Who is this person?

I have never been a morning person.  According to my mon, when I was a toddler, I would sleep until 11:00.  The summers of my junior high years, I regularly stayed up until 4:00 or 5:00 am and then slept until 11:00 or 12:00 (maybe 1:00) and then rode my bike to the pool, swam all day, played softball in the evenings, and then did it all over again.
What in the world, you may be asking, did a teenager do until 5:00 am in 1987 and 1988, before there were a gazillion cable channels, before the internet, before Playststion, Facebook, Pinterest and Candy Crush Saga?  I read.  Books.  Lots and lots of books.
I still remember the first weekend in our apartment after JJ and I got married.  It was Saturday, glorious, glorious Saturday, the day for sleeping in.  Around 7:30 am, I felt a poke in the arm and could feel someone staring at me.  I opened my eyes just a slit and there was JJ, all smiles.  "When are you going to get up?" 
What?  A 7:30 wake-up poke and ear-to-ear grin is enough to push me into a murderous rage on a Saturday. 
Fast forward a few (17) years and here I am, willingly getting up at 5:45.  To golf. 
That, in and of iteslf, is a joke.  The first time my dad took me to the driving range, I was seventeen years old.  We were there for 45 minutes and I connected with exactly three (THREE!) balls. 
Here's how it went:  Take a practice swing.  Address the ball.  Whiff, whiff, whiff, whiff some more.  I had it in my head, after years of softball, that swinging something down into the ground was a bad idea.  So, I would raise up just a little with every swing so that I wouldn't beat the club head into the ground and then I would miss the ball.  I cried a lot.
So now I am getting up before the sun to play a game that makes me cry.  Well, I don't cry anymore.  I just swear a lot.  It's cathartic.

A Day with my Gram

I have recently decided to face the fact that I am not getting any younger.  Nor are any of my loved ones.  I've also recently started researching my family history and I kick myself for not asking more questions and recording more stories.  With this in mind, I decided that I need to spend some more time with my Grandma. 
We spent a morning exploring The Tiskilwa Historical Society's Museum on Main.  Tiskilwa is a tiny, adorable little town.  My grandma grew up on various farms all around Tiskilwa and is a proud 1943 graduate of Tiskilwa High School (salutatorian, no less.)  She's quite impressed with the collection that her town has put together and we spent a couple of hours looking through it.



This piece holds a special place in my heart as the woman killed in the cyclone was my great-great grandmother, Marie West.  Sometime I will get a good digital copy of the story.  For now, this photo will have to suffice.  My sister wrote a paper about it when she was in the eighth grade.  I wonder if she still has it anywhere.

I thought that these shells were beautiful.  There were decorated by sodiers during WWI as a way to pass the time.   It's amazing that something so beautiful can be created amidst such stress and horror.

Tiskilwa had it's own baseball team?  Who knew?  You should see the pictures of the grandstands.  They were huge!  I am fascinated by how times have changed.

Another special piece to me.  My great-grandfather collected these as he worked the land.  As a child, I loved to look at them and try to imagine what life was like as a Native American.  I am glad that my Gram is loaning them to the museum so others can see them too.

I had to take this photo for the Tiskilwa Volleydoll uniform (the white shirt.)  Tiskilwa always had great volleyball teams and really gave us some tough matches. 

This is the outside of the Museum.  It is the former Methodist Church.

I am dying to get inside of this house.  Besides the fact that it is AWESOME, my great-grandma worked here as a maid before she got married.  My grandma said that the family had a huge water tank on the top floor that they would have to fill.  My great-grandma sometimes had the job of going up and saying "when" so that it didn't get over-filled.  My Gram also told me that her mom and the maids from this house used to get together with the maids from another AWESOME house across the street and hang out on their days off.  My great-grandma has been gone since 1988.  How I'd love to go back and hear more stories.

The steps up to Mt. Bloom Cemetery on the west end of town.  Not a good photo, but it was raining.  These stairs have always creeped me out.  They belong in a horror movie.

 

I always see turkey vultures when I am with Gram.  I am not sure what to make of that.  There were four in this tree, but by the time I pulled out my camera and inched the car forward, three had flown off.

This house stands on the site where my great-great grandmother was killed by the tornado.  It's less than a mile from where Gram lives now.

The Tiskilwa Historical Society has placed these signs, commemorating the 18 school houses that served Tiskilwa.  This is the one my Gram attended.  It was the only two-room school.  All of the others were one-room school houses.

And finally, this rock commemorates Providence Colony and the Providence Community Church, which operated from 1841-1967.  That was the church Gram attended when she was a girl.  It is my understanding that Providence was settled by a group from Providence, RI in 1836 and died out when the railroad bypassed it and went through Princeton instead.  Now, that's my dad's version of the tale.  Someday I'll take the time to research it more.

I am so glad that I spent the day with her.  My only regret?  I didn't take a photo of her.
I'll remember next time.  

Road Trip!

600 miles. 9 hours. 4 bathroom stops (all because a certain mom drank too much Diet Coke and was the weak link of the group.)

We made it. We are here safe and sound. I think the trip went so smoothly for several reasons.
1. Classic Rewind on Sirius. JJ wasn't a fan of paying for radio, but I was a whiny baby about it after I got used to it during our free 3-month trial period. There was much drumming on the steering wheel. Drumming makes my husband happy.
2. I drove quite a bit while JJ had to do some conference calls. This prevented me from doing my standard "dramatic reading of road signs" and "random questions that can't be answered."
3. New (used) car's inaugural road trip made it all the more exciting.

We got here and had our traditional dinner at Gino's. I had my pierogie pizza. How can you go wrong with mashed potatoes, onion and cheese on a pizza crust.

During dinner I had a strange thing happen to me. I told the waitress that you couldn't get pierogie pizza back in Illinois. Se looked at me and said, "I was going to ask you where you were from because of your accent."

Accent?

For real? I chuckled to myself and decided that I totally deserved that one as I am always trying to decide where people are from based on their accents.

But back to that accent. What does a Central Illinois accent sound like to the rest of the world?

Enquiring minds want to know.

Chester's First Hair Cut

Remember Chester?



The cat of very little brain?



The one who once tried to play with a candle and got wax all over the place, including on her own face?

Yeah, her.

She's sweet.  She's cute.  She has a lot of fur and a really puffy tail.



This evening, my kids have friends over and Boo and her friend were busy at work, creating all kinds of things out of duct tape.  We were all down in the basement and Chester had been resting quietly, but decided she needed to investigate the closet as soon as she heard me open the door.  I ruined her evening by closing the door before she could get lost deep in the depths, so she had to find something else interesting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her suddenly take off and noticed something white attached to her tail.  It took a split second for me to survey the scene, process and realize that she had gotten duct tape stuck to her tail.

Crap.

She came flying back into the room and performed a quick STOP, DROP and ROLL to dislodge the offending tape.  Of course, that only made it worse.  She ran a few steps, stopped and tried licking it off.  When that failed, she just took off in a panicked sprint as if she was going to run so fast, it would just fall off.

Knowing the situation was dire, I sent the kids to corner her before she made it any worse.

(I laughed a lot too.)

I knew there was no way were were going to rid her of her duct tape demons without scissors.  And I hoped that it wasn't going to require trimmers.

It's a good thing the dumb cat is so docile.  Between KJ, Boo and I, we managed to hold her still and cut the duct tape out of her tail without anyone bleeding.



I hope she's learned her lesson, but I am not going to hold my breath.

Day Two

Day two started out with a bang, quite literally.  I got the kids to bed, tucked myself into my too-big bed and promptly fell asleep to the sound of the wind whipping around my house, whistling through my windows and banging the front porch swing against the house.  Since I am an Olympic-caliber sleeper, it didn't bother me much.  Remember, I slept though a tornado once.
My dear daughter doesn't have the sleep-stamina that I have and woke me up from a dead sleep about 1:00 with terror in her voice.  She wanted to know if I had heard that loud noise.  Um, obviously, "No."
"It was so loud it shook" her bed.
Nope, didn't hear a thing.
But, since I am a single parent for the next ten days, I got up to investigate.  (Note to self, be more grateful for the times that JJ does this.)  I looked out the window and noticed that the garbage can had been blown over.  Obviously that must have been the noise.
As much as I wanted to leave the stupid thing where it was, I put on my sweatshirt and shoes and trudged down the driveway and dragged the garbage can and recycling bin back into the garage.  Did I mention that the wind was gusting to 50 mph, it was after 1:00 am and I was only half-awake?
I got back in the house and Boo was still a little shaken.  She wasn't convinced that the garbage can had made the noise that had shaken her bed.  She asked if I had checked the mailbox. (The reason that our mailbox is on a temporary stand is a long story, but no, I hadn't checked the mailbox.)  And of course, she was right.  The wind had blown the mailbox right over.  The mailbox that is (was) solidly attached to some 4x4 posts.  The heavy heavy mailbox and temporary stand.
I left it where it was.
I didn't need it being blown over and shaking her bed again. 



I got up this morning, stood it up and tied it to the porch railing.  I couldn't find the bungee cords, or I would have used them.  I think that bungee-corded mailboxes that are barely attached to temporary posts just scream "high class" don't you?

My twine looks less solid and more like a spider web, but it didn't fall over again, so we'll call that a victory for Shannon. Yay me!
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful.  And I am grateful for that.

Day One

This crappy rainy weather is doing nothing to improve my mood.  Took Jables to the airport today for the first of 10 flights he has in the next 11 days:  home, Chicago, Tokyo, Manila, Cebu, back to Manila, Beijing, Dalian, Tokyo, Chicago, home.

Yes, I was bummed.  I actually like him.  And I don’t mean the typical, “I love you but I don’t like you.”  I like him and I hate being away from him.  (Gag, barf, puke, I know.)  I was a little weepy as I pulled away, which was super-helpful as I drove through the steady rain.  I was nearly home when I got a call from a strange number.  I decided I had better answer it and it was Jables.  He had left his phone in my car.  I think he just wanted another kiss.  ;)

I got to turn around and drive back to the airport.  Yay!  I gave Jables his phone, got another kiss and drove home where I managed to accomplish these things: 

1.        Made the kids a warm and nutritious breakfast of toaster waffles and Flintstones chewables.

2.       Took a nap.

3.       Dragged the kids to the grocery store and bought them a nutritious meal of Wal-Mart popcorn chicken and potato wedges.  It was a throw-back to the old days when I used to bribe them with that meal.

4.       Put the groceries away.

5.       Took another nap (There was a cat on my lap.  It was mandatory.)

6.       Shuffled the kids to and from their practices.

7.       Spent 30 minutes on the treadmill.

8.       Made a real dinner:  spaghetti, homemade meatballs and salad.  (Actual green food.) 

9.       Watched part of the Grammy’s and had some ice cream with Magic Shell. 

10.   Cleaned up the kitchen and edited some photos.

11.   Bored you with this post.

I think that today was an all-around victory.  Even KJ fell prey to the cat-napping monster. 

Boo was able to resist and get some crocheting done. She wins for most productive day.

 

Buckeyes!

This one is going to be a quickie.  I just have a few minutes, but this is another recipe worth sharing!
This is yet another treat that I remember fondly from childhood when we would go back to Pennsylvania for Christmas.  Cookies and candies are such a part of celebrations there...but I digress...as usual.

Buckeyes:
Step one:
1/4 pound butter
1 lb. powdered sugar
1 1/2 C. peanut butter
1 tsp vanilla
(and a whole lotta love, to quote my friend Tim)

*combine the above (I use my bare hands) and roll into large-marble-sized balls.  Chill 8 hours.


After the balls have chilled, stick a toothpick into each ball.  Then carefully melt the following in a small saucepan:
6 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 oz. parrafin wax.

Dip the balls in the chocolate/wax mixture and place on waxed paper to cool/solidify.



Then you eat.

I usually AT LEAST double the recipe.  Once, I quadrupled it, but step one was nearly my undoing.