The Funny Grandson and his parents arrived Friday afternoon and within 30 minutes–after hugs and greetings–the kid ran down the hill and jumped off the dock.
He’d worn his bathing suit under his pants since Butte, so he wasted no time heading to the lake.
There was so much to talk about.
Patience paid off. He caught a small bass.
How about a campfire?
Uncle Will found the first arrowhead, so there was that to celebrate and admire.
Shepherd’s Pie, ice cream, and Mexican Train dominoes topped off the day. Even though he is only a few months before becoming a teenager, he is growing up before our eyes. At that sweet, goofy, clumsy, hungry, hilarious stage of childhood, he keeps his parents on their toes.
Do you remember when you were thirteen?
I was saving up for my first guitar. From the Sears catalogue.
Very early Saturday morning the Funny Grandson, his dad and I were down at the beach. Uncle Will had been burning driftwood, the FG hauling brush, and Ben and I drinking coffee.
And then…the neighbor started up his sea plane.
“Wave to Chris,” I said, doing so myself. And a minute later longtime pilot Chris puttered past us, his head out the window, waving back.
“Would John like—-” was all he managed to call when the FG yelled, “YES!!!!”
The plane pulled up to the beach before the FG’s father and I had time to think about it. The Funny Grandson raced to the plane as if trying to fly into the sky before anyone could say, “no”.
Getting instructions.Into the wild blue yonder.
He spent at least twenty minutes flying above the lake, the Clark Fork delta, even his grandfather’s mountain cabin. He took pictures and videos and this selfie:
Once he was back on solid ground he confided, “I was a little scared, but it was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life!!!!!!”
Son Ben’s favorite dessert is banana cream pudding. Believe it or not, I’ve never made it before (he has a lot of favorite desserts so I’ve never delved into this particular one). But here it is, in a trifle dish, ready for demolishing.
An aside: when I was pregnant with him I craved banana cream pie.
Father’s Day was a great deal of fun here. When we weren’t eating, we were playing games. Mexican train dominoes, poker, Canasta and Spontuneous occupied us between meals. The cloudy, chilly, breezy, wet weather kept us inside. And we were fine with that.
My own father was represented by a crock pot of his meatballs, his “signature dish” for decades. He loved family celebrations of any kind and would have really enjoyed this particular one.
That’s what Captain Lee says to his guests aboard the yacht on BELOW DECK (a tv show on the Bravo channel).
Oh, yes, let’s do that, please.
Sunday evening there was life on the dock. George and Will had a long sunset visit after George arrived.
Banjo Man and I remained on the upper deck and left them to it.
I am so ready for this summer to begin. I baked a huge batch of oatmeal cookies Sunday and later realized I had no room in the freezer for one more zip lock bag of anything.
Help is on the way, though, in the form of the Funny Grandson and his parents who arrive tomorrow. They were in Sheridan, Wyoming last night and are inching closer to the House of Frozen Casseroles as I type this.
We’ve had rain, so this will be the perfect weather to burn driftwood and brush in the fire pit on the beach. I am ready with marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers…and a whole lot of not-very-good oatmeal cookies.
Happy Birthday to my mother-in-law, who passed away at the age of 94 in 2003.
Everyone loved her.
And we all miss her terribly.
I’ve mentioned this before, but she taught me to can fruit, make jam and cook apple butter. She was a welcome visitor to our little mountain home in the fall when the fruit was ripe for picking. She would arrive from Nebraska with her apron and her paring knife, all set to sit on her stool at my counter and peel things.
She told me where pickles came from (yes, you can laugh).
We shared a love for BLT sandwiches and potato soup, quilting and children and music…and so much more.
I am grateful for the memories. as everyone in the family is also. We were so lucky to have had this loving and kind woman in our lives for so many years.
See the wasp nest? We have sprayed six of them hanging from the eaves of the house. We assume they are yellow jacket’s nests, but intense Googling has shown that bald-faced hornets make similar (if not identical) paper nests.
These were small. Banjo Man and I waited until after sunset and then sprayed the heck out of them.
The wasp problem was not solved, though. But the yellow jacket population certainly decreased. The remaining issue? The bald faced hornets.
I found an old trap we’d stored years ago. And I bought another one. One for the front yard, one for the back.
The hornets ignored the traps for days. I added honey to the water in one and apple cidar vinegar to the other trap (the upper chambers are designed for liquid).
Still nothing. I watch the b-f hornets avoid them as they buzz around the upper deck when I was trying to enjoy iced tea and a book.
This morning I put a wad of hamburger (guess what I’m grilling for dinner!) in the bottom chamber of each trap. And I wait. Surely they can’t resist meat!
I’ve ordered three essential oils–clove, geranium and lemon grass–to put in a spray bottle with water and dish soap. I will soak cotton balls with peppermint oil for the tables on the deck. Supposedly hornets hate peppermint oil.
And I am tempted to buy a couple of little lemon grass plants, also a repellent.
Years ago we tried using a homemade wire trap and mixing a can of Swanson’s white chicken meat with 1/2 tsp of Fipronil. The wasps take the meat back to the queen and kill her. It worked, so we’re going to do that again as soon as we make a new trap.
Will that work with the evil bald-faced hornets? I don’t know. We have yet to spot a nest in any of the surrounding trees. We keep looking.
We’re heading to Coeur d’Alene today to meet with a new oncologist. An oncologist for the summer. Banjo Man needs to have someone here to administer his medication every three months. It will be a three-hour round trip, so while we’re in CDA we’re going to hit a couple of stores and eat lunch at MacKenzie River Pizza.
He is doing very well, despite the realizations that all those radiation treatments have sapped his energy and his stamina.
Key words: acceptance and patience.
I keep a close watch on him, but he enjoys (understatement!) his time up at the cabin and calls me frequently to tell me that all is well.
We await the latest PSA blood test results. He had a good video conference with his surgeon last week. And his very own oncologist, our Angela, arrives with Jeff and the kids on July 7 for a week of lake fun.
Our days end early, after a little tv and sunset-watching time.
No complaints.
Son Will flies in next week and will launch into power washing, weed whacking and window washing after he unpacks his suitcase. Ben, Amber and John arrive the week after that, so more help is on the way. We’re grateful for it. The beach needs chairs and kayaks. The brush needs to be piled and burned.
Every time Banjo Man, keys jangling in his hand, opens the back door to head to the cabin, he annouces, “I’m the luckiest man in the world!”
This is an old photo from last year, but it says it all.
My mission, given to me by Banjo Man, was to find a holder for a package of hand wipes and a very small, very narrow basket for their disposal.
For the outhouse.
At the cabin.
Up on the mountain.
My favorite antique shop is located conveniently next to the Pie Hut, so before meeting a friend for lunch a couple of weeks ago, I browsed through aisles of “stuff”.
So much stuff.
Having spent over three months this past winter getting rid of “stuff” in my basement, there was nothing on the shelves or hanging from the ceiling that appealed to me. Absolutely nothing. BUT I had to find something suitable for the outhouse, for the sake of cleanliness.
As you see in the photo above, I found the perfect holder. Ugly, bent, chipped and overpriced, but still…I know my husband would love it. Just to be sure, I texted him a photo.
While I was enjoying a piece of pie next door, he texted me back and said it was perfect.
I also found another ugly, bent and overpriced object:
Yes, this is a mini gold waste basket.
I told Banjo Man they were early Father’s Day gifts. He was thrilled and the next morning drove off to the cabin to install them.
This tree is a lot bigger than it looks in this photo.
Last week I confided to my friends–we were having our first Ladies Dinner and celebrating neighbor Yvonne’s birthday–my worries over Banjo Man and the downed tree project.
He had made four cuts earlier in the week and it had completely exhausted him. Completely.
The guys in Texas were anxiously waiting for June and the chance to help, but none of them had ever manned a chain saw.
Which meant I needed to tiptoe around Banjo Man’s ego and somehow get help. I was worried, really worried, that this project was bigger than my guys could handle.
In the meantime, it was very difficult to get down to the beach. Practically impossible without a walking stick, sturdy shoes and exceptional balance. I had two out of three.
Help came from one of our neighbors, who offered to take care of it after Yvonne explained the situation. And take care of it he did.
AFTER:
Can you believe this???? He wouldn’t accept any payment, so I made him a large pan of enchiladas, with brownies for dessert.
It didn’t seem like enough.
Banjo Man was so relieved. He admitted he wasn’t up to the job and didn’t know when or if he would be. The “radiation realizations” are coming fast and furious now and he is learning to be realistic as to how much he can accomplish in a day…or an hour.
I am taking my coffee down to the beach this morning. Because I can! Finally!
is there any more pie? 