How I met your father, part 9

Part 1 -- The Hayride
Part 2 -- The Interview with Seth
Part 3 -- The Interim
Part 4 -- The Rook Party
Part 5 -- The Meeting
Part 6 -- The Sign
Part 7 -- The Phone Call
Part 8 -- The Dinner Party

Dear Offspring,

I want to point out as we move along in our tale that this is primarily a "how I met your father" series, not a "how to meet your spouse" series. There are a practically unlimited number of ways that one can meet one's spousal unit, and I'm thankful for the freedom we have in this area. If, for example, we were to meet a friendly alpaca farmer who had a lovely Christian daughter, and one of you was interested in her, I would be happy to accept an alpaca (or two) as part of her becoming a member of our family. Just sayin'.

Or, for example, you might decide to join Future Alpaca Farmers of America, meet a nice girl, become reigning king and queen of FAFA, and each bring home an alpaca as the prize, which you would then ask your father and I to keep for you until you marry and begin your own alpaca farm.

I realize that alpacas seem to figure prominently on my List of Attributes I'm Looking for in a Potential Spouse for My Boys, however they did not figure prominently on the list I was using to figure out if I should marry your dad. In fact, I don't think we even talked about alpacas until after we married. Maybe we should have had that conversation earlier . . . .

At any rate, as your dad picked me up for our dinner together at Tumbleweed, I was mentally preparing myself for how I would let him down gently. We sat down, ordered, and began talking. Somehow, in the course of conversation, your father mentioned that he liked to watch the History channel.

And that was it.

That was what changed my mind about your dad. He was interested in more than just guns. He was handsome, intelligent, and interested in history. And, although I wasn't overly enamored with studying history and although "watches the History channel" was not on my list, I appreciated that his interests were varied and intellectual. And I decided to let go of the list and give him a chance.

(As an aside, your dad has started listening to podcasts in the car on his hour-long commute to and from work and found a few history ones that he enjoys. He and I listened to one together the other night about World War I.)

After dinner, we went back to my condo and spent the rest of the evening talking. (As another aside, I'm fairly sure your father used up all his words at this stage of our relationship. I don't think we've had such extended conversations since.)

We talked about places we had visited. And he showed me photos of his nieces and nephews that he kept in his wallet, which I found very endearing. (As yet another aside, I asked your dad why he didn't keep photos of his family (us) in his wallet anymore, and he said, "My wallet already has too much stuff in it. And, now I have a phone to keep pictures on.")

The next day (March 8), I had this email exchange with my dad.

Stacia: Hey Dad, I went out with Seth last night and found out he changes the oil on his cars, and knows about things like spark plugs, etc. Just thought you might like to know that, too. :o)

GrandBob: Now that is a comfort to my heart!  How did this topic of conversation come up?  Did you tell him about your vast  knowledge of cars?  Was that the only topic of conversation?

Stacia: We were coming back from dinner and he said he had driven around the condo compound, and I said I didn't like to drive around it b/c I was afraid I'd get a nail in my tire, etc.  [My condo association was building new condos at the time and there were many construction sites around.] And he said --- "That happened to me (he has a Ford truck!!) --- I pulled my truck into my garage to change the oil and the spark plugs, etc, and I heard a hissing, and saw the tire going flat..." Etc. I decided at this junction that I should hide my vast knowledge of cars b/c I didn't want him to be intimidated. :o) No, that wasn't the only topic of conversation ... We talked about history, and traveling and our families, and ...  He's a very nice guy, BUT he didn't know what the five point of Calvinism were (although after I explained them to him, he basically agreed with all, except for that 'limited atonement' bit) ... Hmm.... :o)

So, I had decided to give your father a chance. But first, I had to go to the UK (as in the United Kingdom) for a few days. A group of my friends had been planning a trip there since January, and the time had come to leave. Would I still feel the same way when I returned?

To be continued . . . . 

Alpaca Hope

As you probably know, I've had a dream (or something like that) to own alpacas for quite some time. Like years.  And, as you also probably know, Seth has thwarted those dreams for quite some time. Like years. Something about "too expensive" and "you're crazy in the head" and "coyotes will get them." Whatevs. I figure that since we have 21+ acres of land, we should probably do something profitable with it and alpacas seem like a good fit.

The past few days, Seth has been on a business trip in the north. While he was visiting the factories he was supposed to visit, he met one of their maintenance men and, somehow in the process of conversation, found out the guy also happened to be an alpaca farmer on the side. Since the farm was just a mile from the factory, he invited Seth for a visit Monday afternoon. They have about 20 alpacas and, after years of building their herd, they now have a store where they sell alpaca wool and such. Apparently, it's a profitable endeavor for them ("but not profitable enough to retire on" Seth was quick to assure me). 

This morning, Seth brought out the pamphlet and business card from the farm he visited. 

When I saw them, I said, "I knew it! I knew, deep down, you were really interested in alpacas!"

He raised his eyebrow.

"Did the guy have any advice about raising alpacas?" I asked him.

"Maybe you should just ask him yourself," he replied.

I took that as a sign that he was encouraging me to pursue raising alpacas. There is hope, yet, that the Holler Alpacas dream will come to fruition . . . .

Let's try this again

Kitchen Window, Day 1 

So, if you have a blog, you know that blogging is a discipline. Sadly, posts don't write themselves. And I don't yet have the software that allows my thoughts about a post to translate into an actual post. And so, because I've been busy with an almost-three-year-old and a five-month-old, in addition to finishing up the big project for my part-time job, my blogging has suffered a bit these past few months (just in case you haven't noticed--or care).

Saturday, as I looked out my kitchen window, I was inspired to try the "out my kitchen window" experiment again to encourage me to get back in the blogging habit. And so I snapped a picture and off we went to a local pumpkin farm to check it out.

They had a variety of animals in a small petting zoo to check out--cows, donkeys, llamas (or alpacas -- when I looked at Seth after I saw the alpacas, he said, "Don't even think about it"), miniature horses, goats, deer . . . .

I was pleasantly surprised when Kieran happily got on the horse for a ride and then held on most of the way around. (I've been thinking for awhile that hippotherapy might be good for him, so since he did so well on this (granted, the horse walked about 20 feet around an enclosed ring), I may persue this avenue in the near future.)

And Cael chewed on his lips, his hands, and and anything else he could get into his mouth while he took in the sights. He has two teeth coming in on the bottom, and the drool to prove it.

 So, here's to another year of experiencing life out my kitchen window . . . .

Out my kitchen window, day 234

After recovering from sticker-shock and realizing that raising alpacas was a dream that wouldn't soon come to fruition, I decided to move on to something more Hollerish. Apiculturing (from the Latin, apis, bees) seems a much more attainable goal.

So, today, I began formulating my plan of attack on Seth The Naysayer To All My Dreams. The Naysayer likes honey and enjoys buying locally made honey from the people we get the buffalo meat from, so you'd think it would be an easy sell. But that's where you would be wrong. There's something about visions of mowing the grass and getting attacked by swarms of angry bees that deters The Naysayer from jumping into apiculturing with both feet (or from agreeing to even think about keeping bees).

This is where you come in. Since Seth is such a slave to what others think, I've posted a poll on the side of the blog for you express your opinion on my potential Apis Adventures. If you vote the correct way (hint, hint), I'll be able to tell him, "9 out of 10 people believe we should raise bees." And he'll cave immediately. (I'll have a backup plan, as well, just on the off chance that doesn't work.)

You'd think he'd have learned his lesson. After all, he was the one who wasn't keen on the whole chicken thing, but in the six months Hen and Chick have been with us, I've made two whole dollars (did I tell you Seth sold a dozen of my Holler-fresh, free-range, organic eggs to a coworker for $2?), and I'm over one-quarter of the way to recouping the original cost. I'd say that was a good investment (well, better than the stock market, at least). Surely apiculturing will be just as good for the Holler as the chickens have been.

Out my kitchen window, day 149

This was the view as Dan L and his family left after watching the Vikings win. It was also the view after we returned from visiting a nearby alpaca farm (this weekend is National Alpaca Farm Day -- or something like that).

Owning an alpaca (or two) is on my non-existent list of things to do in life. However, I put it on my list before I realized that alpacas cost money--lots of money.

So I'm afraid I may need to settle for a yearly visit to the local alpaca farm, which is just fine in Seth's book.

25 Random Things About Me

There's a list going around Facebook in which you list 25 random things about yourself and then post it for your friends to see. Here's my list for those of you not on Facebook:

1. I was born four weeks late. I'm still perpetually late for things.
2. I've visited the White House.
3. I don't like mornings.
4. I used to brush my teeth with my sister's tooth brush just to annoy her (she was paranoid about people touching her stuff). I also tried to give her pinkeye by rubbing my face in her towel. I was a great big sister.
5. I'd like to raise chickens and alpacas someday. I'd also like to own a Christmas tree farm.
6. I've snorkeled in the Great Barrier Reef.
7. I've never broken any bones in my body.
8. I majored in biology and psychology in college, but ended up writing and editing for my profession.
9. I've been to the top of the Eiffel Tower and have seen the Firth of Forth.
10. I don't like movies that are based on reality or movies with bad guys that are unstoppable (e.g., Terminator, Dark Knight).
11. I hope I don't die by drowning or suffocation.
12. My name is a reversal of a four-generation family name, Anastasia, and means "resurrection."
13. I love the sound of rain on our roof.
14. I don't really like to cook and am glad I married a man who does.
15. I once stayed in a nunnery in Germany.
16. World War II is my least favorite period of history.
17. I don't drink coffee, but I love the smell of it.
18. I dislike my nose.
19. I once taught a rat to play ball.
20. I must shower every day--even when I'm camping.
21. I'm not athletic, and I especially hate running. I tried out for the volleyball team in school but didn't make it. So, I kept stats for the school's girls basketball and softball teams.
22. I love any type of fruit in any incarnation.
23. I don't like emptying the dishwasher or putting away laundry (although I don't mind folding it).
24. I've donated over two gallons of my blood (not all at one time).
25. I like to think that sarcasm is a spiritual gift.

"There are those who make lists, and those who don't"

Seth has been reading The Complete Husband. The author recommends that the complete husband keep a journal on his wife--her interests, likes, dislikes--so that the husband can better understand and converse intelligently with his wife. Last night, the question was on goals (not that Seth has been keeping a journal -- "that starts in the next chapter" he continues to claim).

"I'm supposed to ask you what goals you have."

"Goals ... as in longterm goals? Um ... well ... hmm ... I don't think I really have any goals. ... What does it say about wives who don't have any goals?"

"It says they are kind of pathetic."

In general, I find actually writing down one's goals to be a fruitless task, unlike Stephanie who enjoys making lists until the cows come home. She once gave me a Winnie-the-Pooh notepad emblazoned with the phrase, "There are those who make lists, and those who don't."

I prefer, instead, to keep whatever goals I have in my head, as this spares me from developing a stomach ulcer whilst continually staring at a long list of actions that haven't been--and probably never will be--accomplished. The goals I enjoy writing down are the ones I need to pick up at the grocery store, since I know I'll be able cross off said goals once I've deposited them in the shopping cart. And the items that remain uncrossed at the end of the shopping trip? I didn't really need them anyway.

So, unless raising alpacas, farming Christmas trees, and growing ginseng count as goals (which, for whatever reason, don't seem to in Seth's mind), I'm afraid the goal section of his non-existent wife-journal will need to remain goal free.

Black raspberries

While Seth watched the world's strongest man competition, I went out to check on my black raspberry bushes.

A few days ago, I thought their fate might be the same as that of my strawberries--eaten by mice (or perhaps birds). The raspberries on the lower branches seemed to have been nibbled (mice? birds? raccoons? the neighbor?). However, I put soap shavings around the base of the bushes, and the nibbling seems to have ground to a halt. (Despite Seth's skeptical "mice eat soap" comment.)

Harvesting the meager yield (today's harvest is pictured below) and pricking my fingers on the thorns prompts me to ratiocinate about an area that I've never thought to ratiocinate about before -- commercial black raspberry farms. How does one decide one wants to become a commercial black raspberry grower? Do the berry pickers wear gloves? Do all of their berries ripen at the same time? Do they have problems with mice/birds/neighbors eating their berries? How many berry bushes do they need to pick from in order to have a pint of berries? How do they get their berries to grow so large? Do they pick black raspberries all day long, all week long? Do they eat the berries they're supposed to be picking? How many bushes do they have on their farm? What do they do when it's not berry season--make black raspberry currant? Do they get tired of black raspberries? Do they ever wish they grew red raspberries instead of black? Or maybe just blueberries, since blueberries have no thorns. Or maybe they're tired of the berry business altogether, and they're thinking of growing oranges. Or maybe they're tired of the fruit business in general, and they're planning on converting their black raspberry patch into an alpaca farm.

Ahh, black raspberry farmers. Who knew they led such fascinating lives?