Give the gift of life long after you are gone.

original run date April 17, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

My column is usually pretty laid back and meant to  beentertaining but this week I would like to take the opportunity to reach out to all the readers of CVNP and ask a big favor.
This week’s feature story is a topic that is near to my heart. As I did the interviews for the piece, the conversations certainly took a very personal turn. In June 2004, my family went through a deeply emotional loss. Our daughter (and sister, granddaughter, niece, cousin, and friend) Jeana, died from head trauma following a fall. We were able to hold onto her for a little while with assistance from modern medicine (machines) but brain trauma was more than her body could compensate for and we were forced to make the decision no family ever wants to make.
For reasons none of us know or understand, our family was not approached about Jeana being an organ donor. Later in the evening, we received a phone call asking for a tissue donation, which we quickly agreed to. Although the life saving donation of vital organs could no longer be made, we chose to make the life-enhancing donation of corneal and heart valve tissue. It is a decision we will never forget or regret.
Early in our marriage, Larry and I had discussed organ donation and how far we wanted life saving measures to be carried through in the case of a medical emergency. It was never a conversation we ever dreamed of having with or about our children. As we were faced with the decisions we had to make in the hours after Jeana’s accident, it was not a topic that crossed our minds. As I said before, we don’t know why we were not approached about the possibility of Jeana being an organ donor. She would have been a perfect candidate to save the lives of many.
As I was doing research earlier this year trying to find ideas for stories to write, I looked up all the “national month” designations online. The April designation of “Donate Life” screamed at me to do something in honor of my daughter’s 19th birthday on the 21st of this month. After the shock of her death wore off and we were left to accept our life without her, I vowed to do the best I could every year on her birthday to celebrate the gift of her life just as we always had. This year, that “celebration” is by getting as many people as I can to sit down with their families and talk about organ and tissue donation and become a registered donor.
It is not a topic most parents want to talk about with their children but the importance of the conversation is many fold. If something happened to you today, would your children know what your wishes are in regards to organ and tissue donation?  Would you as parents, if you were faced with that decision, think about reaching out to another family with this life saving gesture?
As your kids reach the age of taking that wonderful driver’s exam and test, please use it as an opportunity to talk to them about organ donation. Set an example by becoming an organ donor yourself. If you are not already a registered donor via the driver’s license renewal process – jump online and register. Make sure your family, closest friends and minister all know your wishes in case of death.
Pull that driver’s license out of your billfold and sign it!  If you need a permanent marker that won’t smear or fade, feel free to stop by the CVNP office. We have fine point sharpies ready to legalize a gift that money cannot buy. We will even be a witness if you need one. If you think you are registered but not sure, we’ll help you look it up.
Even if you think you are not eligible to be a donor because of current health or past illnesses, please sign it anyway. Tissue donations of skin, corneas, bone, and tendons could be possible. It may not save a life but think of the ways it can enhance the life of a burn victim or someone suffering from limited mobility. I often wonder about the recipient of Jeana’s corneas. If any of her outlook on life transferred – oh what an outlook they have now!  There is truly some solace for me in knowing her death was not completely without meaning. Someone, somewhere is able to live a better life because of the gift she was able to give.
My family all know my wishes to be an organ and tissue donor. As a matter of fact, my two kids serve as the witnesses on my driver’s license. Larry had the insignia put on his license at his last renewal date.  Should the time come for our registry to actually be used, it won’t make it any easier on the family to say good-bye but at least they won’t have to worry about making that decision in a time of stress, sorrow and hardship. Maybe someday, after I leave this world behind and join my daughter, someone will benefit from my heart, lungs, kidney, pancreas, intestine, and liver as well as all the tissue I have left to someone still living life to the fullest.
As Jeana’s birthday rolls around this year, we’ll find some way as a family to pull together and “celebrate” her life. As hard as we try every year to keep the tears from flowing, they will still fall. Because my eyes are still in good shape, I’ll still be able to see her image in pictures. I know somewhere someone can also now see their family and friends because of Jeana. Maybe that thought will help absorb a few of the tears. In the meantime, please “show me your heart” and join me on the Missouri registry for organ and tissue donation. Give the gift of life long after you are gone.


www.missouriorgandonor.com   Please register with your state organ/tissue donor registry wherever you are from!!

Fixing government woes with chickens

original run date April 10, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

I don’t follow a lot of politics, but the recent laws wanting to restrict farm kids from being able to work on the family farm really baffles me. Some of the most important lessons I ever learned were as a farm kid. I would think since the government is looking to hire the next generation at some point, they would want employees that have learned the lessons farm kids learn by working on the family farm.
Doing chores everyday instilled work ethic into my young mind. I didn’t mind most chores except for those stupid chickens. I hated the laying hens with a passion. I couldn’t leave eggs lying under the roost just because I didn’t want to crawl through the droppings. Not to mention, if you left to many eggs behind, other critters would come eat both the eggs and chickens. I didn’t mind so much when chickens became dinner for other creatures but it tended to upset Mom.
I despised having to get the “sitting” hens off the nest of eggs they were so closely guarding. They were determined to turn that egg into a baby - I was determined to turn it into either breakfast or noodles. I had a special stick that I kept at the door of the chicken coop that was tailor made for those feathered beasts. I’d poke at them and they would peck at me everyday.
I always won the initial battle. They usually won the war though since they would attack me as I was leaving. I did get the last laugh though. Since we never kept roosters around, they were never going to get that baby anyway.
My family will vouch for the fact that I loved all animals except for those stupid chickens. I got in trouble more than once for finding the barn cats new litter of kittens and taming them down. I was notorious for picking either a fat hog or a calf out of the lot as a pet. Then I would bawl hysterically when they were hauled off to the packing plant. But when it came to the chickens, I could care less. That attitude led me to one of the worst butt whippings of my life. The physical pain was no big deal. The pain of knowing who administered it left a lasting impression.
After one particularly brutal attack, I decided the chickens had to go. I devised a brilliant plan to get rid of all of them so I would never again have to collect another egg from a psychopathic chicken. I was going to kill them. I was probably about eight years old and in my mind, my plan was brilliant.
I decided if the chickens didn’t eat, they would die. That should fix the problem. Yes, looking back, I realize this was a cruel way to end my misery but don’t panic - it didn’t take long for my plan to backfire.
 Apparently, the day I decided to put my plan into action, I was a little to enthusiastic. My oldest brother, John Darold, noticed my enthusiasm as I grabbed the feed bucket and headed out to do chores. Since the whole family knew how much I hated those chickens, he decided to stalk me to find out why I was uncharacteristically happy about gathering eggs.
I made my way to the bin  for the mandatory bucket of corn. I thought I was putting on an Oscar worthy performance. I ran my hands through the corn as if filling the bucket to the rim. I failed to factor in the lack of sound effects confirming the corn actually going into the bucket. Add to that my trip to the coop with the bucking swinging like an Easter basket full of fake grass and my Oscar performance took a nosedive.
I picked up my chicken poking, get even stick as I opened the door and made my way in. I thought I was home free. A few days of no food and those chickens would be coyote bait and I would never again feel the pain of a beak in my hand.
John Darold caught me coming out the door of the coop, singing a happy song. He turned me around and pointed out the lack of corn in the feeders. Let’s just say, my tall tale that followed convinced him not to waste his time delivering me to Mom. He took care of the situation himself. The pain I felt had nothing to do with his hand connecting with my butt cheeks. It did break my heart that my best friend in the world decided it was something he had to do.
The lessons I learned that day still carry with me both in my personal life and at work. First, most of the time it is faster and less painful to just do those daily chores whether at home or on the job and get them over with quickly. It takes a lot more time and effort to concoct plans to get out of something than it does to just do it.
Second, starving the enemy never works. Interacting with the people you live and work with everyday is critical to good relationships. Administering the silent treatment just comes back to haunt you in the end. Maintaining good relationships takes effort but the rewards are great.
The most important lesson I learned that day was to not do things that will disappoint those you “live” with on a daily basis. Respect is a powerful emotion, even if it is for nothing more than a chicken. I didn’t have to like the chickens to respect them and the power their beaks carried. I didn’t want to respect John Darold for doing what he did but as I grew up and entered the world of work and had kids of my own, I knew he did me a favor that day.
 Maybe our current government officials looking to restrict farm kids from working on the family farm need a chicken coop in their backyard. Instilling a little work ethic in their daily grind and getting holes pecked in their hands as they gather breakfast might just put some common sense back into the laws they make. If that doesn’t work, I vote we send John Darold to Washington to straighten them out!

Man's best friend lends a helping hand.

original run date April 3, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

Memories come flooding back to me at some of the weirdest times.
 I can’t seem to get any of my “city” friends to come walking with me of an evening at my house. They all seem to have an aversion to walking on gravel. The other night in my quest to get some kind of workout in, I resorted to taking the bird dog walking with me. It turned out to be a good move.
Not only did I turn the mile and a half trip into closer to two miles, I got some resistance training in as well.  Mattie was convinced that the road ditches were full of quail and was enthusiastically going from side to side to check every inch for birds.  My normal trek was easily extended and she unknowingly powered it up even more.
Mattie spent at least at least 25 minutes of the 30 pulling me down the road. I had the brakes on most of the trip so I had built in resistance training. I’m sure I looked like a carton character at more than one point as I was bracing myself at the end of the leash to hold on. The brakes were applied and my heels were dug in for traction. Our gravel road has a couple of pretty big washboards in it. There is probably a start for two or three more to form from the divots I left as Mattie continued her mission of finding every bird in the county in that short section of road.
As we reached the stop sign at the highway I tried to turn around to head back home. Mattie in her excitement made the turn and headed back to the house via the tunnel created by my legs bracing for her to hit the end of the leash. The leash formed a firm grasp on my ankles and I realized things were about to get really ugly. I managed to catch myself on her back and maintain my upright position – barely. I’m pretty sure the trucker that passed by about that time is still laughing.
I stopped for a minute to catch my breath and calm Mattie. As I was looking around, a memory hit. I’m not sure why this particular event came flooding back but it made me chuckle all the way home.
There used to be a mobile home across the highway from where we turn onto Hwy 24. I never really knew a lot of the people that lived there since it was a rental.  I don’t even remember the name of the last people that lived there but I do remember doing them a big favor when they were preparing to move.
These particular renters had a lot of “critters” around. Dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, geese, and emus come to mind. Mainly because we received a phone call one evening from them asking if we could help them move to their new place at Excello. They had lots of critters and no way to move them, especially the emus.  They knew we had a stock trailer for our horses and wondered if we could haul the emus for them.
Larry was a little reluctant to take on this venture but being the neighborly sort of guy he is, he agreed to help out the following Saturday afternoon. All three of the kids jumped in the truck with enthusiasm. They had seen the big, ugly birds from the highway and were excited to get to meet them up close.
Getting the birds into the trailer was nothing short of challenging. I won’t lie – the kids and I were hiding behind the trailer at one point so Larry couldn’t see us laugh at him. The birds would not voluntarily step into the trailer. They wouldn’t even volunteer to look at it. When Larry brought out the lariat from behind the seat of his truck to lasso them, we hid our enjoyment.
He was not impressed with the job he was about to undertake. He managed to catch one of the birds and ran his end of the lasso through the side slats and coaxed/pulled the first bird in and closed the middle gate. One bird loaded - one to go.
Long story short, emu number two escaped its confinement and the last time we saw it, she was headed over the hill and through the woods. I don’t think they ever did catch it. There is either a very old emu still roaming the countryside or the coyotes had a very large chicken dinner one evening.
The ride to Excello was no less exciting. This was before Hwy 63 went to four lanes all the way into Macon. We were cruising down 63 on the two-lane portion following the couple to their new farm when Larry audibly gasped. The image in his rear view mirror and the vision of the oncoming traffic created a terrifying vision.
Apparently our friendly passenger decided it needed to see where it was going. The openings on the sides of the livestock trailer were just wide enough for it to stick its head through and enjoy the rush of air much like a dog with his head out an open car window.
This probably wouldn’t have been to bad if the emu had chosen the passenger side versus the driver’s side. The oncoming semi and that birds head stuck out what looked like about 15 feet spelled disaster in our minds.
Thank goodness the shoulder of the road was paved enough Larry could move over and save our passenger from a very ugly beheading. The girls didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jake didn’t hesitate. He was still laughing so hard when we got to the farm he couldn’t even tell the emu owners what was so funny.
Larry did manage to hold it together until the bird was unloaded and we were back on the road towards home. At that point, he vowed to never again put any kind of animal other than a horse in any trailer he owned. He has stuck to that vow.
The trailer is filled every year with camping equipment for the family float trip/fishing adventure; it has been filled with furniture and belongings from family and friends when they moved; and it has carried building material for home improvement projects but it has never carried any critter besides our horses.
The older I get, the harder it is to remember all the funny things that have happened through the years. I wish many times I had started a journal when my kids were young and kept track of all the memorable things they said and did. Maybe I just need to take the dog walking with me of an evening more often. Who knows what memory she may jar out of me the next time.

So many reasons to be proud of the boys!!

original run date March 27
Chariton Valley News Press

I think I am suffering from withdrawal.  I checked my calendar this week and there were no basketball games to attend or take pictures at.  I wasn’t sure what to do with my time.  I did manage to keep myself from shaking and crying too much by working on cleaning up some of the mess in my house but that wasn’t near as exciting as games.
I have to say I’m proud of the Salisbury boys basketball team for many reasons this year.  Of course, I’m especially proud of the second place state finish.  WOW!  District tournament began the last week of February and fielded 122 Class 2 boys teams.  What an amazing accomplishment to play through the season and finish as one of the four premiere teams in the state.
With that being said, there is a much more important reason to be proud of this group of young men other than their state finish.  I have been a part of the excitement surrounding this group of junior guys since Jake joined their class as a seventh grader.  I have watched some of the juniors and seniors since they were in the second and third grade when they started playing football.  Needless to say, I have a case of bleacher behind from all the hours spent watching them in various sports over the course of the years.
This entire group of young men has always been a great example of sportsmanship and composure both on and off the field.  Yes, they have been “boys” at times, that’s what makes them all loveable and fun to be around.  But as they have entered high school and the spectrum of people watching them have expanded, they have always tried to set an example of what high school sports is all about.  As some of the younger boys meld into the team, it isn’t hard to see they are following the example set by the older guys.
They have won with grace and humility.  They have lost with poise and dignity.  Their composure on the court when down by what seemed like insurmountable odds could teach some adults a few things.  The boys on the bench are some of the most enthusiastic supporters of the guys on the floor.  They win as a “family” and lose as a “family” and I couldn’t be prouder of them if they won a world title.
I was honored to be at the t-shirt signing at the high school a few days before their final four games.  As the elementary students poured through the high school cafeteria, it was hard to tell who was the most excited – the little kids or the team members.  The elementary kids were ecstatic to meet some of the guys they had been watching on the court all year.  The team members were amazed at how many of the younger kids knew them by name.
I found myself chuckling at some of the reactions of both age groups.  Some of the young ladies coming through the line seemed a little awestruck.  The boys were equally impressed with meeting the guys they emulate during pickup games.  Some of the team members recalled the Panther final four appearance in 2005 and being on the t-shirt side of the autograph session.  What a testament to the positive influence high school sports can have on kids these days. 
I know some people think we put to much emphasis on high school sports but this past season highlights why they are so important to small communities.  Even before the state run, the town united in support of both the boys’ and girls’ teams.  That excitement carried to the district tournament in Sturgeon and beyond.  I was so impressed with the sea of purple in Sturgeon when Salisbury brought more fans than the hometown team did. 
The support never faltered as the boys team traveled to Sedalia, back to Moberly and finally to Columbia.  One of the security officers at Mizzou Arena was overheard talking about the show of support for the team on Thursday evening.  He commented that if burglars wanted an easy hit, Salisbury would be the place to be because he was certain most homes were empty.
I was so happy to be the primary photographer for Salisbury teams this season.  Because I have a son on the team, it seemed logical for me to photograph their games.  Man was it fun.  I found myself taking way more pictures than really necessary.  It is hard to put the camera down when four boys on the team can dunk with ease.  I might miss that perfect shot if I wasn’t ready.  I certainly hope to follow both teams from behind a camera in years to come.
Jake has given us a break from sports for a few months.  I won’t lie, as much as I enjoy watching him play sports, I’m happy for the break.  Our house project could use a few evenings of attention to finally wrap things up. 
As this school year rolls to an end, I have to brace myself for the inevitable.  I have to face my youngest becoming a senior and my last year of organized high school sports.  I’m already excited about football season come fall and basketball next year could prove to be just as exciting as this year. 
In the end, I’m grateful for the coaches and supporters that have been a part of Joni and Jake’s lives through the years.  The lessons they have learned, both good and bad, will serve them well throughout life.  They have learned to deal with the heartache of loss, enjoy the ecstasy of winning, how to deal with people and learned the importance of integrity and honesty. 
If you happen to meet up with me around town and I’m shaking a little bit, don’t fear.  The withdrawal symptoms have been easing through the week.  By the time summer basketball rolls around, my backside will be ready for my last year of bleacher residence.  The sports mom in me will be pumped and ready by football season to support our team as I’m sure the community will be also.
Congratulations Salisbury boys basketball, Coach Wyatt, and Coach Green.  It was a thrilling ride.  The community was proud of you every step of the way.

Things like this can only happen to me

original run date March 13, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

As the ongoing house project eats away at our free time of an evening and weekend, I have been trying desperately to keep my sense of humor.  With every continuing square inch of damage we find, the harder that has become.  But an incident the other night actually helped me find the humor in all of this again.

Things were going pretty smoothly for once.  Larry had found all the ceiling joists and had cut the old sheetrock so we could take it out in pieces.  I had gone into the other room to grab something when I heard my name shrieked out in what sounded like desperation.

 As I made my way back into the utility room, I saw fat cat (Zoey) leap in the air.  Well, leap may be stretching it but she sure was trying to get off the floor.  In the process of taking down the old ceiling, Larry had disturbed a bird that had made her home in the attic.  Birdy was streaking across the utility room in an attempt to make it back into her nest and stay away from the cat.

Birdy quickly found the door going into our bedroom and made a break for it.  It didn’t take her long to figure out the only way out was the same hole that she came through to begin with.  She managed to cross several thresholds and found herself trapped in my craft room.  Larry and I discussed the situation and figured it should be easy to get her to fly straight out the front door and to freedom.  Wrong!  She flew straight at me with the intention of taking hair off my head for her replacement nest. 

I quickly grabbed the two, small throw pillows off the couch and used my make shift guidance devices to guide her towards the door.  She found the door and sat on top of it, panting as she reassessed her predicament.  She made another break for it with Zoey in hot pursuit, Larry following close behind, and me bringing up the rear with my pillows still in hand in case she made for my head again. 

Birdy once again found her way into our bedroom.  Larry slammed the door shut and the cat jumped on the bed in hopes of getting closer to her prey.  The bird perched on the ceiling fan blade to try and catch her breath. 

I figured the only way to get rid of her was through the window, so I threw the window open and pulled the screen.  Larry, being the brilliant mind that he is, turned the ceiling fan on to expedite Birdy’s departure.  It didn’t work well.  She hit the opposite wall and slid to the floor.  I was able to grab her without her beak drilling holes in my hand and granted her freedom through the open window. 

Finally, calm was restored and we could get back to work.  Zoey stayed on the bed and took a nap.  She had worn herself slick trying to catch that bird.  Much to my dismay, Birdy was only the beginning of the excitement that evening.

Since I have been losing weight, I have quite a few baggy clothes in the closet.  It really worked out well for me during this home improvement project because I have plenty of “old, work” clothes to wear.  Since we were taking the ceiling out, we had a bit of a draft going through the house.  I had grabbed a baggy sweatshirt and some loose fitting pants to work in.  That was a decision which came back to haunt me.

I was diligently tearing out sheetrock while trying to keep the “pink panther” insulation in place in the attic.  I don’t know if any of you have ever looked in your attic but some interesting things find a resting spot on the topside of the insulation.  Our attic is no exception.  As one particularly large junk of sheetrock came crashing down on my head, I ducked.  I was trying to avoid all that offensive matter raining into my eyes and mouth. 

As I bent down, my sweatshirt took a ride up my back and my baggy pants made the trip south.  That left little but a body crevice with a tunneling effect to catch all the debris.  As I straightened up, I realized the construction work was going to come to a screaming halt until this situation could be fixed.

As I started to dig through the newly created treasure chest of crud, my husband tried desperately to stifle the laughter.  I finally looked at him and gave him permission to let it go.  He was going to explode if he held it in much longer.

The first treasure that I found was the remains of a mud dauber’s nest.  Thankfully, no mud daubers were injured in their fall.  The shingle the size of a deck of cards was an interesting find.  It left most of its grit behind though.  The remains of Birdy’s nest had found a new home as well.  But by far the most offensive “treasure” that I produced was the piece of fiberglass insulation that floated peacefully into its new resting place like a cloud on a summer day. 

It was the last thing I found and most surprising.  I shook all the little pieces out of my sweats and made my way back to the stepstool to finish my job.  It didn’t take but a few minutes to realize the insulation had left some residue behind.  My skin was burning.  I was hoping a quick change of sweatpants would fix the problem but I was sorely disappointed. 

After about an hour, Larry lost his assistant for the night.  I couldn’t take it anymore and hurried for the shower.  After several gallons of warm water and about half a bottle of body wash, the burning residue was washed away.  I was once again in clean clothes. 

I won’t lie about the fact that all the damage and unplanned repairs we have had to make have had me pretty stressed the last few weeks.  This was supposed to be a simple fix of a few minor problems and a repaint type project. 

But after that night I decided I might as well find the silver lining in this storm and I came to some conclusions. First, we found the damage before the kitchen cabinets fell off the walls.  We would have then had to not only fix the original damage but the kitchen and cabinet contents as well.  Second, when all this is finished, my spring-cleaning should be fairly easy.  Most everything will be freshly scrubbed and painted.

All these “this can only happen to me” moments certainly give me something to write about each week.  I hope I can keep my sense of humor about it so Larry doesn’t explode from trying not to laugh at me during my “duh” moments.  If not, maybe he can start writing a column.  I’m sure his point of view would make for an interesting perspective.

The nightmare on Shelby Avenue continues

Original run date March 6, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

Ever look around your home and think to yourself, “Imagine that?” I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I mentioned in an earlier column that we are making some changes at our house. I didn’t want to call it remodeling because most of the changes we are personally doing are not major – well they weren’t anyway. We had reluctantly relabeled our project from some redecorating to a minor remodel. After this weekend, we have moved into full-blown repair mode.

We bought our home in 1990. We were excited. We knew it needed some work but it was a big house with lots of room to raise kids in. In the first few days after we purchased the house I spent lots of timing planning to repaint; deciding which rooms to redo the flooring in, which could wait, picking which rooms to work on before we moved in and which I could close the door on for now. Two weeks later one of those doors had to suddenly be opened and worked into the plans as we found out I was pregnant with Joni.

We knew when we bought the house that the previous owner had treated it for termites. They pointed out any visible damage and we put that at the top of the list of repairs to be made before moving in. Twenty years later we have found all the hidden damage those nasty little buggers caused.

This past Sunday morning, I was up bright and early, eager to start preparing the walls to repaint. I have lived with walnut trim and dark paneling highlighted by black and red linoleum for almost 22 years. I was so happy to see the dark, drab colors moving out. As I was getting all the painting supplies ready and get my paint mojo in high gear, I heard a sound that sent my mojo flying out the door and hiding in the barn. A resounding, “Oh crap” from Larry dashed my hopes of a quick first layer of paint. He pulled the paneling off the wall and the damage was staring at me like a beagle at a nest of rabbits.

As the day wore on, Larry’s vocabulary took a nosedive. One wall we planned on leaving came crashing down. The cabinets that had served as a catch all over the last 22 years had to be emptied and removed. By the time the evening rolled around, we ordered Casey’s pizza and sat staring at the mess of what was left of walls and floor.

I’m pretty sure we have a very tired guardian angel at our house. I mean, all these years it has been holding the floor up so the washing machine didn’t sink into the basement. The kitchen cabinets on the other side of the wall have been hanging by a thread – the thread of the screw in the rotten stud.

After repeatedly hearing me utter the words, “We’re in over our heads here, dear,” my dear sweet husband and son have continued on with the repairs. Hopefully by the upcoming weekend, I will have walls to paint. My alternative idea of getting rid of the wall completely and expanding the kitchen met with a glare that managed to keep me quiet for about 30 minutes. Note to self – Larry does not want to expand the kitchen.

The sound of hammers and saws continues every evening. I don’t mind helping with these projects for the most part but this one has hit the overwhelming stage for me. Larry and Jake have been diligently working every night to make the needed repairs. The site of Jake in his shorts, work boots, and tool belt is Facebook material but I want the repairs done correctly so I keep my phone in my pocket.

As I was working on taxes the other night in hopes of getting enough of a refund to pay for the truckload of two by fours, subflooring, and sheetrock I brought home, I peeked over my monitor to another frightening sight. They had moved from the utility room into the kitchen and hammers were flying. My laminated flooring was being removed. It was like passing a wreck on the highway. I didn’t want to go look but I had to.

The men had found damage going all the way into the subflooring in the kitchen. They just kept pulling up flooring until they found the end of it. The sawzall (that Larry borrowed so he didn’t have to break out the chainsaw again) fired up and the damaged area was removed.

I watched as the guys went to the garage to cut a piece of flooring to fit. Jake told me to keep an eye on the cat. My thought was, “She isn’t stupid enough to try and jump in the basement,” so I headed back to my computer to finish taxes. When the guys came back in the colorful vocabulary once again caught my attention. Apparently, Jake wasn’t worried about her falling through the floor.

Both cats have spent many hours inspecting all the holes in the floor and this time, Chloe decided to see what was down there. She had walked across the floor joist and was now comfortably watching the action from a perch above the ceiling in Jake’s room in the basement, just out of reach. The guys took a 20-minute break from repair work as we tried to coax her out with some leftover chicken from supper. As much as Larry would have been perfectly happy just laying the subfloor down and letting her figure out how to get out of that predicament herself, Jake and I decided listening to her cry all night was not a good plan.

Eventually, at about one in the morning, the floor was fixed and there were no holes left big enough for any sleep walkers to injure themselves in. The guys gave up for the night and vowed to finish up the walls before the weekend so I can finally get to the redecorating end of the project.

Once I finally have strong, sturdy walls with a fresh, bright coat of white paint and light color tiles installed I’ll be even more thankful for all the time and sweat the men have put into making the repairs. The house will be safer and I’ll love the updates to my utility room. The mudroom with the door that I can close the mess on will be much appreciated. No more scrambling to hide dirty clothes in the washer and dryer when unexpected company pulls in the driveway. I can just slam the door shut and get the dirty dishes from the sink thrown in the oven that much faster.

With spring on its way, the inside projects will soon turn to outside projects. There are two barns that need to be cleaned out, fences that need repair, all the tack needs to be cleaned, checked, and some replaced before riding season hits. Larry will give the truck and trailer both a good tune up. When the sunshine warms up the days, we’ll forget all about the damage that had to be repaired in the house and saddle up the horses and go.

We’ll be living the dream that all started when we signed on the dotted line and became homeowners – and with any luck, the nightmare of ever having to do home repair like this will be over forever.

Now let's get to work on that utility room

original run date February 21, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

After 23 years of marriage this month, a person wouldn’t think anything could scare Larry anymore. I have found one phrase that strikes terror in his heart though. I simply have to say “let the destruction begin”.

I’ve never been a wife that waits on her husband to do things around the house. I know how to run power tools and I’m not afraid to tackle a project. I guess it can be said that I’m a pretty independent woman. (After giving anyone who knows me very well a chance to catch his/her breath from laughing at that statement, I’ll finish my story.)

Larry and I have a system that has worked for many years. We discuss changes we want to make around the house or farm. These discussions aren’t short or brief – they are in-depth. Larry tells me he would love to help me with it. Then the subject is not mentioned again for weeks. I roll the ideas around in my head during those weeks while developing a plan. After deciding I need to get the ball rolling on the project, I either call or, in recent years, text the simple phrase “let the destruction begin”.

The first time this happened, Larry didn’t take me serious. I wanted to take some walls out and “open up” the family living area. After deciding it was time to get the project rolling, I made the call to him at work. When Larry got home, he opened the garage door to find the two walls that needed to come out lying in his side of the garage. He quietly closed the garage door and went to the barn.

Taking the walls out didn’t seem to be much of a problem. I had three young children, two crowbars and a couple of hammers. Just telling the kids they were allowed to tear something up made me the world’s greatest mom for the day.

Larry decided the shock factor of seeing those walls in the garage deserved a response. When it came time to cut the hole in the wall between the kitchen and the living room, he laid out where the window needed to be. He didn’t have a sawzall to cut the window so in true Larry fashion – he broke out the chain saw.

It really did not faze me too much. I just wanted a window in the wall so the area we frequented the most was more open. I have witnessed Larry do some pretty amazing things with that chainsaw. I must say though, that was the first, although not the last time, I had seen him complete a home improvement project inside the house with it.

A few years passed before he got the dreaded message again. He knew what it meant this time and wasn’t near as shocked when he got home.

We’ve recently undertaken a few more home improvement projects. With the snowfall and the cancellation of basketball games, he got the message once again the other night. By the time he got home, I had already removed the paneling and most of the sheet rock off the walls. It wasn’t a support wall so the destruction phase was quick.

Larry grabbed a crowbar and joined in on the destruction this time. He got a little more into it than previously. I have to say, the Chuck Norris karate kick that broke the two by four was comical. I was kind of impressed that it actually broke. Jake, on the other hand, was stunned that his “old man” could kick that high.

With the destruction phase complete, construction can now begin. The largest workload will probably consume our wedding anniversary. In a way, we will be spending the day much like we did 23 years ago – mixing together our ideas of how something should be and turning it into something useful and pleasing.

Just like when we got married, some things will turn out just as we expected. Other times, we’ll have to change our plans and make do the best we can. With any luck, there won’t be any disasters. I figure our marriage is pretty much like our house. There will always be something that needs work but all in all, we are happy with the way things have worked out.

Over the past years, our wedding has transformed into a marriage and our house evolved into a home. I’m pretty blessed in that the marriage has never gone through the destruction phase. I’ll make sure and refrain from sending any more texts that might send it that direction. I’ll just load up any walls I remove and haul them off myself next time instead of using his parking spot in the garage.

Happy Anniversary Larry - now let’s get to work on that utility room.