The Cabin Mama ™

Humor and woodsy wisdom by Laura Lollar

Stories

Big Beautiful Birthday Surprise

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I was beginning to learn that Doug had a great sense of humor and was also good at springing surprises on me. My birthday was no exception.

As the date approached, I coyly let him know I didn’t have any plans for that night. Being the gentleman he was he said, “Well, of course we’re going to have to celebrate! How about supper out that. Night?” And I said yes with a smile.

He arrived at the house to pick me up with a long narrow box wrapped in birthday paper and urged me to open it before we went out. What could it be? I imagined all kinds of exciting things. I tore open the wrappings and pulled back the tissue paper to find…

…a grill brush!

“You said the wildfire burned the barbecue grill, so I thought I’d get you a brush for when you get a new grill,” he explained. I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Visions of a vacuum cleaner, skillet and stepladder for Christmas danced through my head.

But my momma taught me to be polite. No. Matter. What. So I recovered from my surprise and thanked him profusely. “It’s perfect,” I said. “Just what I’ll be needing!”

Then out we went, down the steps and towards his truck. He opened the door for me as he always did, but stopped me in mid-step.

“Wait just a minute, let me get that out of your way,” he said, referring to a big propane gas bottle on the floorboard in front of my seat. “Let me put it in the back of the truck — along with the REST of your present.”

He led me around to the bed of the truck and opened the cab topper to reveal a HUGE box. Inside the box was — you guessed it —a grill! A big, bright, shiny brand new grill!

I couldn’t contain myself! I was so floored by his generosity that I jumped right up and gave him a big kiss. I almost knocked him over and think I surprised him as much as he had surprised me! My gosh, I would never have expected that kind of a gift. We’d only been dating a month or so.

I was just glowing as we went in for dinner. It was a wonderful evening. We talked, laughed, held hands — the typical lovey dovey stuff you do when you’re dating. (I wasn’t even tempted to nudge his glass away from the edge of the table or cut up his steak, like I do with my kids!)

Then he looked deep into my eyes and said, “Laurie (my family calls me Laurie), do you think it’s possible for two people to know it’s right so soon in the relationship?” I sucked in my breath and thought, “Wow! Did I just hear what I thought I heard?”

But he was sincere. There was no joking around with that question. “Yes,” I said. “I’ve heard of people who have only known each other a few weeks who knew it was the real thing. And they’ve lasted. I do think it’s possible.” Goosebumps came over me and I thought, maybe this IS the real thing!

A full moon was out by the time we got back to my place. We sat on the front porch under its light and talked for hours. I decided to share some of my “backstory” so I wouldn’t be wasting my time (or his) should he learn something later that would change his mind. I was nervous as I told him more of my past, health issues and responsibilities, but he pulled my feet up onto his lap, leaned forward and said, “Is that all ya got?”

My gosh, this man was a saint. Not that I’m an ax murderer or anything, but we’ve all got baggage. I had decided not to hide anything, so if he stuck around it was because he really loved me, warts and all.

I was getting the sense he really did!

But that wasn’t all. There were more surprises to come!

How I Met the Man of My Dreams

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I wasn’t looking. And despite my sister’s encouragement, I wasn’t eager to meet the guy she kept saying was a very nice man. She’d worked with him for decades and had even showed me his Facebook Page. Nice smile. Good looking guy. But I’d gotten used to being on my own lo’ those many years and frankly didn’t want the drama.

Then she invited me to a Military Appreciation Day concert. Mom, Dad and my sister were planning to go. She added, “Oh and Doug’s coming too.”

Great. Pressure. “Okay but just don’t make me sit next to him”I said. I didn’t want a setup. I’d been in the new house just a few years after the wildfire burned my old one down and was happy to have some peace in my life. But just in case, I brought along my best friend too – for protection ya know.

We all met for a bite to eat before the concert and I noticed how nice he was to my Mom. He was great fun to talk with, we had some things in common and I liked the stories he told.

The concert was wonderful. I sat way at the end of the row and he sat way at the other end next to my sister. After it was over, he gave me his business card and I gave him mine.

My sister told me that as he walked her out to her car, Doug mentioned he liked our family a lot. “Your Mom and Dad are great. Your sister was nice.” Then he added, “But I REALLY liked your sister Laurie!”

The next day we exchanged a polite, “Nice to meet you” email and then, well, then there was nothing. A month passed, so I went about my business, until out of the blue I got a text. 

“Would you like to have supper with me sometime?” I said yes and within a minute he extended the invite. “How about this coming Monday?” He asked. The guy didn’t waste much time firming things up.

So we had dinner — once, twice, three times. He came to my house and I went to his. Before we knew it, we were a couple. It was gradual, but it was clear there was something there of substance. We got along well. He made me laugh. I shared all my baggage early on, thinking it was best to get it out there so there weren’t any surprises. He did the same. He asked me questions about my likes, dislikes, my life and my driving record. (He’s an engineer, after all.)

There were regular emails with links to romantic songs on YouTube and texts of “sweet nothings” that gave me the goosebumps. I loved being pursued and I swear there were days I couldn’t concentrate on work. At. All.

It was wonderful to finally meet someone who seemed to be as enthralled with me as I was with him. Truly, the sun shone brighter and the sky seemed bluer. Life was good!

Then my birthday came around. Wait till you hear what happened next!

A Mechanically Challenged Cabin Mama

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My husband brought home a tractor. It’s big, green and comes from Mr. John Deere.

And he’s as happy as a pig in “you-know-what” moving dirt around. I was amazed at how many levers and controls are on the thing. The owner’s manual is about three inches thick, but he worked his way through it in just a few hours. He’s an engineer, so to him, this how-to guide is like a romance novel to the rest of us. Then he hopped right up in the driver’s seat and took control of it like the macho man he is. (I can just imagine the book cover now!)

Me? I’m still afraid of my InstantPot. I got it for Christmas and have yet to cook anything in it. My daughter (who gave me the gift) encourages me by saying, “Mom, it’s not much different than cooking on the stove.” But still I hesitate. My guess is that once I use it a few times, I’ll want to InstantPot every meal we eat. Then, I’ll expect a blue ribbon and tons of praise for my efforts, thank you very much!

Yes, I admit it; I’m mechanically challenged. My daughter spent 30 minutes on YouTube then changed the timing belt on her SUV. I was so proud of her I almost busted my buttons! Me, on the other hand, I never even learned how to change the oil in my cat. (She can do that too.)

Yours truly has been known to drive around with the parking break on.

It’s not because I’m blonde (most days). It’s not because I don’t have enough grey matter — I’m a pretty sharp cookie (most days). I just have a healthy fear and respect for the risks involved should something go wrong. Let’s just say I’d rather not be thought a fool should I fail. If I do fail, I’d rather it be with devices that don’t do much damage or cost a lot to repair. Our manual can opener is a good bet.

When my oldest was five, he pushed me aside from a kitchen gadget I was trying to fix and said, “Here Mom, I’ll do that for you!” And by golly, he did. Even HE could tell I was in over my head. It’s moms like me who hate to admit, “So easy a five year old can do it!”

Even my 88 year old mother puts me to shame. She can wield a glue gun like nobody’s business and whip up a silk flower wreath in sixty minutes or less. Gosh darn, I’m lucky I can maneuver my curling iron.

The other day my husband asked me if I wanted to get in the driver’s seat and take the tractor for a spin. I rolled my eyes and reminded him I hadn’t even tried out the lawn mower yet.

Maybe I’m not so dumb after all!

Locking Little Sister In the Outhouse

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We went camping last week and stayed at a campsite with no utilities or water, but quite conveniently there was an outhouse nearby. I’ve reached the age where that is very important to me. (Along with a shower but you can’t have everything. It IS camping after all.)

Growing up visiting Grandpa’s camp in Upstate New York, we took our outhouse seriously too. He had built a luxurious potty with two holes, a shower (which we never used because there was no running water) and a waiting area with a four foot tall antique metal stove in the corner. We even had reading materials plastered on the walls to keep us occupied while we waited.

We girls had the job of cleaning out the outhouse by sweeping up the dust and dead bugs, spraying disinfectant, replacing toilet paper, etc. The big glass windows high up above our heads were lined with spiders looking to catch the multitude of bugs that found their way inside.

One day, sister #2 and I conspired to lock sister #3 in there as it was starting to get dusk. Grandpa had put a latch on the outside where he could put a padlock, but we didn’t need the lock to scare the living daylights out of her. There was no electricity and it was growing dark. So she faced the reality of being surrounded by all kinds of flying and crawling bugs as the light disappeared. Sister #2 and I slipped out the door and before she knew what was happening, we had flipped the latch, then run back up the hill to the main cabin, giggling all the way.

We walked into the kitchen trying to contain our glee and look innocent, but Mom caught onto us pretty fast.

She asked, “Are you girls done with your chores down there?”

“Yes, we’re all done.”

“Where’s Cindy,” she asked.

“Well, she’s still cleaning so we left her there.” Being the oldest, I felt like I needed to handle the situation. “But she’s okay, really,” I said between grins.

“You LEFT her there? You two march back down and help your sister finish up. It’s getting dark out; take the flashlights with you,” she said.

So mom made us go back and let her out. Needless to say, our little sister was furious and had tears streaming down her face. We felt a little guilty. To this day, this is the same sister who’s paranoid about bugs. Maybe we locked her in there because she was already paranoid and we knew we’d get a rise out of her. Either way, bugs are still the bane of her existence. Once she finds a new bug around her house, she’s on the prowl to catch it, then she drives ten miles across town to get a determination from the local coop. She wants to find out what kind of bug it is and if its poisonous. I fear we damaged her for life!

Years later, when my parents bought their own smaller cabin nearby, it came equipped with an outhouse that needed lots of work. My mother is quite the decorator, so it wasn’t long before she had cleaned it up, then had my Dad replace the old rotten wooden doors with glass French ones. As a final touch, she hung silk flower wreaths outside the doors and put some decorate knick knacks inside to brighten things up. 

We had the fanciest outhouse in all of New York and were the envy of every visitor!

Cats Gone Crazy

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There I was, wrapping gifts on my bed with plastic bags, wrapping paper, boxes and ribbons laying around. Both cats were in the room and they were having a heyday playing with the paper clippings and plastic wrappers.

It was a beautiful summer day and I had both the big windows open looking out over the distant hills and the street below. The breeze fluttered through and made for a very calm and peaceful afternoon.

But then it happened. Missy got herself tangled up in a plastic bag and it freaked her out! She tore around on the bed trying to get the bag off, then leapt to the floor and did laps around the bedroom. The bag sailed behind her like a piece of unfurled boat canvas. I tried to no avail to catch her. She was too fast for me and as much as I tried, she eluded my grasp, darting around the bed, under the dresser and over the headboard.

That wasn’t all! Our other cat, Fuzzy, saw Missy’s turmoil and tore off after her. I don’t know why she freaked out too, but emotions must be just as catchy in animals as they are with humans.

So now I had TWO cats streaking around the bedroom in circles! They were becoming more frantic by the minute and it seemed like this went on for ages! I ran to the bedroom door and slammed it shut to keep them from getting out, which seemed to make them even more panicky. Before I could catch either one of them, Missy leapt towards the window. She flew straight through the screen and sailed out into the open air. Two. Stories. Up! Then, Fuzzy jumped right out after her!

Two cats sailed out into the wild blue yonder with nothing below to catch them but grass. I ran to the window to see if they were okay and when I looked down, the cats were nowhere to be seen.

However, below stood a stunned couple standing stock still, looking up at me as I looked down at them. Their mouths were wide open, then they burst into laughter. Doubled over and barely able to breathe, the woman said, “That’s the funniest thing we’ve ever seen! Cats flying out of a window — it isn’t something you see everyday!”

It was pretty funny when I think back on it. Fortunately the cats were okay and I was able to corral them back into the house. They were shaken, panting hard and scared as the dickens! It’ll teach me to leave plastic bags lying around where they can get into them. I should resort to something less tempting — either that or shut my windows!

Grocery Shopping Pet Peeves

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I’m not crazy about shopping. Especially when it comes to grocery shopping; my goal is to get in and out as quickly as possible. It’s an exhausting process to make all those decisions, so I try to be efficient. I make a list and ALWAYS try to eat something beforehand. Otherwise, you know what they say, you’ll grab anything in the store that looks like it would taste yummy. For me, that would be everything in the bakery department and in the ice cream aisle!

Coupons have never been my thing, and I also don’t believe in driving around to a number of different stores to scoop up the specials. The wear and tear on my psyche navigating traffic and crazy drivers, along with the extra time it takes is just not worth it. Unless we’re talking about wild salmon that arrives in the summer. I’d make a trip to the moon for wild salmon!

I have a system once I get to the store. I start at the back, work my way through all the aisles that feature our favorite items. Once in a while I have to circle back to find something I’d passed by without noticing. But it doesn’t happen very often. I hate revisiting my steps.

So you can just imagine how frustrating it is when I get to the store and find they’ve reorganized all the shelves!

Good grief, why do they do that? You get used to a certain configuration and then they go and mix everything up. Is it because they want you to stay in the store longer, make more trips up and down the aisles and “discover” tempting new items? Or is it because some market research company figured out a better way to display foodstuffs so we vulnerable, unsuspecting consumers would spend more money?

It’s one of my biggest pet peeves.

But here’s another one: the 2 liter soda bottles they put on the top shelf, organized in some kind of rack that makes it IMPOSSIBLE for a short little person like me to wrestle them free. I struggle with it for a few minutes and then (horrors!) I stand on the bottom shelf. I know, I know, that’s a big risk because if I break the shelf, all those items will crash to the floor. And what if grocery clerks hiding behind those cameras in the ceiling look down and see what I’m doing? I just know they’d send out some kind of security person who would issue a shopping citation. “Code blue on aisle four!” 

You can only get so many of those warnings before they ban you from the store and you have to find somewhere else to go. Then, you guessed it, you have to adjust to another new configuration. Until you do, it’s like wandering in the desert looking for the promised land!

So, I’m very cautious about standing on that bottom shelf. Ultimately, I look around and eyeball the tall people to find anyone who looks like they’d be willing to help me. Most people take pity on me as they watch me jumping up and down to dislodge some out-of-reach item.

Another pet peeve is when I buy ice cream and end up behind a person in the checkout line who takes FOREVER. I stand there watching the container slowly soften, then after the checkout, I race to unload it into the trunk of my hot car. A smarter person would bring an ice chest with them, wouldn’t they? But I like to live on the edge and am not about to change my ways at this ripe old age.

You know what else dives me crazy? The person who stops in the middle of the aisle to check their grocery list. Then they give you a dirty look when you politely say, “excuse me” and try to wiggle your cart past them. I do give a lot of slack to elderly folks and parents with a passel of kids hanging off their cart. But some people are just clueless. You know how you can sense if someone is standing behind you? Well, these people were either born without that chip or they just don’t care.

It occurs to me with all my whining that I ought to be thankful to have so much variety to choose from. I should appreciate the ability to find food on the shelves in great quantities. We have so much plenty in this country compared to other places in the world. I shouldn’t be such a complainer.

So I’ll stop. But before I go, one last thing. Am I the only one who ends up with the cart that likes to veer to the left or right, has one wheel that goes “thump, thump, thump” and slows to a skid when you least expect it? 

I thought so. Please pray for me.

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