Remembering the Picnic of the year this fine sunny day…

It was time to drive to the Castle; the Diva’s Castle Bash would be tomorrow and we really needed to hit the road.

Betty is my Mother-in-law’s best friend from kindergarten; I finally managed to kidnap her from the Garden State (or the state of perpetual pressure as I like to call it) and dragged her off to the farm.

I had Jack with us too (Teenage Man with Muscles – TMWM) so a stop at a hamburger grease pit would be a necessity.  I mentally suggested a sushi bar to Jack and Betty; looks of horror on their faces instantly came to mind – I decided a verbal proposition was not in order.

After four hours of hoofing it down country roads, we were welcomed in the drive by very bright light left on by the MWM to guide us in.  It must be new, I thought, blinking back the tears.  The NJ red-eye left me dead beat tired. 

I had not seen the MWM for two days; we unpacked.  He looked ravenous and assumed food would be needed.

Scrambling through my blue rubber carry-all, I produced some hard and soft cheese on a plate, kissed the MWM, popped a bottle of wine for Betty and my Mother-in-Law, and headed off for a hot shower.

By ten I emerged properly seared by my steam bath.  The others were enjoying Jack Benny on NPR.

I must say NPR and Benny sounded appealing, but my body kept tempting me towards the bedroom.  I obeyed, hit the pillow, and lights were OUT!

Next day was full of preparation for the fun and festivities planned for the HBF picnic at the Diva’s Castle.  HBF is our Church upstate, and Putter, the Pastor, knows everybody who ever lived or is presently living within 50 miles of Hamilton, NY.  Maybe even people who aren’t living yet.

Putter is on the Board of the Earlville Opera House, heavily involved with Colgate University (and its students), and very plugged in to the community, and the music scene. He is truly a cornerstone of the community. I know am leaving out pages of accolades here, but this is just a blog remember – not a novel!

That being said, there are always new and interesting folks to meet when Putter is around!

Putter and Reyna, better known as “Reyna and the Rev” are playing below in the “grove” – a little spot on the farm Putter dubbed with the name.   

 

I smiled.  Reyna wanted a ground protected outlet — obviously; she had never been to the “castle” yet.  She was in for a surprise.  The electrical system was very distinctive to say the least.

The MWM, his Mother, Betty and Jack took on the outside duties, and I manned the kitchen.  After cleaning, mowing, preparing two batches of chili and a vat of mac and cheese we were able to get dressed.

 Betty came out first, and I almost laughed aloud.  “Ha!  Stepford,” I shouted in reference to her hat, “wait, I’ll join you in that idea!”  My Mother-in-law gave me one of those “what are you up to” looks as I left my kitchen duties.

I was back in a flash with my flowing black linen jacket, black pants and shirt and a nice wide brimmed black hat, and a grin.  My mother-in-law muttered, “It has that turn of the century look,  it looks like a modified swim suit  for the Victorian era, or some sort of retro riding outfit – all you are missing is the crop.”

“Stepford, ladies, Stepford,” I said.  “Remember; don’t take any of those pills the men hand out at Noon!” I warned, arching an eyebrow, and headed off to the grove.

Well, needless to say we had over thirty-five people show up.  We heard a bit of Reyna and the Rev.  Jack was far too interested in the tractor to remember to take any pictures.  But I managed to get a couple; here's one of the hay ride.

 

Then, there it was – thirty-five people sitting in the grove, and just as the charcoal was lit a crack of thunder hit!  And the rain came pouring down. 

Yes, all of my readers know what happens next – the angels have taken out their popcorn bags again.  We are officially on the DE (Divine Entertainment) Network.

Thirty-five folding chairs and their carriers quickly piled into the living room.   A few brave men carried the B-B-Q off to the little barn to cook the food on.

One of the students actually knew who Johnny Mercer was and identified the music playing on my stereo – I was elated!  All is not lost in the world.  And, even better, They left the music on. 

People were happy. There was food.  There was harmony.  There were games.  Everyone was chatting.

The hit of the party though was the MWM’s raffle.  We used a deck of cards that had little bits of scriptural wisdom the MWM would read aloud.  I’m sure the angels loved that. 

Plus, we had prizes that ranged from Gas Cards, to Bibles, to Word Puzzle Books, other oddities, and Bottles of Wine (Yup folks — it was a Church Picnic — but the raffle was handled by us; Putter knew nothing about the prizes – especially the wine!  *smile*).

We managed to squeeze in the great hall, and if the power remained on – the water and toilet would operate.  The angels would have to settle for watching a bunch of folks have a great time despite the weather.  And so they did.

Everyone left about 7PM – Stuffed, content, and happily tired.  I tried to send off as much food as possible, and the rest would be lunch.  It was a chock-full, fun filled event that will surely happen again.

The next morning I was standing in the church.  Despite all of the activity yesterday, I still had no ideas for this blog.  It was fun, but there was just no story-line sparkle. 

I was freezing as usual – one of those little issues I have to deal with.  I whispered to the Maker of All Things, “Will ya just show me that silver lining already?”

Then, I must say, I had the biggest laugh since day one of 2011.  Instantly, I felt a tug on my pant leg and a determined little girl said vociferously, “Hey, why are you so cold anyway?”

I looked down at this gritty little blonde in a slip of a polka-dot dress – probably four or five years old I think.  She was clearly a visitor – I had never seen her before.  I answered, “Well, why aren’t you cold in that little dress?” and zipped up my Colgate sweatshirt.

The answer didn’t intimidate her. 

After a few more verbal encounters from the young lady to include – how come authors from the nineteenth century are dead, and what color red eyeglasses REALLY are.  (Kiddo — yes, my reading glasses ARE red  — And yes, everyone else, I DO have eyes.) 

   

I thought, “Oh look, it’s me come back from my childhood.”

This must be a DE episode from Scrooge!

I smirked, “I thought He broke that mold for sure!”

My mind began to whirl – Scrooge episode or not – that little powerhouse holds the sparkle I’ve been looking for.

 

I noted the ruby slippers and said, “Hey, who are you anyway, Dorothy?”  My Mother-in-Law insisted she was too young to have ever seen or identified with the political undertones of the Wizard of Oz. 

Sensing the child’s superior intellect, I was certain she had seen the movie.  I said, “Hey, did you ever see the Wizard of Oz, and is your name Dorothy?” She said, “No, it’s Ruby – and yes, I have the video at home,” and then buzzed off like a bee on a business trip. 

The Maker of All Things laughed.

You see, Rainbow has always been a religious song for me.  The lyrics of that song are very important – kind of my mantra.  I could understand Dorothy’s plight — just her and Toto, and even he was on his way to the dog house!

The Maker of All Things has used imagery from those lyrics to get me through life’s roughest spots.

 Our Farm upstate was purchased under a beautiful rainbow after the worst CNY flood in decades.  It has communities of bluebirds abounding on it.

 Now, I have this wonderful picture of a little girl with sparkle in a pair of ruby slippers to add to my “collection.” 

Those slippers reminded me of another little girl who wanted to make a journey over the rainbow – to a place she felt she would finally “belong.”  

Now, at nearly forty-eight, she has come to realize that place was not over the rainbow at all; it was beneath the rainbow, near an artsy little town in Central New York, on an old farm – just like Dorothy’s.

The ghost from childhood past – or just a star from a great DE episode for Sunday morning?  I don’t much care – she did her job.

Well, as the saying goes, “There’s no place like home.” 

Don’t lose that sparkle Ruby!

Splashingly yours,

Muck Boot Diva

 

 A few weeks back, I found out my teenage MWM (Man with Muscles) was going to cost over $7,000 in dental fees.  Did I stress that he was a teenage MWM?????

 I was about to leave for my five hour drive to the farm after work Friday night – and, the bagel and Chobani yogurt I ate that day were still sitting in my stomach like bricks.

Note to self:  Remember, you are a Celiac!  NO BAGELS! 

 Later, after being stuck in two hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic trying to get out of NJ – when I thought life couldn’t get any worse – it started.  One would have thought Zeus and Thor were at war! 

Thunder and lightning bolts with hammering rain suffused my big black pick-up truck making it hopeless to see ANYTHING while wandering the dark country roads. 

Lightning flashes were coming from every imaginable angle and many struck the earth providing at least a little light to guide my way.  There, I was thinking positive.  NOT!

After a few more unexpected flashes, crashes, and a stomach that wanted to reject everything and anything it ate that day, we finally pulled into the driveway of our farm.  I told the MWM (Man with Muscles)  to just open the door and clear the way to the bathroom.  He stood at the door with an exasperated look – of course, no lights.

I ran in, fumbled for a flash light, and hid in the bathroom hoping for the rapture.

After I emerged, the MWM dug out our Lehman’s collection of high quality oil lanterns.  Thank GOD we bought them for cases just like this one.  At least we had some light for the rest of the evening. 

I also stored bottled water for drinking and flushing toilets because REMEMBER without electric, you don’t have a pump to push water through yer pipes! 

I had had it – I was tired.  Let the men handle this one.   I live amongst the Amish, but I am not ready to convert.

It was Sunday.  We won’t go into Saturday.  Saturday was nothing but work, sweat, finding ways to gather water, spending money I didn’t have, and fixing broken tractor parts.  I hoped for a far better day today. 

I rose and flipped the switch and looked up at the heavens for a little mercy.  Still, no lights.  Which meant no refrigerator, no toilets and no shower!  Speaking of toilets…

It was 5AM – the same time I always rose.  I saw no need to change that.  And so, with a smile that would cool the coals of the underworld, I went through my “new” Amish ritual.  I grabbed the large salad basin, shampoo, towel, and soap, turned on my English tea pot, and waited for her train whistle to blow.

I sat in the kitchen making a mental list of things I would be adding to my Lehman’s emergency equipment for farm life.  If you haven’t visited them yet – you may become quickly addicted! 

The two biggest things currently on the list are a few of their durable rain barrels for collecting rain water and some more bottles of Aladdin Lamp Oil for the beautiful lamps we've purchased from them over the years.

I also am in the market for a composting toilet and a portable camping shower.  I saw a number of possibilities at Cabela's, another favorite website of mine.  After watching the MWM (Man with Muscles) bathe in our frigid pond, with the beavers, after a hard day’s work, with his Irish Spring AND a smile –I decided NEVER to take that option. 

 

The kettle whistle screamed and scared the hell out of me; I scrambled to shut it off.  The angels snickered. 

With my heart still beating through my chest I set my flashlight up on the table to see my shampoo and conditioner and began the Amish process.  Scrub, rinse, scrub, rinse, towel off and then save the water for future toilet flushing if needed.  Thank God the water mix was on the hotter side of warm – some consolation in view of the circumstances.

We dressed and went off to church.  The MWM was doing the singing and music, and I do love to see his talents utilized.  I was praying for a miracle though – I WANTED my power back.  This was my vacation, The Maker of all Things knew I was supposed to be resting, and I had nothing else coming to me this year except holidays that formed long weekends.

After listening to the sermon, which was about how Christians were destined to suffer like Jesus, my spirit was really not in the right place let me tell you.  The angelic popcorn dust was getting thick. 

I couldn’t fault the pastor for stating the truth, so I just sucked it up and trudged through town later picking up some lamp oil.  I was going to get ice and a cooler for the food – but something stopped me.

I told the MWM, “Let’s not waste more money on this yet – let’s go home first and see if we have power.”  I stuck my tongue out at the angels and got in the back of my mother-in-law’s car.  Despite all the garbage that went down this weekend I decided that I could still scrape up enough hope that the lights would be on when we arrived home.

 

Well, being utterly exhausted, I fell asleep on the ride and awoke to my Mother-in-Law elatedly shouting – “Look, the lights!” 

 I just grinned, wiped the remainder of the popcorn dust from my shoulders, and whispered, “Sorry fella’s – this episode of DE is officially OVER – tune in next week.”

The angels packed in their popcorn again, and The Maker of All Things smiled.

Splashingly Yours!

Muck Boot Diva

 

 

I arrived promptly for my first riding lesson in several decades.

I pulled up the long drive and turned down my radio that had been blasting Sarah Vaughan’s rendition of Day In – Day Out. I didn’t want to spook Rosie before meeting her.

Looking at a potentially electrified fence I decided two days of lightning bolts were quite enough for me. I shouted, “Is this thing off” to the nearby barn. A muffled “Yes” was my reply, so I ducked under the wires and off I went.

When I originally heard there was the possibility of riding a Percheron my medieval radar went up. Percheron’s were used by armored knights during the Middle Ages, and that was of interest. Just the Lit major in me I guess.

My farm in CNY is kind of like living in one of those fortresses in the Middle Ages. It is well bejeweled and has all the romance and panache of a fairy tale – but for all realistic rationale it is more like a chic camping experience in the shell of a former barn.  We have dubbed it “the castle”.

I made my way into the stable and the two horses that stood before me looked nothing like the mares that were sent to me by way of email. In the photo they looked like midget ponies rather than the massive beasts that stood in front of me. I must say I was rather impressed – especially since Rosie was the biggest.

After my brushing lesson, Horse Master Reyna put the saddle on Rosie. This is where the fun begins.

I often wonder, when bored, if the Maker of all Things, and His angels, tune in to my Heavenly network, DE (Divine Entertainment), to see just how this Diva will make it through each day.

Hey, if Oprah can have her own network, so can I.

I am confident the substance I brush off my shoulders now and then is not sporadic dandruff, but most certainly angelic popcorn dust! I looked up at the barn ceiling, and a little of that dust got in my left eye.

I winced. The angels snickered.

Well, it seems my legs are a bit extended. I’ve always been aware of that.

I suspected this may be an issue today. Horse Master Reyna just kept looking and shaking her head – “Wow, you do have long legs don’t you?”

She pulled out the stirrups to lengths I do not think they had ever seen. I heard mention of some additional hole poking in the future as they were being adjusted.

Then there was the saddle. I have my own suspicions about that, so we will leave this tidbit till later.

We headed out to the “ring” cause this Diva had not been on a horse for years, and I did not want my freshly obtained Horse License revoked from the doctor just yet; I vowed to behave.

Riding the ring. Well, this certainly would be a sight for all those who dubbed me with the nickname Xena, Warrior Princess. I just don’t get it. I actually broke down and bought the whole darn series, watched it, and believe me there is utterly no similarity. I couldn’t slay a Cyclops, though I do admit — I swing a mean fly swatter!

The Diva rode around in a circle with Rosie who eventually used a little equine telepathy with me. As Horse Master Reyna instructed me on proper seating, and foot placement we began to realize the stirrups just might become an issue.

Driving Miss Rosie was a whole new experience let me tell you – nothing like a bike or car. If you are dyslexic — you are sunk man. Pull the rein out with your right arm, then your left, apply pressure with your leg to make her turn, kick to make her go and pull back to make her stop.

I had visions of failed water ballet and aerobic classes — I wondered if I ever told Reyna I can’t dance.

Rosie snickered with the angels. I swear they were in on this together.

While trying to maintain proper seating and pressure on the balls of my feet Rosie decided to take me for an unauthorized “ride”. We had a little talk along the way. “HEY!” I said, “THIS is lesson number one – cantering is NOT on the list for today. Reyna ain’t gonna like it – SHE’S the Horse Master you know.”

Rosie whinnied back, “She’s MY Horse Master – I’m YOUR Horse Master.” After a little more cantering I swear she sucked in her gut; my saddle slid sideways.

I seethed. “I’ve never fallen off a horse in forty-seven years – and your not gonna be the first.”

“So,” I asked Horse Master Reyna, “can I pull her over to that fence and hop off – the saddle’s sliding.” She looked at me oddly and asked, “Can you – I mean, just hop off?”

Rosie’s over 17 hands. I took that into consideration.

To hell with the rules.  I get my massage Tuesday.

The one good thing about long legs is that they come in handy some times. I grabbed the fence and swung over into a semi-clumsy dismount – but landed standing. I heard the angels crumpling up their popcorn bags unhappily, but Rosie winked.

“Not bad. I was planning on dropping you off in that pile over yonder.”

I told her I already took that possibility into consideration.

Tipping my MonaVie hat, I said, “Till next time,” and decided to come back to the barn and sweat brush her off since she did lug this novice around the ring and surely endured some horse embarrassment for it.

Plus, I thought it might help patch up that respect thing. The apple treat I passed off to her later didn’t hurt our relations either.

Later!

Splashingly yours,

Muck Boot Diva