My first 5K!

I can't believe it- I actually ran a 5K! (Well, mostly ran). I absolutely DESPISE running with a white-hot passion. However, I want to be a runner. Isn't that weird? My friend Kim, is totally my inspiration. This girl is the ONLY other female that understands the love of food that I have, because she shares it as well. We have been friend since kindergarten, and she has always been the most driven person I know. Kim does crazy things like full marathons, and triathelons. And wins. So imagine how I felt when she asked me to run the 5K that our hometown was putting on for the yearly festival. How does one say no to a mere 3 mile run when this girl runs almost 30 straight? You can't back out of that without looking like a TOTAL sissy. And I have been meaning to do it... so I said yes.

I longed for death about a block and a half into the run. And Kim, God bless her, stuck with me the whole way, even though she could have finished in half the time it took me. She kept saying things like, "Ok, we can walk now, but when we get to that sign, we need to start running again." I could barely hear her over my exploding lungs. Sometimes Kim would suggest outrageous things like, "Let's run until the curve in the road, then take a walk break." As much as I wanted to protest, I was breathing too hard to talk. I would whimper and try not to cry. The great thing is that she wasn't super chipper about it all; there was none of the annoying, "Only two more miles to go! Isn't that great?! You're doing swell!" She was simply supportive and consistent. My favorite memory of the run was toward the end; we could almost see the finish line- I had hoped to not take another walk break on the last stretch, but I simply could not run any further. I gasped, "I have to walk or I'll puke," and certainly expected some sympathy. Kim quickly retorted, "You can puke at the finish line, let's go!" I laughed on the inside.

At the finish line, there was a man giving people fives. He just stood there with his hand sticking out, letting people smack his hand on the way by. He was saying generic things like, "Good job," and "Way to go." However, when I lumbered across the finish line, his eyes bugged out and he said, "Are you ok?!" and reached out to support me in case I fell. Apparently it was quite obvious that I was struggling. I suppose my bright red face and lolling tongue gave that away. Still, I wanted to punch him.

What would I have done without Kim? I would have quit. I would have walked the majority of the race, and not felt bad about it at all. I would have thought, "At least I'm getting 3 miles of walking as exercise, that's great!" I probably would have been rather proud of myself just for showing up. Instead, as I gasped and heaved for breath after I crossed the finish line, trying not to vomit, I suddenly realized... "I DID IT! I actually DID IT!" It was totally Kim that kept me going- she is the reason that I can be so proud of myself and say that I accomplished this goal. Thank God for awesome friends!

Amish, Crunchy, Hippy

I've been called all of those names recently by my friends. I don't mind. April has already been a busy month for us. I took my craft business, "Katie's Customs" online to Facebook (more websites to follow), and have had some fun filling some orders. I really thought that my wood burnings would be the big sellers. I was hoping for people to have some sort of spiritual experience as they gazed upon my art. However, I have ended up selling a bunch of sock monkeys. It has been a humbling experience.

Also, after much research and contemplation, we decided to get ourselves a milking goat. I know, weird. But, I figured with all that I'm making and cooking myself, why not get my own milk, and make my own cheese, yogurt, and ice cream? It will cut back on grocery costs, and do a lot for the environment (no plastic milk jugs, yogurt containers, cheese wrappers, etc.) I really expected Shawn to say I was crazy and finally put his foot down, but to my surprise, he thought about it for a few weeks and decided that I was on to something. It's so awesome that we're totally on the same page when it comes to our new lifestyle.

Locating people with milking goats took me a very long time. I conversed with Mennonites and Amish, and it's not like I could just call the Amish folks up to ask them. I had to cruise around to each farm. No one was selling, but they would tell me about someone else that they thought might be, and I would drive to that person's farm. Finally, Uncle Harry got us a number off of Craigslist. We called and made the plans to pick up our new goat. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I swear I heard the faint strum of banjos. It was horrifying. Trash and animals scurried away from the car as I slowly crept up the lane. There were geese, ducks, cows, pigs, horses, goats, dogs, sheep, and even a quail in a cage. Some random people wandered around. A Doberman mauled a baby goat in front of us, and no one seemed to care. Shawn and I looked at each other with wide eyes. It was too late to turn around, we had already been spotted. We cautiously opened our car doors and stepped gingerly in the mud. I instantly snapped at the girls that they were to stay near me at all times. A young man with some nasty teeth gave us a nod, so we headed in his direction. He led us to a tiny, rickety barn that I was afraid was going to fall in on our heads, so I changed my mind and told the girls to wait outside. Six goats stared back us once we entered. Only one milking nanny didn't have horns, and she seemed to be the only one that seemed not just social, but healthy. This place was festering with diseases. My common sense told me that I should turn and run before I caught something. Since we technically live in town, I knew we should get a companion for our milker. The last thing we want to do is piss off our neighbors because our lonely goat bleats for attention all night. The cheapest option for a companion is a young kid. We asked to see the kids, and we were brought to the garage (it just looked like several other decrepit buildings, but that's what the guy called it). As I walked in, my lungs withered. The stench of animal urine and feces was overwhelming. and my eyes burned as much as my lungs. When I could finally see, I realized that there were at least 20-30 little kids crowded into a pen. There were cages of puppies all over. I tried not to act appalled. Why? Because I was afraid. Olivia and Genevieve sprinted in, and instantly picked out the most unhealthy creature that I have ever seen. This baby was the smallest by far. It was not simply a runt, it was starved and so ill. Green gunk covered it's tiny face, coming from it's eyes, nose and mouth. It's eyes were also cloudy. This time my common sense screamed at me to not buy this wretch. Now, I was raised a farm girl. It's not like I'm someone from the big city that has never seen a sick animal before. I'm not a bleeding heart, and I like to think I'm logical. But it was so pathetic that I couldn't say no and leave it in this place. We paid for our social, seemingly healthy nanny, and the nasty little case of death clutched to Olivia's chest. The nanny hopped in the back of our station wagon, and we got the heck out of dodge. I have since called the police.

It has been a couple of days now. Quite frankly, I'm surprised the little baby (now named "Nibbles") has made it this far. Our milker, "Socks," has gotten the nose gunk too- big surprise. I went to the Fleet Supply and picked up antibiotics and a syringe, and have started them both on it. I think that's the only thing that has saved Nibbles' pathetic little life. We have since found out that contrary to what we were told, Nibbles had not been weaned and started on solid foods. She doesn't know how to eat yet. Socks doesn't give a whole lot for milk, but I milk her and feed it to Nibbles. I picked up some milk replacement, and feed Nibbles bottles of that as well. Aslo, I have realized that Nibbles in completely blind. Some research on the internet says that she could possibly regain her vision if her disease hasn't progressed too far. I don't think there is any hope for that, but she seems much happier now. In just a few days, she has gotten strong enough to walk! I have also de-liced the goats, since they were covered in the little buggers (thank God that they girls didn't catch it!) Today we experienced a dip in temperatures, to the point that even Socks was trembling a bit. I couldn't believe I was doing it, but I brought Nibbles into the house. She is in a cardboard box with a blanket, sitting next to the heating vent. I have gotten so soft! I'm not ashamed, though. This little creature was moments from death, and we have saved her. How many times has God looked upon us and seen something festering, pathetic, and blind?

Shawn and I have been tossing around the idea of having a baby, and we are discussing doing foster care. Seeing baby bottles in the dishwasher and mixing formula makes me chuckle. I seriously thought the next time I would be doing that would be because we had brought in a foster child. Here I am, feeding a goat. In the laundry room.

April has been so different than I had expected. I'm busy making bottles, squeezing teats, and mending fences. I'm preparing for our huge garden, and I got a wild hair up my rear and repainted most of the house. I'm sewing sock monkeys, and cramming stuffing into their crotches. Isn't it funny how our plans go in complete opposite directions of where we think they should be going, but it all works out in the end? I've seen the bumper sticker that says, "If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans." How true is that?!

Winter

Here it is, March already. I think it is safe to say that we have survived our first winter in our new home. Actually, our winter was much milder than it was for my old friends in Rochester. Rochester got hit a lot harder with the snow, which made all of us (except Shawn) insanely jealous. The entire city of Rochester literally shut down at one point, which I have never experienced before. No fair! I figure if it's going to be butt-cold, then we might as well have tons of snow to look at. Also, I'm not expected to go anywhere. "Sorry, it's mac & cheese for dinner, I couldn't drive to the grocery store this week." Being home-bound was exactly what the girls were hoping for as well, but Olivia didn't have a single snow day this year. I have never heard of such a thing. We have always had snow days during the winter, ever since I was a child. When Olivia and Genevieve have a snow day, we love to watch movies and drink hot chocolate, thoroughly enjoying our stolen time together. My car even started every day! I'm so baffled.

On the plus side, there is now tanning available at the hardware store in town. I don't know how comfortable I would be stripping down to the buff in a male dominated atmosphere, but apparently they get a lot of business. Creepy.

Olivia, now the ripe old age of eight, recently applied for her first job. (I know, I know, why wasn't she working already? Kids are so spoiled these days.) There is a restaurant in town called "Kim's" that we like to go to. Granted, there is only one other cafe and a Subway, but we really do like Kim's. Kim and Wendell own the place, and the girls think that they are possibly the neatest people ever. Olivia decided that she would like to be the cook, and Genevieve figured she should be the waitress. Kim graciously discussed this scenario with them, and promise them jobs in the future. Olivia only needs to wait seven more years, and Genevieve, a mere ten. The girls settled on drawing them pictures for now; cats and horses eating pizza and drinking hot chocolate.

I recently had conferences with Olivia's teacher. Olivia is reading at a high fifth grade level, and is above average in everything. Her reading and comprehension skills are in the top 98% in the NATION! Of course I'm proud, but I can't help but feel a little stupid. She's pretty much smarter than me now. I once had lofty aspirations of helping her with her homework until she was in middle school. I suppose I can make her tutor Genevieve from now on, and not have Gen discover my lack of intellect until later in life; although, I'm guessing Genevieve suspects more than she lets on. She can navigate the computer far better than I ever will, and most likely thinks I'm dense.

I am still surviving our Laura Ingalls lifestyle. No television, no cell phones, and I try to make all of our food that I can. We only recently began buying vegetables from the grocery store- our frozen beans lasted this whole time. Our apple butter and pickles have lasted as well, and we gave a lot of apple butter away as gifts for Christmas. Now, with Amish cookbooks from my mother, I have even begun making things like crackers and cereal! Yes, I am most certainly impressed with myself. This summer, we will have a large garden of our own- not just Harry & Christine's to raid- plus I will get more apples from the tree (I didn't even know until fall last year that the apples were edible). I plan on freezing not just vegetables, but pies as well. The apple pies that are made from our tree are amazing! I cannot wait to can again, as crazy as that sounds. It's so much work, but is very satisfying.

I will leave you with something to ponder... kids always help me look at things in a new way. The other day Genevieve closely observed some bird poop and mused, "It's all smooth- like man boobs." Something to mull over, no?

Progress & Growth

The house is coming along nicely, and rather quickly I might add! I do believe that we will be able to live in it soon! I'm actually just happy to be alive, as my ditziness has nearly killed me again. Cleaning the house was required before we could do anything- even paint. If we had tried to paint over all the filth, I'm pretty sure it would have slid right off the walls. I grit my teeth and got down to business. I opened the windows and put on some gloves, and got to scrubbing. I quickly discarded the gloves, for they were too bulky and I couldn't keep hold of the sponge. After an entire day, Olivia's future room was cleaned and ready to prime. That's when I realized that the windows have two layers, and I had only opened the inside one. I had been cleaning with the windows closed. I marveled at my lack of observation, and primed the room (P.S. You know why they call the primer Kilz? Because when it gets in your eyes, it kills). Anyways, after a couple days, Olivia's room was done, and Shawn could come in to do the floor. I moved on to Genevieve's future room and got to scrubbing. While scrubbing, I noticed my right hand was turning yellow. I figured that it must be from the nicotene stains on the wall, and it was getting on my hand when I leaned against the wall for support while scrubbing with my left; but sometimes it would come and go. As I puzzled over my hyper-color hand, I realized that I had done the exact same thing that I had done in Olivia's room- I had left the outer window shut. I was seriously losing brain cells. Genevieve's room has been scrubbed and primed twice now, despite my dim-witted foibles. Later that night, I googled ammonia and its side effects. Turns out that if you expose your hands to it too long, they will swell turn yellow because the tissues are dying. And my headaches and nausea are no doubt from the lack of ventilation. I am happy to say that three days later, my hands are no longer yellow, and my fingertips are just about back to normal. I can even bend them!

On to happier subjects, like cats. The girls and I have become fond of visiting the animal rescue shelter in Brainerd. They have a room full of cats, and you can just waltz right in and play with them. The last time we went to play, it was only us and a woman in her late 20's. She seemed shy, so I didn't chat her up. I know how obnoxious I can be. The girls found some rambunctious kittens, and I sat in a chair to watch. The woman stuffed her entire upper body into one of those cat cubes. Those things are only 12"x12", so it was an incredible feat to observe. On top of that, there was a cat in the cube with her! I waited to see if the cat would shred her face. I know I would certainly be terrified if I were shoved into a fuzzy box with a head warbling baby talk to me. Appearantly, the cat liked it, because the woman stayed in there for quite some time. That is, until I had the nerve to talk to one of the cats. A grossly obese calico jumped into my lap and settled in for a snooze. "Oh wow, you're a big boy, aren't you!" I exclaimed, incredulous over his weight. The woman in the cube immediately back peddled so fast that I thought that her cat had finally bitten her in the face. She spun around and gave me the stink-eye, snapping, ''that's agirl." I was surprised, and a little afraid of her sudden anger. I smiled meakly at her in apology, and began muttering things like, "that's a good girl, nice kitty, good female cat.". She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me, and then turned and stuffed herself back into the cube. The cat in my lap purred, so I looked back at her and giggled at how fat she was. "If you were my cat, I would nambe you Chubsy-Wubsy. Yes I would!" Suddenly, the crazy cat women flew out of her cube and glared at me furiously. "Her name is ROSIE!!!" she snarled. This time I was rather terrified, and I nodded dumbly at her with my eyes wide. She gave me another nasty look, which clearly said "that's twice now," and retreated back into the cube to coo at her cat. I found myself whispering to the girls, and scrambling to get us out of there before I said something else that was offensive. We survived, and we even came back a week later and adopted that fat cat. And you know what? We named her Rosie. I'm not taking any chances.

To give you an idea of Rosie's size, I will use our cat Noelle for an example: Noelle is nine pounds, and has an ample stomache. When she lays down and stretches out, it reminds me of syrup, slowly spreading over a plate. Now compare her nine pounds with Rosie's 15. It's gross. Rosie is a sweetheart though, and loves to be loved. She did bite Shawn this morning, however. I came in to the house this morning (she stays in our fixer upper) and for the life of me could not find the cat. She's pretty hard to miss, so I was perplexed. Somehow, she had managed to get inside a hole in the floor that was waiting for a vent cover. Shawn had noticed her sniffing at it and had wondered if he should cover it. I had laughed at him, asking him if he was joking, because there was no way fat Rosie could fit down that hole. Unfortunately, she did fit; and pulling her out was a man's job. You see, fat oozes downward, with gravity. For Shawn to pull Rosie up out of the tiny hole was much harder, and she let him know that she didn't like it. So other than the one rabid attack on Shawn, she's very sweet. And I am very sorry now that I laughed at Shawn.

Uncle Harry takes good care of us, and we have an open invitation to his garden and chicken coop. He and Christine invite us over regularly for fires and conversation. The girls absolutely love it over there! They have a dog named Krissy, who just cracks me up. She is older than dirt, and all gray at the muzzle. There is nothing she loves more than taunting our dog, Emma. Her latest shenanigan was to defecate just inches out of Emma's reach, which of course drove Emma nuts. When Shawn peeked out the door to see what was going on, he scolded, "Krissy!" Krissy looked at him disdainfully, and proceeded to drag her rear across the lawn. She snuffed at Shawn and then left. It is clear that nobody tells Krissy her business.

Our other neighbors have been generous as well, giving us bags of food from their gardens. There is an elderly couple, Alice and Leo, who live kiddy-corner from grandma's house. One day Alice brought me a bag of red potatoes. The girls and I wrote her a thank-you note and gave it to her. About a week later, I made some Challa bread and we brought a loaf over. The very next day Alice brought me another bag of potatoes, plus muffins. Although I am very thankful, I'm beginning to wonder if I was one-upped. Is this how people keep up with the Jones' around here? I'm not sure yet. I just know that next time, I will have to bring her Challah bread, a cake, and a giraffe. Let's see how she responds to that one.

I will write more when I can. Sorry that this one was late- between working on the house and writing my thesis for Dr. Sprinkle, I'm either slaving or exhausted. Dr. Sprinkle rejected my first draft, so I have another couple of weeks to salvage it. Wish me luck!!

Oh, and one last thing- here is your thought for the day: The girls and I were eating at Applebee's and Olivia asked about a picture of The Lone Ranger and Tonto. I explained what I knew, and then sat back, expecting Olivia to ask me what "lone" meant. I was ready to impart my infinte wisdome upon her when she asked, "why do they call him the "lone" ranger if Tonto is always with him?" I didn't have an answer.

The People

Spending more time up here has allowed me to get to know the people of the area a little better. It's not that I'm close to anyone in particular, but I certainly feel safe making some stereotypes now. I shall begin by telling you about our neighbors...

I saw that Shawn and the girls had gone across the lawn to meet our neighbors to the left. Excitedly, I hurried over to get in on the introductions. The first thing I noticed was the middle-aged woman in the wheelchair up on the deck. She stared at me, and I couldn't stop staring at her- she had a breast nestled on the outside of each knee. They looked like two very long tube socks filled with rocks. Wasn't that painful? Apparently not; she seemed quite comfortable. After our mutual staring match, she went back to reading her book and ignored us. The other two members of the house were an engaged couple; probably about my age, but it was difficult to tell. They were a bit...slow. Once again, I found myself caught in an intense gaze as the woman made unwavering eye contact. She didn't have any weird breasts for me to stare at, and I felt awkward, so I just pet the dog at my feet. Her fiance did most of the talking, but the woman said enough to scare the girls. I knew there would be plenty of questions from them once we got into the car, and I was already trying to decide how to handle the ones concerning their dog's ginormous balls. I have never in my life seen anything like that, and I was shocked that it was able to sit down. Now that the dog also made me uncomfortable, I had to again look at the people. I couldn't help but notice that Olivia had more teeth than all of them put together, despite the fact that she recently had six of hers extracted at the dentist's. We finally left and I put the girls in the car to take them to grandma's house while Shawn stayed with our dog Emma. As soon as I shut my car door, Genevieve exclaimed, "That lady up high was OGLY!!" Gumbi-boobs had terrified her. I told her that the nice lady in the wheelchair was not ugly, she was just different looking, and that it wasn't very nice to call people names. As we drove away, I saw the younger woman sprinting across our lawn towards Shawn, holding a giant, pink hula-hoop. He told me later that she said it was her daughters, but that social services had taken her away, so our girls could have it.

Shortly after, Shawn took me to meet the neighbors on the other side, which just happens to be Shawn's second cousin. However, all refer to him as Uncle Harry. The first thing I took in was Uncle Harry's expanse and incredible garden. As you walk down his driveway, there are rows and rows of big, fat vegetables on your right. To your left, there is a brilliant flower garden. The man has a way with dirt, that's for sure. There was also a lot of hillbilly outdoor furniture- you know, things like broken down old sheds, tires, and bathtubs. Harry met us in the driveway, and Shawn introduced us. I expected a "nice to meet you," but instead he asked "You like sauerkraut?" It sounded like a test. I stuttered, still not recovered from such an odd question, so Shawn answered for me and told Harry that I indeed did like sauerkraut. Harry seemed very pleased, and said, "Well come on! I'll show you how to make it!" We followed him into his back yard, where his son Paul was drinking a beer. Paul had "hick" written all over him, but was obviously a nice kid. Harry offered us beers, despite the fact that it was only 3:00 in the afternoon. Harry and I are going to get along famously. Then he showed me the huge basin full of shredded cabbage. He picked up another large head of the stuff, and scraped it across his large, homemade shredder. He had some sort of salt that he mixed in, then he set the lid on the basin and said "There. In a few weeks, it'll be done." That's how sauerkraut is made? I might not be a fan anymore now that I know it's simply rotten cabbage. I did have a great time meeting Harry and Paul, however, and I cannot wait until next spring to get gardening tips from Harry.

There isn't much to tell about the neighbor from across the road, other than the fact that- again- he made intense eye contact. He also boasted about his age like a child. Every few minutes he was get that proud, crooked smile, and say, "I'm sixty six years old." The first few times we acted impressed, but it did start to get weird. He seemed functional and normal in every way, but just couldn't tell us his age enough times.

Another thing that I have noticed- apart from the gazes of the people- is the fact that although friendly, the people are hesitant to do business with me until we find a common ground. Shawn's grandparents usually provide that. I remember Dr. Weedman telling us in class that you could never get information from anyone in the south until you established a shared relative. Once you found out that your third cousin married this guy's uncle's ex-girlfriend's sister, he would tell you where all the great fishing holes were. It seems to be the same up here. Like I said, they are all friendly, but once they find out that I'm married to Oren Miller's grandson, the floodgates of warmth burst open and they treat me like I'm their own child. They have never met Shawn, nor his mother, but that doesn't really seem to matter. Their faces simply light up with smiles, and they can't give me enough helpful service. I now have our flooring and appliances all picked out.

The last story is from a small restaurant in Little Falls. The girls and I were the only ones in there at first, so the waiter made small talk with us. We told him we were from Rochester and new to the area, etc. Across the street was the Catholic church, and they were having a church bazaar, so he asked if we had been to it. We hadn't, so he stared out the window and said, "Did you see that they have a beer garden?" What?! A beer garden??? At a church bazaar? The waiter said he would probably stop by for a beer after work, and it struck me as so hilarious. After a bit, an extremely old man came in, and I'm talking fossil. He was probably pushing a hundred. He was wearing a flannel shirt, overalls, and a very large, metal cross around his neck. He gummed his food and sipped his coffee, and seemed to enjoy watching my girls chatter and eat. He and the waiter conversed here and there, until the old man stood up to leave. As he was walking in our direction towards the door, the waiter asked him where he was heading tonight. Fossil replied that he was headed to the VFW because it was karaoke night. Waiter and I got a kick out of that, and the waiter asked him what kinds of songs he liked to sing. Fossil stopped at our table (behind the girls, luckily, so they couldn't see him), and said he liked to sing country. Then, as if in a bad dream, he gyrated his hips at me and belted out, "Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" Then he continued on his way and walked out the door. Waiter and I stared at each other with shocked eyes as big as saucers. Then we both busted out laughing, and I laughed so hard that I cried. Waiter shook his head and said, "Welcome to Little Falls."

First Things

Here it is, the blog that I promised my family and friends. I don't want anyone to feel that we are less connected simply because there is some distance between us (and I don't get cell phone reception. And internet is come and go. And we're Amish now.)

Mom was wondering how my trip up went. Well, mother, I made it about a half a block before I realized that this ride would be horrific. First of all, my flip flop had broken in mom's driveway right before I got ready to leave. Since Shawn and his dad had taken everything up north a few days before, these were my only shoes. I now had one. Frodo, our Conure, was put in his cage in the back, where he instantly started screaming. For those of you who do not know, Conures are very loud when they want to be, and Frodo was sure to let me know that he did not appreciate this indignity. The parakeets were as happy as little larks, and sang a constant stream of warbling. It was cute for an hour; too bad the trip was seven hours. The cats were petrified with fear, and yowled incessantly. I had a three hour drive to Welcome, MN, where I would be picking up yet another animal, our Rottweiler, Emma. Emma is only 18 months, and I wondered what in God's great army what I was thinking by taking all of the animals up to Randall at once. I remained optomistic, thinking that my zoo would all settle into the ride and quiet down. They did not. The original plan was to have Emma be in the back of mom's van with Frodo and his big cage, but the cats were driving me so insane that I had to stop along the way and put them in the back. Therefore, when I picked Emma up, she sat in the front passenger seat. It was a bit too small for her, but I couldn't imagine having the cats yowling in my ear for an additional four hours. She was a sport, and curled up with her nose in her own butt and layed silent. From then on, the trip went relatively smooth. I had covered the birds' cages and all was quiet, except for the muffled mewling in the rear. At one point, Noya came climbing over the seats to get to me; I was afraid that Emma was going to try to attack her and upset the fifty plants I had stuffed into mom's van. While trying to drive, I held Emma's collar and beat the cat back with a map until she disappeared back down into cat hell for a while.

Finally, after a long 7 hours, I was in Randall. Right now we are living in Shawn's grandparent's house while we work on the house we just bought. It's very awkward, because we know that we will only be here temporarily, although how long is uncertain. What should we unpack? What do we really need for right now? Furthermore, a lot of Shawn's mom's stuff is here. Was that our peanut butter, or was I making lunch out of Mary's? I have yet to come up with a system that works. Another thing to get used to is the quirks of a different house. You know how some places make certain noises, or you have to shut the door just so for it to work? Well, this place has magnificent water pressure in the shower. I dragged myself in, hardley still alive, and turned the shower on. I screamed and scrambled to find my nipples, sure that they had been sluiced off and were about to go down the drain. Once you get used to it (and keep your back turned), the shower feels pretty good. There is certainly no worries that you won't get all of the shampoo rinsed out of your hair, for it is bulletted from your skull the moment you put your head under the water. I have asked Shawn how tall his grandparents were; the shower head is about four inches shorter than I am, which presents a problem of strength and flexibility when one must rinse off backwards or risk never breast feeding again. I didn't know Shawn had Pygmie in his bloodlines.

Shawn's friend, Joe Denman, is stationed up here at Camp Ripley, so he often times comes over for dinner and company. He is a very sweet, very polite man, and Olivia is in love with him. Poor Joe listens to all of Olivia's never-ending stories, and nods and smiles appropriately. She tells him about her birds, her beanies, her sister, her daddy, her dog's saggy teats, her teeth, and her best jokes. When I say something about Shawn's excellent grilling skills and our dinner, Olivia says "thanks, Joe." When we look at her strangely, she blushes and says, "Oh! I thought you said Joe grilled our dinner." She gives a coy smile to Joe and continues eating. Come to think of it, Joe has been awfully "busy" lately. Shawn assures me that Joe just has guard duty and will be back, but I'm not so sure.

The last thing that I will write about is my surprise at the wildlife up here. I was walking with Genevieve the other day when I noticed a deer fly trying to land on her. Now back home, the only time we had problems with deer flies was when we were riding horses. Here, they will carry off your young if you don't react quickly enough. I was certain I was going to be reported for child abuse, because all the way home I was slapping her on her back and her head. Maybe that one lady that I saw yelling "goddamit, stop!" and smacking her kids around wasn't really that trashy? Perhaps I had judged her too quickly, I don't know. Also, last night we made s'mores over the grill after dinner, and it was perfect- the air was still and cool, the butterflies were circling about, and we were all having a total "Leave it to Beaver" moment. Then, about 30 yards away from us, a turkey vulture attacked and killed a Robin in front of us. The girls were stricken with terror and anguish, and we went scurried inside before the vulture could turn his beady eyes on the girls and decide that they would be better prey.

It hasn't quite been a week up here for me yet, but it has certainly been an experience. I will keep you all posted on the daily happenings, and let you know when I have a cell phone network that actually works up here.

Love,

Katie