manrymission.com

While researching gifts for Gabe before Christmas, I made a call to the rock guy to ask about a rock tumbler. Gabe had so loved his pile of rocks he unearthed at the mine this fall, I knew he would love to be able to polish some up. The rock guy told me he was all out of tumblers, but assured me he would get some in before February.

As Gabe’s birthday approached, I knew I needed to travel about an hour and a half to visit the rock guy. I had initially planned to drive there on a Saturday, but Dale was home unexpectedly during the week and thinking he could pick up the kids from school and I had no other commitments, I drove off for my day on the rocks.

It is an inevitable fact of my life that if I lecture my children for spilling milk, I will spill milk soon after. So, I should have expected after making fun of my friend for forgetting to meet me the day after we agreed to meet, I would forget a meeting soon after. It was written on the calendar, I had repeated reminders, but it went right out of my head the minute I decided to go see the rock guy.

Thus began my day of travel happenstance. The Virginia Department of Transportation was preparing for the coming snowstorm and was spraying the interstate with deicer. I was near the front of a large group of vehicles following the deicing crew. We all traveled along down the interstate at thirty miles an hour. It was a bit like being in a parade: we were forced to all drive the same speed and at the proper distance.

When the deicing crew finally exited, my drive time had increased by 30 minutes. I then had the opportunity to pay a toll. I was not expecting this opportunity as toll roads are not very common in Virginia. I thought the lane I was driving in was both EZ pass and cash. I was wrong and because the EZ pass and cash lanes were now separated by a concrete barrier, I could not get over to the cash lanes. I glared at the camera.

For the next set of toll booths, I got as far right as possible and apologized profusely to the lady for not paying my toll. She simply handed me an envelope marked “unpaid toll department.” Apparently, I am not the only one who has gotten on the wrong side of the barrier.

I blamed this parade driving and unpaid toll all on the GPS, of course. I had failed to map my route and took the chance that I could trust it. I knew that was a mistake. Not only did it take me on a toll road, but it forced me to take a left where taking a left was ill advised. I made it to the rock shop, but the GPS got an earful.

If only it had an ear and not just a mouth.

Entering the rock shop was like entering another world. There were piles of rocks and bric-a-brac everywhere. Cases and cases full of rocks and jewelry, piles and piles of boxes. “This is what it would look like if Gabe had a shop,” I thought. It was a mess with only a small path to walk through.

At least it had the path. Gabe’s room usually doesn’t and you enter at your foot’s peril. Tim Hawkins tells a joke that he knows what kids are doing when they are really quiet. “They are sharpening their legos,” he says. That is why it really hurts when you step on them.

I asked the rock guy about the rock tumbler and he told me which type of tumbler to buy, how many rocks to put in, how to salvage the grit, when to wear a mask, how to tell if rocks were hard enough to tumble, what areas of the country/world each rock came from, which boxes were best for display…

I then attempted to buy jewelry for my sister’s birthday present. He introduced me to his nephew making jewelry in the back, he showed me all the jewelry making parts, he pointed out necklaces/rings/bracelets, he then tried to convince me to let him show me how to make jewelry so I could make her something myself…

The dawning realization that he really did not want to sell me anything and that he loved his collection more than he wanted a sale came over me. When his nephew, who I think genuinely wanted to make money, handed me a box of earrings that he had made, I did not let them go back out of my hand.

The rock guy continued to show me other items in his collection, but I would not relent. I was determined to buy the rock tumbler, some bags of rocks, the grit, and the earrings. I ignored his entreaties to stay to learn how to make jewelry. I was in there for an hour and a half and was only allowed to leave when I promised to return with my son and show him the polished rocks.

So, Gabe has his rock tumbler tumbling in the basement. The rocks must tumble with four different grits, each for a week. In a month, he’ll have something to show.

If, while walking about, you happen upon an interesting rock, send it Gabe’s way. All you Minnesotans, while up on the North Shore, pick up a few agates for him.

Hopefully, if we have enough polished rocks when we return to the rock guy, and we agree to take the jewelry making class, he may relent and let me buy something else.

The snowbama effect brought us 2 feet of snow. It took Dale, Josiah, and I 2+ hours to shovel the driveway. Thankfully, the power only went out for short amounts of time. Praise the Lord! We had heat!

 

Thanks also to the pellet delivery guy who I called in desperation on Thursday when I saw we had one bag of pellets left. He delivered a ton of pellets (Dale’s valentine present) Thursday afternoon. We continue to proclaim the worthiness of the pellet stove which fully lives up to it’s motto – “It heats good!”

My Aunt’s rebuke made me laugh and is justly deserved. I was raised to bake bread, but am too lazy to do it. Some people could not live without potatoes, others could not live without rice. For me, I would be very sad to live without bread.

I have a friend, Gina, who baked the most wonderful honey wheat bread when we lived  in Colorado. I think of her and her bread with great fondness. She would start baking at 5am and we would eat the bread warm out of the oven. It was delicious.

My Mom’s most famous bread is, of course, grandma buns. She learned the recipe from our pastor’s mother, Grandma Andrews. Everyone called the rolls: grandma buns after Grandma Andrews. Now that my Mom is a Grandma, the name applies to her.

I have made grandma buns with my Mom and on my own, but waiting for the dough to rise thrice makes me impatient. It is an all day event to bake grandma buns, but well worth it. Of course, I enjoy it so much more when I am not the one who has to do it.

Grandma Buns:

1c powdered milk

4c (+6c to 7c more) flour

1c sugar

2T salt

2 pkgs dry yeast

5c very warm water

1 1/4c oil

Stir milk, 4c flour, sugar, salt, yeast, and water. Add oil and 6c to 7c more flour until you can knead dough without it becoming really sticky. Grease large bowl or dishpan. Place rounded dough in greased bowl and cover with a damp dish towel. Let rise in warm place approximately 2 hours.

Punch dough down and let rise again for 1 hour. Make into balls for rolls, flatten top, place on greased cookie sheets, cover with damp dish towel, and let rise in warm place for 1 hour.

Heat oven to 425 degrees and bake for 10 minutes. Makes approximately 60 buns.

Today is Gabe’s 10th birthday. We Manry’s have a rule that you can do whatever you want on your birthday, so he did not go to school. (Luckily his wish to stay home from school aligned with the school closing in anticipation of  A MAJOR NOREASTER).

I was making his coca cola cake last night and realized I did not have enough powdered sugar. So, I went to the grocery store at 9pm, the night before THE BIG STORM. Everyone and their brother was there with me.

This is one of those grocery stores with giant aisles of items. The bread aisle must have been 30 feet long and there was not one loaf of bread. Virginians must not like 1% milk, because that was the only type of milk remaining. Most meat was gone except for some costly steaks.

Checkout lines were packed with customers and shopping carts were hard to come by. Snow, in Virginia, is a major deal. We had the 1 – 2 feet of snow right before Christmas. That happens rarely. To have two snow storms (1-2 feet) in the same winter is unheard of. The Minnesotan in me laughs at this drama over snow.

The most listened to guy in DC is not the President, but Bob Marbourg. He has done traffic and weather on the 8’s for thirty years. Zeke is one of his many fans. When he sees the clock in the car with an eight at the end, he’ll tell me to change the channel. After he listens to the report, he’ll ask, “Where’s the bad traffic, Mommy: Maryland, Virginia, or DC?” I’ll tell him where it is and then he will open a map and find the location himself.

They are bringing Bob in early today to report on the traffic during the possible BLIZZARD CONDITIONS. Good thing we have him to see us through.

I wonder if he can tell me where I can buy a loaf of bread?

Last night, Dale attended prayer meeting without me. My friend, Mo, invited me to a party celebrating her 49th birthday. She hosted the party at Micks. It is a local place with food, drinks, and 20 televisions. Mo’s son and Gabe are in the same class, so Gabe and I went to wish Mo a happy birthday. At prayer meeting, Dale was asked, “Where’s Mugs?” He replied, “At a bar with Mo.”