That’s right – we gave up a couple hours on a Tuesday night in January to weigh in on who should be our next president.

We made our voice heard.

We were a part of the process.

One thing we learned as we braved the standing room only crowd and later as we watched the returns on TV – every vote counts.

Every vote.

I’m thinking that some of those undecideds were wishing they had decided – and some of those who stayed home were wishing they had participated.

Now I’m not going to go into some in-depth political commentary about last night’s results – I’ll leave that to somebody who knows what they are talking about.

But this much I know – every vote counts.

Your vote counts.

Are you registered? You should be.

Okay – my rant is over. I will now step down from my soapbox and return to my usual ramblings about the important issues in life – like what’s for supper and how to survive life with four teens in the house.

But remember this – your vote counts.

Now use it.

I’m Melinda Shervheim and I approved this message.

Photo courtesy of Mike LoCascio.

Lots of goodies to eat, special times with friends and family, Christmas cards and letters in the mail, and… lots of politics.

Since we are privileged to live in Iowa – with the coveted first in the nation caucus – every four years we get to spend our holidays with presidential hopefuls.

This was one of those years.

Every day the mailman leaves a handful of campaign mailings among the brightly colored Christmas cards.

Those really don’t bother me much – other than the horrible waste of resources. I just file them in the wastebasket as soon as they come in. 

What is really getting on our nerves is all the phone calls.

“Hi! This is so and so calling for so and so candidate…” Click.

“Hi! Stay on the line for a live town hall meeting with…” Click.

One candidate in particular is very annoying. We get a call from his campaign at least once a day. Interestingly – he’s one candidate that is rarely in the state campaigning – he just sends oodles of junk mail and annoys us with daily automated phone calls. We’re not impressed.

It was so bad that one afternoon when the phone rang I told Pedro that if it was that particular candidate I would scream.

It was.

I did.

I would estimate 98% of the calls we received in the last 4 weeks were either political or from telemarketers. No one wants to answer the phone anymore! And when we do -  we’re not always friendly.

The kids have started having lots of fun talking back to the canned calls – especially the ones that come during meal times.

“Hey – nice of you to call! Say hi to the wife and kids!”

“Great to hear from you! We’d be happy to spend New Year’s in the Bahamas with you!”

“Thanks for all the great campaign literature! We have enough now to wallpaper the chicken coop!”

But still the calls keep coming.

Finally Dagmar – after threatening to do it for weeks – answered the phone with a line borrowed from a favorite Christmas movie  -

“Hi! It’s Buddy the Elf! What’s your favorite color?”

There was silence on the other end – then a blessed click.

We doubled over with laughter!

Thankfully, the 2012 Iowa Caucus will soon be history and all the candidates will pack up their campaign literature and phone lists and annoy another state.

But until then – if Buddy the Elf should happen to answer when you call – just laugh and answer the question.

I can’t wait to see Dagmar’s expression when you do!

I opened it to discover two adorable Amish children on my step, a little girl about seven and her five year old brother.

All rosy cheeked with big eyes – I decided that they must be from Herman’s, our southern neighbors, since the youngest ones to the north are all boys.

I couldn’t help but smile at their cuteness as I said, ” Well hello. How can I help you?”

The adorable little Amish girl looked terrified as she handed me a plastic grocery bag, “This is for you.”

I smile again and said, “Oh, thank you!”

My response must have given her courage, because she gave me a tentative little smile and added, “It’s ‘fwesh’ sausage.”

Then I understood – Herman’s had butchered that week and the older ones were all busy helping, so the younger ones were given the task of delivering a gift of sausage to the neighbor lady -me!

I gave them an even bigger smile and said, “Oh – that sounds yummy!”

She smiled a little bigger and said eagerly, “It’s ‘alweady’ salted and peppered!”

“Oh , so all I need to do is cook it and eat it?” I ask.

She’s nodded and added, “It’s for your Chwistmas!”

“Oh, Christmas sausage! That’s the best kind!” I say.

I’m rewarded with two very big, very relieved smiles.

“You stay right there!” I tell them – and walk into the kitchen and find two of the most sprinkle-covered sugar cookies.

Their eyes got big and they grinned from ear-to-ear as I put one in each of their mitten-covered hands.

“Thank you!” was their heart-felt response as they turned and started the half- mile walk home.

I smiled as I watched them go.

“Chwistmas” sausage, indeed!

I’m becoming a habitual offender!

At least this time I brought the kids with me!

We met up with several other home school moms and their kiddos at a local park to enjoy one of the last wonderful days of fall.

While the kids played and played and played -

The moms sat and talked – catching up on life, sharing ideas, and just soaking up the sunshine.

Our biggest entertainment -

Watching the babies be cute.

It was one of those “easy” kind of days that makes me so glad to be home schooling.

I’m thinking the kids were kind of glad, too!

There I was – sitting at the table with four of the kids surrounded by a pile of blocks and Duplo people.

A few years ago that sight would have been commonplace – but now that 3 of those 4 kids are teenagers – it was a little unusual.

So unusual that it made him pause and ask, “What are you doing?!”

“I am being brilliant!” was my reply.

He looked at me quizzically.

Okay – so maybe brilliant isn’t the best word. Maybe creative would be better.

I explained that it was time to stage the Children’s Christmas Program – and since that was traditionally a very confusing and noisy rehearsal – I had the brilliant idea to use Duplo people and stage it on the kitchen table before using live children.

The kids found the right number of Duploes and helped me name them. We added a few blocks to act as the piano and the riser and my cell phone became the manger.

We went through the script scene by scene, moving our Duplo characters across the stage.

It went pretty well except that I often forgot who was who and would occasionally call them “carrot nose” and “fireman” and “mustache dude” instead of Eli, Jotham and Levi.

Funny thing was – because of my large hand maneuvering them – those plastic kids still fell off the riser and often knocked each other over!

But at least they didn’t talk out of turn!

I still think it was brilliant.

And we spent it in apple trees.

Well – actually one apple tree mostly – but it had 2 kinds of apples growing in it.

No – I’m not kidding. It is one tree with both the tart Jonathon and the sweet Yellow Delicious apples growing together, side by side.

It’s one of those apple trees from the seed catalogs that’s supposed to grow four different kinds in apples in one tree – except that only 2 of the grafts survived.

An older couple from church planted it several years ago and have blessing people -including us – with apples ever since.

But this year was a little bittersweet.

After we spent several hours picking the bumper crop, filling up every container we brought with us, removing the back seat of the van just to get the apples in, and still leaving half of the apples hanging in the tree – we drove in to see their “new” house in town.

Sometime in the next few months, they’ll pack up and leave the farm.

It’s the end of era.

On one hand – I’m so happy and excited for them! They were almost like newlyweds as they showed us around the new house and served us ice cream cones.

But on the other hand – the move will be hard. While they are leaving behind the work and upkeep of the farm, they’re also leaving their home of over 50 years, their livelihood, their lifestyle.

It’s a needed change, but not an easy one.

Bittersweet.

Kinda  like a tree that grows both tart and sweet apples side by side.

]]> http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/apple-picking-and-changing-seasons/feed/ 1 http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/hearing-elephants/ http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/hearing-elephants/#comments Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:08:53 +0000 Country Gal http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/?p=5588 I heard an elephant last night.

No – seriously – I’m not crazy.  I was sitting on my back step and heard an elephant, a lion, and some unknown wild bird.

And I’m not the only one. Pedro heard it first. I told him it was probably just the guineas at the Amish neighbor’s. But there it was again – an African safari in our barn yard.

Jan heard it. Angel Girl heard it. Buddy heard it. I heard it.

Maybe we’re all crazy?! Can eating too many ears of fresh sweet corn cause one to hear strange noises?!

No, of course not. We really heard it and we have a sneaking suspicion we know where it’s coming from.

Are you ready for this – (lowers voice to a whisper) – our Amish neighbors.

Yes – I’m serious. You remember these neighbors – the ones with the train horn that they blow at all hours.

Those Amish.

We think they may have – (lowers voice to a whisper) – a hidden tape player.

Or a CD player, or a record player.

They have something that they’re playing -probably battery operated – and this isn’t our only evidence.

A while back when my friend Kimmer was here to visit with her kiddos, we all heard what sounded like an auctioneer practicing- and it was coming from their house.

We knew there wasn’t an auction for miles.

Mystified, we jumped in her pick-up (so they wouldn’t recognize our vehicle) and drove slowly up the road – checking out their property without looking like we were checking out their property.

The place looked deserted and the sound disappeared when we got closer. It started again later when we got back at home. It sounded just like it was coming from their back building.

Very suspicious.

Now – some time later – we hear the sounds of a safari coming from the very same location.

They have to be hiding something back there.

Unless of course – they actually have an elephant in there – and a lion – and some strange bird – and an auctioneer.  Which sounds more like the plot of a crazy 1960 Disney movie.

No – I’m thinking they have something hidden back there – and sooner or later we’ll discover just what it is.

I’ll keep you posted.

Stay tuned…

The youth group kids and the entire church family jumped in to help create a day of mysteries.

I had some seriously wonderful help from start to finish.

We learned who Jesus is by studied the mysteries in His miracles.  (Yes – that is my oldest son Matt and yes – he is growing a beard. gulp)

We had hilarious puppet shows with an Australian goat and a hillbilly donkey.

And we went around the world gathering clues to solve the mystery. Miss Dorothy really rocked the Bolivian look!

While Pedro took the kids to the Antarctic to go iceberg bobbing.

And we had water. Lots of water. Lots and lots of water. Which was good – because it was a hot day. So hot that the Australian waterfall was a big hit.

We sent the kids home soaking wet but grinning from ear to ear.

They heard the gospel, learned about the Savior, and had a wonderful time!

Mission accomplished.

Take yesterday for example.

After church we all piled in our faithful old mini van, cranked the AC and headed down the blacktop for the 25 minute -very rural – ride home.

Things started out pretty normal.  We were just humming down the High and Dry when Jan suddenly noticed that the engine was starting to heat up. He quickly turned the AC off and slowed down.

It didn’t help. That temperature kept rising – fast . He turned the heat on full blast in a last ditch effort to cool things down. He pulled off in the nearest driveway just as the engine died.

Would you believe that we ended up in a cemetery?!

Our car died in the cemetery!

I don’t make this stuff up. Honest. But wait – there’s more!

So there we were in the the Forrest Home Cemetery with steam coming out under the hood.

Now normally – I love to roam around an old cemetery and read the inscriptions – but with the heat index around 101 and oppressive humidity – we headed right for a shady spot among the gravestones.

There we sat – all six of us – in the Crockett plot by the fence under the oak trees.  I perched myself on a nice flat head stone of one Elvious Crockett while we discussed our options.

Jan immediately started calling friends and neighbors to ask them for a lift – but nobody was home!  Nobody. Not even you Lavern and Carolyn!

We thought about walking home – but decided that hiking over 8 miles in the excessive heat with no water and wearing flip flops was probably not a good idea.

We thought about flagging down a passing car – if there ever was a passing car.

We searched the graveyard for water. But of course there was nothing – not even a pump.

Meanwhile the bees were buzzing, the temperature was rising and Elvious was feeling a little bumpy.

Finally, Jan – the hero of this adventure- decided to walk about a half mile up the hill to the nearest farm house and see if he could borrow some water to try to make it home.

Would you believe they weren’t home either?! Were does everybody go on a hot & humid Sunday afternoon in July?

He found a bucket sitting by the well, filled it with water, carried it all the way back to the van in the oppressive heat.

We cheered when the van started up.

We returned the bucket with our fervent thanks to the unknown farmer on the High and Dry who left a bucket by his hydrant that morning, and waved good-bye to our buddy Elvious.

Then we drove home with all the windows down – the heater going full blast and a heat index of 101 degrees.

Home never looked so good.

Air conditioning never felt so good.

Lunch never tasted so good.

I’m telling you people – you just never know when an adventure will strike.

“And I’m proud to be an American,

where at least I know I’m free,

And I won’t forget the men who died who gave that right to me…”

Lee Greenwood