.

Instead, I remained seated. The door opened and in walked the doctor. He was of medium build with a weathered tanned face, a head full of salt and pepper hair, and was possible anywhere from his late 50's to his early 70's. I couldn't tell. He did not smile. He looked at me, said hello, went to his chair, sat down and asked why were here.

I told him we were here for the girls' yearly eye exam. He asked who was going first. He spoke in a gruff monotone. There was no idle chit chat, no jokes, no conversation other than is it clearer in one or in two. He examined Darcy and told me she was farsighted.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked.

Me: (silently in my head) "Buddy, I have had glasses, contacts, cataracts, two eye surgeries to remove cataracts, laser surgery, and I've got the CrystalLens implants. There isn't much I don't know!"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "Questions?"

Me: "Last year their eye doctor explained this farsightedness is normal in kids her age. He told me it could be outgrown. Am I wrong to assume that?"

Him: Lengthy tirade about farsightedness and kid's growing and how "outgrown" was not the correct word.

Bottom line: he was writing her a prescription.

By this time I was sort of going into a Kelly hyperventilation. Last year's doctor had told me both girls were farsighted and that it was very normal. Most kids outgrew it and that we would test them again in a year and compare and take measures if necessary. I'm thinking to myself, "I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have rushed into this appointment. I should have gotten their chart from the other place, blah, blah, blah."

Of course, Madison checked out with farsightedness as well and again he told me to get her glasses. He said that neither child would notice a difference with the glasses on, but that the eye muscles wouldn't be so overworked.

Him: "Questions?"

His tone implied that he hoped not, that he was the expert, that I had come to him, and by golly, I should do what he says.

I hemmed and hawed, and he stood up and thanked us, told us we were done and to follow him. He led us back through the maze of twisty hallway turns into the room with glasses all over the walls. He deposited our chart on a desk, muttered to the woman there to fix us up, and he left. Poof. Gone. She told us to have a seat and she would be with us in a bit.

I sat there sweating. What was I doing? Was this necessary? I texted Tom.

The glasses lady, who was blonde with a styling pair of black square rimmed glasses, came over, lifted up a giant wooden box and set it on to the table in front of us. She opened the box to reveal about 30 different pairs of glasses and a mirror. She had Darcy sit down and she began taking out glasses for her to try on. By now my mind was racing a hundred miles per hour.

I put up my hand and asked what our insurance covered on glasses. I just wanted to leave and was hopeful the amount would be hundreds and I could escape by using the "oh, I have to check with my husband" routine I do to get rid of unwanted solicitors and telemarketers.

No such luck.

This insurance, this insurance that we have that we didn't know about, that doesn't pay to go to my eye surgery place, pays every little bit of the glasses except for $20. It would cost me $40 for two pairs of glasses.

Only catch...we had to pick from frames out of this box.

There weren't too many options for kids. Darcy had a choice of a purple pair and a brown pair. She went with the brown.

All of the kids glasses were horrible on Maddy's face so I insisted we move to the adult glasses. The lady went around to the other side of the box, where it too opened, and she selected two pairs. One looked great on Madison and so we agreed on that pair.

I paid $60 for two pairs of glasses and two eye exams. I got out to the car with one kid whining and the other crying from the eye drops. I sat in the car for a few minutes, called Tom, had him calm me down, and we went home.

I'm not sure this is the right thing. I've researched everything I could read and it all agreed with the diagnosis of last year, but I don't know if the sight has worsened or not. I figured for $20 I'm not going to stress about it, and then I felt guilty for thinking that. Especially having watched one woman enter while we tried on glasses to explain about how she couldn't afford to pay for her glasses but that she couldn't see and really needed them. Insurances make little sense.

I'll see how the girls do when the glasses arrive in 10 days.

5 Things I missed while on vacation

• My local newspaper - Got to have more than 3 pages of sports, a crossword puzzle, and celebrity gossip. So good to have that back home.

• My pillow - Men don't care about this, but women....we like our own pillows. Although, the one at Susan's house was wonderful it was nice to return to my cotton pillow.

• My radio station - I missed Big D and Bubba!

• My two computer monitors - I could live with the slow Internet service, but one screen....thought I would die while blogging. 

• My girls - when they are with their cousins I don't get as many hugs, kisses, and loving as I do when we are home, and seriously, I feel like I never saw them!

The things I do for beauty

My friend, Jyoti, has told me about eyebrow threading ever since I started waxing my brows. This is an ancient method of hair removal which involves using a thin, twisted piece of cotton thread to pluck the hair at the follicle level. It is widely used in Indian culture.

Susan has been threading her brows recently so she took me with her to experience the procedure, much to Jyoti's delight.

The Indian spa center is in the mall and the women were thrilled to have me as their victim. They threaded my brows, my upper lip and my chin.

The process was quite painful and tears rolled out of my eyes as they twisted and twisted my brows. The lip wasn't as painful, and by the time they moved on to my chin, I was immune to the pain.

I liked the look at the end and felt my brows were better sculpted then when I have them waxed. I am now hairless. The women suggested I do this every two weeks to minimize the pain. Yeah, that isn't happening...

Wednesday - Shipshewana, IN

Our plans today were curtailed by an air conditioning problem in the Mason household. There was none. The thermostat read 75 in the house, but the air was set on 72. By noon the thermostat had climbed to 76.

Susan: "We have to do something. We will DIE without air conditioning!"

I reminded her that the windows in her house opened to allow iin fresh air and that the temperatures today were a high of 76 and a low of 59. I also remarked at how I didn't feel that we would die. Of course, she was kidding, but she also knew it had to be repaired as Rusty doesn't allow the windows open. He claims it is too hot and he can not sleep. So she did what all women do first when finding problems in their home. She called her father.

Susan's father, Mike, sent her outside where she discovered that the hose leading from the air conditioner into the house was frozen with ice. His advice was to call the repair company as it was most likely a freon leak. So Susan did what he suggested and we had to wait for the repairman to arrive.

It was a freon leak and Brandon, the repairman from Alabama with the deep radio voice, replaced two pounds of freon, changed the filter, and relayed the bad news that the leak was somewhere inside near the coil and would be costly to repair. There was more information about these coils not being serviceable come January, blah, blah, blah, but after Brandon said bottom-line his repair would last for six months I quit listening. We would not die tonight.

We finally headed out of the house around 3:30 PM. Susan wanted to drive to Shipshewana, IN, an Amish town about 45 minutes away. I was all for that as it would be educational for the children so we set out with the three girls.

The drive was uneventful until we got about 10 minutes from Shipshewana and then we found the road closed due to an accident. We had to drive several miles out of the way to arrive in Shipshewana, but we got to pass through Middlebury, a Mennonite town.

The Amish and the Mennonites come from a Protestant tradition known as Anabaptism. Both believe that they should live out their beliefs in daily life. While they are very similar in many ways, the Mennonites are more flexible when it comes to modern conveniences.

The drive through the farm countryside was beautiful and both towns were very similar. The roads both had a lane for horses and buggies and my children were fascinated when passing these.

We got into Shipshewana and decided to have our linner (lunch and dinner) at a restaurant there that serves Amish family-style food. This wasn't much different from the food served at our family reunion.

We had delicious fried chicken that had Susan licking the platter. There were green beans (Darcy had 4 helpings), mashed potatoes, homemade noodles (not as good as Aunt Lorene's), dressing, salads, and homemade warm bread with apple butter and Amish peanut butter spread made with marshmallow cream, corn syrup, and maple syrup. That alone was so scrumptious that I ate mine with a spoon.

We stuffed ourselves with all of that only to discover that dessert was included. We each had a different pie. Gabby had chocolate. Madison had chocolate crisp (with toffee bits). Darcy had peanut butter. Susan had banana pie, and I had old fashion cream which was fresh cream, cinnamon, and brown sugar. We each had a bite of every pie and then had to pack it to go as our bellies were too full to hold any more.

We shopped some in the restaurant's bakery and then made our way outside into the town. Raymond, an Amish gentleman, called us over for a buggy ride with his horse, Lucy. His buggy was roofless and the girls referred to it as a buggy convertible.

Lucy took us for a 15-minute ride through Shipshewana. It reminded me of small Indiana towns, especially those around the area where my mother grew up.

Most of the shops had closed by the time we finished eating, but we did get to shop a bit in the general store and in a shop that sold Christmas stuff, as well as other tourists' knick-knacks.

I loved the small town and enjoyed seeing horses parked alongside cars as we traveled through the town. I have decided that this is where I shall buy my summer home as life is simpler and the weather is gorgeous.

It's in the family

Finally, I have proof to show my Indian friend why it is that I can't become a vegetarian!

Road trip back to Granger

Photo #1 - At the Beginning











We started out at noon to head back to Susan's. The trip from Evansville to Granger is a six hour trip, but with stops for food and potty breaks we added on another 45 minutes.

Susan insisted on driving. I was just a passenger. My job was to keep her awake and alert.

We ate breakfast first, hit the Donut Bank again, and headed out.


Photo #2 - Who did that?










Halfway through the trip mysterious gum wrappers were being lodged from the back seat. The wrappers kept hitting Susan in the head and after several, she shouted, "Who keeps hitting me in the head?"

I turned around to find this scene!

Photo #3 - Towards the end











We rolled into South Bend about 6:40 PM to meet Rusty and Austin for dinner. Needless to say it was quite a road trip with three girls who forgot their DS chargers and were traveling without DVD players.

Back home again in Indiana - Evansville

Five things I did upon returning to the place of my childhood:

1. Hit the Donut Bank - Actually we stopped in Princeton for the first of our three visits to the Bank. I'm not lying when I say that you will never find a better glazed, blueberry, or chocolate long john donut then right here at the Kemp's Donut Bank. Honestly, I dream about these things. I'm so in love with them that I've vowed never to eat another donut unless it comes from here! (Might be my new resolution for 2010)
   
   
2. Headed back home - Checked out the old homestead (which my mother sold out from underneath me) . Ended up visiting with my old neighbor who still lives across the street from where I use to live. We had several good laughs about the shenanigans the five kids (my brother and I and her three kids) use to get into while the parents were out. The neighborhood looked smaller to me, and much to my girls' dismay, I pointed out places and said things like, "When I was a kid this wasn't here...this is where I use to play...."
   
   
3. Chowed down on The Pizza Oven pizza - Hands down the best pizza I've ever put in my mouth. Fresh ingredients, sauce that tangs the tongue, and a thin crust The establishment has been owned by the same family for thirty-one years in the same hole-in-the-wall building. There are tables, but take-out is their business. We got the sausage (a must have) and ripped into it right in the car.
   
   


4. Bought me some Indiana sweet corn - and stayed in a hotel where the parking lot shared space with a corn field. Only in Indiana!
   
   


5. Slurped down on some Indiana cantaloupe - You won't find it bigger or better anywhere else. Don't even try.

Fruitcakes in the car

Whenever we traveled during my childhood my mother would always tell us to look out the window at the scenery. We traveled out west with my grandparents and my cousin and the only thing my cousin remembers is my mother yelling, "Put down those Barbie dolls and look out the window!" 

Now it is my turn to tell that to my own children.

I am forever telling them to check things out their window.

Me: "Look, girls. Can you see the crops? There are the soybeans. The grass is so much greener than Florida grass, don't you think? No palm trees."

Me: "Cows!"

Me: "Corn in the field. High as an elephant's eye!"

As we left the farm and headed toward Evansville, we passed The Big Peach, a farmer's market where you can get fresh food right from the fields. As a child, passing this peach meant that we were almost to the farm, and I passed this little tidbit on to the disinterested girls in the back seat. I kept driving.

A few minutes later, Susan spotted this out the window.

Susan: "Girls! Look! A Big Strawberry!"

Gabby: "What's next? The Big Banana?"

Mason Reunion - Sunday

It was a beautiful day for a reunion. One of the best days we've had in our many years of reunions. The temperature was only in the 70's, the sun was out most of the time, and the sky was beautiful with its mixture of colors.

My cousins had done a wonderful job in mowing and readying the farm inside and out for the reunion. The yard and the fields were so lush and green. The crop this year was corn, much to my girls' delight, but it wasn't too high due to earlier rains making getting lost in the cornfields not an activity for this reunion.

Instead the girls played corn hole, climbed on bales of hay, pumped water out of the well, and swung from a rope out of a tree on the side of the house. We didn't see them for most of the day unless they ran through asking for us to take pictures. There wasn't any swimming in the pond as it hadn't been treated in a while and the weather didn't make swimming a necessity as in past years.

There was a bigger turn out for the reunion than the wiener roast. I don't know the official count, but I would say over fifty people showed. This year my Aunt brought and insisted on name tags, a tradition that my father started years ago, but one that has been abandoned since the Master Mix name tags ran out.

The table was full of food from fresh corn to homemade corn casserole. There was fried chicken, Lorene's homemade noodles, pasta dishes, salads, and an array of desserts that included Cindy's infamous homemade cinnamon rolls. The only thing missing was Indiana cantaloupe.

I had noticed in going through years of my father's reunion photos that I've been at the head of the food line since aging. This had me concluding that it was obviously a family tradition and I've worked hard at continuing the tradition even resorting to cutting in the line until now everyone is on board.

After filling our faces, we sat around and chewed the fat and looked at old photos my sister had found. I tried to make my way around the farm to chat with everyone, but as usual, I left feeling that I didn't get my fill of family gossip. People are traveling from farther away and having to leave earlier to get home to work the next day. This makes it harder to sit around and try to catch up with relatives.

I also realized that the younger generation doesn't have the memories that I have of vacationing on the far. Most of them were born after my grandparents died and didn't grow up fishing in the pond, throwing field corn to the hogs, and milking the goats like my brother and I did.

Sigh!

Highlights of Southern Indiana - Saturday

• We left the house about 11:30 PM and arrived in Terre Haute around 4:30 PM. We checked into the hotel, got our groceries (and jackets for the Florida crew) and headed to the farm.

• We took a wrong turn down a dirt road near the stripper pits. The funny thing about that was how Susan kept pointing out places that were familiar to her telling us stories that Rusty had told her while driving this (wrong) road. It made me feel even more at home as it reminded me of my father.

• Susan wanted to call Rusty to tell us where we were and to help us out of this mess, but I wouldn't let her. We drove around through the corn and soybean fields, along the dirt road, dodging deer and little bunnies. I had my head out of the sunroof taking pictures as she drove.

• The one good thing was that the corn was not as high as an elephant's eye so we were able to see around us as we drove.

• We found the original road after about 40 minutes of endless driving and we managed to find the right turn off. We arrived at the farm around 7:00 PM.

• The wiener roast was down by the pond. Madison cooked our hot dogs and smores over the big bonfire. Everything was perfect. We enjoyed the dogs, the smores, taco bake dip, hash brown casserole, mac and cheese, chips, and lots of desserts. Also beer and wine, which was never around the reunion when I was a child (that I remember).

• The girls had a blast with their "new" cousins as they called them. They were all fascinated at the relationships of everyone as if this were the first time hearing them. Darcy: "You have two sisters?" Gabby: "That man is Aunt Lorene's son? What is he to me?"

• We headed back to Terre Haute around 10:00 PM where we completed a tick check. All was clear.

Our next Indiana Attraction

We are heading to Dugger, Indiana today to the Mason Farm for the annual wiener roast tonight and the reunion tomorrow. It is a four-hour drive so the excitement is just churning through Susan's veins.

My girls are truly excited about getting back on the farm and seeing their Aunt Lorene. The weather is scheduled to be most delightful; cool, breezy and only a high in the '70s. I might just talk Susan into pitching a tent and sleeping outdoors, although she is quite terrified of an invasion of ticks.

When we return from our three-day visit we are certainly going to head over to this place in Rusty and Susan's area which they have strangely kept quiet about.

Indiana Blueberry Picking

Today's plan was to get up early and head to the organic blueberry farm to pick berries. I found the place last year while trying to channel my inner Connie find educational activities for my children via the Internet. When I brought up the idea of blueberry picking my sister-in-law was not a fan.

Susan: "What? Blueberry picking? We're not going blueberry picking. It's too hot and there will be bugs. No! No! The kids don't want to do that."

Later that afternoon she brought this up with her neighbor who enthusiastically told her about how wonderful it was for the children and how she was taking her visiting relatives the following week. Begrudgingly, Susan gave in but when we arrived at the blueberry farm it was not open for business until the following week when we would be back in Florida. Susan and Gabby did return later and had the whole experience without us.

So this year Susan was determined that I would have my blueberry picking outing. We didn't quite get up early enough, but it didn't matter. A small cold front had come in during the night and the weather was a sunny and breezy 65 degrees when we headed toward the farm. We drove with the windows open so that we Floridians could stick our heads out and shout, "We LOVE this weather!"

It was quite crowded at the farm and we stood in line to sign up for picking. We decided ten pounds of blueberries would be our goal, we received our buckets, and then stood in another line to wait for the wagon that would take us to our bushes. I told everyone to pretend we were migrant workers heading out for our daily job. I'm afraid I got a tad teary-eyed just from knowing I was getting this experience. That caused Darcy to feel so happy that everyone else had conceded to share the adventure and she kept hugging me and offering to take my picture.

We boarded the tram, which was actually a tractor pulling several trailers with seats, and the driver drove us out into the fields. We hopped off and were directed by a woman with a long stick to our assigned bushes. She gave us 4 bushes to pick and left us to complete our work. We did so in record time. There were five of us working. Madison and I took the tops and the two younger girls took the lower branches. Susan was in the middle. We worked one side and then crawled through to the other side. Occasionally we snuck over into someone else's bush and picked a few or turned around and picked some off a bush behind us.

The day had started off sunny but turned cloudy, and then turned sunny again as we got into the fields. It was a tad warm for the Hoosier girls, but for us Floridians, it was beyond pleasant. It took us about thirty minutes to pick clean our bushes and our bucket wasn't really that full. Since the woman with the stick was nowhere to be found we headed back out to the end of our row to wait for the tram. 

Our bucket yielded six and a half pounds of blueberries and cost us $9.69. We tied off our little haul in a plastic bag, washed up, and headed back to the house. On tap for tonight is my famous Blueberry Crumble for dessert.

Differences I've found between Florida & Indiana

• Dry, yellow, sandy lawns vs. Beautiful, lush, green grass - The yards here are so lovely, the colors magnificent. You can take your shoes off and run barefoot through the silky blades. Do that in Florida and you wind up with sand burrs between your toes.

• Lukewarm tap water vs. Ice cold tap water - My water in Florida is warm coming out of our faucet because our pipes are in the attic and a hot sun beating down on the roof equals hot water first off. Here in Indiana, I have to turn on the hot water just to brush my teeth because the cold water is so freezing that my teeth and gums scream in agony.

• Drooping, colorful flowers vs. Vibrant, bursting with color flowers -The landscape in Indiana is so full of color and different types of trees while Florida's foliage this time of the year is thirsty and lined with palm trees. Of course, Florida's lasts longer.....

• A husband who keeps turning down the air vs. A husband who keeps the house frigid. - Yep, mine lives in a hot, humid state and my brother lives in the state where he can open all of his windows and let the beautiful breeze inside. It's odd.

• A hot sun vs. A hot sun - In Florida the sun beats down, the humidity is over 100%, you sweat and sweat, and you know to put on sunscreen. In Indiana the sun beats down, the humidity is mild, the breeze keeps you from sweating, and it is all misleading you into forgetting about sunscreen!

Summer Vacation - Indiana

Today the girls and I are off for the first part of our summer vacation. We are heading to my sister-in-law's (and brother's) house in northern Indiana. From there, we will travel to the farm that has been in our family for over 100 years and to the Mason family reunion. I didn't make it there last year so this year I was determined to get there, and thanks to my sister-in-law we are going to make it happen.

I shall blog my adventures, of which I'm sure there will be many. If there aren't, I will make them up. The main thing is that I'm heading out of hot, sunny, sweat-rolling-down-into-my-eyes Florida. I'm hoping for cooler weather.

Today I spied a Florida decal that said, "Think Snow!"

Here's hoping!