Dam Fine Store

Little towns usually have hidden gems. Spots that at first look might appear "not that great." It's that second, unhurried look where you notice the charm. We have one of these pretty near us. It's actually well known around here.

My husband grew up in our small town, the son of a fairly conservative (at the time) Christian single mom. There was absolutely NO SWEARING permitted. Except.... when you went to this joint. Because... it's called.... The Dam Store. I tell ya, kids can have a LOT of fun with that. (Adults too. teehee.)

As the sign states, they sell a bit of what you need. The menu is pretty small, though I think they've added to it a bit over the last decade or so. The main things they're famous for are burgers and pie. They now offer grilled cheese, chicken strips, tator tots and fries, plus chips, pop and shakes. And bait, if you plan on doing a little river fishing. Some little old lady made the pies for years, but the owners daughter apprenticed under her and took over when the other lady was somewhere around 93 years old. You can read all about that here.

We like to point out the nature around us. Be sure to check out the enormous bee hive in the picture above hanging right up there with birthday balloons and chips, and the two racks of deer antlers below. Oh, you can't miss the cute cross stitch someone made.

Besides the antlers, hives, a wall full of mounted fish (sorry, no pic) and odd assortment of cute little signs, local art also adorns the walls. You may even be able to purchase copies of special commemorative prints done by local artists. But don't quote me on that.

This little treasure of a place is located next to... you guessed it... a dam. It also boasts a campground and hydroelectric plant. A complete package, don't you think? (teehee)

It's an interesting place to go to eat,

let the kids run around a bit,

the scenery is beautiful,

and the roar of the water exhilarating.

I highly recommend going to the Dam Store. It's dam fine.

Industrious

No one will ever call this girl lazy.

 Pardon the bad picture. Bright sun and shade don't mix kindly with exposures.

She's a goal oriented, go-getter. Enthusiastic, and (usually) undaunted by a little work.

She wanted to have a little "garage sale" where she could "sell stuff," explaining to me how we would put tape and write on it.

Why, I asked.

Oh, so we could have extra money for groceries and stuff.

How sweet, but I think we have enough money for groceries.

She and her sister, that is. So I sent them off to find their merchandise.

Mama came up with the signs.

We sold a golf ball to the neighbor boy, and God Bless the woman who drove by, turned around and came back, to buy a bald naked Barbie for a quarter, and told Koko to "keep the change."

My girl was so happy.

Logic

The street sweeper is broken. And when it wasn't, we always had our cars parked in the way. Now, it seems, we have a new sandbox.

I looked over and saw this stinker sitting on the curb. I hollered over to Boots to get out of the street, and continued whatever I was doing. Next time I looked over at him, this is where I saw him.

Again I hollered, "Get out of the street." He replied, "I am, mommy. I'm laying right here. On the grass."

Technically, he was right. Guess it's hard to argue with that logic.

Nice to see Lion keeping him company and obeying the rules too.

Quote

I just read this. Wow.

The alternative to facing the truth is always some form of self-destruction. --Brennan Manning


How true.


I could say that I always prefer truth, face truth, but then I know that would not be honest with myself. We all have places we run to/run from, ways we hide. Denial is not a river in Africa, it lives in my refrigerator.


It's just way easier to see someone else's (self)-destruction and call it out than it is to see our own.

The Arm, parte cuatro.

This is the continuation of the story of a broken arm. You can read the other parts here: 

part one, part deux, Arm Photo (with Warning), and part three.

In the morning, I tried to get back to the hospital before the doc did rounds. I had talked with Kong to check on the boy and to let him know when I would be leaving. He said that George was more than ready to come home, and was refusing to eat. He was only interested in getting the heck out of there. And, he wanted his mom. I talked to George and convinced him to let daddy order him some ice cream for breakfast. Yes, I would let you have ice cream for breakfast, son. (He perked at that suggestion.) Daddy got him to have some sausage and a pancake too.

I stopped quickly at my MIL's house to drop off some sorely missed blankies and give my other kiddos a hug, I found a sad Miss Koko. My one regret in this whole situation is that I did not say goodbye to the kids, explain what was going on or reassure them that everything would be fine. I think the two littles were clueless but Koko, a bit wiser, knew to be worried and so I'm glad I stopped by there. She needed her mama too.

When my sister in law had come to the hospital the night before to pick up my brother and bring us food, she brought my nephews along. I told my brother that Mammu, my nephew, could come over the next day and see George when he was home. As I drove out of town that morning, past my brother's house, I could see poor Mammu waiting outside, checking to see when our car would be returning home. It was 8:30 am. Poor kid. I called my brother to let him know it would probably be late afternoon, so that his son could stop standing at the corner on lookout. My dad had said that after we left the park to go to the ER, Mammu kept saying, "That's my cousin. That's my cousin," sort of in shock and worry. Gotta love how those boys love each other. And Mammu is very protective so I know he was anxiously awaiting his cousin's return to safety.

When I got to the hospital, the damn broke, a little, and my stoic and brave little boy had a bit of a cry. I had missed the doctor but the last dose of antibiotics was deemed unnecessary and so we were let out early. George was none too happy. With a quick stop to get a movie (gotta love those curbside rental boxes in blue or red) and some siblings, we were homeward bound.

George with Ham Bone.

George was a good little patient, very low key and protective of his arm. He was scared to sleep the first two nights, afraid he might hurt it in his sleep, but that's what codeine's for, right? He remains cautious, as you might expect, and for some time was upset by any talking about what happened, which is hard when everyone keeps asking what he did and "what the other guy looked like." He even told me that it makes him want to cry. Aw, poor guy. Such a tender one, he is.

We went in a week after his surgery to get a hard cast on. He was pretty freaked out to not have that cast on his arm. The PA's in casting did great in distracting him with (the constant ringing of) their cell phone which played such fun hits as the theme songs to Indiana Jones, Star Wars and Pink Panther. All hits with this kid. He chose a black cast, which required the purchase of "special" metallic markers, of which he wanted only the gold, and was very excited to have friends sign his cast. 

Now, more waiting. The fun's only half over.