May I present the YaYa's

And heeeerrrreee's the YaYa's!! (sounding like Johnny Carson).

L to R: Barb, Carol, me, & Chris

Now, none of us look like we're - - - - oh, never mind - I'm not going to tell you how old we don't look!!

We got together again this afternoon and had a grand old time. Ole always asks me what we talk about - today we yakked from 4 o'clock until after seven and still could have yakked longer. But I guess we'll save some for next time. One of the gals, Donna, was missing tonight.

Barb, on the left, was/is a twin. Her sister died from a type of thyroid cancer about ten years ago. Donna, the missing YaYa, is also a twin, whose sister also died almost 20 years ago now, from a form of skin cancer. How sad.

So we'll get together again when Ole and I come back from our trip the end of May.

Yes, we're finally going to get out of here - headed for the Great Smokey National Park and the Tail of the Dragon Highway - 318 curves in 11 miles going across the Smokey Mountains. Of course we'll see and do other things but that's the big draw for us at this point. Diesel fuel just turned to $4 a gallon here today, and consdering the tank in the RV is about 130 gallons, we may be headed for bankruptcy. I'll be sending emails out through the trip, as I usually do - so if you get one stating that we're stranded in Podunk, Tennessee and can't get fuel - just send money - okay?

We're pulling the Harley in a trailer behind the RV, and that's the only transportation we'll have once we get to our destination. So at least that will be cheap. I don't look much like a Motorcycle Mama in the picture above, but believe me, when I get duded up you wouldn't know me. Poolie was speaking the other day of running into her chiropractor at a Harley gathering that took place at her museum and having a difficult time recognizing him. I guess there's nothing like leather to change one's appearance!!

See, that way I can come to the Great Javalina Hunt in October incognito (neener) because Ole says we're bringing the Harley then, too. So, you Javalina Hunt planners, when you're making plans, make sure wearing chaps is appropriate at all events (snicker). I promise I'll wear something under the chaps too - not just chaps!! (Did I say that in my out loud voice??) After all, riding on the back of a Harley in a long flowing skirt to get to your destination could cause a problem or two - like getting wound around the spokes of the back wheel or some such thing . . .

Well, Folks, that's about all the old brain has got for tonight. I need to go make some ZZZZs so I can get up early for my dentist appointment (yuck)!!

Love Lena

Outhouses and 'Spenders

Okay then – today’s entry can be attributed to Poolie again. She keeps tripping my trigger making me look back into my memory banks. Her entry about Shit for Brains and pictures of outhouses had me digging deep (no pun intended).

Way back when Ole and I first started dating when we were seniors in high school, he used to bring me out to his uncle’s farm on weekends. He spent a lot of his growing up years on Uncle Henry’s farm so it’s always held kind of a special place in his heart. Anyway, back then Uncle Henry didn’t have indoor plumbing. You had to visit the little Shack Out Back which could be quite an experience for a city girl.

It was a two-holer, no less, and you know how women like to go to the ladies room in groups. So in the summertime or during daylight hours, going to the bathroom could become quite a hen party. If you did end up going by yourself there was always something to read; old newspapers or magazines, or lacking that, an old version of the Sears catalog always seemed to be available to look at. Uncle Henry was quite frugal, so you didn’t always have toilet paper available and had to make do with whatever was out there. The best time of the year was when Aunt Mary would can peaches. She would save all the soft papers that the peaches were wrapped in and send them to the outhouse.

Along with reading material came a variety of spiders, spider webs and of course the local mouse family. Certain birds seemed to find it a safe haven, crawl through the little half-moon opening that was always carved through the door and build their nests inside, out of the elements. So when you opened the door to go in you just never quite knew what was going to come at you. Be prepared to duck, sweep webs from the hole or dance around scurrying mice.

During the winter there was always a path beaten through the snow. And believe me, that was not when you sat around reading magazines or looking at the Sears catalog. You got in, got done and got out. Imagine sitting down on a piece of wood that’s twenty below zero and has frost built up on it. Not the most comfortable of situations.

On the scary side was when Ole and I would come back to Uncle Henry’s late at night after having been out to a dance at one of the local roadhouses. The Shack Out Back was definitely out back a distance, located in trees and tall grass, and usually had some kind of a skunk population living in the vicinity. I would always make Ole escort me to the outhouse when we got home, stand and wait and then walk back with me. Uncle Henry had a coon hound at that time, one of those dogs with the long gangly legs, loose lips and lots of drool coming from his mouth at all times. His name was Bruno and he was a very friendly dog. You could count on him to escort you to the Shack anytime of the day or night. And you always knew exactly where he was – usually right behind you sniffing with his wet nose and drooling up and down the back of your legs as you walked out back. While you were in the Shack he would range around the area to see what he could scare up, but be right there when you opened the door to leave so that he could drool on the back of your legs all the way back to the house. Lovely dog.

Then the outhouse was put out of commission every few years when a new hole would have to be dug and the house moved onto it. You had to be very careful to dig to the exact measurements and certainly deep enough so that you wouldn’t have to do it again next year. It was a multi-man project with lots of interesting stories being told during the digging.

One year it just happened that Ole, Sven and Lars all had to dig new holes for their outhouses. It didn’t take long and there was wagering going on as to who could dig the deepest hole. So they each dug deep into their pockets and gave their wagers to Uncle Henry to hold until the projects were done. Then, of course, they had to give the new holes a test run. Lars went first. Into the outhouse setting over the new hole, he dropped his bib overalls, sat down on the seat and let one go. He counted to 10 before he heard it hit bottom. So of course he came out bragging that he’d reached 10. So Sven, not to be outdone and bragging a bit went into his outhouse setting over the new hole. He sat there awhile and then let one go and counted all the way to 20 before he heard it hit bottom. Well, that certainly was a new record. Then it was Ole’s turn. Ole entered the outhouse, dropped his drawers, sat there for a long time and finally let one go. He started to count. And he counted and counted and counted and got all the way to 100 and still hadn’t heard it hit bottom. My, he thought, maybe he better check on this situation. So he stood up to turn around and look down the hole and - - - - there it was - - - caught on his ‘spenders!!

The outhouse at Uncle Henry's farm.

Have a good day, okay?