Lake Pearrygin Days

Last summer Braden and I camped at Lake Pearrygin with a great group of people (mostly family of our good friends Lance and Amanda) and (as usual) had a grand time.

We started off with a four hours' drive through the mountains and plains and desert and forest... All right, maybe not QUITE plains. Although we arrived at the campground near the middle of the night, long after everyone else had already set up and gone to bed, Lance was wonderful and helped Braden pound stakes and erect the tent, haul our bags, etc. Since it was pitch black, I helped by shining a flashlight on the activity while swatting large bugs.

Here's our home-sweet-tent in the daylight:

This is the al fresco living room by Amanda's parents' RV, complete with wood fireplace (and marshmallow skewers!). We hung out here most of the time when we were eating or relaxing:

There were a lot of various activities, such as swimming, water skiing/wakeboarding, sunbathing, hiking, canoeing... Here's me early one morning, heading out in the lake.

Here's Lance building a campfire, of course (vital for any camping experience):

Becca eating licorice glamourously:

Amanda's dad being Sous Chef for one of our breakfasts (I never really found out who the Executive Chef was...):
Our camp mascot and water sport lifeguard:


THEN. During a mountain-bike ride (did I mention that was an activity option as well?), Braden hit a deep rut and was thrown from his bike. After skidding to a halt on the ground, it became apparent that he had lost a good deal of skin on the way:

He was the celebrity of the campground for a day or so, since shirts were not such a good idea (they stuck to the raw skin), and it was like a really bad train wreck: you couldn't HELP but stare. Here he is with a small crowd of admirers/commiserators (including Dusty, who's taking pictures!):

Jude seemed quite fascinated as well...

But maybe he's just amazed at the way his daddy can polish off a bag of Jelly Bellies!

Yep, all things considered, quite an enjoyable experience! Of course, I'm not the one who lost significant amounts of epithelial tissue on the trail...

Beachfront Mandate

One fine summer's evening last year we went to visit my aunt and uncle at their home near the beach. The family decided to take a stroll after dinner, and we all ended up near the water on a smallish stretch of grassy area. Then we came upon THIS:












Seriously? I don't even own a dog! Maybe I'd rather just pay a fine...

Dental Fixation Support Column

Dear Dental Diva:

I struggle with my dental school-bound spouse. Since even before he began the application process for dental school, he's been completely unbearable! Oral fixation is putting it mildly. When he's not working on his applications, the only other thing that gets him away from his oral hygiene routine is previous seasons of "Battlestar Gallatica". What can I do to get some attention around here?

Sincerely,
Jealous of Floss


Dear Jealous:

I suggest firstly that you attempt to understand the amazing new world your honey has entered. Dentistry and all it entails is a fascinating calling! Perhaps you should try joining him in some of his oral hygiene 'routines' and maybe you'll get an oral fixation of your own! Floss has its strong virtues... (I hear that people who floss live an average of five years longer than people who abstain, all other things being equal.) Plus you'll be spending valuable time with him in an activity he enjoys. And give him a break. After his application process is complete, he'll need to endure interviews, waiting lists, quirky classmates, gruff professors, and three to four years of classes, treating patients, lab work, board exams, talent shows, and Spring barbeques.

And by the way, it's spelled "Galactica."

Fluoridely yours,
Dental Diva

Elmo in the Doghouse

It had been a tense evening. The oldest family cat, a big orange-and-white male named Elmo, was on death row. At least twice recently there had been chickens killed in the coop during the night, but the miscreant hadn’t taken away the bodies or eaten them, so we were mystified regarding the intentions of the killer. As the chickens weren’t eaten, it was deduced that a smaller animal was responsible, since a larger animal would have consumed at least part of the carcasses. Dad decided it was Elmo gone bad, since he had been seen lurking in the near vicinity of the chicken coop lately, and had been maintaining a rather guilty air. None of the other family animals were exhibiting the same suspicious characteristics. These points combined to place Elmo in a “suspect” category.

Killing for pleasure was not allowed in our family. A short (but merciful) execution was scheduled immediately for any animal who whopped up on any other animal to kill it. With over one hundred animals to account for and take care of (counting all the ducks, chickens, pigeons and geese as well as the dogs, cats, horses, sheep and parrots), strict but peaceful order was maintained throughout our household. It seemed Elmo’s days were numbered.

That night, during a family conclave, we kids pled for a stay of execution – we argued that Elmo’s guilt was still unproven, guilty behavior and suspicious whereabouts notwithstanding. It seemed completely bizarre that he would suddenly snap and attack chickens - creatures in which he had never before shown the slightest interest. Mom threw her vote in with us. Dad, still unconvinced and longing to avenge the deaths of his innocent chickens, agreed at last to give Elmo another chance – basically he would have to be caught in the act. As usual, all the cats and dogs were put outside for the night. We kids went to bed somewhat gloomily, Elmo’s alleged crime and the intended punishment hanging over our heads.

A brisk wind picked up, making the mango trees rustle and clouds scud quickly through the dark sky. While the rest of the family drifted off to sleep, Dad lay awake in bed listening for the sound he was sure would come – the sudden squawk and jabber from chickens under attack by a vicious, sadistic cat. For a while, all was quiet. Then, just as he began to drift to sleep – it came! Chickens squawking loudly in distress and terror in the chicken coop!

Dad, fierce and righteous anger filling his heart, threw back the covers and leapt to his feet, charging out of the house and down the path to the chicken coop clad only in white cotton briefs. Fearless in his anger, Dad threw open the door to the chicken coop and grabbed the furry beast attacking the chickens. Holding him aloft with one hand, Dad spanked him as hard as he could with the other, yelling, “Bad cat! NO! Bad cat!”

Mom, by now having made it out to the front porch to witness the chicken-killer caught in the act, watched as Dad suddenly became aware of a malodorous scent in his nearby vicinity. Holding up the creature in his fist to get a closer look, he found himself staring back at a large, extremely startled and well-spanked possum.

“It’s a possum!” Dad shouted through the windy night. “What should I do with it?”
“I don’t know!” Mom replied, somewhat irritatedly. “Why don’t you just throw it away?”

The next morning at breakfast we kids were regaled with the tale of how Dad caught “Elmo” and gave him a good spanking. We laughed hysterically and felt relieved that Elmo was out of the doghouse, so to speak. Even Elmo looked relieved.

Dad made sure all possible gaps in the chicken coop were wired closed, but never again did we have any problems with possums attacking chickens in the night. We figured that having experienced one of Dad’s spankings, no possum would be dumb enough to come back for more!

You can see this post at the address below, where it was originally 'published' online last year:
http://abcwomen.wordpress.com/2007/06/05/elmo-in-the-doghouse/

Pigeon Inn Bed and Breakfast

Of the many animals populating my family’s home in Belize, a flock of pigeons was also included. A cast-off assortment from the previous owner, we didn’t really carry much affection for them but dutifully fed, watered, and let them out daily for exercise. They were rather unexciting pets, but looked lovely when they flew by all together. We also figured they helped keep some of the insect population down, no small virtue in tropical Central America.

Once pigeons have established a home nesting area, they will return nightly to it, despite being let free to fly all day. Our habit was to feed and water them, open the cage door in the morning, and then return to shut it in the evening after they were back inside – this allowed them to return to their food and water throughout the day.

Our perplexity began one morning after I fed and watered them as usual, and then noticed that there was one pigeon less than the day before. Figuring one was just left out during the night and would return the next morning, it was a little surprising when the following morning I again noticed that they numbered one less, and mentioned it to Dad. The consensus was that the pigeons must be getting taken down during the day by the hawks that circled around frequently.
The following evening, after again noting a missing pigeon that morning, we saw the pigeons clustered nervously on the roof of the pigeon house, long after the time when they should have returned inside. Finally and reluctantly, after dusk, they trickled in and I ran over through the clouds of mosquitoes and biting gnats and shut the door for the night, disgruntled at their unusual behavior.

The next morning, again noting a missing pigeon, I also noted something else: a small peek of a smooth green body up under the roof of the pigeon cage, nearly hidden from sight. A large green python had been making himself very comfortable in our pigeon cage, and currently was very sleepy from his latest large meal. The culprit at last!

I ran back to the house to get Dad. Dad calmly climbed up in the pigeon house, empty feed sack in hand, and grabbed the hefty python firmly. There was a huge bulge in its body where our latest unfortunate pigeon rested, on its way to digestion. The python was so sleepy it didn’t create much fuss, and was sternly escorted off the premises to the lagoon a mile or so away. We also double-checked the pigeon cage to make it secure and ended up just keeping the door shut all day from then on.

The next morning, our remaining (now somewhat neurotic and twitchy) pigeons were all accounted for. And we never had a reptilian guest stay in our pigeon house again. A week or so later we received a comment card rating our Pigeon Inn Bed and Breakfast – apparently the accommodations and meals were great, but we needed to work on our customer service.

You can find this story at the link below where it was originally 'published' last year.
http://abcwomen.wordpress.com/2007/09/10/pigeon-inn-bed-and-breakfast-by-maria-miller/

Introducing the Wharf!

Greetings, Peeps:

Welcome to Miller's Wharf!

Here I be, all bloglike. Caveat: I have little to no experience blogging at this point, so bear with me while I figure out my newfound blogging abilities.

My friend Amanda is my inspiration!
(check out her cool blog: http://www.vintagedutchgirl.blogspot.com)

All righty, then. Explanation forthcoming of WHY I named this Miller's Wharf:

Last name: Miller
Wharf: Actually an acronym I made up and felt pretty good about, since it's quite descriptive of me:

* Wifey (married over six years)
* Homekeeper (despite the fact that I currently have two jobs and am not there as often as I'd like... LOVE my home and try to take good care of it!)
* Artist (Painting, quilting, knitting, and scrapbooking are among my many creative expressions...)
* Reader (Voracious is a good adjective, I think)
* Foodie (Food is good! Love cooking, read cookbooks for fun, and love new recipes - especially ethnic ones with unusual flavors and ingredients)

(I'm other things too, but these were in the top ten AND they spelled a word that worked. Need I say more?)