Meanwhile, Back at The Ranch: Estate of Confusion

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There were TWO of these.

I can’t say that I have always loved garage sales, but in my adult life I have hosted and helped friends with several of them.  I love cleaning out closets, getting up early, and putting similar items together.  However, this weekend our family hosted an estate sale at the home of my father-in-law who passed away last November.  Most of the family showed up to help organize and price the artifacts left behind by their father.

Price.

That’s where I drew the line.

It started a few weekends ago when I went up to help get ready for the sale.  I had cleaned out a few of my own closets and found several things I could do without.  They were donated to the cause without a thought, but then this question kept resurfacing: “Julie, how much do you want to put on this?”  No matter what I said, my suggestion was either too high or too low.  No matter how many times I declined to answer the question, they continued to ask. However, a few of my items were taken home by the family for personal use.  I guess “free” was a good price for those. 🙂

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Goodbye washer and dryer. Hello $100.

One week before the sale, I let a friend do some shopping in the trailer.  She spent $67 on two chairs, a quilt rack and a cat food bowl.   Another friend bought the stereo for $50 and a pair of boots and a napkin holder for $10. Then it happened. “How much do you want for that outdoor furniture?” he asked. “It’s not priced?  Are you sure it doesn’t have a price on it somewhere?” I replied. Really, I looked everywhere.  My husband and I looked at each other.  I had already told him that I was NOT going to price one single item because my prices were always rejected by his family, but he wouldn’t say anything so I decided. “$25 for the two chairs and table.” Needless to say, when I revealed that information on the day of the big sale, it was not well-received.  All I could do was shrug my shoulders.  I mean, someone walked out with a free $129 Tempur Pedic pillow, and the other pillow I donated was sold for $1.  I guess I’m still not clear on the pricing procedure.  I’m just glad it’s over.

I'm not surprised this didn't sell. Go POKES!

We still have a trailer full of some over-priced and some under-priced goods. I just hate that I still can’t tell which is which.

[julie]

 

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Silent Sunday Afternoon Edition: 3/6/11 ~ Jessica Wolloscheck, Senior Portfolio

Soma overnight no consult fast delivery Jessica’s words about this series: This album was put together my senior year of college while studying photography.  The inspiration was derived from a box of old family photographs I found. The end result was a series of self-portraits in which I wanted to bring to life the Valium, drug, and alcohol abuse of women during the 60’s and 70’s.

http___www.bigleaguekickball.com_category_press_ fedex soma overnight Editor’s note: Next month is Alcohol Awareness Month.  We’re publishing this series now in order to provide a short moment of time to think about whether or not you, your loved ones or someone you know could take advantage of the multiple free screenings or help and resources that will be available beginning April 1st.  Thanks, Red Dirt Kelly

Continue reading Silent Sunday Afternoon Edition: 3/6/11 ~ Jessica Wolloscheck, Senior Portfolio

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My Little Victory Garden: Entry Two

One week before a business down the road from our home opened, torrential rains came and took out their entire retaining wall. In three days, however, the mess was cleaned up and crews worked around the clock to rebuild the wall and the structures it had pulled down. Now restored, the first business is OPEN.

The majority of Oklahoma experienced a sustaining drought throughout last fall and on through Winter 2010-11. No rain.  Zero.  When this kind of thing happens in the winter, it’s not quite as noticeable as it is when green things are growing.  However the situation was pretty bad: until just a few days ago fire warnings had been published, all our snow had only amounted to mere tenths of an inch once melted and the winter wheat was really suffering.

Then last week the rain came.  In torrents.  Although our whole state didn’t get moisture, a good deal did and that “good deal” included My Little Victory Garden.  Two days after Mick had plowed up the beautiful soil into a soft loam for planting, the rain came with a vengeance.  My yard still has “wavy grass” reminders, my garden was flooded and the aftermath is a now uneven, cracked plot with sand in it.  Why sand?  The rain was so hard it found a weak, lower area in our neighbors yard and drilled down behind our retaining wall, oozing out the native sandy loam through the cracks.  But that wasn’t the worst damage.  My garden got off easy.

Did you get a big rain? Did your yard look like this once the water subsided?

Continue reading My Little Victory Garden: Entry Two

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Simple Sabbath: Suffering the Indiginity of it all

Image by the Associated Press.

If you’re a country kid in Oklahoma you remember these words, “The bus is coming!”  My brother and I could actually see the bus coming from about a half mile away. Mr. Beavers was a permanent fixture behind the steering wheel. He was an icon of rural route bus driving in his OshKosh overalls, Apache Farmers’ Coop hat and stoic face forward.

On that bus pure evil thrived. To Mr. Beaver’s defense, it wasn’t his fault.

There was this kid who took it upon himself to dismantle and utterly destroy the spirit of a couple of overweight, homely and underprivileged girls who rode that bus. The evil boy couldn’t tell you why he detested the girls, nor could he tell you why their “F’s” on spelling papers evoked his disdain.

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Their hand-me-down dresses with patches were particularly good fodder for the boy’s arsenal of contempt. If the girls seemed to be laughing or dared do anything except sit quietly they would be subject to ridicule. It went on for about a semester. It was mean. It was a form of murder, the killing of those poor girls’ souls.

I didn’t directly engage in the aggression. I did something worse. I laughed.

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

But words, those vile, insidious words,

What suffering when malice brings,

It’s what makes junior high purchase Soma COD HELL. Continue reading Simple Sabbath: Suffering the Indiginity of it all

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Want To Be A Coach? No You Don’t.

Scott Brooks' job only looks glamorous, there's many more moments full of frustration. (courtesy aolnews.com, nba/getty images)

The coach is always an easy target.  If your team looks bad, the knee-jerk reaction is always to blame the coach.  If players aren’t living up to their potential, must be the coach’s fault.  If there’s a key breakdown at a crucial moment in the game, the coach is clearly an idiot.  If your team’s fortunes don’t turn around immediately, this coach must not be the right man for the job.  If your kid isn’t getting enough playing time, the coach must have no idea what he’s doing.

Professional and collegiate coaches get paid big bucks, and I’m sure many of you would trade places with them in a heartbeat.  Not me.  No thank you.  I’m not sure the paycheck is worth the constant pressure, scrutiny, hatred, name-calling and second-guessing that coaches put up with from fans, players, and media.  Even if you can handle it, what about the toll it takes on your family?  Every day, your kids get to hear about why you stink at your job.   Entire websites are created just to promote and encourage your firing.  Your demise is almost imminent from the moment you take the job, because there is no sympathy, no grace, and zero tolerance in the what-have-you-done-for-me-lately world of sports.  These days, owners fire coaches like it’s a bodily function.

Let’s say you’ve got thick skin, and can get past all the material pointing out every reason why you’re an imbecile.  Good for you.  Now all you’ve got to do is take a group of men, women, or children and turn them into winners.  Do that by managing several different personalities, varying backgrounds, an assortment of skill levels, and a dizzying array of attitudes.  You have to know who to coddle and who to criticize.  Who gets treated tenderly and who gets a dose of tough love?  Make sure you earn your players respect, but don’t be too hard on them.  Keep things fun and entertaining, but not too fun, because then you’ll lose that respect.  Keep players happy with minutes and playing time, and you better know how to massage the ego of your stars and high draft picks.  And if you happen to be a high school coach, good luck explaining to parents why Timmy didn’t make varsity.  That’s a fun conversation.

Continue reading Want To Be A Coach? No You Don’t.

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.