I'm a simple soul. Not simple in gazing vacantly at lint on my pants, but I have simple needs. I need to sleep in a cold room, I need to read, I need chocolate and I need to take walks in the woods. The first three are covered nicely. As of yesterday, the walking has taken a deadly twist.
Hubby and I live a semi-hermit like existence in the country. We have five acres of woods and weeds as high as an elephant's eye. If I want to walk on our property, I would have to carry a machete. Since I'm not yet committed to building my upper body, I walk on a neighbor's property.
See the picture? He has it mowed for just that purpose. "Come on neighbor," this path says to me. But there's some wee, tiny fine print and you should always read the fine print, you know.
IT'S HUNTING SEASON FOR DEER! I was on my third loop of the path, breathing the crisp air, enjoying my privacy and communing with nature, when neighbor shows up in full hunting regalia. Actually, he sort of looked like the Cookie Monster in camouflage...with a gun. It seems that I was not alone. I was being observed by men in trees...with guns.
Neighbor informed me, in a sweet way, that it probably wasn't a good time for me to be out walking. It seems that my orange vest was a nice touch, but my gray hooded sweat shirt sort of looked like a deer tail. I'm thinking he was being polite about the gray sweatshirt. They probably saw my gray hair bobbing above the weeds.
He reassured me that deer hunting season, the one where the hunters use guns, would be over next week. "And what can they use after that?" I asked. " Let's see," neighbor said thoughtfully, "there's seasons for muzzle loading, bow and arrow, sticks and stones, table knives, nerf guns, and Nancy Sinatra tunes." So I exaggerate a little, but hunting doesn't stop, just the weapons change.
I am currently vewy, vewy afwaid of taking a walk next week or any other week. I don't think this a good look for me.
I don't know what the bag limit is for my species, but let me say one thing to my predators. I am a stringy, bitter tastin' critter and my head won't look very impressive on your wall. Let me walk in peace and the spirits will look kindly on your hunting. Deal?
And by the way, I hear the deer got their hooves on some claymore mines. Be vewy, vewy afraid.
No, I didn't hit a deer or break down on the highway. My youngest son pointed out that my car had a bald tire. That's never good. It's never just a tire. It's never just a tire and a realignment. And it's never under $500.
We don't have an extra $500 in the sock drawer, but I have this weird thing about driving a car that could send me careening into oncoming traffic. Very reluctantly, hubby and I went to our local good old boy tire shop to get the verdict.
Now I have no idea what this means, but the struts have to be replaced and I need two new tires. Yes, it's expensive. Can anyone loan me $600 until two weeks from never? I'm good for it. Why am I telling you this? I know you aren't sending me the money. Unless you really want to.
There is a point to this story bigger than my inability to eat for six weeks and here it is. Hubby and I chatted with Steve, the owner of the tire place cause that's what we do here in rural Ohio. He told us that several times a day people leave his shop with cars unsafe to drive. They can't afford the repairs. He told us about people driving off with steel poking through their tires. Their shocks are shot. The tire rods need replaced and this is dangerous because bad ones cause erratic steering.
Steve worries because he knows that his customers are driving their families in these cars. They are also creating potential hazards to everyone else on the road. One of his customers didn't even make it out of his lot before the tires folded up. I'm trying with difficulty to picture this, but I do know that I don't want to be driving down the highway with one of these cars in front of me.
Things are really bad out here in the real world. It's hard to see because people are still eating at restaurants and shopping at Walmart. Reporters are telling us that jobs have been added this quarter. Retailers are advertising for Christmas with images of happy, well-dressed people loaded down with their bargains for the family. But in reality, people are choosing to not repair their cars or to not see the doctor because there is no money for it.
Steve told us that everyone else in the car business has told him the same thing. They worry about the ethics of letting people drive off in lethal weapons. On the other hand, they worry that the government will force them someday to report these people. If that happens, he will need to hire an armed guard to protect him from angry customers who need their cars to get to their minimum wage jobs.
Steve also pointed out that buying a good used car is very difficult right now. People are not doing routine maintenance which means you could be buying a time bomb of repairs. So you don't have the credit rating to buy a new car, and your used car options are slim. I'm seeing a horse and carriage in my future.
Isn't it interesting that a trip to the tire store can turn into a discussion of the economy? It's another indicator of where we are right now, and it isn't going to get better anytime soon. There aren't any jobs being created in my neck of the woods.
I've pretty much given up on flying...can't afford it...don't want to be patted down...worried that my pilot is making less money than my garbage man. Now, I can worry about the cars racing toward me on our two lane country roads. Will their tires fly off as we pass each other? It reminds me of a home visit I made many years ago when I worked for hospice. The patient told me that her husband was legally blind. I didn't see him in the house and innocently asked where he was. "He drove into town," she said. I lingered there until he came home.
I'll try not to obsess. I have to drive and agoraphobia is not in my future. It just makes you think. Maybe a little too much.
In case you stumbled upon my site looking for excitement in Ohio or you were just plain bored, I wanted to let you know where I'm hanging out.
We have a medical uniform business...two stores and a website. I decided that blogging about scrubs would potentially put more money in my pocket.
Oops. Did that sound crass? Well, I don't know about you, but I need money more than I need followers on a personal blog. I loved my followers and I still follow some blogs, but this is business. I need to put on my serious face and get down to flooding the market with blogs about scrubs.
Oh yes, this is Elvis. He was at Caesar Creek Markets in Wilmington, Ohio, this weekend. We sell scrubs there. My life is full of amazing things.
So...if you are interested in the wild and wacky world of flea markets, there will be a little of that at my new blog findohioscrubs.blogspot.com. And, everyone knows someone who wears scrubs, so send them my way.
I'm also available to blog about your business....for a fee, of course. Call, write, send a carrier pigeon. We'll talk.
I love these purple flowers, weeds, whatever they are, but have no clue what they are.
They're right in there with the Queen.
If you are in Ohio and want to hang with some people who can answer all of your questions about native plants, you should attend the Midwest Native Plant Society Conference. It is being held at the Bergamo Center in Dayton, Ohio, August 6, 7 & 8.
I went to a palm reader at the flea market a couple of weeks ago. Now that may not sound like the best idea, but genius can be found in the strangest places. And the flea is a strange place.
He grabbed my hands, gave a little squeal, and said "Oooo, you were major royalty in a past life!"
The irony didn't escape me. I'm sitting in a flea market, with the smell of deep fried food wafting through the air and I'm holding hands with a gnome like man.
"A lot of good it's doing me now," I replied. He was quick to reassure me that it was all a part of the master plan. So if I was Cleopatra or some other fine ancient queen, I hope I had a good push up bra like her.
The girls should always look their best.
Today, I took off the crown and got to work. My minions seem to have disappeared which requires that I try to make some money on occasion. Hubby and I had a medical uniform show at Villa Georgetown, in Georgetown, Ohio.
It's a real sophisticated operation. We pack our two cars with medical uniforms and toodle on down the road. Then we unpack the car and sell, sell, sell.
The employees buy a lot because their employer offers payroll deduction. They have four paychecks to pay for their purchase.
God bless corporate America (sometimes.)
We always set up on the front porch of the home. But we don't always sweat as much. Have I mentioned that I've been sweating way too much lately? And now that I know I was a big somebody once, well, it really yanks my chain.
Relying on my queenly dignity, I did my part, without complaint, I might add.
And then we had to pack it all up again and load our cars.
Just another day, another dollar or two and another reason to eat a large bowl of ice cream out of my gold bowl, surrounded by young, muscular slave boys who are fanning me....oops....flashback.
This is my brain after too many hours on the internet.
I started down in the bottom left hand corner looking for something. Not sure what now. And I got lost somewhere in the middle.
I think I wanted to find a blog directory. Then I got distracted by Facebook. Then I looked at social work jobs. Had a panic attack. Then I tried to find writing jobs, but I found a recipe I liked. Now my head hurts.
As you can tell, I don't have an Ohio topic today, unless it's about a local blogger who went beeeeezerk and set fire to her laptop.
My topic for the day is about the elephant in the middle of the room.
This one is outside, but it's hard to find a picture of one sitting in the middle of an actual room.
I've been walking around this elephant for too long. I don't dust him so it's even worse than you might think.
I am having a blogging melt down. A "Come to Jesus" meeting with myself.
I have been asking myself "Why?" Why am I spending so much time blogging? Why have I decided to drive all around my county and surrounding counties looking for that offbeat place, that quirky old guy, that giant ball of string?
I don't think I've ever used so many question marks in one post! There, I used an exclamation point.
Here's what I'm getting at and I'm looking to you all, my blogging friends, to provide some insight. We blog, we take pictures, we comment on other blogs, we try to be creative and witty....and. This is where my wheels come off.
In reality, the only people who read blogs are other bloggers. We love each other. It's one big humongous love fest. It's pen pals on steroids. I do love that part of it. I love hearing from you. If it wasn't for you, I'd have nothing but emails about penis enlargement or fortunes waiting for me in Nigeria.
The problem is, I'd actually like to make some money as a writer. I always have. I've been doing a superior job at procrastinating for 40 years. Back before the internet, my excuse was, "Who in the world would print the snippy, sarcastic essays of a frustrated Ohio woman?" Erma Bombeck already had a corner on that market, although I am her darker twin.
I'm throwing in a nature picture just to add some interest.
So I had renewed hope when the internet bloomed from the middle of Al Gore's forehead. There was writing everywhere. It just spilled off the monitor.
You didn't need a publisher anymore to get your message out. My goodness....you could start your own blog! And people did in droves...in stampedes...in landslides...in obscene amounts.
People are writing about their new shoes, blind dates, bad in-laws, hang nails, cures for warts...Do I really care? To be fair, I only follow blogs that speak to me. If you're on my list, you're my peeps and I'll follow you to the gates of Hell. Not through the gates. Just up to the them and then I'm running the other way.
The only people making money are the scam artists who sell us books about blogging or who have their own blogs about blogging. They tell us how to drive traffic to our blogs, they design new templates for our blogs, they conduct workshops for blogging, and blah, blah, blah. I have spent countless hours lost in this maze.
Blogging helped me get through my Yellowstone adventure. I knew you were out there rooting for me. Ultimately my blog got me in a lot of trouble at work. It seems that not everyone thinks I'm funny.
I'm asking you all for input before I commit blogger hari kari.
Damn...I accidentally published this post and I'm not done. Bear with me.
One more thing that gives me a mental wedgie. Have you been to one of those sites like Helium.com? I'm not even giving the link because it sucks. Thousands of sad people write articles so that other sad people can read them and rate them. If you write ten articles a day and rate another ten articles a day, you can earn 50 cents an article.
It becomes an obsession like any addiction. Thousands of people sitting at their laptops checking to see if their article has been rated. Did they make it to number one this week? Are they sitting on top of the manure pile? They even have a poetry section. And all of the poems rhyme. Shudder.
I haven't decided what to do. I need a big group hug, then a slap, then a big dish of ice cream with chocolate syrup. That always makes me feel better. There's a novel floating around in my brain. Should I just hunker down and work on that? Would you all forget about me?
Oh lordy...here come the question marks again. Time for me to go.
Another weekend at Caesar Creek Markets has come and gone. My scrub store, scrubsdirect.com, (shameless plug) pretty much looked like this all weekend....empty.
Have you ever worked retail or owned a business? If you have, then send me lots of pity! Or a large check would be nice.
I can understand why no one was here today. It is Ohio and the residents were home counting their unemployment money. For the other 23 hours and 59 minutes, they played corn hole.
Alright, I'm being dramatic. And in case you live on snob hill, corn hole involves a board with holes, bean bags and beer. It's a toddler's game on alcohol. If you want to try it, they sell the gear here. In every other booth.
I wanted to take a lot of pictures of the side show characters passing by my store, but the angel on one shoulder told me to behave. "Be tolerant," she said.
She turned her head long enough for me and my little devil to get one shot of the lady in the t-shirt.
Yes, it's a woman...I checked when she turned around. No bra, late 60's sequined hat, all decked out in her Sunday finest.
Our friends across the way sell remote controlled helicopters and other manly items. There's always a crowd of men and small boys (same thing) standing there with their mouths open.
I know it's hard to see the helicopter but it's in the upper middle of the picture.
This is one of the baby ones. The biggest one they have blocks out the sun and knocks my mannequins off the wall.
They also have a Bruce Lee, Ninja thing going on over there.
The highlight of the day was seeing a customer who bought a Coors Light hat made out of the cardboard box.
She paid $10 for it.
Doesn't she look happy?
And wouldn't you know. You Tube has directions for making one. Don't bother watching unless you're serious about it.
All in all, it was a typical weekend in an Ohio flea market...my flea market.
One of my customers told me about her sister's "granddaddy seizures." She meant grand mal. I didn't say anything.
People say they can get cheaper scrubs at Wal-Marts. (Remember, we add an 's' here in Ohio.) Then go to freakin Wal-Marts and get out of my store!
I saw tattoos and piercings in places that defy explanation.
I saw mullets and Mohawks. They are alive and well.
But, sigh, these are my peeps.
Time to close up the circus.
Put away the socks.
Cover the treasures.
So stay tuned until next weekend for more "Tales From the Ohio Flea."
I was going to entertain you with "Tales From the Flea." my place of business on the weekends, but something more important came up.
The Sabina Historical Society, in lovely Sabina, Ohio, is only open one day a month, from 1-3 p.m. and today was the day. How could I resist?
As I've mentioned before, history is at the bottom of my list of interests. It actually makes my eyes cross, and I develop narcolepsy. I've fallen asleep twice just writing this sentence.
But, I have driven past this building for years on my way to visit my mother who is a resident of Autumn Years Nursing Home which is right down the street. And, my goal is to visit places that it seems no one else visits, so here goes.
O.K., class, what was this building originally? Who said a gas station? That's right little Billy, this was once a Sinclair Gas station with a dinosaur and everything. Then it became a bank and ten years ago, the historical society moved in.
No, you can't do a drive through. You have to get out of the car.
While you're gazing down the main street of Sabina, let me give you the basics. Sabina, Ohio, is in Clinton County. The 2000 census counted 2,780 hearty souls here. Rumor has it that this number will go down after the 2010 census.
The median family income was $35,795 at that time and 12.9% of the residents lived below poverty level. I'm not thinking these figures have improved any.
That's enough. The town is small and most people are poor. Let's go inside.
Sabina has an elementary school, but like most small towns in Ohio, it consolidated years back. The local students have to leave town to attend middle school and high school. When that happened, all of the high school trophies were left without a home.
The historical society took the trophies and the display case.
People have donated cheer leading outfits and letter jackets.
Somebody was cleaning out the attic I'm thinking.
A local resident made this doll house and donated it.
Look at the detail...a little quilt, a tiny dressing mirror, itsy bitsy pictures....who am I kidding?
Why would anyone take several years of their life to do this? I do believe you can visit historical homes where the real items are in adult size. You don't need a magnifying glass to look at them.
Ahhhh, the mystery of the human psyche.
This toilet plunger looking thing was used for washing clothes.
Thank God for washing machines.
And yikes, this was used to curl hair.
Dr. Frankenstein must have had something to do with this.
Then I found out that this is Clinton County Ohio's bicentennial year. I need to get out more.
I have been seeing these quilt designs on local barns. My little brain hadn't made the connection that something was up.
There are 54 of these in the county.
I found a few on the way home.
Why didn't I get out of the car to take a better picture?
It's 94 degrees and if I get out of the car and walk onto someone's property, I'll either get shot or I'll have to talk to the local farmer while I melt into a little puddle.
I've sweat enough for this blog.
There was one thing I had to clear up with Sharon Roberts, the President of the Sabina Historical Society, who was gracious enough to spend time with me. (I was the only person there.)
Why, oh why is Sabina the Eden of Ohio?
I liked her answer. She said that at one time, around 1810, the area was a swamp. When the swamp was drained, or whatever you do to get rid of one, crops grew like crazy. The ground was mega fertile.
And then, I just had to ask her about Eugene, a local legend. I do have the brain of a 12 year old boy. She gave me reams of articles but I actually found a YouTube video that you have to watch. It has to do with an embalmed body that was on display in town for many years. Fast forward 5 minutes into the newscast. You'll love it and I know you don't have anything better to do.
If you want any brochures about the Bicentennial or the barn quilts, let me know. Sharon dumped a pile of them on me.
Tomorrow...I promise..."Tales From the Flea." And, there will be no more sweating for this blog
My blogger friend, Scott at "Finding Another View," scottlawphotography.com, has a Phun Phriday challenge that I can tackle. He wants photos of anything phun, weird or creative. You get it don't you? Photography....phun? Those shutterbugs. They are a phunny bunch.
As it happens, today I did something phun and weird in my little part of Ohio. Creative? More like phoolish. O.K., I'll stop that.
Even though it is 100 degrees outside, I was willing to walk in the woods, but then I saw this on my patio.
I wasn't about to put a ruler next to this monster to impress you with its span. Let's just say that my size nine shoe wasn't big enough to cover it.
Seriously. Sort of. Anyway, I realized that fighting my way through the woods could put me in contact with one of these. It could ride home in my hair.
Shoot, I could ride home on it.
So, I did the wise thing and went for a walk in Sugar Grove Cemetery in Wilmington, Ohio.
I'm just inside the gate, and I'm already sweating like a pig. No, pigs don't sweat. How about sweating like a pack of menopausal women in July? I hope that paints the picture.
I raised my boys in Wilmington, Ohio. When they were little guys, I would take them for walks in this cemetery.
What? It wasn't creepy. They loved it.
There are cannons in the cemetery. Every little boy wants to play with a cannon. Hang on, but I'm going to give you a little history lesson, and this is from someone who flunked History 100 twice in college.
This is Soldier's Point, a triangular section of 60 graves that honor Civil War veterans who had no other means for burial. In 1927, the GAR (Grand Army of the Republic) erected this monument and flanked it with two cannons made in 1861.
To back up a little, Sugar Grove Cemetery was organized in 1857 by a group of Clinton County residents who saw the need for a centralized burial location. People were just planting their loved ones willy-nilly all over the place before the founding fathers put their heads together. They started with 22.5 acres but after additional purchases, it now covers 110 acres.
Cemeteries are interesting places. I'll prove it to you on my little tour.
The smallest section of the cemetery is reserved for pets. There are 144 dogs, cats and a skunk buried here.
Don't pack up Fluffy. There aren't any spots left.
I have no idea why the cross is in the tree, but it's interesting, right?
This is the Charity Section, established in the 1860s for transients...people who died with no identification.
They have numbers.
Remember to keep your I.D. on you or you could be number 108.
On a serious note, I was sad to see how shabby the cemetery is looking. Wilmington has had a huge loss of jobs, and I'm sure there have been cuts.
This monument is surrounded by a branch.
All of the headstones seemed crooked or something. Don't these seem sort of crunched together?
And nothing had been mowed or trimmed.
Don't you think that when a tree has one branch left, it should be cut down?
This is a yucca plant gone wild.
I'm going back with pruning sheers.
Bear with me on this. It's noon, it's 100 degrees, and I have sweat pouring in my eyes. Mascara is running down my cheeks. I smell like I should be a permanent resident here.
I know you can't really see it, but that black spot on a headstone is a vulture.
I swear. I tried to get closer for the sake of my art, but it flew away. I think it was looking for me. I think I smelled too bad.
O.K., Scott. Is this phun enough for you?
I did go home and shower just in case the vulture followed me. You all can stop holding your noses.
Check in tomorrow for Tales From the Flea. I'll be working at my scrub store at Caesar Creek Markets and there are always photo ops.
See the picture? He has it mowed for just that purpose. "Come on neighbor," this path says to me. But there's some wee, tiny fine print and you should always read the fine print, you know. 
