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Bless His Heart

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 10:12 AM Comments comments (0)
         A fabulous artist that I like to think of as my friend, Mariela told me this story about a lady who said that you could say anything you wanted to about a person as long as you ended with "bless their heart".  So in essence you could say "Joan, she is worst home-wrecker in three counties....Bless her heart".  When she told that story we all laughed and now "Bless their heart" is the quite joke.   Now with that seed planted for future cultivation I will proceed. God knew what he was doing when he made man the complete opposite of woman.  I am not speaking in the anatomical sense.  I am referring to the psychological sense.  If you take a motor and reverse the battery connections (i.e. positive to negative) you know what happens?  The motor runs in the opposite direction and that is what the good Lord seen fit to do.  After he wired man he said to himself "ah yes, this model will be most energy efficient and put out the most horsepower but ....." and so he reversed the polarization and woman was born!  A steady dependable (maybe not always the most quiet) model with all the fine luxury features for comfort.

     I know one time my friend and I were on one of our girl trips.  We were in one of those shops....you know the ones that women love and men hate.  The shops with all the candles, linens all the great stuff that make womens hearts go pitty pat.  Anyway we are scoping out all the great stuff in this store.  Here is woman and man together shopping.  This guy is pointing out all this cool stuff to this lady.  And I do mean "cool" stuff.  The things that we gals would grab each other and squeal over....and here is a mature male pointing out how neat this would look on the hall table with  those other accessories!  My friend and I look at each other and we immediately know what the other is thinking.  Reincarnation is real!  This man has been a woman in a previous life.  A woman with very good and artistic taste as a matter of fact.  We find a corner and share our dismay and we have come to the conclusion that this fella is either just the lady's date or a gay friend of hers.  We can't even imagine our husbands even entering past the threshold of this shop!  Hey,  Leslie my husband thinks Feng Shui is a type of jungle rot contracted by soldiers in New Guinea in WWII.  This guy is talking about the flow and contrast of colors in the room.  I almost wanted to throw him down in the potpourri aisle and ravage him it was so alluring.  And here comes the killer...after the couple left as we carried our bountiful purchases to the counter we remarked on our observation to the shopkeepers.  They were as enthralled as we were.  They even shared the information that this man of our dreams shall we call him "deco-man" (for man familiar with the principles of decorating) was actually this lucky lady's husband!  We all sighed in envy to reference to the woman's accomplishments in finding "specimen/male/certified for reproduction".  Oh well...scientists are still searching for the "missing link" and little do they know but my friend and I found him in a girlie shop in North Carolina.

       I love my husband.  He is sensitive, kind and void of the bad habits (i.e. drinking, carousing, etc.) that are grist for every good country song.  He had been single for seventeen years when we married.  I had never been married and dove out of the airplane without a parachute shall we say at the age of  forty.  So I had developed my sense of independence and he has always understood and respected that.  As a matter of fact it was his idea that I hyphenate my name since I already was somewhat known for my artwork etc.  My girlfriends and I like to travel and take trips to places that interest us.  We have gone to Texas to see the Bluebonnets, to Natchez to see the plantations and to Georgia to tour the gardens at Callaway.  My husband is very understanding of that.  He also allows me to travel and study with artists and attend china shows all over the country.   We are not just talking about a trip of day or so.  The last trip to a convention I was gone for 10 days!  Since he was single for so long, he is very self reliant.  Now a friend of mine her husband is not quite so.  He is a very smart man but could not cook a hot dog.  He would probably starve like a chained dog without meals prepared with specific instructions.

       Since we girls have done quite a bit of traveling without our spouses my friend Ellen (same name as me) and I thought maybe we should plan a trip and take our husbands with us.  We took a weekend jaunt to Southern Indiana to tour old homes along the Ohio River in Madison.  Now my husband Leslie loves the river...any river.  If he weren't a farmer I think he would love to be a barge pilot or a train conductor.  Anyway we thought this would be a nice trip.  Oh My God!  Now Ellen's husband did pretty good.  He was pretty amicable but Leslie....woah!  When I drove he was constantly correcting me...when we got ready to go into the third house on the tour he proclaimed "I'm staying in the car...you see one old house you've seen them all".  How I have longed to make that same statement as we have driven the countryside looking at field after field of corn and soy beans.  After his proclamation I turned to my friend Ellen and she and I almost synchronized say to each other..."we will Never do this again!"

       Leslie and I have sense traveled by ourselves with some pleasantries but usually not without some form of discord.  One of the later trips we have taken was over this past Labor Day weekend.  We were traveling over to visit the John Deere compound and museum in Molene, IL.  I thought this would be of interest to him.  Well I had made all the hotel reservations over the Internet and made all the plans and packing.  All he had to do was get in the car.  Our reservation the first night was in Peru, IL.  Since we left home after I got off of work we arrived after 9:30 P.M. to the hotel.  Even though I booked with a named hotel chain when we went in our room, I was aghast.  The lamp shades were so old they were in shreds.  The floor covering in the bathroom was worn so badly you couldn't even tell what the pattern was.   The clerk said they were knocking off $5.00 from our bill because we could not call out on the room phone.  We  could receive calls but we couldn't call out...not even to the desk! I nearly shrieked but it was late and I didn't want to try and find another hotel that time of night on a holiday weekend.  Besides Leslie really didn't see what I was so upset about.  The next two nights our accommodations were elsewhere and much more to my liking.  I remarked as soon as we reached the room what a difference there was between our stay from the previous evening.  That was until........later that night.  After we returned from supper and settled in for the night.  I was all comfy in bed and Leslie tries to turn on the T.V.  and havoc abounds.  Heaven forbid the batteries are not working on the remote control!  He rants and raves for nearly 10 minutes how none of these hotels ever check these things.  He has forgotten that the towels we had at the "dive" the night before could have sanded 2 coats of paint off of a car with 2 swipes!  But Oh.....a defective remote control is akin to the largest insult to one's mother!

     The next evening after we have dinner as we were going back to the hotel Leslie says..."before we go back I am stopping and getting some batteries for that remote control".  I could have suggested that he ring the desk and have them replaced.  But that is how much importance I placed on this staple of life.  So we stop and he buys batteries.  Back in the room I retire to the nice bathroom with thick fluffy towels and enjoy a nice relaxing bath only to return into the room to find Leslie mumbling as if in some trance saying that the batteries were not working.  He asks if I can look and see if he has placed them in correctly (because his glasses were left in the car).  Now for a point of reference....said television that said remote is linked to is maybe 4 foot from the end of the bed.  Now any woman would simply go and switch on the T.V. manually, select her channel and be done with it.  But we are talking Alpha Male here.   With testosterone comes the inability to watch any type of commercial or ad, watching a show from start to finish not changing the channel during that telecast, and try and watch no less than 3 programs at the same time.

     I found that Leslie had placed the batteries in backwards....so like any dutiful wife I corrected the error and presented the squire of the castle with the finished work ready for his enjoyment.  I make myself comfortable in bed to drift off to sleep but shortly...  what is that noise....I open my eyes to see that in probably a span of 15 minutes Leslie has fallen asleep...snoring with remote control safely in hand.  I get up and Manually switch off the T.V.  The next morning as we prepare to leave our home away from home I pack while Leslie works feverishly taking the new batteries out of the remote and leaving the old batteries out on the night stand.  He says.."I want to make sure they know these batteries are bad so the next person won't have to put up with what I did.  I'm sure not going to leave the good ones here."  I am certain the person he was looking out for was the next husband that a wife who had tried to include him by deciding to travel together.

       That brings me to fact that I guess someone you can stand to live with might not be the best of traveling companions.  I don't know.  But just like most women I think the terms trip with husband and vacation do not equate to the same thing.  My dear husband Leslie sometimes the most trying of traveling companions.....Bless His Heart!

Down on the farm where maybe I should stay...

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

Bedroom Safety

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 10:10 AM Comments comments (22)
        I don't recall the exact statistics of the number of injuries that occur while conducting our day to day life activities at home  but I do remember that it was alarming.  To that point I began to try and analize best how to head off an impending calamity that I worry about every evening as the sun decends.  We have something that happens in our bedroom at home that we really don't like to talk about outside of the family but I feel that talking about it can only help lead us down the road to recovery.  That's right.  My husband falls out of bed!  Now before you start to speculate allow me to eliminate some factors you may think you are contributing.  He falls out of bed perfectly sober.  My husband doesn't drink but I have been known to partake of a libation before bed just because of impending dread of the sound of something going "bump in the night".

     We live in a old farm house.  May I say a small house given today's cavernous ideas of a modest dwelling.  Our bedroom is small!  We are both shall I say ample size adults and even though a king size bed would be more comfortable a queen size is all that will fit in the space.  I have always held the opinion that men could function with the most spartan amount of furniture.  A bed, chair, and a table to set the remote control on are all they really require.  Now a woman....well one of the many reasons God created woman was so the furniture industry would have a reason to exist!  How many men do you know that have purchased a jewelry armoire?  A fainting couch to Bubba is a lawn chair to watch the babes at the beach.  So I have seemed to  manage to pack into this small bedroom a high dresser, a antique lowboy dresser with mirror and another small dresser all to accompany our queen size bed with the high oak headboard.  Oh, let's not forget the dressing bench at the foot of the bed. All the dressers are adored with pieces of my hand painted china.  This bedroom is not arranged for the mad throes of youthful passion.  Any mode of thrashing around will wreck havoc like playing golf in a greenhouse.  This is a room for sedate reflection and contemplation.  To unwind from the day and organize our minds and renue our bodies for the next day.  Well mostly it consists of 2 middle agers snoring with one of the parties fighting the "hot flash" demon throughout the night.

    Leslie has fallen out of bed several times.  He is always dreaming some wild dream and I am awaken with a thud and expletives.  He has hit the dresser many times and this last weekend he bent the bottom drawer knob with his knee....yes he does get hurt sometimes.  I tease him because I don't know if he is still in his youth where rails with bumper pads keep you safe and cozy or if he has crossed over the big water to the geriatric bed with rails and bed pan close by.  I told him if my disposition was more like Joan Crawford I would harness him in bed at night just like in "Mommy Dearest".  When I try to research the internet for some type of harness I am channeled to "S & M" toys and apparel sites.  I now get spam from places that make my computer's trash bin blush.

    I know what you are thinking...she's a farm wife for heavens sake.  Can't she just use some rope and safely secure my sweetie so he won't come to any harm.  I am one step ahead of you.  I have thought about waltzing  right into the farm wife's Macy's....Rural King.  I can see myself walking through Rural King....past the chicken feeders....turn right at the hose couplings and back to the rope section.  They always have a friendly sales person to aid you in finding just the right tool for the job.  I look at the clerk and tell him that I need some rope.  He proceeds to ask me what type of rope I would like.  Not being very informed about the nuances of bindings and say "something I can tie a good tight knot in".  He asks me if I want hemp, nylon or cotton cording.  He shows me the cotton cording and I say to him "oh, I don't think that cord will hold him".  The clerk asks me how large the steer is I am trying to tie up.  In order to purchase the correct item for the job I am forced to confess to the helpful clerk "it's not a steer but an ole' bull that won't stay in his stall at night.  I'm tying my old man in bed" at this point my mental scenario begins to spin out of control like one of those black light posters from days gone by.  I envision the clerk's face aghast and hearing on the loud speaker "case of spousal bondage on aisle 4"!

    So I am left still pondering the best course of action.  I am now thinking about wrapping him up in bubble wrap and a helmet and just hoping for the best!

Sweet dreams from down on the farm....

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

When You Least Expect It

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 10:05 AM Comments comments (1)
       Now this topic is something that only a woman can sympathize with.  Men are rarely concerned about getting caught out in public by someone they know only if they are engaged in something that constitutes an affair.  Well most women will tell you that just when you think it is safe to run to the store with out make up or looking just a little haggard you will most surely get caught.  I must say that I have experienced just about every possible indignation in that sense. You are painting the bedroom.  You were sure that you purchased enough paint but as you nearly finish you are just short of completing one wall.  You want to finish today so you may move the furniture back in the room.  You have been painting with a bandanna tied around your head because you tend to be one of the world’s messiest painters.  O.K. you decide you will run into town and buy just enough paint to finish this room.  It is 2:00 in the afternoon.  You haven’t put on any makeup today because you are doing home improvement.  You have worn a kerchief on your hair all day.  You decide to throw caution to the wind and pull off that babushka and run into town  Au’ natural’.  You have a plan of action.  You will go to the Wal-Mart straight back to the paint dept. You will not look at anyone for fear of making eye contact with someone you know.  If they should ask how long you had been sick you will have to explain that without foundation and mascara you tend to look rather anemic.  You have the paint chip in hand, they can mix the paint while you “hide” in the next aisle hoping the paint shaker doesn’t decide to break down.

   You then proceed to the express aisle where you scan your own purchase and thus eliminate virtually nearly all human contact.   As you exit the express aisle who runs into you with their cart….none other than your high school homecoming queen.  You know the one…the first person in your community to think Botox Cosmetic was something everyone should have just like a blender.  She is wearing spandex and a crop top and you can tell from her flat tummy that she has every ab enhancer that has been advertised after midnight. She looks at you in all your unfeathered glory.  Oh my God!  She recognizes me!  She speaks.  You smile…at least you brushed your teeth this morning.  She is scanning your overall impression.  You watch to see if she is beginning to gag.  O.K. she is not to the hurling stage…that’s good.  She then asks “What have you been up to….”   You hear the inflection that someone gets in their voice when they are being condescending.  A self-visual picture flashes before my eyes…I am wearing paint speckled sweat pants with my hair plastered to my head…no make up with dark circles under my eyes so I  look like a malnourished child from a third world country.  There is no foundation garment in the world that is going to save you know….every brownie you have ever eaten is screaming hysterically.  Somewhere in the vast space of creativity the artist in you takes over and you speak…. almost channeling in a third person….”oh well, I have been so busy with my art commissions…I'm doing a vast mural in a home…had to have just a little more foundation paint to finish up.

      Thank goodness I wasn’t doing a ceiling like Michelangelo!”  You stand there looking like a derelict and  not believing what you have just said.  She looks aghast and says…”Well it was great seeing you” and she literally runs out of the store.  You get your gallon of “ecru linen” and walk to the car.  On the way home you wonder what she is thinking.  Does she really believe you to be an artist? Does she have visions of you painting a great panoramic mural-scape in some lavish home?  Or does she realize that instead of painting your porcelain you are instead painting your bedroom because household chores speak the loudest.  Oh well, if nothing else, she believes you to be completely eccentric.   Then she has to believe you are an artist.  Forgoing worldly pleasures for the sake of your art.  All I wanted to do was paint the bedroom and from this I have been relinquished to the community gossip caverns as being an oddity.  I guess that is how it goes.  In the realms of Hollywood as they say….”no matter what they say about you…at least they are talking ABOUT you”.

The smell of  fresh paint down on the farm in Indiana

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt            

Just A Matter of Time

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 10:00 AM Comments comments (0)
     I know some of my faithful blog readers have wondered how long it would be before I would issue an official statement on my personal opinion of the daylight savings time.   I hate to take up all the space that follows to explain what I could say in a short sentence of "Daylight savings time sucks!".  Now we will for the time being remove the quotient of the fact that we are farmers and the farming lobbys  have long fought the legislation to change the time.   Now I understand very well how what greases the wheels of legislation and the farmer and his pocketbook is no match for the golf course crowd and the business and financial community!

       Since "Our Man Mitch" has dealt another lethal blow I have decided to try and reason something of value from this yet another "real boner" that makes being called a Hoosier a dirty word!  Marital Bliss....Dr. Phil will equate this to proper communication, equal compensation and just eating crow.  I quantify it with never seeing one another.  And that is just what is going to happen at our happy household thanks to "Daylight Savings Time" refered to here after as "DST".  My husband is a farmer.  I work away from the home because my husband is a farmer.  You understand!  The way the U.S. economy is we will import every agricultural product all over the world to compete with the U.S. farmer just so we can be perceived as being open to commerce.  I must be at work at 7:30 A.M.  it is just beginning to be daylight.  As I figure it....since my husband will work until dark (a typical farmers day) and I have to get to bed early in order to rise and be cordial by 7:30 A.M. we will probably not see one another awake until December 20.  We will not be conjugal ...well that is grounds for a lawyer and loss of companionship in most cases!

       My husband and I will be relinquished to letter writing.  A note here..."supper in the oven....call your mom....Dr. said I have a yeast infection".  You know the usual verbal conversation will be reduced to pen and paper.  Dr. Phil would be proud.  One has a chance to edit such communications.....Are they too terse...brevity could be interpreted as deceptive...absence of terms of endearment!  Yes...Let's deal with the terms of endearment part!  Prior to the "DST" fiasco it was bad enough dealing with planting time on the farm.  I would be in bed and some warm body would crawl in beside me some time in the wee hours of the morning.  I never bothered to ask who they were or if they needed any share of blanket.  Now I will reduced to  hoping that I recognize my husband come harvest time as I will rarely see him in the daylight hours.  But I also acknowledge the fact that golf is an important industry in this country.  When we sit down to dinner at night and we review the items on our dinner plate we think..."gee I wonder if the guys at the shop were able to play a full 18 holes after work this evening". " My this steak tastes just as good as sinking a bogie at the course last Thursday evening."

     It is 9:00 P.M. right now and I can't even get my dog in the house because she thinks it is still daytime!  Animals function on the solar clock.  Cows, chickens you name any animal it's cycle is geared to the rise and set of the sun.  Not the time on the clock at the statehouse in Indianapolis!   Me too!  I will have to be going to bed while it is still daylight in a few weeks in order to rise at the time I need to be at work.  I can only imagine the impact on the dairymen.

    Oh well, we all know by now that money talks and common sense never has a say,  so I will accept the edict as it has been sent down from the Mount- Indianapolis.   I will turn my clocks 1 hour forward against all laws of nature and reason or better judgment because it is the law as it has been voted on by those we have been so misguided to choose as our voice.  I will accept the fact that our state will have numerous time zones because it is more advantageous for their counties and they have appealed to the state for permission for "special exception".  So I have accepted the fact that we as a state have regressed back to the early days when practically every province sets it's own time according to a whim.  I would like to see "our Man Mitch" sell our state now as being "progressive" and "foreword thinking".  We are back to what we were in the early 1800's.  But hey!  I am nostalgic.  Shall we just propose that the new Colt's Stadium be lit with kerosene lamps!  How about the new I-69 toll road be a log road like the old national road 40 was in days of yore.  Let's just see how nostalgic the progressive administration is to that!   With the stroke of the clock of 10:00  P.M. my farming husband comes in.   He has worked until sundown.  Sundown in April at !0:00 P.M.   How absurd is that!  I guess I am the last resistant to progress.....Screaming all the way.....!  And who cares.....

From down on the farm in Indiana

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

Wow What A Job!

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 9:56 AM Comments comments (2)
      Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have a different job than you currently hold?  Of course you do!  If you are like me you wonder every day of your life!  What would be the ideal job to suit your expectations and showcase your talents.  The word "Job" in itself has a certain dark conotation.  When my sister was doing her student teaching at the middle school she was wrestling with the "real world demon".  Her education professors had painted a picture to these aspiring educators that when they receive their much earned, expensive degree they would  venture into the world of young minds hungry for knowledge.  This is the point that where Rod Serling enters the picture and tells you that you are entering the Twilight Zone.  What hungry minds are they thinking about?  My sister spent most of her student teaching crying evenings in dismay at the bag of goods she had been sold by academia.  When she started teaching full time she did a lot of complaining.  This is when I reminded her of a cold hard fact.  First of all...there are very few people that are fortunate to have a job they really enjoy.  I tip my hat to those folks.  But for the rest of us it is an exercise of endurance.  I reminded my little sister that is why they call it a "job".  If it was something you enjoyed doing it was called a hobby!

     Have you ever thought about those eclectic jobs that no one really ever interviews for?  O.K. chicken sexer for instance.  When you live on a farm and purchase baby chicks you purchase them according to sex.  Roosters are cheaper than hens.  Baby chicks all look alike...someone has to set and do this job.  Now this is one of those jobs that accuracy is pretty important.  Also I wouldn't want to do it with a hang over.  Turning those little yeller fellas upside down and giving them a squeeze to see what they got would rank right up there as one of those "burn out jobs".  I also thought about another job today that no one ever thinks about.  Have you ever looked down the cosmetic aisle in the store?  Actually it is more like aisles.  Big money and big business here.  Just look how much advertising revolves around womens cosmetics.  With this comes all kinds of colors of products.  Everything from lipstick to eye shadow has a color name.  Not just pink or red...but Demure blush and Vivacious Currant.  This brings us to the jist of this posting.  Who has the job of thinking up all these color names?  I must confess that my one indulgence is that I get my nails done.  You say...."farm wife that gets her nails done?".  But I figure if I have to have one of those full time jobs that is not classified as a hobby this is my treat to myself.  I believe along with lipstick colors the number of colors of nail polish are astounding.  I wouldn't even venture to guess how many different colors each manufacturer has.  On more than one occasion I have speculated about the person that has the job of naming those colors.  We have even gone so far as making up naughty color names just for laughs at the salon.

       What is this person's job title?  Color Nominclature Technologist perhaps?  Who does this work?  A man, a woman?  I can't exactly picture a guy with biceps tatoos sitting in a lab thinking up the name of Peach sorbet or Raspberry Truffle.  He would more than likely come up with something like "You Say It's Your First Time Red" and "Slap Me Silly Sienna".  See I think I would have a real career in the naughty name market.

    Something to really reach out and grab you!  If there are any Revlon or Max Factor executives out there surfing the blogs I submit these entries for my resume:     Jail Bait Coral, Check Her Driver's License Tangerine, Got a Trust Fund Pink, how about Claw Her Eyes Out Red for a nice nail polish for jealous girlfriends.  Now for the more mature market we have Overlook the Liver Spot Rose, Just Another Wrinkle Frost,  and don't forget Hot Flash Flourish.  Now for the woman on the prowl or the newly divorced we have Alimony Honey, On the Make Frappe and the serve the papers favorite....Kiss My Ass Goodbye and Bend Over Cherise!  I think my talents are being wasted by not enriching the cosmetic world with my gift.  I could make up some of the best celebrities...Jennifer Lopez-Wait Till It Sags Sangria,  Jessica Simpson-Wish I Had Talent Tawny, of course Jennifer Aniston-You'll Be Sorry Copper,   Angelina Jolie-Token Orphan Orange, and finally Anna Nicole Smith-If I had a Brain Burgundy. Oh well.  As with so many talented people I will probably go undiscovered.  The world of creative cosmetic names is void of real substance.   I could add an additional blush to your complection with my saucy cataloging of your color choice "Pretty Cheeky Pink".   Or better yet for that more striking evening palette...."Buns on the Beach in Florida Red".  'Nuff Said!

Wasted talent here on the farm in Indiana

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

The Brain Schematic

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 9:54 AM Comments comments (5)
The Brain Schematic
     I know you are like in me in wondering why each of us is so unique.  I am not speaking in terms of our physical appearance but in our personalities and our gifts and weaknesses.  Some of us have an affinity for art, or music.  Maybe some are excellent dancers or have an exceptional aptitude for crossword puzzles.  From time to time I have watched T.V. programs on the brain and how it works.  It seems like scientists understand more about brain function  when it doesn't work properly such as someone with schizophrenia or epilepsy.  I can not believe with all of the finite MRI's and scans, brain wave mapping and all the technology that they have not come up with a brain schematic.  You know one that is individual to each person given their cranial make up.  For heavens sake you can get a personal horoscope, bio rhythm chart, even your own personal ovulation chart, but no brain schematic. 
     For a little side bar here a schematic is a map essentially.  Most generally it is used in electronics.  It shows all the electrical components etc. and the circuit wiring to make the "unit" function.  Now you can't tell me when they know the various portions of the brain and the personality traits that are processed in those areas that they can't produce a personal road map for each of us.  Wouldn't that be great!  Little Johnny is in the nursery in the hospital and his brain schematic is tacked to the foot of his crib.  They send it home along with the birth certificate with Mom and Dad.  On this schematic you could see various points of interest such as:
  Little Johnny has minimal current running to the portion of the brain that deals with cleanliness and organization.  O.K. I don't think as a parent I would start saving for medical school upon that revelation.  Maybe little Susie has a big capacitor at her promiscuity quadrant.  Time to send her to Convent school and be done with it!  Margie has a low amp fuse right there on the child tolerance bypass.  It is not going to take much to push her to the overload...so let's suggest that she be a career woman and leave the child rearing to others.   Just think of how we could streamline society with this technology.  Forget those piano lessons when Wayne has a pour soldering connection right there at the forte junction.   Boy it sure would make dating easier.  You could take your schematic with you to the singles bar.  Just scan prospective possibilities.  Hey this guy has a high voltage breaker at the pleasure board but has a broken wire at the commitment modulator...Not exactly husband material.  You will know exactly what you are getting.   
     Just think what an aid this would be to teachers.  You could find out the math aptitudes and the English weaklings.  I think it would most helpful when it comes time to elect our officials.  All political candidates would have to make available as a matter of public record their brain schematic.  Forget their finances.  The brain schematic will tell you more about what the person is predisposed to do than what a creative accountant has managed to make available for publication.  We could see first hand if our leaders have a large brain area mapped for compassion or heavy duty wiring for war.  We could also check out the region of conscience.  Is there activity or has it suffered a complete short circuit.   We could even tell if a future president has a passion for pizza and cigars but is a little short changed in the area of guilt processing.    These are things that I am sure that George Orwell would be questioning if he were alive during this time.  The only problem is when you know someones schematic it would be tempting to modify the factory issue.  You know what I mean like when you have a fuse constantly shorting out in your car and you wrap aluminum foil around it to keep the circuit open.  Gosh if that were to happen....we would be deluged with professional wrestlers and NASCAR Drivers!  Now the idea is too scary.
From down on the farm

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt
 

The Mammogram

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 9:40 AM Comments comments (2)

I am very fortunate to be healthy.  And I thank the Lord everyday for that fact.  I am also thankful for wonderful diagnostic tests such as the mammogram.  I know several ladies that have been saved by this early detection.  That being said I would like to reflect upon... The Mammogram For every woman it is one of the most dreaded times of the year.  No not spring cleaning or summer vacation from school.  The time for your yearly Mammogram.  You notice that I treat it's name with the reverence that it's impending discomfort deserves.  I really feel that it should be capitalized for sake of it's sense of forboding.  Have you ever seen how women react to the word "Mammogram".  If you tell another woman you have to go to have one they wrinkle up their nose, squint their eyes and say "Oh a Mammogram...oooh".  It doesn't exactly conjure up images of an aromatherapy session at your favorite spa now does it!

I have long equated the number of syllables in medical terminology with the degree of discomfort experienced during that particular procedure.
    Now take for instance "blood test".  Two syllables.  Not bad especially for a woman use to the sight of blood.  Urine test...now you have added a syllable and you have stepped the inconvenience scale up a notch.  That brings us to Mammogram...3 of those babies.  Right up there on the pain and the "I really don't want to be there" scale.  To drive my point home I give you vasectomy..a 4 banger...and the grandaddy of 'em all... colonoscopy. ...5 BIG ONES..you just get weak in the knees saying it....now you understand my thinking? Well I make my appointment for The Mammogram during my lunch hour.  I have this thing about punctuality so I arrive 15 minutes early to process the paperwork.  Our local hospital has implemented more stream line processing measures for the comfort and convenience of the patients.  When you walk in the front door there is a nice lady that inquires what you are there for.  I politely tell her I am there for The Mammogram.  She says I will need to report to the front desk.  I report to the desk and the lady takes my information.  She tells me I am lucky because there is only 1 person ahead of me for registration.  She then efficiently  physically walks my paperwork across the hall to the registration office.  She then gives me a buzzer pager and I take a seat in the waiting area.  I wait and I wait .  A couple of people I know stop by to ask if I am sick.  I tell them know just there for a Mammogram.  They wrinkle their nose and squint their eyes and say "Oh I had one last month." much like a bad case of the flu.  At this point I have waited 45 minutes.  That lucky fellow ahead of me has now exited the registration office and I wait for my buzzer pager to give me the signal.

     After about an hour the registration clerk verbally calls me into the office.  She proceeds to take down all the information that the FBI would ever want to know about you.  She makes sure to get at least 2 names of next of kin.  I assume this is in case you die and the insurance doesn't pay the bill they want to know where to start collecting.  I hand her my doctor's order for The Mammogram and my insurance card.  She then tells me she will also need my driver's license.  Now I would like to know fine member of the terrorist group that is willing to stand in for me and take my Mammogram...speak up..where are you when I need you!  She proceeds with more of the usual questions and asks if this is a routine screening Mammogram and I say "Yes".  Then the question comes....from the outer stratosphere....the sucker punch that drops the champion to the mat never knowing what hit him.  She asks me "do you have a living will?"  My brain screeches to a halt.  I am here for a Mammogram and she asks about a living will...what does she think could happen?  My over exuberant imagination takes over and I have these heart stopping images racing across my mind.  I then look her straight in the eye and say "Well...I can tell you this.  If I get stuck in THAT machine...forget the living will...I just want you to shoot me!"  She probably looked as astounded as I did when the question was posed.  She gave a nervous chuckle and then physically carried my paper work (probably with the notation...needs psychiatric evaluation) across the hall to radiation.  I then am asked to return to the waiting area.  I look at the radiologist and she finally "buzzes" my pager.

      The rest of the story is pretty routine for you ladies that have run the course.  I couldn't help but think the entire time I am voluntarily submitting my chest to be smashed between 2 bricks ..."what if the power goes off...what if there is a fire alarm?"  The lady in registration is going to come in here with a 44 and draw down and put me out of my misery.  With that thought I could rest easy that no undo suffering would be incurred and my specified wishes would be followed... Smiles from down on the farm...

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

The "Y" Chromosome

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 9:29 AM Comments comments (214)
      I am but a humble country scribe.   The finite characteristics of genetics are far beyond my grasp.  The embryology I had in school made me practice effective birth control if that tells you anything.  I have often wondered to the differences of an "X "chromosome member of the human race as to what the "Y" chromosome has attached that makes it so foreign to our perception.  I have to tell you a week or two ago me and another girl friend took a "chick trip" you know where you go away for the week end and visit all kinds of neat shops and take home tours and visit wineries etc.  We made the mistake of taking this same excursion a couple of years ago and taking our husbands.....definitely....been there...done that.   They were so bored that I  even think my flannel P.J.'s I wore were more exciting to my husband than the itinerary for the weekend.

     Anyway on the latest girl weekend me and my friend were in this "chick store".  I mean a store with all kinds of candles, primitive nicknack's, linens etc.  And there he was.  Standing out like a black sheep in a field of white wool...a man....a husband no less....and a receptive customer.  He was talking with the shop keeper.  He was asking questions and calling out to his wife  "come see this".  We heard him then discuss the neat things they saw on their last trip to Ireland.   It took all my strength not to ravage him right there in the store.  I couldn't even tell you what he looked like but OH......the kindred spirit!  I bet he has to even take out the manual to figure out how to use the T.V. remote.  My friend had also picked him up on the radar and we talked about this revelation at length over a latte at the "chick" coffee shop.  We wondered if we had experienced an encounter with an alien being!      How did this woman meet this rare and exemplary creature.  Where did we do go wrong in trolling for these prime catches and ending up with our oh so "macho" husbands.  What would it be like to have a husband with a "Y" chromosome with what I refer to as the "X" coefficient.  You know Y to the X power.  Not gay but with all the sensitivities.  Instead of beer and Nascar we are talking red wine and the art museum.   My gardens at home would not only have the woman's touch but the man's structure.  The house would be decorated with embellishments of arts and crafts movement and not Hanes underware and tube sock decor.  The one consolation is that I have so many sisters in my sorority of woe that I really don't feel short changed.  I appeal to the practical side of this "Y" chromosome.  Fact in point....take note...decorating magazines, housewares, and all kinds of embellishments is a big business in marketing today.  A man that knows the difference between bullion fringe and a French Press coffee pot is hot commodity.     

        I look on this one point of reality.  Martha Stewart.  She is single!  Why?  Perhaps she can't find a  carrier of the "Y" chromosome that can stand up to the organizational skills and the penchant for garnish that she possesses.  And here I sit in farmland Indiana.  Caught between the cultural apex of tassels on the drapery tie backs and manure on the shoes at the back door.  I guess I rather like the sudden jolt of juxtapositions.  You know when you think you have plenty of room to pull into a parking space and then you abruptly hit the curb.  Life is rather like that don't you think.  Just when you begin to drift beyond your reason the real world slaps you in the face with a cold wet fish.   I will continue to burn my lavender candles over the smell of "beans and cornbread" and I am happy to have a foot in both worlds of reason.  The dreamy state of self indulgence and the reality state of "you need to trim your toe nails".

       They have cloned a sheep and a cat.  All kinds of "new world" genetics are taking place.  But have they really touched upon the real question...Can a true carrier of the "Y" chromosome like monogrammed stationary and WANT to stay in a bed an breakfast that serves scones for breakfast instead of biscuits and gravy.  I think it all falls back to Darwin.  The survival of the species stuff.  If we as "X" chromo carriers had not kept the  "Y" carriers from living in squaller, disease and starvation  we might have seen the evolution of a superior "Y" carrier.  But alas, as the "X" chromosome's care giver's nature is so prevalent we have nurtured this "Y" dependent to the point that our days of seeing a "Y" carrier of sensitivity and artistic inspiration as a nearly extinct species.  We have forced our own selection of dominance by feeding the dependent "Y".  Oh well, we must dance to music that we have written.  We shall drink Old Milwaukee in cut crystal flutes, with pattee' and salsa while watching "Blue Collar T.V." on the satellite.  Yes Dr. Darwin....we have evolved!

(c) 2013 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt

Can She Make Gravy?

Posted on April 4, 2013 at 9:26 AM Comments comments (1)

     With the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday I marvel at the cooking programs on T.V. that give the nod to one of the most challenging tasks in culinary execution and that being making gravy.  I still find this hard to understand.  Where I come from in rural Indiana you were not considered fit to date until you had the proper instruction in the "art" of making gravy.  Now for those of the less rustic palette when we usually refer to "gravy" here in the heartland it is one of two things......the mainstay of any true rib stickin' breakfast-sausage gravy or the condiment that you would go to war for and that is "fried chicken gravy".  Both of these have the same major component of milk that tend to scare some of the mamby-pampby cooks. 
     As for a recipe....who has a recipe for something as second nature as washing your hair.  We grew up watching our moms and grandmas make gravy so we knew the procedure just from mimicry.  My mom used to tell about one of her brothers that tended to be just little "persnickety" shall we say.   He would just get plum mad if he found a lump in the gravy.  Of course grandma said if there was just one lump he would get it!  My how qualifications for a suitable young lady have changed.  Instead of a hope chest full of quilts and a recipe box full of family standards they come equipped with belly rings and a prepaid cell phone account.  Is is the requirements of the males that have changed?  I hardly think so.  You set any man down to a fine plate of homemade biscuits and gravy and they could care less if you are wear lingerie from Victoria Secrets.   
     Perhaps I am preoccupied with this idea  because I have reached this point in my life that the only enticement I have to offer the opposite sex (aside from titillating conversation) is a well stocked pantry and the cookware to put it to good use.  Oh my how things change.  I have traded my pepper grinder for my perfume atomizer.  So be it.  Most anthropologists will tell you one of the major components toward the  extinction of certain societies lies in the inability to conform and adapt to change.   I must admit I am not willing to convert to the new wave completely.  So if I you come to my house for dinner....I won't ask you if  you  "want fries with that"....more like "you want gravy with that!"
Still stirrin' out the lumps
Down on the farm in Indiana

 (c) 2011 Ellen Wilson-Pruitt