The Almighty Euchre

This evening I have found myself in a major planning session on facebook for a serious game of Euchre. I say serious, because where I come from Euchre is just about as serious as Uncle Joe's cows getting loose. According to Websters Online Dictionary, Euchre is defined as "A card game similar to ecarte; each player is dealt 5 cards and the player making trump must take 3 tricks to win a hand." The definition fails to mention that all players involved must be able to tolerate unimaginable amounts of heckling, use phrases that edge ever so slightly into cheating, and be willing to play almost anywhere, anytime.
Growing up in a small town makes it harder to get into trouble and get away with it. Either everyone knows each other or they know who to tell if they suspect something's up. So for those times when small crime wasn't an option we played euchre. I'm going to guess that I was about 13 or 14 when I learned how to play; so let's say Jr. High. Although I don't remember exactly how, I'm sure my first lesson was on a team bus coming back from a basketball game late one night. It was addicting from the first hand. We played on team busses, free-time in school, weekend camping trips, you name it. I have even played euchre at the county jail with on-duty deputies. In High School while some of the more "cliquey" kids were doing their thing, my crowd was at someone's house with 2-3 tables of euchre going. We'd play to all hours of the night. There were some deep converstaions had and good friendships made over a few hands of euchre. Sadly, way down here in the swamp lands of Louisiana you can find every type of card game imaginable, except euchre. In the 9 years that I've been here I have yet to find a single person who has even heard of the word, let alone played the game.
Here's to meeting up with old friends on my trip back home. Hopefully we'll be able to rekindle those old friendships and engage in deep conversations all while handing a few good old-fashioned ass whippin's!

Something Old, Something New

I was looking around my house today trying to decide what decor to go with or what knick-knack to stick where and came to the realization that even though it's a brand new house, I'd really like it to look old. I've always been drawn to old things and I suppose that's because I grew up around old things. My grandparents and my dad ran a small family farm in Clark County Illinois. As long as I can remember, they never purchased anything new to run that place except the seeds they planted. A the ripe old age of about 8 years old I was given the duty of learning how to drive the tractor that my paw-paw always to referred to as Johnny Putt Putt. It was a John Deere Model A, which was first produced in the 1930's. Kind of rugged for an 8 yr. old don't ya think? That tractor was the work-horse of the place. I can clearly remember my dad using "the ol' A" as he called it, to pull a one-row corn picker over about 80 acres of corn. He's since upgraded to a 5 row combine to get the job done, but "the ol' A" still putts out of the barn now and then.


Then I began thinking of my Granny and how she could amaze me with the things that came out of her kitchen. My realization...old things make it better. I used to tease her that she was the only cook on earth that could make boxed spaghetti taste good. And that's no lie! I loved it when she made boxed spaghetti. It wasn't better because she was old. The way she went about it was old, meaning everything she was taught was handed down to her, who had it handed down to them and so on and so forth. She didn't need the lastest and greatest in modern kitchen gadgets to get the job done. She had an old gas stove that had to be lit with a match, stoneware bowls, an old metal hand mixer, and most importantly the care to do it right.

So why do I love these old things so much? I guess it's because it keeps me grounded. Why are we constantly trying to upgrade our lives and keep up with the next person when there really isn't anythng wrong with the way we are now? I am thankful everyday for the beautiful house that I share with my family. It's complete with all the modern conveniences, central heating and air, city water, vents in the ceiling, yada yada yada. But if I had the chance to have my dream house it would be an old farm house with squeaky wood floors, a wrap around porch, wood-burning stove, and a kitchen that makes you smell hot blackberry cobbler by just looking at it. It would be a dream partly because I think those things are really cool, but mostly because I can appreciate the things that those old amenities have endured and the character that keeps them beautiful. When I'm "really old" I want to be described as that old farm house, and to do so I better stay grounded in the qualities that all these old things have taught me about. I also have an obligation to pass this old stuff along to the "new" in this scenario...my beautiful children. Everytime I go home to visit that old farm I'm going to make sure they get a ride on Johnny Putt Putt and maybe they will find their respect for all the cool, old stuff as well.

**footnote: The picture in this entry is of my dad on his tractor looking out over the pasture and my oldest son at 2 years old getting his first taste of "old stuff."

Saying Goodbye

Today I learned of the death of one of my former softball coaches. Howard had been battling cancer for sometime and his passing was not a shock. Since I had learned that he was in his final days of life, I often thought of the many laughs and lessons he gave us girls. Howard was the assistant coach of our traveling softball team, one of the player's step-dad, and friend to all of us. He was a towering man that could have easily frightened anyone with his sheer size, but it was his gentle soul that we all admired so much. He was our biggest cheerleader on the team, especially as first base coach. My favorite catch-phrase of his came when runners were on base and he would shout to the batter "ducks on the pond!" That meant you better make them swim home. Even opposing teams fell in love with Howard and his captivating personality. How could you ignore the biggest man in the ball park when he was standing right in front of your dugout? I can't remember a time when even in our grimmest of performances that he wasn't constantly uplifting and looking for the positives. He truly knew how to lift us up and get us back in the game. Lessons like that go beyond the diamond. That's a true gift. Thanks for sharing that with us, Howard. I'm gonna miss you big guy! My next rise-ball is for you.

Why Now?

It's taken a while, but here I am in the world of "blogging." Hopefully I can keep up with it as there is a lot going on right now with a toddler and a baby in the house. I guess my intentions for starting this is so that I can keep reminding myself of who I am and why I'm that way. Sounds cheesey, but I'm edging into my 32nd year of existence, and to some people that's OLD! What I'm getting at is that I feel that I've come upon a crossroads in my life. As a 31-year old stay-at-home-mom of two, I find myself constantly evaluating and re-evaluating my every decision. I even think about how decisions in the past affect me and my family now. For instance, had I known what life would be like 800+ miles away from friends and family would I have still made that decision? Not so sure of the answer to that. Regardless of the true feelings deep down inside the decision is made and here I am. Now what do I do? So I guess the real title of this entry should be "Why Not." Maybe it will help me remind myself of the things that I really find important in life and why they've become true treasures to me. Sure I could go on and on about politics and the dismal forecast of the economy and it's direct affect on families like mine...but really...don't you still have to find a way to muster through even the toughest of times? Let's remind ourselves that we aren't who we are by accident. What an injustice we do to ourselves by getting swept up in the socialisms we base our existence on and forget about what we once dreamed of or how we felt on a sunny day with our bare toes tickled by the soft clover beneath them. Close your eyes and remember you. In the most lonesome of times it's all you'll have to comfort you.
It's my hope that someone, somewhere will read my entries and be inspired to think a little more simply about the basics of life. Remember your Granny? I bet that question alone has sparked a warm glow in someone's brain. And if you are wondering about the title of my blog..well..that's where it all began. Hopefully one day, that's where it will end.