"Do you want to feel my sweat?"

This is what Sam always says when he's accomplished some serious manual labor.

He continues to work on our ongoing house construction-- staining the exterior, getting ready to build the deck and moving really big rocks around. A couple weeks ago, he built this--I don't really know what its called. It's going to be a flower bed I guess -- but if you know Sam, you know he has to build a bit of his personality into it.

Sam and the Bobcat made many trips between the rock pile and the house. I was busy cleaning and doing laundry and didn't pay much attention to what he was doing other than to look out the living room window a couple times to see what was going on.

Late in the afternoon, he summoned me to see the finished product. He was so proud.

I call them our Fred and Wilma Flintstone recliners.

State Fair

Looks like this guy has had his share of fun at a few (too many) social gatherings.

Addie snapped this photo with her blackberry while she and I were eating our pronto pups and Sam was eating a hunk of bacon on a stick. The streets were filled with people but the crowds seem to part as he passed by.

Kind of like a toasted Moses.

The State Fair

I have yet to figure out a better way to upload photos and captions--but because August is so doggone cute, I can't wait to get the pictures posted. I'm going to just plop them in here.

Sam and I recently made a trip to Addie and Tedd's. Sam fixed their roof and sealed the chimney while Addie and I made a quick trip to Trader Joe's. After Augusts' nap, we headed to the fair. The next three hours were mostly spent eating and drinking.

It's been several years since I've been to the Minnesota State Fair. However I do remember my first trip well. One summer (I was probably 15 0r 16) I walked beans with the Walker kids whose aunt lived close to the fairgrounds. They invited me to go with them, stay there and go to the fair. I felt rich--I probably had about $35 saved up from three weeks work.

It was my first time in the city and somehow I managed to find my way back and forth to the fair--with no inkling of fear as I walked the dark streets back to the house alone after a Three Dog Night concert at the grandstand. The late August night was hot and steamy so all the windows in the house were open. Sleep was impossible--traffic on the busy street continued into the early morning hours. I was used to sleeping with background noise consisting of cows, cats, crickets and birds.

I ran into a boy from my Sunday School class and we quickly became a couple. For those two days only. When we returned home he acted like nothing ever happened. I wasn't too upset--because without the smell of cotton candy and mini-donuts and the pounding music of the Midway, he didn't look all that great anymore either.

I returned home broke, sunburned and sleep-deprived, but I had kissed a boy--so nothing else mattered.

Seasons

In the absence of a scratch-and-sniff application on my laptop, wherever you are, whatever you're doing right now, please step outside and take a deep breath. Hopefully you're in an area where you are able to detect the distinct smell of a changing season.

Sam's at the lake so it's just Mom and I here tonight. I fixed a simple dinner of a salmon patty, creamed green beans, potato and a salad. After we ate, I stepped outside to water a few of my flowers on the deck. Sensing an opportunity for an evening stroll, Gus dashed out the doggie door as soon as I grabbed the bucket.

Hopefully optimistic, he headed down the driveway and kept looking back to see if I was following him. This old dog (and I AM talking about Gus here) sleeps 23 1/2 hours of the day so I figured a little exercise would do us both some good.

I picked 5 more tomatoes from Blackie the tomato plant and headed for the mailbox. As I walked, I became increasingly aware of the subtle changes around me. Bright red sumac peeked from under the heavy brush. A gentle breeze shook loose a few acorns that would momentarily be spirited away by an industrious squirrel.

It feels like summer--but the smells in the air are conflicted. It's a transitional aroma--a blend of the fertile, rich smell of summer and the sweet, ripe aroma of fall.

As different varieties of grapes, coffee and spices are blended to create rich, new flavors, so it is with the seasons.

Tasting Summer

It’s that time of year—fruit and vegetables galore—more than we can eat. I want to roll in the fresh basil until I’m human pesto.

I’ve stopped exhaustively searching the cucumber bushes to find enough for a batch of pickles. Now I’m flinging swollen discolored specimens into the adjoining woods.

Shameful.

That row of beets, so promising and colorful last month, has morphed into a row of pulsating purple fruit-- their swollen dirty shoulders crowding themselves into a disheveled scene.

But nothing says summer more than the sight of a tower of peach crates in the grocery store.

At least for me.

These peaches are modest and prefer to remain hidden away in their cushy little home as they ripen and await their syrupy destiny. Not like those show-off over achievers on display in the produce case. No, canning peaches know their place in the pecking order of produce.

I saw them in the Spirit Lake Fareway and impulsively bought a couple cases. Mom really loves canned peaches and they were quite reasonably priced. It only took a couple hours in the evening to fill the canner with 7 jars and we did 7 more the next morning. We peeled and halved the rest and Mom canned another 14 pints.

They’re so pretty, I hated to put them away. Now to give myself permission to eat them. Because for me, home-canned peaches are an almost sacred food—administered to settle an upset stomach or calm a fevered soul.

Monkey Byte

Olivia's nickname is monkey--so her stories here on the blog will be "Monkey Bytes." She was with me at the office on Tuesday and Friday this week so I have several...

Friday afternoon we were getting ready to meet Amber in Mankato because Olivia had a dentist appointment. After her nap, I helped her change into a dress. I told her how pretty she looked. Olivia then watched as I quickly applied some lipstick and announced, "You look SO much better!"

All things considered, it felt like a compliment.

Rough Patches

It should be simple, shouldn't it. You find the hole in the roof and patch it. Someone pays for it.


Again, simple. The way it was when Sam's dad, Bob, started this business. He went out and worked and Louise took care of the family and the bookwork. It was a hard but satisfying way to make a living.

Not so much the case in the world I'm livin' in these days. Our world consists of:

• Material suppliers who intimidate and confuse our customers in the quest of complying with our state's lien law.
• Aging equipment
• Cutthroat competition with little or no profit margin
• Dire cash flow problems created by a contractor's inability to pay us
• Sleepless nights and moments of overwhelming discouragement (speaking for myself here)

On a positive note, I am grateful to have a son working alongside us whose resiliency, hard work, sense of humor and eternal optimism keeps me going. Those of you who know Zac know exactly what I'm talking about.

This past week has been, to put it mildly, especially challenging. I have some really fun stuff in progress to post here, but I have been too wrapped up in trying to "fix" things that I haven't been able to do it.

We're at the lake now. The coffee is hot and strong. A mist appeared on the lake as I watched the sun rise this morning. A new day for which I am grateful.