Calm Down. It's Just a Bee

A while ago I was leaving for work in my Bug convertible, with the top up so as not to ruin a perfectly good hair-do. I glanced up to see the headliner scrunched up and reached over to straighten it. I quickly looked over my shoulder to see if the other side was too and there he was. The hitchhiker. A yellow jacket of some sort clinging to the headliner. Immediately one of my favorite Gary Larson Far Side comics came to mind. It's the one with a human-sized bee sitting in the back seat and the woman driving thinking, "It's just a bee. I am not going to panic. I'll just pull over and let it out." I always laugh when I see that strip but I'm never laughing when one of those nasty things makes its way into my car. I have a sort of irrational fear of stinging insects, (for the sake of simplicity I'll just refer to them all as bees). I was always that kid who ran screaming and flailing whenever one came near me. And if one got in the car I'd get out,

open all the doors and windows an wait for it to fly out.
When I was a teenager, my dad, not knowing the consequences of his actions, plugged up a hole that contained a nest of bees. Instead of killing them, they came into the house. The expert they called in said that they'd die off in the fall, but there was nothing we could do about it. My life resembled something from a horror movie as bees entered my bedroom through cold air registers and dropped from my ceiling light. I'd lie awake at night listening to them buzz. I can vividly remember going into the basement laundry room to do my weekly chores armed with a can of Raid in one hand and a fly swatter in the other. I learned to manage my fear when I became a teacher. If a bee entered the room I would have to swallow my panic and say "It's just a bee boys and girls. If you don't bother it, it won't

bother you. We'll just open the window and let it out." On this particular morning in my car, I realized I could not drive all the way to school hunched over the steering wheel waiting to feel it land on the back of my neck. In fact, you may have seen me. I was the one with the top of the car half off, dumping the contents of my school bag on the ground next to the car after it had fallen in.  Oh I know. I probably looked ridiculous.

After all, it was just a bee.

Tapping Away the Injury Blues

Nothing makes me feel older than being sidelined from something that I love doing because of an injury. About a year and a half ago I suffered what’s referred to as a “high hamstring” injury from running. It’s a painful, nagging condition which is, from what I have learned after extensive research, one of the most difficult injuries to heal and recover from. Not only is it difficult to recover from. It takes a long time. It’s located on that sits bone in the lower pelvis and is easily flared. I have gone through various medical treatments only to discover that probably the only thing that is going to work is rest, plain and simple. For me that is easier said than done. I enjoy working out and being physically fit. And if you ask my family, they will admit that when I’m able to exercise on a regular basis I’m not such a grouch. I was trying to find something that wouldn’t aggravate it but when you aren’t able to do any kind of activities that involve jogging, lunges, squats, or extended sitting such as bicycling, you’re pretty limited as to what you can do. Even yoga seems to be a no-no. As my friends talked about their various core classes and races, I did my best to keep my chin up and try not to feel sorry for myself. After all, I have been running since Sammy was a baby and to listen to friends quickly surpass all of my accomplishments not only in speed but in distance was a hard pill for me to swallow. Just when I was getting ready to throw in the towel and accept my new sedentary lifestyle, my good friend Bridget told me that she was taking an adult beginner tap dancing class. Wow did that sound fun! I told her I might like to try that so a few weeks later she let me know when the next class would be starting which I promptly signed up for. I was of course, nervous that I would be only aggravating my injury. But I was determined to give it a try anyway. Even though I did a lot more stomping than fa-lapping, after just one class my spirits lifted. It didn’t aggravate my injury and I found a new form of exercise. I guess I didn’t have to let my self-pity get the best of me. I just needed to get creative and find my inner Shirley Temple. After all, she’ll be young forever!

Testerone in the Garage, Estrogen in the Volkswagen

I have heard men complain about living in a house full of women, (meaning a wife and

one or more daughters), like its one drama event after another or he easily gets

overruled by the females in the house. Well I'm here to tell you that living in a house full

of men is no walk in the park either. Whether you're up against estrogen or testosterone,

you're sure to be in for a fight at one time or another when they decide to gang up on

you. Take for example what was referred to as "that goofy Bug" less than a year ago.

What was dorky at one time quickly gained popularity in my house of guys. My husband

has spent the better part of this winter restoring our 79 Super Beetle. Since it is

supposed to be my car, I felt I had somewhat of a say in how the restoration would

occur and what the end product would look like. It started out being pretty cut and dry to

me. The car would be the original color, keeping it as much original as would be

possible. My husband was good about respecting my wishes since, again, it is my car.

Enter my two teenage sons. What started as a pretty straight forward hands-off

restoration became me with bloody knuckles, hanging on to my classic car for dear life. I

should have picked up on the fact that I might be in for a bit of a challenge when, before

the car even went to paint, the stick shift handle had been replaced with a 8 ball. My first

battle was for the fenders. I noticed on Facebook that my older son had posted a picture

of it without the fenders taking a vote on wether or not it should become a "Baja Buggy."

When the fenders were put back on I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I went out in the

garage to find a race car style steering wheel where my classic VW steering wheel had

once been. This was after Tom and Sammy had outfitted it with a stereo and speakers

that could rock out a Hummer. The only reason there isn't an amp and subwoofer is

because the electrical system wouldn't support them (and don't ask me what those

things are, because I really don't have any idea). Most recently Sammy informed me

that he would be driving it as much as possible this summer. Um...I don't think so. Tom

assured me that its still girly, just with a few male touches. And I guess I can put up with

all of the testosterone filling the garage because I know how happy it makes them. So

when the snow melts and I'm on my way down the road in my awesome VW convertible

I'll say my usual morning prayers, thanking God for my wonderful boys.

The finished product: My fully restored '79 Super Beetle

Catching Up!

Wow, Where has the winter gone? I didn't realize that I had gotten so far behind! Here are my January and February columns. I'll post March as soon as it gets published in the local paper. Enjoy!

The Lost Cooking Lesson

This is my first attempt at Mom Hovie's Pasties. It almost looks like I know what I'm doing!

I think that a big fear that people have when they lose someone they love is that as time passes that the memories will begin to fade. About two and a half years ago we lost my mother-in-law to cancer. She had a short battle from the time we found out until she passed. I was lucky in that I had a really good relationship with her. Not a lot of daughters-in-law are quite so fortunate, I’m told. She was a very giving person and we became great friends in the 18 years I knew her. I think about her all the time whether it’s when I’m lying on the couch with my head on one of the throw pillows she made, or if I’m putting on one of the many coats or sweaters she had given me over the years. I have so many wonderful memories of my time with her and I cherish them all. My mother-in-law was an outstanding cook and my only regret is that I was never able to have her teach me how to make pasties. If you don’t know what pasties are, they are a Cornish meat pie that can actually be held, sort of like a Stromboli. Pasties became popular in the UP because the Finnish loggers would take them into the woods for their lunch. Being both Cornish and Finnish, my mother-in-law was a great pasty maker. She would bring us pasties that were ½ the size of dinner plates. Tom and I would split one for dinner and freeze the rest. I can still see her coming in the door with an armful of foil-wrapped pasties, ready for the freezer because she only made them once or twice a year and wanted to make sure we always had some on hand. I buy pasties from time to time from Glen’s or Oleson’s and I even tried to make some from a recipe I got in Munising last summer. Tom and I just looked at each other as we ate them because they weren’t even close to hers. I thought that was the end of it. Then I was going through my recipe box and found an old yellowed note card that said “Mom Hovie’s Pasties.” I had completely forgotten that she had given me the recipe! Tom and I were excited when I showed him that we were going to be able to reproduce his mom’s pasties. We got the ingredients and I felt like she was there with me as I carefully pinched the dough of each one, giving me one more thing to add to my cherished memories and reminding me that the pain of losing a loved one is eased by those memories (recipes) that they leave behind.

Time to Relax

I am one of those people who always has a lot on my plate. I can easily become overwhelmed if I am not careful. For the past two years I have been working towards earning my Master’s Degree through online courses. If you have ever completed any type of online class or program, you know how much time these classes can consume because they require an incredible amount of writing, not to mention all of the reading that goes along with post-graduate coursework. Spending 2-3 hours a night and 6-7 hours on the weekends doing classwork had severely cut down the amount of time I had to take care of my responsibilities as a working wife and mother. I figured out a way to make it all work, but what I couldn’t fit in was my crafting time. I would plan projects in my head and sometimes even go buy the stuff to make these projects, hoping that I would get to them in the short time between semesters. Last year I learned to crochet beanie hats and could whip those out in a couple of hours, but once classes started up again, they would be put to the side. Fast forward to December of 2012: graduation. Although I won’t participate in commencement until May, I was finished with my classes and could join most of my colleagues as a holder of a Master’s Degree. When I finished I found myself confronted with all of those projects, not only the ones I had bought stuff for, but new ones that were found on You Tube or Pinterest. In my desire to dive right into my passion for creating, I was a bit overwhelmed with the multitude of projects that lay before me. What would I do first? Knit socks? Learn to crochet Granny Square scarves? Sew new patchwork Christmas stockings? Make jewelry? I am also seriously behind in my scrapbooking and my card collection is sparse at best. I really never imagined that something that I found so enjoyable could be so stressful. I tend to think chronologically, so I decided that since I have been collecting sock yarn the longest that I would start with knitting a pair of socks. When I get tired of knitting, I head downstairs and make some jewelry or work on a sewing project. My challenge is to not let something that I enjoy so much become something that is a chore. I also don’t want to be that person who has 6000 started projects, but nothing finished. And most importantly, I really shouldn’t take on anything new until I have tackled some of these projects. Although quilting looks like it might be fun.

Welcome to our Kitty Wonderland

Here's the tree a few days after the kitties discovered it. It got a lot worse before I redecorated it

Christmas Eve with the kitties banished to the basement for the night.

After we lost our cat, Stanley a little over a year ago I knew it wouldn’t be long before I got another kitten. Last spring I could wait no longer and made my desire for a kitten known on Facebook. A good friend of mine happened to be a reputable kitten breeder in the area so I was not surprised when she stated that she had kittens ready to be adopted. Tom, Sammy, and I headed over intending to take one kitten but after a convincing sales pitch, we found ourselves taking two adorable grey kittens home with us. Our last two cats were older when we got them, so we were surprised at the amount of chaos two rambunctious kittens could cause on a daily basis. I spent the summer unsuccessfully trying to keep them off of the counters and table. Knowing all too well what kind of damage cats can do to Christmas decorations, (specifically the tree), I secretly decided that I would put off putting up a tree until someone noticed that we didn’t have one, hopefully somewhere around December 24^th, when it would be too late. In my dreams we would simply settle for a Christmas chair, covered with gifts on Christmas morning. There would be no broken ornaments or one of us arriving home to a tree on its side in the living room.  When our older son Robby announced his plans to venture out into the world I realized that next Christmas may only be three of us so of course the tree had to go up. I had to put aside my aggravation at coming home every evening with more ornaments scattered on the floor, branches dislodged, and lights tugged ½ way down the tree. Even in my threats to take it down, I knew that for my family, I would keep it up even with only the top 3^rd decorated. I had to remind myself that the tree was an important part of my kids’ lives and as I look at one of them possibly leaving home in the near future I could quietly fill the bowl on the table with ornaments reminding myself that this will be one of those Christmases that we will talk about years from now. When Christmas is behind us, I will pack away the memories of those goofy cats un-decorating the tree and remind myself that it really didn’t matter what the tree looked like after all.