What Dad Really Wants This Father's Day

Father’s Day on the farm can be tricky. It’s a day to celebrate a man who typically doesn’t enjoy the three things that encompass the holiday:

1. Being the center of attention
2. Celebrations when there is work to be done or
3. Receiving Hallmark cards that make his nose burn,  his eyes water and a mysterious tennis ball develop in his throat.

Father’s Day on the farm can also be tricky for the rest of us. What do you buy a man who has everything? Or, at least knows how to use bailing twine and WD-40 to fix/create whatever he needs?

To Get All of His Tools Back

You can buy Dad all the 101-piece socket sets you want, but what he really wants for Father’s Day (and Christmas and his birthday) is just to get his tools back.

To where they belong.

In one piece.

He doesn’t need a 1/47^th,  3/734^th or 8/39290 ^th socket.

He needs to open his toolbox and find his 1 1/16^th wrench and a pair of pliers that still cuts wire.  

Just bring it back…all of it.

And don’t “borrow” it again.

A Gate Opener

This Father’s Day, give your farm dad the gift of a gate opener. Someone who has the intuition to know where he’s traveling to next. Someone who knows what gates can be left open and which ones need to be shut. Someone who knows how to do two things, well: hustle and pick up a gate, rather than drag it on the ground. Relieve Dad of this familiar, time-consuming scenario: Stop the truck or tractor in front of the gate. Climb down. Open the gate. Walk back to the truck or tractor. Drive it through the gate. Then stop the truck or tractor behind the gate. Climb down. Close the gate. Walk back to the truck or tractor. And finally get to work.

"It's amazing how much more work you can get

done when someone opens the gate."

To Work With His Kids, No Matter The Age

Farm Dads kind of miss their help when they grow up, even if said help isn’t that much help, at all. He may miss the tiny shadow following his every move and mocking his every word (this can be dangerous most days). This Father’s Day, give Dad the gift of companionship and conversation while he works towards the success of the family farm. Sometimes he doesn’t need a tie; sometimes he needs his buddy by his side while he does what he loves. 

 

An Inch of Rain

(Unless, of course, they are in the thick of wheat harvest or baling hay)

I understand you can’t exactly “gift” someone a perfect day of weather (no one would ever create a wedding registry at Bed Bath & Beyond if that were the case), but you can do some things to guarantee a mid-June rain shower. For the perfect Farm Father’s Day gift, follow these easy steps:  

1. Pray for rain
2. Wash your car
3. Mow hay
4. Leave all the windows open – vehicles and home - and go somewhere far away
5. Pray for rain

May your tie count be short but your tool count be exactly where you think it should be. 

Good luck keeping track of that. 

Patience: A Generational Gap

I recently had a conversation with a summer intern where we discussed her internship thus far and what her field experience would entail. Throughout our conversation I caught myself thinking:

Why doesn’t she seem nervous?

Why aren’t her hands sweating?

Why hasn’t she asked a stupid question yet?

Why doesn’t she appear to have gained the freshman 15 like I did?

So many questions floated across my mind during that one-hour meeting. I learned that the gal is twelve – twwwwwwellllllvvvvve - years younger than I.

With that realization, my questions were all suddenly answered: 
We’re basically living on a different planet.

Our age/experience/life-in-general gap made me think back to last week’s blog regarding the ancient need for people my age to wait at least an hour (more like a minimum of three once you drove to Wal-Mart, ran errands and waited for film to be developed) to see any photos that had been taken using a fim camera.

That’s how my generation learned patience!

That’s how we lived through an entire school day without taking a photo of ourselves in the bathroom mirror!

That’s why thousands of us are still holding on to these boxes

which are full of these!

My brief meeting with the intern left me wondering: What else?

What else has today’s younger generation not experienced, leaving them – in many ways – less patient than my generation?

(Which, of course, is much less patience that our parents' generation.)

Let me count the ways:

They didn’t get to play Oregon Trail. I say “get” like it was a treat. It wasn’t a treat, it was a chore. One minute you're in computer class pressing the space bar and the next thing you know Nicole has died of dysentery (there’s one in every crowd). Then, the meat goes bad because Matt couldn’t pull his weight when fording the Mississippi River (always won the spelling bee, never was athletic). My generation didn’t have to read The 5 Dysfunctions of a Team and apply it in the workplace because we had to learn about teamwork the hard way: Figuring out how to survive computer class without an axle breaking.

And another thing.

Today’s youth don’t understand the magnitude of multitasking because they didn't have to sit through an entire seventh-grade social studies class, trying to memorize the fifty-four countries in Africa and also keep a Giga Pet alive in their locker. You want to talk about pressure? Try to focus on a creative way to remember where Djibouti is while wondering if your Giga got enough love to last until Algebra 1. 

Exhausting.

I never had one of these but my friend Marissa had three and she let me take care of one for a day. I killed it before lunch. It was a quick - I like you but I don't trust you with my kids - lesson in friendship and I went back to learning about Congo in no time. 

And finally.

The younger generation doesn't have to wait for mom to get off the phone with the PTA President before they can switch out the phone jacks and pray to the Internet gods that the connection goes through so they can chat with friends they haven't seen in three hours. 

They can’t identify with the association of anxiety that comes with these sounds:

They don’t understand the planning and patience that goes into trying to download ten songs overnight (because surely no one will try to call the home phone between 10:00 PM and 5:00 AM, right?) only to wake up to find that seven had errors occur shortly after you dozed off into dreams of Pacey and Joey.

We can talk all day about working with Millennials, compensation, benefits, work styles, praise and cluster offices. But the root of the patience problem comes down to the newest generation in the workplace having little to no experience with film cameras, The Oregon Trail, Giga Pets and dial-up Internet.

As for the freshman fifteen: 

As long as cheese bread still exists, 

the freshman fifteen will span lifetimes.

The Last Time I Did This

The days following Christmas always seem to be a downer time for me. There is just something about taking down all of the Christmas décor that dampens the cold January mood. And opens one’s eyes.

I was replacing garland with a springy (too early?) arrangement when I found a sure sign that 2016 was the time to get organized: In the bottom of a silver boot vase was the name and phone number of a gal I was supposed to call back in….June. A hundred bucks says I got in a rush to tidy up the homestead – company was probably at the door - and threw this little tattered note into the closest hiding spot I could find: a flower vase.

I’m very resourceful.

But that is sort of how I’ve operated as of late: 

Committing to so much, that I have time to do so little, well.

So I’ve determined that 2016 is the year to get my affairs in order. I searched for and found an old Franklin Covey planner that someone gave me a few years ago. I had great intentions for that planner, and 2012. So great, in fact, that on the first page I wrote my very ambitious 2012 Resolutions:

 

The discovery of this time capsule sent me couchside for a few minutes, reading through the things I wanted so badly to accomplish in 2012 and the emotion – or passion – that lied behind each stroke of the pink Sharpie.

Some goals seemed so easy to hit everyday: 

11. Give Dixie more attention. 

She was such a good dog; little did I know she’d be gone in less than two years.

While others seemed quite lofty, even four years later:

6. Venture with Christine – 2013 launch! 

We were two friends with a plan; one that never truly got off the ground.

But one stood out boldly.

(Get down to) 130 lbs?

Nope. Though I bet my diet started the following Monday.

9. Stop Looking – God’s timing is perfect!

What a nonchalant note for something that quietly weighed on my heart often.  

But I did it.

I quit questioning possibilities and wondering what might have been and remembering how things never actually were.

And fourteen days into 2012 I met the one who is so worth God’s (slllooooooooooowwwwwwwwww) timing. 

I haven’t made a serious resolution, since.

Cody and I were in the truck recently catching up on to-remembers and to-decide-upons before he leaves for the National Western Stock Show. I usually take notes and still send 101 text questions throughout the duration of his trip to ensure I’ve not forgotten something. Or let something die. The last time he did this, I dealt with frozen blue ball waterers and sloppy, thirsty cows who didn’t help the situation. Let’s hope this year is different.

The conversation turned to life talk within five miles and Cody mentioned something else I wrote down: We’re trying to control everything, but in reality we have control over nothing. What a true, scary thought. It reminded me of 2012 Resolution Number Nine: Stop Looking – God’s timing is perfect!

Stop looking.

Worrying.

Justifying.

Planning like we’re in charge.

Tough pill to swallow, at any age.

I read about a challenge the other day asking people to give advice to their 16-year-old self …in two words. I love a good challenge.

Be unique.

Never settle.

Travel often.

Be confident.

Don’t straighten your hair.

Or use box color.

Stand up straight.

Trust your gut about people, I'm serious. 

My two-words list could go on and on...

At an age when I’m trying to get all areas of life organized in an effort to simplify and enjoy, I think this challenge came at a perfect time. I’ve found that when I’m worrying often and letting concern take over my heart, it’s usually at a time when I’m trying to do everything myself. When I feel at peace, it’s usually because I remember that God is in control. What a thought to keep in my back pocket for the tough days ahead!

The last time I did this, I was able to truly focus on only a handful - but they turned out well. So I’m making a resolution to write down four – simple – phrases what will serve as my guides for the year ahead. No books, or businesses, or weight goals:

Give it to God.

Take care of myself.

Be present.

Keep it simple.

I’m going to plaster these bad boys in every nook and cranny in my life – simply, of course.

What might your guides be? 

Twenty total words or less.

Now, how could these guides help me to quit hiding things in oh so random places in an effort to tidy up our homestead? Well, they probably won’t. That lesson is going to come after I misplace something important. Like, really important.

Like a passport. I’m on #3.

Or a social security card.

Has anyone had to have one replaced?

I  would hate to go back into that social security office.

The last time I did that…

A Warm, Glowing Fiasco

We never say the words, but every so often Momma and I ask for opportunities to be miserable. 

We’re alike in that there is no place we’d rather be than home. On any given Friday night we’re happiest at home with a box of Triscuits, sharp cheddar cheese and a 2-hour Dateline Special. With the deadbolt locked…and taking turns checking it during every commercial break. But sometimes we do leave home and venture into what one might call situations.

We once sat in line for four hours during  Tire Drop Off Day. You want a good glimpse of the people in your tiny part of the world? Go ahead and tell the public they can dispose of all tires for free during one Saturday only. Then sit in a parked truck for four hours and watch. That’s a blog for another week. We survived, but it was the only time I seriously thought my Momma might consider leaving Dad. He had sent us to town that day in the farm truck with a bed full of dry rot tires, some stale airplane peanuts in the console and two cookbooks. Like I said, a story for another time. 

Momma and I are on the right. 

She called me Sunday morning:

“Can I call you back when I get in the car? I’m trying to get out the door to church,” I asked in haste.

“Well I’m walking into church now (her way of revealing that my time is no more valuable than hers). Do you want to go to Warm Glow after church?” Momma asked.

I knew what I wanted to do, but I also knew the timing couldn’t be any worse: this was Christmas open house weekend at possibly the largest public attraction in our area: Warm Glow.

 

I grew up just minutes from Warm Glow, a candle shop once the size of a two-car garage that has more recently expanded into 80,000 square feet of candles, signage, home décor, beer, wine, hand crafted soaps and other wild things that I’m certain your brain could never even dream up. It’s every most women’s dreamland and every man’s nightmarish hell. 

Check out the amazing products at  Lonely Windmill Farm 

In my life B. C. (before Cody) I invested a small fortune into Warm Glow turning my first house into a beautiful little home. Now A.C. (you get it) those scented candle rings and sparkly burlap lampshades hide in mouse-proof (I do the best I can) Rubbermaid tubs while I now prefer to decorate with anything that can be rinsed off with a garden hose. Guys are gross.

Anyhow…

Knowing that this weekend was the biggest shopping weekend for Warm Glow (like, thousands flock to this place), I accepted the challenge and told Momma I’d meet her at BSG after church and we’d carpool the 4.7 miles to Warm Glow for an afternoon of shopping for things that will be in Rubbermaid in 25 days.

I drove over I-70 and our grand idea of self-inflicted pain really struck; the parking lot was packed, the lawn was covered by vehicles and cars were winding down the long driveway, parking by the road.

“Well this was stupid,” Momma said. I kept driving. Misery loves company and I was about to rub elbows with 1,500 of my very best friends. Once inside she told me we didn’t need a cart since we’d be here only 20 minutes. I knew better and grabbed a cart then threw my purse and coat inside. Might as well get comfy. I should have worn yogas.

We were on a (suicide) mission to find only a few, very specific things:

Momma: 1 Red, 1 White and 1 Green candle for a centerpiece.

Me: Two candles for upcoming gift exchanges.

BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE

I got my steps in, though my Fitbit was resting peacefully on my nightstand. We actually walked the entire width of the store three times looking for a damn peppermint candle – the white in Momma’s festive trio. We couldn't do Evening Mocha or Coconut Cream or Creamy Vanilla Bean. Nope. Nothing smells like Christmas like a Merry Mint candle burning next to a Northern Pine burning next to a Cranberry Stardust. At one point I didn't know if we were going by color or the fact that Momma made her list on an empty stomach.

However, during our voyage for the perfect Merry Mint, we visited with:

1 old nursing colleague

2 high school classmates

 1 FFA friend

3 people we tried to avoid for the sake of time

8 Facebook friends, one of which I asked how wedding planning was going only to learn there would be none. Jean’s Boots Lesson #1,271: If you can’t recall many Facebook posts about said wedding planning, best to not even mention it.

And 378 children looking for

Santa, Mrs. Claus and….Elsa.

Momma got more excited about Elsa being at Warm Glow than a 60-something should. It’s the Grammie in her, I guess. She asked me to wait in line to see Elsa so I could get my picture with her to send to my niece Marlee (6).

I found a few holes in this proposal:

I’m 30-something and have frankly never seen Frozen.

I forgot my Frozen costume.

I’m 30-something.

I couldn’t see the end of the line.

I’m 30-something.

If I did stand in line looking like Buddy the Elf compared to everyone else, who in the heck was going to take the picture? 

Momma got an iPhone just over a month ago and has Facetimed me something like 68 times since. There was no way I was going to teach her how to use the camera today. 

I came up with a better solution and asked Elsa to pose for a solo photo in between toddler hugs. The only thing that could have made this more awkward for this amazing sport of a gal would be if I were a 57-year-old male.

We then found the bird display and stocked up on birds for Momma’s old bird tree, which sits at the top of the landing and terrifies every grandchild old enough to focus their eyes (Georgia is just so very young, give it time). I’m including pictures for my friend Cheyanne.

 

When the day was said and done, in our cart we had 14 candles, 6 candle plates, 4 creepy birds, 3 bags of candle chips, 1 Christmas present I can’t discuss and a box of wine. Yes, on a Sunday. There was a winery on display in the corner of the Watering Can (Warm Glow’s garden center) and Momma somehow found them while looking through the Fairy Gardens. 

Who am I kidding? We were as lost as last year’s Easter egg and that card table with a wine display seemed like a mirage. But it was real! Twelve bottles, real.

If you’ve never been to Warm Glow, it’s a must-see attraction while traveling I-70 between Indiana and Ohio. The concept of the perfect candle began in a couple’s basement just down the road from BSG and has grown into this really incredible shop tucked away in rows of Indiana corn. At the same exit is a Dairy Queen, so you can spend your kids’ inheritance on hearth candles then blow your last $15 cash on Blizzards just across the way. That’s assuming you didn’t eat Warm Glow ice-cream while shopping.

The afternoon turned out well and Momma and I left feeling as tired and broke as we did after Tire Drop Off Day. Our legs and pocketbooks hurt, but we reconfirmed something that day:

We just weren't cut out for 

some social events unless they involve 

cheese and  Keith Morrison.