7 weird things about me

Jo has gone and tagged me to take part in the meme!
7 weird things about me.

Here Are The Rules
1. Once you are tagged, link back to the person that tagged you.
2. Post THE RULES on your blog.
3. Post 7 weird or random facts about yourself on your blog.
4. Tag 7 people and link to them.
5. Comment on their blog to let them know they have been tagged.

Here are the 7 weird things about me:
1- Don't like to wear socks to bed.
2- I like potato salad sandwiches.
3- I like cold fried chicken.
4- No matter where I'm going, I'm always in a hurry to get there.
5- I don't care if the sheets are wrinkled and the bed is unmade.
6- I like to mow the grass.
7- I like hot Dr Pepper.

My list of bloggers that I've tagged. Let me know if you take part in the 'meme' so I can check out your list.
Gina's FNPResidency
Mysti
Rambling Rose
Yasmine
Sweetgrass Farm
Cindy's Snaps
Cupcakes

How we got here

I recieved a comment from a blogger friend, ‘Hope’, who wanting to know just how we happened to be here in the Little House on the Mountain. Well it was a challenge to say the least. As I said in a previous post that I retired in October of 2003. By this time we had already had everything sorted out and ready to hit the road. We had been living in a camper trailer, a 29’, 2 bedroom job for 3 years before I retired. It wasn’t bad at all with only the two of us and there was plenty of room.
We moved the camper up here to Southern Ohio and parked it in a camper park and lived there while we looked for something anchored to the ground. We went to a realtor and found several places for sale and we looked at them and just couldn’t believe what they were asking for what was in bad need of repair…! The realtor dug way down to the bottom of the pile of paperwork and came up with one she had listed. She gave us the address and we rode out to look at it. We drove and drove and finally came to a cleared out place along side of the road with just enough room to park the car. There was a stone lined walkway that winded down through the shoulder high weeds, briers and tall grass to a house that we couldn’t see! Jo wouldn’t go through that jungle, she said “You go ahead; I’ll wait in the car…….” After I went for a look around, I told her that she had to come and look at it, and finally agreed to look and was impressed. Jo and I went back to look at it again, then the realtor came out with the key and we were both taken by the condition of the inside, it was as neat as a pin, very well kept!
I really liked what I saw and so did Jo; there was a small clearing around the house which was the yard, the house was 130’ back from the parking area. I could see the potential. From that time forward, I would compare this house, property, and price to every place we looked at and kept coming up with this one. But, we kept looking, I bet we’ve been up and down almost every back road in southern Ohio, and after about 4 months and 5000 miles, we decided on The Little House On The Mountain..!! We’ve doubled the square footage and are planning a large deck off to the side with a fire pit in the yard. There’s still a lot of work to be done and I think we can handle it ok……
There have been additions to the area that are eye sores, but when the leaves are out during the summer, we can’t see anyone else….

LOVE Mother Nature…!!

Bear

Well folks

There you have it....!

The answer to the,

'AGE OLD QUESTION'!!

Addition

Good morning everyone.... *S*

Well we got up this morning to about 7 degrees out, sure was hard rolling out from under those warm covers. Just think, (its 37 degrees in Fairbanks Alaska..!!!) We got a little more snow early this morning and it covered my shoveled out walkway to the wood shed, guess I will have to do it again. I push the wheel barrow around to the wood shed, fill it with firewood and push it back to the front porch which is at ground level where the back porch is 3-1/2 feet off the ground. Then I prop the front door open and push it into the living room and stack the wood in its place near the heater. That beats haling it in arm load by arm load. With hard surface floors rather than carpet, cleanup is a snap.
When I added the living room and bedroom, I insulated the floors with 1” Styrofoam placed tight at the bottom of the floor joists leaving a 6” dead air space thinking this would do the trick. Also the addition, as is the existing structure, is skirted to the ground to keep the wind out to protect the water lines and such. Well,…. I plan to get under there this summer and add 6” fiberglass insulation……. !

This picture was taken just as I was getting started on the addition. I had just finished getting the support’s laid out and leveled getting ready for the floor beams and joists.
The average pitch on our property is 36” drop every 20’, not too bad!
Appx 1-3/4” on 12”

This picture was taken from about the same angle as the first while under construction. This should have been an evening, rather than a morning shot so everything would have been clearer.
The 2 windows on the back, the one up high and the one down low, open during the warm weather for draft that creates natural air conditioning.

Picture Change

Hello everyone:
Some of you might have noticed that I’ve changed my picture, well it’s because a friend of mine said it looked like it was supposed to have a number under it…! Well, that’s one of the main reasons people need friends, they will tell when you look like, ^%$^%$*…!
It’s been a while since my last post, that because I’ve been in a tussle with that old stomach bug, I think I might win this time.
We’ve had a pretty steady snow fall since the wee hours of the morning and it doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon. We’re supposed to get our satellite hookup on our PC tomorrow, I hope they have 4-wheel drive or the snow plow works on the road in the morning! It’s supposed to really speed up our service, I can hardly wait!!
I hope you ALL have a great day …………..JD

Old Man And His Dog

My son sent this to me and I thought you might get

a tear or two out of it TOO..!
***********************

The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and Dad placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of t he sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?" "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him,"Isaid. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly. Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples."You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed.

I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind. The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for sending that angel, "he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.

Note = Pride is a very strong emotion and can wreak havoc in a person’s life if not controled..!
(Note – I added the picture’s.)

The Streets of San Francisco

~THE STREETS OF SAN FRANCISCO~

After being elected as one of four delegates by my Union brothers and sisters to represent our Local Union, Local Lodge 470 district 161 out of Lake Charles, La, at The International Association Of Machinists and Aerospace Workers International Convention in San Francisco Ca. in September ‘2000’.

R to L
Terry Taylor, B.R., Greg Conrad, Pres., J.D. Dupree R.S. and Floyd Wesson Del.
Our District and Local delegates.

Sightseeing was at a minimum because we only had a week to take care of business but was able to squeeze in a few shots that I would like to share with you. There is one thing for sure, if you want to see it, just stand on any corner for a short while and you won’t be disappointed! This one is a life size billboard on a sidewalk!

I know you all have seen detective movies where the cops

are chasing the bad guys up and down the, ‘Streets of San Francisco’

and wonder if the streets are really that bad, well you can believe it!

Here is a good shot of the Bay from a high spot on one of the streets.

Our greatest disappointment was the Golden Gate Bridge; it was almost totally

hidden from view because of the fog! The fog was like this the entire week!

While we were out on the Crouse, we did get a good shot of,
‘The Rock’, that famous Prison, ‘Alcatraz’

Jo and I even rode on the famous Rice a Roni Trolley car,
They have it on the turntable which is still operated by hand.

It only takes 2 people to turn it around. The ride we took on
it might not be such a big deal but we will always remember that ride.

San Francisco’s finest came out to insure our safety,
And to assist in any way they could, Thanks guys

Ed Asner was a guest speaker at the convention and Brother Tom Buffenbarger, our international President, presented him with a certificate stating that he is an honorary member of the I.A.M.-A.W

Toward the end of our convention, all the delegates and their spouses were invited to an elaborate banquet with just about anything you could want to eat or drink. The only rule was, if you were bashful, you did without

These two couples were representing their Local Unions,
one from North Dakota, the other from South Dakota.

This statue was a hum-dinger, we walked right by it and a
little boy and his mom was right behind us …..

And when the statue leaned over to shake the little boy’s hand,
his mom had to hold on to him, because he was vacating the area!
His mom and the statue convinced him to shake his hand.

We even watched this guy stack rocks! Now they are just rocks,
no glue or anything holding them there but gravity and balance!

Pier 39 after dark at Fisherman’s Warf

A view of a typical corner from the ‘Rice a Roni Trolley.’

I have 2 more CD’s of pictures and wish I had time to go through them all and show them all to you, but that wouldn’t be practical. I hope you enjoyed these…
JD

Dirt Roads

A friend sent this to me and I thought some of you might relate to it as well.

Dirt Roads

What's mainly wrong with society today is that too many Dirt Roads have been paved. There's not a problem in America today, crime, drugs, education, divorce, delinquency that wouldn't be remedied, if we just had more Dirt Roads, because Dirt Roads give character. People that live at the end of Dirt Roads learn early on that life is a bumpy ride.
That it can jar you right down to your teeth sometimes, but it's worth it, if at the end is home...a loving spouse, happy kids and a dog. We wouldn't have near the trouble with our educational system if our kids got their exercise walking a Dirt Road with other kids, from whom they learn how to get along.

Criminals didn't walk two dusty miles to rob or rape, if they knew they'd be welcomed by 5 barking dogs and a double barrel shotgun. And there were no drive by shootings. Our values were better when our roads were worse! People did not worship their cars more than their kids, and motorists were more courteous, they didn't tailgate by riding the bumper or the guy in front would choke you with dust & bust your windshield with rocks. Dirt Roads taught patience.

Dirt Roads were environmentally friendly, you didn't hop in your car for a quart of milk you walked to the barn for your milk. For your mail, you walked to the mail box. What if it rained and the Dirt Road got washed out? That was the best part, then you stayed home and had some family time, roasted marshmallows and popped popcorn and pony rode on Daddy's shoulders and learned how to make prettier quilts than anybody. At the end of Dirt Roads, you soon learned that bad words tasted like soap.

Most paved roads lead to trouble, Dirt Roads more likely lead to a fishing creek or a swimming hole. At the end of a Dirt Road, the only time we even locked our car was in August, because if we didn't some neighbor would fill it with too much zucchini. At the end of a Dirt Road, there was always extra springtime income, from when city dudes would get stuck, you'd have to hitch up a team and pull them out.
Usually you got a dollar...always you got a new friend...at the end of a Dirt Road!

A lot can be said for a, 'Dirt Road'

Auther= Paul Harvy

Logger's Trash

Another pet Peeves

Today I made my way down the mountain to get some gas for my truck and to air up the tires on my utility trailer which had lost pressure during the cold spell the last week or so. As I was on my way down, I looked at the area where the logging Co. had left all their trimmings, an ugly site to behold!

Well I noticed that someone had cut some of the trimmings up into smaller chunks. They had been there for over a month so I thought, if someone had planned to take them, they must have changed their mind. They were not stacked but laying at random and scattered all over the place, they were cut just the right size for me to load into my empty trailer, so I did…! That one area looks a little better now..

I got a generous pile of fire wood; better me using it than letting it rot! If I get real rambunctious this summer, I just might clear the whole mess up in that area, it makes good fire wood..! Can’t wait until all the leaves come out, that will help hide the trash the logging companies left laying around..

And while I sat there looking at all the clear cut area, I said to myself, I said, self I sure do hope this road don’t slide off down the hill! It seems to me that the people who clear cut these hills would think just a little bit past their noses! Like, what will happen to the soil if we get a lot of rain, will it just slide off? I wonder what their answer would be, oh well, we don’t live around here anyway…? I think that all lumber companies should have to plant 2 seedlings for every tree they cut, and be restricted from clear cutting! But you know as well as I that money talks..!

And never forget:
You cannot ‘Unsay’ a cruel or unkind word.

Note –
These pictures were taken on 2/2/08, I forgot to reset the date when I replaced the batteries.