Packaging is everything or says marketing teams.  I don't always get it though, just tell me about the product and how much it costs.  While shopping today a box of Lucky Charms caught my eye.  It now has a new marshmallow shape; an hour glass.  I have no idea how an hour glass is lucky.

The last few months vintage products have been popping up on store shelves.  At first I thought it was kind of fun to see all the old packaging.  It's also much more pleasant to look at then some of the modern advertising as it's not trying to sell on sex appeal.  

Continuing with today's shopping I found numerous vintage packaged products.  Like Grape Nuts and Hershey bars. They proudly claim they are vintage thereby proving they think there is something to this vintage craze.  I'd be more willing to purchase the items if they would go back to vintage pricing.

I told Dear Man it would be nice if I could just go back to the vintage me.  I wouldn't want to go back to the first packaging as I only weighed 4 lbs 4 ozs at birth but perhaps my age 22 packaging would work.  Remember we are only talking packaging, not internal value.  I'm not sure I'm really worth more now then I was then but I know a whole lot more and I have no desire to take back that 22 year old attitude. 

So in honor of my going vintage I have changed my avatar and you can get a closer view of it below. 

Currently we live in the country.  This suits three out of four of my children.  When we were looking for a house I told my husband that it had to be out in the country with enough property for two growing boys to romp and play.  I didn't want to live in town with my sons cooped up in a tiny back yard.  Running around the neighborhood was and is not an option.  

While running around the neighborhood was a memorable experience for Dear Man, we don't live in times like that anymore.  I grew up in the country and ran around the five acres my parents had purchased.  Both of us spent most of our times outdoors.  It was fun and if you could get far enough away you might not be calld back to the house to do some chore. 

Tiki is not an outdoor boy.  When we send him out to play in an effort to rid him from our hair, he stands about not knowing what to do with himself.  He might shoot a few hoops or ride his bike for a bit but then he's back inside.  He has a wonderful imagination but he just can't seem to make it work out of doors. 

Several times he has complained that if he only lived in town he could do things that "real" boys do.  Like have a lemonade stand or deliver newspapers.  You don't get huge profits from lemonade on a dead end road that most people don't know about. In order to deliver newspapers in our area he would have to have a mountain bike and I'm sure a route covers ten miles or so.  It's just not an ideal setting for my entrepreneurial son.

Recently though an offer to deliver newspapers as a substitute for some friends of ours came along.  Tiki was thrilled to pieces!  The girls were not so keen on the idea but having no other choice they decided to buck up.  We have to drive to town in order to deliver the papers and as it is several routes we drive half of it and the other half is walked. 

This is our second time subbing and Tiki ran around like a pro.  Only at one home does he get to throw the newspaper onto the porch from the sidewalk.  To him that is the end all of being a paper boy.  He just loves that house! 

As we drive along, Tiki grabs a paper to get ready and then he hops out of the car and runs up to the house in need of a paper.  After carefully placing it as the subscriber has requested, he runs back to the car and off we go to the next stop.  Today I said, "Hurry, hurry!"  He opened the car door and said, "Go, go, go!" as he ducked and ran just as if he was a special forces soldier on patrol. See, he has imagination and he can play, but not in the "wild". 

At any rate I won't be the least bit surprised if he figures out a way to sell lemonade while he delivers papers. I don't even want to think about the kind of vehicle he would want me drive for that.  

I have no idea where Tiki got the idea that "real" boys only have odd jobs.  A book or two somewhere along the line I'm sure.  I need to find a book or two about some boys who just go outside and play all day long until their stomach notifies them that mother has baked a pie and it must be time for dinner. Let me know if you've read any such books.  I'm getting desperate.  

Right now I don't know where this post is going but I have to start somewhere and in all likelyhood it will probably end somewhere else.  That's the way it is with writing.  You begin, you end, and if you are blessed with enough thought you can usually put something in between. 

The real problem is when your brain is faster then your fingers and it moves along ahead and your fingers are left in the dust trying to pick out the tracks.  Usually the trail goes cold and the fingers sit huddled like well behaved children who have been told to stay put when lost.  The brain realizes it's left something vital behind and must go back and search for it.  Sort of like Mary and Joseph leaving Jesus behind in the temple.  They let their brains get ahead of them, each thinking the other had Jesus with them.  Although Jesus wasn't anything remotely like typing fingers trying to keep up.  So perhaps this was a bad example. 

Moving on. 

At any rate in all that middleness and forgetfulness, you spend a great deal of time trying to remember what it was your fingers were supposed to be typing because it was surely good.  You begin to wonder if the Lord blocked it from your memory on purpose because it may not have been so wonderful after all and then you can always say you were obeying the Lord which makes you feel better. 

Eventually you have to come to a close but not really being great on final impacts you spend another minute, or two, or fifteen, typing and retyping the last paragraph.  Finally you just give up and give it a parting shot. 

The end.

As he is such a small boy, Cheeko takes delight in things that are smaller then himself.  He's quite fond of Chiuauas, which he calls Chiwow-wows.  He watches owners walking their rat dogs with great admiration. 

He's also very fond of ants.  He is exceedingly anamored with them.  He makes them homes, transports them from here to there, bottles them, finds them food, and attempts to bring them into the house.  I draw the line at ants in the house.  This saddens Cheeko who doesn't understand at all why we aren't as fascinated with his little friends as he is.  He'll pop outside from time to time to check on them. 

For Christmas this last year my mom bought Cheeko one of those gel ant farms.  He could hardly wait for Spring to come so he could go collect several.  He liked it pretty well and the rest of us were fascinated by the tunnels they dug but Cheeko is also very fond of dirt and the whole shebang just wasn't dusty enough to suit his tastes.  So back out to the dirt he went to commune with the insects. 

Today Tiki found Cheeko outside crying over his ant pile.  He asked him what was wrong.  "I'm sad betause I tilled my ants."  No he didn't plow them under, he killed them.  He can't even tell us why he did it, he just did.

I'm not sure what this means for his ant farming future.  Will he give them up all together?  Was it just an experiment?  Will the price of ants go up due to a lack of product?  Will the ant queen retaliate? 

I think I'd better get out my heavy duty cayenne pepper and sprinkle a defense line around the house. 

This is my entry for the Homeschool Times News Blog Challenge.

New Sleep Disorder Among Homeschool Moms Diagnosed

The National Association of Pillowheads (NAP) has just realeased its two year study about a new sleep disorder among homeschool moms in the U.S. While this study concentrated on American mothers, NAP is certain that the disorder can be found in Canada, the UK, Australia, and all homeschool friendly countries.

The study showed that these mothers would fall asleep while listening to their child sound out words like epitome or while studying their child's textbook to figure out what went wrong with the science experiment.  Other cases revealed that these fits would occur during multiplication drills, spelling tests, correcting reports on the Battle of Actium, and family discussions for the 100th time on whether or not it is good hygiene to eat something off the floor after someone has let the dog in.

NAP has labeled this sleep disorder as Nardomoducelepsy. (Home educators that fall asleep suddenly.)  If you have experienced similar problems please notify NAP by leaving a comment below.

Dear Man is something of a Star Wars fan and he usually quotes movie lines at appropriate times.  For instance, when we are driving along and we hear a funny sound coming from the car he will say, "Minox chewing on the power cables."  (I have no idea if I've spelled Minox right, and a quick Google search wasn't very helpful.)  He also likes to wave his hand in front of me like Obie Wan did to the Storm Troopers and tell me what I will or will not do.  "You want to help me clean the garage."  Yeah.  Whatever.

After several weeks of reasearch Dear Man finally settled on the GPS navigational system of his choice, the TomTom.  The deciding factor?  He could get a Yoda voice telling him where to turn.  Dear Man says we won't call it the TomTom but YodaYoda.  I'll be driving down the road and Master Yoda will say, "In 200 yards a right turn you must take."  It's kind of fun, but why do I get the feeling that I may start to talk like that all the time? 

The children think this is great fun of course and think YodaYoda is much better then the voice we first chose before we downloaded Yoda.  The woman's voice would say, "Bear right."  My smart alek daughter, BlueJane complained for three miles that she didn't see any bear on the right and wondered if it would tell us about all the wild life we came across. 

I don't think that would be to far fetched of a possibility as long as the animal had a radio collar or micro chip in it.  Wouldn't that be interesting to be driving along and be told of all the animals that had wandered near our path of travel?  Maybe even someday YodaYoda will tell me that Minox are on the right. Then I'd know to get out of there fast!  That's the last thing we need, Minox chewing on the power cables.

We are still trying to teach Neeto how to drive.  Where we live you can either have the student drive for 100 hours and take the test or go through a drivers education course.  Most of the homeschoolers we know choose the drivers education course, I suppose because they are scared to death at the prospect of sitting in the passenger seat with their child at the wheel.  I also suppose it's because their children are impatient to get their license.  There are even parents who can't wait for their young teen to get their license because then they can send them to town on errands.

We chose to do the 100 hours.  I don't see any reason to put my daughter in a classroom that may or may not actually teach drivers ed among students who are more concerned about their freedom than understanding the responsibility that driving is.  (As to what is taught in the classroom, I saw a news report once about a teacher who just popped in a movie and another report where the teacher was combining their version of sex education with driving.)

It is interesting the different reactions Dear Man and I have as we ride about with our daughter.  I'm either so calm I could fall asleep or hollering that Neeto could have killed us all.  Not exactly relaxing but I figure it's real life learning.  One day she will have to drive with her own children in the car and they will be hollering from time to time.  Dear Man on the other hand takes everything very calmly, but asks questions the whole time. 

My reaction is about the same when Dear Man is driving.  I'm asleep or gripping the door handle sucking in my breath.  When Dear Man is forced to ride with me he tries to sleep and pretend I'm not there.  He says my driving makes him sick.  

I once knew a woman who had told me the story of her reaction to her husband's driving.  She was forever hollering at him to look out and one day he finally asked her what she saw that he didn't see.  She replied, "Death!"  

It takes a lot of trust to get into a car with someone else behind the wheel.  For the most part you don't think about it but then there's that person you meet and you realize with a queasy sort of feeling that you don't trust them with your life.  No way would you allow your child or yourself to ride with them.  It amazes me how many parents are hurt by the fact that you don't trust their child with your own child's life yet they would much rather not ride with their child.  Those that do somehow believe their child is always a safe driver whether they are in the car or not but they can't even trust that their child will feed the dog.

Driving is a responsibility, a privelege, not a right.  Neeto takes it very seriously, knowing that her life and those riding with her could be in jeopardy.  I don't just choose to believe it is so, I know it is so by the way she talks, how she frets when she realizes that she made a mistake, and how she has not been in any major hurry to get her license.  She talks about the day she can just get in the car and go shopping with her sister but she doesn't view it as a means of freedom from her parents. 

I won't expect everyone to trust my daughter simply because she has a license.  Trust her because you know that she truly cares about the lives she is responsible for.  Trust her because she doesn't view driving as a party on wheels.  Trust her because everything else about her life is something you can trust.  

Just over ten years ago, Dear Man and I purhcased a Select Comfort bed.  I was certain that I liked a firmer mattress then he did and he was adament that he needed something softer.  The Select Comfort was able to give us both what we wanted.  Interestingly enough our favorite setting for our own side of the bed just happened to be the same number!  No matter, we were both happy and knew that on any given night we could make our bed softer or harder depending on what we wanted. 

One night in a fit of anger towards Dear Man I deflated his side of the bed while he was sleeping.  Bravely as ever, he put me in my place by pretending not to notice and slept on that flat bed the whole night.  He was not going to give in to my childish games. 

After our last move we think somehow that we damaged the pump that fills our beds with air.  Dear Man's side of the bed kept deflating.  He began to blame me.  I explained that I had nothing to do with it but I could tell he wasn't ready to believe me.  That's what childish games do.  Leave lasting impressions.  Finally after some exploring and experiments Dear Man had to conclude that there was something wrong with the pump.  Although he did remark that he thought it was interesting that "his" side of the bed was the one with the problem.  (Don't worry, he said this with a grin on his face.) 

At any rate all of this has caused some serious sleep issues.  Dear Man's back hurt and he could never get a good nights sleep.  Even though my side of the bed was behaving itself, I'd still roll into the pit on Dear Man's side causing him to think I was crowding him out.  It's no fun sleeping on a grumpy, sleep deprived man in a pit, with my feet higher than my head. 

We tried seveal differnent ideas to build up his side of the bed but none of them worked.  We could have bought a new pump and hoped that it would fix our problem but we decided instead to get a different bed.  The beginning of our shopping had me voting for a firmer mattress but by the end of the day all the beds were beginning to feel the same and we opted for a softer pillow top version.  I figure it's ok seeing as I was so tired I almost fell asleep.  I did mention to the salesman that I thought slumber parties for mattress buyers might be a good idea.

We finally made our purchase and our bed will be delivered in a few days.  We are now anxiously counting down the days until we can both enjoy a good nights sleep.  I even dreamed about our new bed last night in the few hours I managed to remain asleep!

If once again this blog is void of new posts don't worry it hasn't died, it's just gone dormant as I've decided to hibernate through the rest of winter.

How many of you remember that John Denver song, "Grandma's Feather Bed?"  I loved that song as a child because I had experienced almost everything the song describes except sleeping with a piggy from the shed.  Although I'm sure if given half a chance I would have. 

This post is actually a tribute to my Aunt Sissie, who was called Lou but that wasn't her real name either.  She passed away right after Christmas and I have been struggling with writing a tribute to her.  I can't remember the last time I kissed her.  I saw her this past summer but she wasn't an overly demonstrative person and I'm sure I hugged her good-bye but I don't think I kissed her good-bye.  That last kiss probably happened when I was a little girl.  I know it doesn't really matter, but everytime I think of that John Denver song I think of her and wonder how long ago that last kiss was.  I dont' think she would find that very flattering. 

She was strong, at least in my mind.  She married young, had five children, lived in harsh, stark, conditions at times, and became a single mom just after I was born I think.  She worked hard and was fiercly protective of her children.  Nobody was going to mess with her children, that priviledge was strictly hers.  My mom and I were often among those children that she protected as there was a large gap in my Aunt Sissie's age and my mom's, and we lived with her for a time. 

She never cut her nails, just filed them.  She wore lipstick every single day of her life I think.  She would put it on and then dab her lips on a square of toilet paper; ever thrifty because of those hard years.  I always cut my nails and I don't wear lipstick but I learned something about being a lady from her.  Taking pride in your appearance and putting your best side forward. 

She was a quiet, private person.  She enjoyed playing computer games, reading books, and redesigning her home.  She loved to travel and I have been to Canada and Mexico with her.  She could be quite stubborn and indecisive all at the same time and this has created a family joke.  Whenever we would try to decide what we were going to do or where we were going to eat, it could take at least an hour maybe three to finally make a decision.  My own children had come to learn that you may as well bring along a good book because that was going to be the best way to spend their time while waiting for us to choose something that Aunt Sissie would agree to and was suffiently satisfactory to the rest of the adults as well.  Now that she is gone we will probably decide on things rather quickly, but maybe, just maybe, I will purse my lips this way and that and stick to my guns that I don't want to eat at a hamburger joint.  I won't know where I do want to eat, I'll just know that it won't be at a hamburger joint.  I'll think of her every time.

I'll also still think of her when I hear "Grandma's Feather Bed" and that line, I've even kissed Aunt Lou, Eww! 

So here's to you one last time my Aunt Lou, S.W.A.K.

Last week I had been online and reading an e-book for far too long.  My son handed me his Bible work to correct and after reading his response to the first question I attempted to scroll down the page using my mouse!   After several attempts and my eyes not moving down the page on their own I finally looked at my mouse to see if something was wrong with it.   

I may need hard copy rehab. 

During the last month or so I've found Tiki wearing only one sock on numerous occasions.  I'd finally had it and told him he needed to find his missing socks.  He said he didn't know where the other one was. 

"Why do you keep going around in only one sock?" I asked him in frustration.

"It's climate control."  He said with all seriousness.

"Climate control?"

"Yes, if I wear two socks I get too hot and if I wear no socks I get too cold.  So I wear one sock and I'm just right."

Several weeks ago my grandma passed away and we went to her funeral.  It was wonderful!  That's a strange thing to say about a funeral but it really was wonderful.  While our family will miss my grandma she led a long life that brought glory to God.  We were all very happy for her that she is now with Jesus.  It was exactly how a Christian funeral should be.  Not a single person doubted where she was, her life was not cut short, her death was not tragic.  It was as it should be. 

My grandma had 11 children.  One died when he was a little boy, another, my Papafather, died when he was a man.  My grandma had over 100 foster children and she adopted one of them.  She gave her earnings to missions.  My grandpa had been a country veternarian so my grandma was his secretary. 

I wrote a letter to my grandma several years ago and I was asked to read it at the funeral.  Each of my aunts were asked to read one of the letters they had written to their mother as well.  This was my letter. (I read the original at the funeral but I've edited it here now that I've learnt me how to write better and I've omitted the opening paragraph.)

Dear Grandma,

You have encouraged all of your children and grandchildren to let you know what of your possessions they might like to have based on sentimental value.  I have spent a great deal of time thinking about it.  What of your things is a cherished memory to me?  What of your things is something that leaps out at me screaming of a time that I have carried with me as a symbol of happiness, joy, contentment, and faith?

Over the years you have given me some of these things.  I love each item, they have special places in my home.  I hope to someday give them to my children and grandchildren.  This summer I really couldn't think of anything.  I wandered around your house, looking and remembering.  I like the stainless steel pitcher used for milk; it has always been there, full, a symbol of God's provision.  I like the spider above the bathroom door, a symbol of whimsical fun.  I like the books on the shelves, worn, a symbol of the minds searching for truth, fantasy, and escape.  I like the treasures in the curio cabinets, symbols of trips, gifts, jobs, and awards to all of those I love.  How can I choose one thing, to remember you, Grandpa, and the rest?  What could I possibly choose?  Which of these things has the most meaning to me?  Finally I thought of it.

What means the most you cannot give.  It is already mine.  You gave it so long ago and you continued to give it without even knowing you were.  You can't give me the smells of the farm, or Grandpa's office.   You can't give me the conversations already told around a long table.  You can't give me the laughter of so many children coming and going, playing in fields of grass, haystacks, and basements.  You can't give me the warmth of times spent on couches and beds telling stories.  You can't give me the beauty of the songs and hymns sung.  These things are already mine in my memories.  These are the things I think of when I think of you and your home.  All of these things pieced together have made a quilt in my mind. 

You have spent so many years piecing quilts!   You asked me what you could give me.  I already have what I want.  I asked myself, what could I give to someone who has given me such a gift?  All I have to offer is my writing and words.  To tell you how much all of these years have meant to me.  To tell you that your life, the objects in your home, your children, all fit together like pieces in a quilt.  I am aware that the quilt isn't new, it is worn, has frayed edges, has stitches that have come undone.  Maybe through prayer and effort each of these things can be repaired.  The quilt still won't be new, but it will be better, whole, stronger.  Your life has brought glory to Him in the beauty of the quilt made.  It can't be hung on the wall, or spread on a bed, but the warmth of it can still be felt.

I love you Grandma.

© Copyright 2005, 2006, 2007 High Desert Hi-Jinks, and Sagerat Scribbles.

Almost sounds like a scary movie title doesn't it? 

There she sat, blogging in the semi-darkness.  The glow from her computer casting shadows about the room.  One click and she moved on to read the next blog.  Suddenly she sat up.  The music on the blog was eerie and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  Then it happened.  She was attacked by the nominees of the Homeschool Blog Awards! 

So I go away for my grandma's funeral, (which I'll blog about later) and come back to discover that I was nominated for the Homeschool Blog Awards in the Best Blog Design category.  You have no idea what a relief that was to me!   If I had been nominated for best homeschool mom or best craft plans, or best encourager then I'd have to live up to that for a whole year.  I don't think I could take the pressure.  Sometimes I have a good craft plan or I encourage people and sometimes I'm even the best homeschool mom, (for the briefest of moments) but to come up with that sort of thing for 365 days?  I'm just thankful I'm still breathing by the end of that time.  Best Blog Design though, that's already done and I don't really have to do anything else. 

A big thank you to those of you who nominated me, (I understand it takes at least three) you must have known I needed a super easy nomination. 

If you haven't checked out the Homeschool Blog Award Nominees yet, then go do so!  Voting starts Dec. 3 and you'll need that weeks head start to really look at all the fine blogs on the lists.  Then on Dec. 3, don't forget to vote for Sagerat Scribbles, Best Blog Design!  (Kiss baby here, kiss baby there, shake your hand, promise to make my blog design even better but not keep it if elected...) 

The October Blog Tip Challenge was to write anything you wanted about pencils.  Reading everyone's posts about pencils was fun and educational!  Most of the challengers preferred either the Ticonderoga or a mechanical pencil.  To the best of my recollection I have never used a Ticonderoga but I do like mechanical pencils. 

One challenger mentioned a new kind of pencil that uses liquid graphite.  I'd never heard of it but as it is basically a pencil that works like a pen I tucked the name into my brain and on my shopping trips tried to find it.  Not an easy task as the packaging doesn't stand out from the others at all and it looks just like any other mechanical pencil.  These companies need a serious new marketing team for this product! 

There are several different types of liquid graphite pencils.  Some look like a pencil with a wooden case and are even scented so you get that freshly sharpened smell.  Some look like pens, and some look like mechanical pencils. 

I finally found the Pentech Liquiphite, made my purchase, and brought the liquid graphite pencils home.  After freeing the pencils from their packaging I found some paper and started writing.  Yup, it's just like a pencil.  So what's so great about it?

It never needs sharpening and you never need to click to get more lead.  The lead doesn't break off if you have it sharpened too much or clicked too much on your mechanical pencil.  The lead (graphite) is in a cartridge just like a pen!  It erases much better then those erasable pens and erases better then some pencils I've used. 

Now that I've found my new favorite pencil I'm sure it won't be long before they no longer make it.  That's what always happens with the things I like.  Apparently, I'm the only one that ever likes the product so they remove it from the shelves.  They leave products I could care less about one way or the other, or I avoid at all costs.  Like anything that smells like a burning weed.  (Candles, incense, soap... why do people buy things that stinks so bad?) 
Anyway, I figure the best way to keep the liquid graphite pencil on the market is to tell others about it.    Now go out and try one for yourself!

Yes, you have reached the right place, this is High Desert Hi-Jinks.  Rather, it was, but now it is Sagerat Scribbles because that was the name it should have been to start with.   Not a lot of hi-jinks happens around here, just a lot of my scribbling of thoughts and silliness. 

So what do you think?  I like it!  That rat cracks me up!  He is in big time trouble!  Tiki said he thought there should be a big shadow on the wall behind him of the mom rat with her hands on her hips.  That would have been really funny!  I didn't want that though.

All of this wonderful blog was designed by Christi.  She does the absolute BEST job designing blogs!  She really works with you and gives you what you want even if you are a royal pain.  Like me. 

Hopefully I'll be able to blog here a little more often.  Yeah, I know, where have you heard that before...

Abiding in the Vine,