Shakespeare The Border Collie (yes, a dog!)

I would like to introduce you to the newest member of the Maust gang....

                          ...Presenting (drum roll please)....Shakespeare!

                          Awwwww, isn't he cute? 

It all started with Bubbles, a Border Collie mix that belonged to my niece and nephews, years ago. I always liked that dog and thought to myself that someday, I'd too have a Border Collie. 

Fast forward through the years, and Rex (bassett hound/collie), Mollie (beagle), Ty (boxer), and Rico (beagle/westie) and you can see that the Border Collie hasn't happened yet. Yet (famous last words). 

Until that ad showed up at Springs Store.

Until my three youngest wrote a two-page contract outlining who was caring for the possible puppy, where he would stay, what all was involved in caring for a puppy and that they understood the responsibility. And that if conditions of the contract were not met, the parents could dole out whatever consequence they deemed fit. (muwahahahaha) 

Until yesterday, after driving an hour and a half to a farm and being met by boisterous, friendly, and cute puppies (12 weeks old) that just wagged all over and pretty much said, "Pick Me!!!"

Until I caved. 

And said, "Yes."

Because even though I know a pet comes with added responsibility, it also comes with bunches of fun all wrapped up in dog kisses and awkward dog smiles, leaps of joy as he romps with my kids, and the feeling you get (you know, all warm and fuzzy) when his paw reaches up and touches your arm, just as he cocks his head to one side with one ear up, and looks at you with those puppy eyes. 

Oh my. What have I gotten myself into? 

The kids promised to train him. I want them to train Shakespeare how to herd the cats right out of my gardens, but yet not be tempted to roll, dig or frolic through them himself. I am not asking for much. 

I do want to see him herd the cats. And chickens. 

"That'll do, Shakespeare, that'll do." 

I thought we should call him Darwin; I mean we do have a cat named Martha, so why not? It could be fun to write about Darwin chasing Martha around the yard. Do I need to mention that Darwin and Martha are my parent's names?

But I like Shakespeare.

Martha, on the other hand, does not. She is wondering what on earth possessed us to bring this intruder into her yard. She hopes he is not staying, but even in just the less than 12 hours since he arrived here (he traveled very well in the car, by the way), he's already become attached to us.

Or should I say it's the other way around?

Love,
Dianne

You Never Know What Lies Beneath the Floor

As I have been cleaning, priming and painting Aaron's old room, I am again looking at the old linoleum   on the floor. When we first moved into this house, this was definitely one of the things I thought I'd be getting rid of. 

But then, the crazy stuff began to grow on me. I rather liked the vintage look, and it just fit my old farmhouse with it's crooked and roughly finished walls. Besides, it was relatively easy to keep clean and I hate vacuuming. Now, 16 years later, that linoleum is still in it's place on four of the bedroom floors. 

So, as I was priming the  baseboard I was up close and personal with the floor. I noticed that I was getting bits of yellowed paper, crumbly and old, in my paintbrush. The edge of the linoleum, curling up in places, was allowing what was underneath to be discovered. 

Beneath my flooring, I found layers and layers of The Meyersdale Republic and the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, 1948-1949. I really wanted to roll up the linoleum and read.

Then, after I did read for a little while, I started to wonder what all I had missed out on, being a child of the 70ies. The late 1940ies looked like "the good old days." Of course, my children could say that about the 70ies,

But just take a peek; it just feels so American, apple pie, baseball and all that. 

At the State Theatre, Meyersdale PA ("The Industry's Finest Productions Beautifully Produced"):

The Double Feature for Aug 26-27-28 (cost for matinee $0.14-$0.30. Yes, that is in cents)

"SWEET GENEVIEVE" and "BEST MAN WINS" 

Also showing was Walt Disney's immortal "BAMBI" , "The Argyle Secrets", "Raw Deal", and "Buck Privates". 

Hmmm, that's an interesting help wanted. I wonder why "no cooking"? 

 Looks like Meyersdale was quite the town back in the day.  But then I found a section called "Springs Babblings". That, my friends, was the place to be. Everybody knew everybody and Sunday afternoons were made for visiting. 

As I read through some of the pages I confiscated from under the flooring, I started thinking about the events in my own life that I want to have remembered by someone. Will what I have done become floor padding? Or will it be cherished by future generations?

I guess that is one reason I blog; to leave my memories someplace besides in my head. I want my children, grandchildren, great-great-great-great grandchildren to know what it was like in the 1970's, 1980's, 90's, the turn of the century. "Wow, she was alive in the year of Y2K and then she survived Dec 21, 2012!" Or "How did she ever use one of those archaic Apple computers?" But even better, I want them to know why I was happy, what I believed, what I struggled with, who I loved, how I loved, how I lived and why I lived.

That's why I blog. (Scrapbook too, but this takes less time!)
And now, as I get ready to post Blog # 300, I am thinking of what do do for a way to celebrate. 
Hmmm, I've done Knock You Naked Brownies, and I've done Mocha Brownies, so now what? 

Apple Pie, that's what. 

So, here's what you do to get put into the drawing (I'll be giving away 3). Join the site with Google Friend Connect (it's on the blog sidebar thingie), give me a comment, a "like" or a share on Facebook. Easy as Apple Pie!

Love, 
Dianne

SomeTIMEs it is Just Right

We missed the bus this morning.
The kitchen clock said 7:43.
The car clock said 7:49.
Adrienne said it's 7:46.
One is slow, one is fast, the other is just right.
Regardless, the girls weren't here this morning (dog-sitting), and it was up to me to get the little man out the door on time. Apparently I don't know the quirks of the clock like they do.
Okay, so really, I missed the bus.

The clock; sometimes it is my enemy. So is the calendar.
Time passes too quickly or not quick enough, and rarely, at just the right pace.
Or maybe it's just me.
I hurry. Or I drag my feet, but seldom do I just go at a normal pace that is just right.

I scurry to work; I drag myself home.
I hurry to get a meal on the table; I hurry as I eat it, but then sit, unable to get motivation to do anything.
I procrastinate to get bookwork done, or take an on-line test, but run to the bookstore for a new book.
Yikes, it is me!

Time is what it is. Hours turn into days and they pass the same every single blessed day. I am reminded that I don't want to be a slave to time and deadline, on-call and schedules. But I can be a servant.
I work, and this includes the dreaded on-call and extra time, but I can go with a heart beating to serve others, hopefully with a smile. Sometimes this feels impossible, but it is then that I tell myself that I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. I balance the checkbook because I want to be a good steward of what God has given my family. I hurry to get supper on because my youngsters are always "starving". Time can be my enemy, but time can also be my friend, if I let it.

Time for a cup of coffee in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Yes, I like coffee.
Time for a girl's night of watching The Hobbit.
Time to let myself be chased around the kitchen. (Yes, the chasing would be by Leo.)
Time to let myself be caught.
Time to watch the robin play freeze tag with the snowflakes.
Time to have time on my hands.
Time to reset the kitchen clock so I don't make my kids miss the bus.
And that I would say is just right.

Love,
Dianne

PS:
Time for my 300th Blog tomorrow. Time for another drawing. Hmmm, what shall the prize be this time? Any suggestions? 

The Eagle Has Taken Wing

Perched on the edge of the nest, the mother eagle watches as her young eaglet flaps his wings, and with one last look at his home, takes off and begins to soar. Her nest still has four remaining, but the first one has left the safety of the nest, the protection of his parents, and has set out for new adventure.

Mama Eagle is proud. She has raised him for this moment. She has prayed for him, and will continue to do so. As he dives and then soars through the sky, so does her heart.

Aaron, my second-born has flown the coop, so to speak. He has been planning the leave-taking for a few months, which was nice for me; it gave me time to prepare. When it came down to it, I was ready. It was time.

As he gathered belongings, well, at least a few of his belongings, I began to wonder when the rest of it would go. Now that he had vacated his room, I was making plans. But his stuff, lots of stuff, remained. Childhood treasures and high school mementos, electronic pieces, and lego parts along with a large, but flattened stuffed tiger, and a shelf full of Lord of The Rings figures remained.

Oh, and baseball cards, four loads of laundry, glass bottles (one filled with marbles), a piggy bank, Hardy Boys books, an Ertl Farm and Country set, John Deere tractors, his Pap-Grandma baby blanket, many hunting, auto, and Popular Science magazines, baseball cleats, a cut-out of the Space Shuttle, and two hot rod car posters.





And dust, lots of dust. No wonder he sneezed all the time. He must've dusted his room completely once or twice in 16 years.

Dust bunnies? No. Dust Jackrabbits? No. What he had were Dust Kangaroos. An entire troop of them.
See Evidence exhibit A:

I know. Yuck. Let's just invite the allergies to move in.
But what is a mom to do; it was his room, his domain, his man cave in the making.

I'll tell you what a mom is to do; I am hoping to get it primed tonight. The question is this: Do I clean off all the fingerprints Aaron has left behind or do I leave just a few?

You know, just because.

Just because, the shelf is empty, the closet is mostly empty and I miss him. I miss the way he would run up the stairs to his room, the way he would sit around without a shirt on no matter the weather, the piano playing random songs at random times.

But then, I realize, he's not gone. He's just making his way in the world. Like the Hobbit, he is on an unexpected journey. Well, maybe not exactly unexpected, but a journey, and he is always welcome back at the old homestead.

Aaron has grown into a man of God that I am proud to call my son. So, as difficult is it was, in some ways, to pack up his childhood, I can say with all my heart, "Ascend and take flight!" 


Love,
Dianne

PS.

It's funny, really. I have one eagle who has spread his wings and soared, but it looks like his younger brother is following in his footsteps.

Laborious, Harmonious, Melodious, Glorious

The year was 1986. I was in 10th grade. In picking my elective classes, I reluctantly took two semesters of "Computer", although I really couldn't see the point. After all, this whole computer thing....a fad. 

Uh-huh. This is from a woman who felt like her left arm was cut off for the past week as her Mac was admitted for a check-up. 

Back to 1986 and the classroom, completely set up with giant monitors with small screens, printers with paper with the little holes on either side, and a tangle of cords and cables running from each. A fad I tell you, a fad. Who would seriously want to deal with all of this tangled confusion? And that isn't even mentioning the part that was even more confusing: turning the beast on and getting it to do something. 

Back then, I believe the operation system was DOS ("Disk Operating System" in case you always wondered because that makes it all so much easier to understand). From what I remember, which isn't much because I didn't really pay close attention (it was a fad, remember?), you had to type in a command to get a result. To me, it seemed rather like a Dumb Operating System because it took longer to type in the command to tell it to put my name on the paper than it would have taken to just write my name on the paper. 

The project Jencene and I chose to undertake that semester was to play a song using the keypad as our notes. You know, A was Do, S became Re, and D became Me and so on and so forth.  Look out Sound of Music. I believe the song we were going to attempt was Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee. 

After much laborious work, hours even, we were able to produce the first few stanzas of the song, in 

2-part harmony no less. This took two computers and we had to synchronize our pushing of the first key so the melodious, tinny sound would be produced in harmonious glory. Laborious, harmonious, melodious, glorious. Was that tears I saw the teacher wiping from his eyes?

So much work. So much effort. And to think, down in the music room was a piano of the old-fashioned variety that could've have produced 4-part harmony in seconds and not only played the first few stanzas, but the entire song. Amazing.

My other memory of this class? The printer, the very loud printer that when sent a command to "print" would begin making a whirring, scratching whine as it laid down the words onto paper. Not just any paper mind you, but paper made to fit the printer exactly, lined up with the holes that fit into the printer just so. Heaven forbid you should have it off-line. Once, I sent a command to print, by accident, and it began to print in it's loud, obnoxious way, announcing to that entire wing of the high school that someone was printing. Remember that it was "by accident" that I was printing? Well, not only did it print one copy, but multiple, multiple copies, and I couldn't make it stop.

I didn't know the command.

Pull the plug? Too scary. There were lots of cords and cables; if I pulled the wrong one...disaster.

Not that it would have mattered; it was only a fad after all.

Right?

Love,
Dianne

PS: My Mac is back and she is okay!! 

Snowman Weather (Can you see me smile?)

On a day when I have 8,643,249 things to do and just as many thoughts twirling in my brain, 

I took a break, went for a jaunt up the driveway, and paused on my return trip to build a snowman. 

The sun was shining and the jacket was left behind. No hat, no gloves, no scarf. Aaaahhh. Dare I even say it? Maybe I'll whisper it, "Spring!" 

Here is Rosemary: 

She's lovely, is she not? 

I mean, who wouldn't want hair like that? 

Well, okay, if not the hair, at least the smile.

I want that smile!

 I started out building by myself. Just me and my now freezing cold hands. 

Let's just say that even though it was warmer today, snow on the hands is still cold. 

Ryan saw that mom was (gasp!) playing in the snow and he had to come join me. 

Here he is, my little mighty man!

Grrrrrr!

Here is Ryan and Jim Bob

Awwww, my baby. 

Along came Heather after awhile to add to our family of snow people. 

Here is Regina, the Hawaiian Hula Snow Chick.

You should see her move.  

Amy was at work. 

She missed all the fun. 

But...the other day, she joined Heather and I when we were outside after the snowstorm had passed.

She's pretty cute too don't you think?

I do think however that she needs to borrow a smile from Rosemary, 

or even the crooked one from Regina would do. 

And so, somehow in the midst of 8,643,249 things to do and just that many thoughts in my head, 

I forget about them, even if for just a little bit. 

Snowman weather, gotta love it!

Love,

Dianne

Driving Ms Dianne

For the last week, I have been rolling an idea around in my head.
I could hire a driver to take me home from work. My own private chauffeur.
This is how it could work:
~This person could live halfway between me and work.
~They would love to drive, just for the sake of driving.
~They would actually get paid to drive me home from work.
~In the morning, they would be waiting for me, with a cup of Starbucks, a pillow and blanket.
~And they would drive me home, while I slept. Because sleeping while not driving is preferable to what I do now, which is struggle with staying alert sometimes.

Sounds lovely, don't you think?
I could pay, let's say $10 an hour. That would start from my work and end at my house. So, about 1.25 hours. $23.30/day, 3x/week. $69.90/week. $1800.00/year.

Did I mention I'd pay for the gas it took, not counting mileage from their house to mine, or their house to my work place?

Let's see...what should my ad say?

Wanted: Reliable, responsible driver to take me to work.

Too vague.

Wanted: Reliable, responsible driver with excellent driving record (at least better than mine!) that never sleeps, texts, or talks while driving. Must like Celtic music. Must like red subaru's. Must smell good. Please do not apply if you are a new driver (new drivers make me feel nervous and carsick). Must submit to urine drug test. Yes, that is necessary. Oh, and must wear chauffeur uniform. 
Just kidding. Except for the hat. Cause, I like hats, that's why. 

Would it be worth it to me? Well, yes actually. I don't mind driving to work much as it is my time to think and pray. Driving home is not so much fun. I know I could sleep closer to Johnstown, and I have stayed with wonderful friend in the past; but to sleep in my own bed and see my family in the evening for a little while...worth it? To me, yes.

Any takers? Leo did take me home a few times, but our work schedules don't line up well. Sigh. Leo in a chauffeur hat...sigh. 

Love,
Dianne