In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fight or Flight.” Write about your strongest memory of heart-pounding, belly-twisting nervousness: what caused the adrenaline? Was it justified? How did you respond?
Some women may be terrified of snakes or spiders or polyester, but I have a gut-wrenching, butt clenching, panty-peeing fear of landing a plane. I don’t mean sitting as a white knuckle passenger as the plane lands; I mean sitting behind the controls and landing a plane.
I was doing great with my flying lessons. I knew the instruments, the functions of each part of the plane, how to do the pre-flight check, how to check weather conditions and many of the other myriad details of flying a small plane. I loved the take off and the actual flying and I could position the plane perfectly for landing. But, the moment of actual touch down scared the living hell out of me. The first two times I landed with my instructor as co-pilot, he had to take control as I struggled against the seat belts to sit at the edge of the seat with my legs crossed to avoid peeing, my sphincter and jaw muscles clenched and my eyes closed. Closing my eyes was my doom.
Everyone knows you can’t land a plane with your eyes closed. Two more lessons produced the same fear-induced reactions to landing the plane solo and my fate was sealed.
I fly commercial.
Life
Making a Quilt – Three Perfect Shots
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Three Perfect Shots. Take a subject you’re familiar with and imagine it as three photos in a sequence. Tackle the subject by describing those three shots.
How to make a quilt in three perfect shots … well, not exactly perfect shots. I used photos of three different quilts because each is in a different stage of development, but you’ll get the idea.
Cut up perfectly good fabric into little pieces to sew back together
First you take several beautiful, very expensive, perfectly good, 100% cotton quilting fabrics and cut them into little pieces. Then you sew the pieces back together to form a pattern. This is your quilt top.
Take a large piece of fabric for the back of your quilt, place batting on top of the backing fabric and place your quilt top on the batting. This is your quilt “sandwich” that is now ready to quilt. Quilting can be done by hand (think quilting bees), by a regular domestic sewing machine or by a long-arm machine. I am fortunate to have a Gammill longarm machine. My Gammill is not electronic so, yes folks, I hand guide that large machine back and forth sewing a thread pattern into the quilt sandwich. This is what holds the three pieces of fabric together to form a quilt.
Make a quilt “sandwich”. I quilt on my Gammill long-arm machine
After quilting, sew on the binding around the edges to finish the quilt. There’s nothing like sleeping with a hand-made quilt … sweet dreams guaranteed.
Quilts are made with love. Sweet dreams guaranteed!
My Plot of Earth
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Plot of Earth.” You’re given a plot of land and have the financial resources to do what you please. What’s the plan?
I received my forested plot of earth surrounding a large blue lake atop a ridge in the Allegheny Mountains. We gifted our four children with acreage on my mountaintop and built them each a small cottage near the lakeshore with outbuildings for their workshops. My son-in-law has an art studio and a dark room; my daughter a quilting studio. Her brother has an exercise studio with space for his bonsai and other passions and his wife received a sewing and design studio. Our other son-in-law’s workshop is used to design his outdoor line of products while our other son produces natural ginger beer and vinegars in his workshop. Guest quarters are located above each workshop and the cottages are designed for easy expansion.
We have cleared pathways between the cottages for our grandchildren. They can easily find their way to the communal building with the large country kitchen where there’s usually someone baking something. A vintage wooden table can seat 18 or can serve as a craft table for the kids. Our children are extremely competitive and enjoy cooking, and out-cooking each other, so we often enjoy wonderful meals together with lots of sarcasm, puns, sick jokes and occasionally arm-wrestling. A family room with a large fireplace, comfortable seating and a huge flat screen TV overlooks the play area with gaming tables and toys. A stock of my favorite books provides entertainment when the TV is turned off.
There’s a dock on the lake for fishing and boating. No motor boats; just kayaks, canoes and paddle boards. We built a campfire circle with lots of Adirondack chairs. Hammocks are strung between the trees and plenty of tire swings are available for the grandkids. A large shed holds our toys — sleds, skis, snowmobiles, snowshoes, rafts, badminton sets, volley and soccer balls, skates, hula hoops, tents, sleeping bags, fishing poles, life vests, paddles and oars.
The most fun part of this fantasy is the tree house we built in the large oak tree behind my cottage and the zip line that runs from the treehouse down to the lake. The shrieks and laughter gladden my heart, and that’s just from the adults. The grandkids aren’t old enough to use the zip line yet.
If I was given a plot of earth and unlimited resources I would create a Walton’s Mountain for my family. A place of security, serenity, safety and love; a place where my children and their children could support and protect each other. We would call it, Jodi’s Mountain … or we could call it heaven.
Good night John Boy.
Think Global, Act Local
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Think Global, Act Local.”
I don’t quite understand it but hear that global warming is responsible for the bitter winters the U.S. has been experiencing. If true, perhaps residents of the frigid northern states will overrun Florida, purchasing every available property and my home will become immensely valuable. I could then sell it for a ridiculous sum of money and trade in my 17-foot Casita travel trailer for a large ostentatious RV and follow the sun wherever I wish. Or not.
I Never Thought I’d Come Back From That One
Daily Prompt Use It or Lose It – Write about anything you’d like, but make sure the post includes this sentence: “I thought we’d never come back from that one.”
Steak and Thai Noodle Salad, cheese garlic bread and a Cosmo
The first sip was ambrosia. The first bite was savory, crunchy, smooth, a little bit tangy and absolutely exquisite. Each additional forkful was a burst of heaven. My daughter and I were having lunch at Houston’s in Atlanta. She ordered Cosmos (made with Tito’s vodka, of course) while we studied the menu and then she recommended the Steak and Thai Noodle salad. I have never tasted quite that combination of flavors … my palate wept with pleasure. And the Cosmo was pretty damn good, too.
French dip made with prime rib, horseradish sauce, fries and a Cosmo
And then we talked. And we talked. And we talked – about the past (I thought we’d never come back from that one), the present and the future. Remember when you were young and could talk to your best friend all day about anything and everything? Well, that’s what it was like and what a delight to realize that I was, in fact, having lunch with my best friend.*
*Note to my son: No, Matt, that does not mean that I like your sister better.
The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread
Daily Prompt – Most of us have heard the saying, “That’s the best thing since sliced bread!” What do you think is actually the best thing since sliced bread?
Are you kidding? The best thing since sliced bread is duct tape! I always carry pink and/or zebra-striped duct tape with me:
- You can tape a duct
- You can tape your skin together after you’ve sliced your finger while cutting a spaghetti squash in half
- You can tape the neckline of your dress in place (and keep your boobs from falling out)
- You can tape up the headliner in your car
- You can give yourself a temporary breast lift (yes you can but it hurts like hell to remove the tape!)
- You can tape someone to a chair
- You can tape the grip on your tennis racket or golf clubs
- You can tape your hem up
- You can tape the sole of your running shoe back on so you can continue your 50 miler (hahahahahaha!)
- You can wrap tape around your hand – sticky side out – and use it to remove cat hair
- You can fold a long piece in half and use as a rope
- You can repair electrical cords on your camper when you run over them
- You can reseal a bag of potato chips (no one will notice)
- You can tape an extra car key under your car
- And, of course,
Do or Die
Daily Prompt: You have three hundred words to justify the existence of your favorite person, place, or thing. Failure to convince will result in it vanishing without a trace. Go!
It is my refuge, my office, my sanctuary, my sanity. Parked in my driveway or in a grove of oak trees next to a river, it is my younger years denied, the dolls and toys I never had, and the places I never experienced. It is my first and second childhood. I need only my computer, my books, my phone, some food, a couple of bottles of red wine and a full tank of gas. Then I hook up my little Casita camper and go exploring for a safe place to reflect, refresh and rejuvenate my spirit. My camper provides the freedom I crave to discover myself in new sights and sounds, to meet people and explore places I’ve spent a lifetime bypassing.
When I am ready to return to my beloveds, I am calm and eager to join them in our daily real world adventures.
I’m the Champ! I Can Spell I-N-D-I-A-N
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Teacher’s Pet.”
I don’t know if I’m compulsive or obsessive about reading. If I don’t have a book or my Kindle with me I don’t know what to do with my eyes so I will read whatever is at hand — medicine bottles, junk mail, anatomy posters in the doctor’s office, eye charts, candy wrappers, receipts and grocery lists from the bottom of my purse, the outside covers of books other people are reading, and even toilet paper wrappers (don’t ask).
I loved words from the time I was 3 or 4 years old. I knew that the letters on the page were sounds and that the sounds made words and the words made stories. I “read” my books by looking at the pictures then looking at each individual word and, although I didn’t know what the word said, when I got to the last word I knew it was time to turn the page. I never had anyone read to me so I read to myself and to my sister.
We were innocent in the mid-1950’s. We went to kindergarten to learn to interact socially, to take directions from teachers and to be comfortable in a classroom environment. There was no such thing as pre-school. We didn’t learn our ABCs, numbers or anything else. Unlike today when it seems that my grandchildren must know how to parse a sentence, conjugate verbs, speak a second language, read a Dostoevsky novel, play a musical instrument and know basic geometry before they graduate from kindergarten. We were truly blessed to be allowed to be children. But, I still couldn’t read.
First grade taught me the alphabet and phonics. Oh joy! I learned how to sound out words with the Dick and Jane series of books. Second grade we were allowed to use the school library and take books home.
But, third grade was the best year ever. I was in a new school and Mrs. Bailey let us read whatever we wanted after lunch and we had spelling bees every day! I soon discovered that most of the other kids didn’t know how to sound out words and I was quickly recognized as the best speller in the class. By winning the classroom spelling bee I got to represent Mrs. Bailey’s class in the school’s third grade spelling bee.
The competition was held in the library and I seem to remember there were 6 or 8 of us in the spelling bee. I was so proud and scared. I had no problem with words like music, yellow, happy, kitten, kitchen, orange but then I found myself one of the two finalists. The word was “Indian”. I didn’t know whether to wet my pants or cry. I cried. This was the longest word in the spelling bee; three syllables. Not fair!
The other kid couldn’t spell it. The librarian asked me why I was crying so I told her that the word was too long. By then my nose was running and I had the “snubbies”; you know, when you cry so hard your breath hitches? God bless Mrs. Bailey. She handed me a tissue and whispered, “Jodi, just sound it out.” I did and I spelled the longest word in my world.
That’s also the year Mrs. Bailey taught us how to write in cursive, my second favorite thing next to reading.
No More S’mores! (a 5-year old’s first camping adventure)
Roasting marshmallows over a campfire, then placing the blackened goo on a piece of chocolate between two graham crackers; the hot marshmallow melting the chocolate … the iconic image of camping with kids. We couldn’t wait to make them with Rebekah, our 5-year old granddaughter on her first ever overnight camping trip. She assured us she loves s’mores … well, except for the marshmallows … maybe hold the graham crackers …. o.k. … just give her the damn chocolate!
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- Our Casita Spirit – all the comforts of home in 17 feet of “cute”
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- I always wanted to be a cowgirl so that’s how I decorated my Casita
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- Stove, refrigerator, sink, a/c, heat – all the creature comforts
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- My family assures me that I do, indeed, kiss better than I cook
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- A new twist on an old question; right, Ladies?
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- Bathroom behind door #1, closet behind door #2
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- What happens at Grandma’s, stays at Grandma’s
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- I know we’re supposed to enjoy the great outdoors, but just in case
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- Waiting for camp to get set up
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- Pig heaven!
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- Playtime on a rainy afternoon
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- Just big enough on a rainy day to stay inside & watch movies
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- Inside dining for two – granddaughter & Grampy
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- The ranger gave a lecture on owls, then made s’mores with gummy worms (in honor of the owls). Bekah ate the worms and chocolate.
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- Good morning, Sunshine
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- Kettle corn from the farmers market at the historic Koreshan meeting house
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- Taking a rest overlooking the Estero River, watching kayakers and paddle boarders
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- Rebekah and Grampy at a stand of bamboo
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- Until next time
We camped at Koreshan Historic Site State Park in Estero, Florida between Fort Myers and Naples on Florida’s west coast.
Boring Breakfast Meetings and A Famous Indian
As a department manager I was required to attend the monthly managers’ breakfast meetings with the Director and the other three managers. The Director was a pompous, bombastic, argumentative, resentful misogynist who delighted in excluding me whenever he could from the managers’ all boys club. I had been promoted by his predecessor and since I had outstanding evaluations, there was nothing he could do about me.
These breakfasts were such an incredible waste of my time 1) because the “guys” all tried to outdo each other in caloric intake, ordering huge greasy, disgusting breakfast specials while I ate an egg and fruit and drank endless cups of coffee prompting comments about my figure vs theirs; 2) because we very seldom discussed organization business but I had to listen ad nauseum to their military and sports stories; and, 
3) as a woman, they expected me to keep notes which I refused to do. Insulting, demeaning, antagonistic behaviors … I spent each breakfast meeting on edge, deflecting every insult with a pithy comeback or a witty comment while trying to avoid bloodshed. I would gladly have ripped the director’s head off and bludgeoned the other two with it. Most of the females working in the organization would have testified that it was justifiable homicide.
During one of these (endless) meetings, the “boys” were discussing famous Marines and one of them said, “What about Ira whats-his-name?” I said, “Do you mean Ira Hayes?” Four pairs of astonished eyes swiveled to me and the original questioner said, “Bet you guys don’t know what he did.” “Sure,” I said. “He was the Native American Marine who helped raise the flag over Iwo Jima; was honored as one of the five heroes and eventually died in a gutter from alcohol poisoning.” I could actually see their mouths drop open …
Thank you Johnny Cash for recording “The Ballad of Ira Hayes”. I’ll learn my lessons wherever I find them.
“The Ballad Of Ira Hayes”
Ira Hayes
About a brave young Indian you should remember well
From the land of the Pima Indian
A proud and noble band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land
The water grew Ira’s peoples’ crops
‘Till the white man stole the water rights
And the sparklin’ water stopped
And their land grew crops of weeds
When war came, Ira volunteered
And forgot the white man’s greed
Two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again
And when Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high
Was the Indian, Ira HayesIra returned a hero
Celebrated through the land
He was wined and speeched and honored;
No water, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira’d done
And when did the Indians danceThen Ira started drinkin’ hard;
Jail was often his home
They’d let him raise the flag and lower it
like you’d throw a dog a bone!
He died drunk one mornin’
Alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch
Was a grave for Ira Hayes
[CHORUS:]
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won’t answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin’ Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his land is just as dry
And his ghost is lyin’ thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died
Adventures
Wander Woman 