Gear review?

I went on a cleaning frenzy this week. Closets piled with too much stuff were organized and minimized. Cars filled with bits and pieces, most of which were not mine, were sucked out down to the floorboard with the vacuum, eliminating detritus and any receipt I might possibly need. I accidentally put one of the kids in the trash too.

Toys, games, clothes, nothing was safe from my cleaning craze. That included my outdoor gear as well, which has been used and then shoved into closets, under beds, behind the seat of vehicles, in cupboards, and left in the boats. It was mayhem.

When I pulled my musty, dusty camo hunting gear out of the bag, several unpleasant revelations happened:

• I realized it's been almost three years since I went hunting. Unfortunate, but not the end of the world. I've done other things in those three years.
• I realized I am now three years older. Unfortunate. The mornings are colder than they used to be.  
• I realized I'm an undisclosed number of pounds thicker and my camo does not fit the same. Unfortunate. I refuse to acknowledge this.

I decided to try on all my camo and maybe wear it to the grocery store. Sort of seek-and-destroy broccoli hunter. After walking the 25 yards into the grocer from the parking lot said camo made breathing difficult. At least, that's what I'm blaming my huffing and puffing on. This was going to be detrimental to my hunting, because any animal would have heard me gasping for air from miles away.

Therefore, when I shoved my still dusty, fusty gear back into the bag, I had several thoughts:

• The dryer shrunk my camo
• I might have to give up the Krispy Kremes
• I don't want to give up Krispy Kremes  
• I am going to buy non dryer-shrunken camo

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm hunting for doughnuts...

Doggone it!

Diog is starting to take up PAF's bad habits, as in: he doesn't mind, doesn't help around camp, and he eats all the good food. Diog isn't quite as obnoxious as PAF, he's more, well, ornery. At least he doesn't call me "Woman."

I came home yesterday to find him on my computer. Normally the pet that would be in this pompous, precarious position of risking his life by touching my computer is Ash Kitty.  Ash sneaks onto it when I'm gone, and his guilt (or fear) causes him to shoot under the bed when I open the door.  As if the cat hair all over the keyboard wouldn't give it away.

I was so disappointed to find that Diog has stooped to cat level, with a dose of PAF-mouth thrown in.

Since Diog is still a PAF pup, there may be hope for him. I plan to start rigorous training for the pooch,  including what places are off limits to him. Which is pretty much any place I am.  Now if I can just break him of the PAF trash talk...

The simple life

I bought this shirt last week at Backwoods. It has a picture of my dream house on it. It has my life philosophy written on it.

Simple describes me perfectly. Wait a minute, that didn't come out right...
I like the simple life. There, that's better. I thought we had a pretty simple, pared-down lifestyle on the plains of Kansas, but when we moved to Oklahoma, I began to notice a glut of stuff. Just stuff. Stuff that was duplicates. Stuff that I never used. Stuff I thought I wanted but I didn't need.

Time to simplify again. I began bagging up the stuff. In the end I had THREE pickup loads of big black bags. I'm talking front to back, filled-in-the-backseat, the bed packed side-to-side, to the top of the cab kind of pick up loads. It was insane. A hoarder could have had a field day with my mountain of bags.

"Maybe I should I have a garage sale", I thought. "Maybe you should throw yourself off the dock at the pond", I told myself.

Instead I hauled it all to a flea market in Garnett, Kansas. Why drive all the way to Garnett, Kansas, when there's a perfectly good thrift store, flea market, and even a dump on the way?

Because this flea market is operated by my friend Debera Mace. ALL the proceeds go to support Mission of Hope Orphanage and school in Liberia. Debera and her husband Roger, a wonderful man with whom I worked for several years, began the mission work a few short years ago, and it has grown like dandelions on the lawn.

And every time I look at the photos of the wonderful work they're doing over there, and the lifestyle of the kids they serve, I see what a simple life really looks like. It's not emission-spewing huge SUV's, or more clothes in the closet, or newer/better/bigger/different. It's food. Clothing. Shelter. And if you're really fortunate, it's an education.

I'm going to go clean out my closets again.


  Happy Trails, and may finding adventure be a simple thing!