Hey, it’s time to fire up the turkey

It was November in the rolling hills of central Texas – rocky, forested and crisp with a smidgen of fall color.

My children were bundled up, exploring a trail behind the camper. I was inside the pop-up, cooking Kraft macaroni and cheese – always a hit with the kids.

Suddenly, a piercing scream. I shoved the mac and cheese aside to coagulate and ran outside.

My 5-year-old daughter (she’s 23 now) had blood gushing down her right cheek. My son (now 24) looked guilty. He was.

Like any little kid in the vicinity of rocks, he had been having fun, throwing pebbles over his sister’s head. Unfortunately, she turned around just in time for a particularly sharp stone to glance off her delicate skin.

Horrified, I held her on my lap, calming her as my husband mopped away the blood to reveal a clean cut just below her eye. The little flap of skin was easily pulled together with a butterfly bandage, expertly applied by my husband. Never leave home without one. A little antibiotic ointment three times a day and she came off with just a hairline scar. But, ouch.

This, our first family camping trip, began a series of more than a hundred bonding experiences at Texas state parks.

One time my son got his lip stung by a bee lurking inside a sugary grape soda. Administer Benadryl.
Another time I heard the faintest barking sound coming from the other side of an actual hill. Our puppy – three pounds of Chihuahua bravado, was playing king of the hill. I rescued him before he could become some creature’s midnight kill.

The dog must have gotten away while we were around the campfire. Campfires are always the best thing about camping.

Once we hauled in a particularly large load of firewood. This fire was going to be huge. My husband had just gone through the ritual of lighting the carefully placed logs when it started to rain.

“Come on out, the fire’s great,” he called to me.

“No thanks, I’ll stay inside, but you go ahead,” I replied, watching as the rain came down harder.

Now it was a deluge.

“Honey, please come inside.” No, his mind was made up to enjoy the campfire.

Always the smug family of readers, my children and I settled in with our library books. There’s nothing better than to lie inside a pop-up camper, reading while the rain pounds on the metal roof. Really.

Meanwhile, my husband stayed outside in the lawn chair as the rain sizzled the flames away and turned the dirt to ever-deeper mud.

It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. He was sinking, sinking, sinking.

One tradition was camping during the Thanksgiving break. We kept this tradition for 11 years – always at the same state park where my little girl got cut with the rock. Aside from that incident, this state park (Buescher) is a magical place where ice plants grow when it’s 17 degrees, and where my daughter made the enchanting discovery of a hidden bridge over a creek in the woods. There can be no greater memories.

Thanksgiving dinner ala campsite was a lesson in primitive cooking. I remember warming a slab of precooked, formed turkey product and slapping it down on a plate on the picnic table with candied yams (marshmallows melted on top), green beans and Stovetop stuffing.

My skills did advance through the years, even to the point of grilling a fresh turkey-half. I seasoned it, covered it lightly with foil and put that baby on the grill to slow-cook. My husband kept the grill stoked as he ran barefoot. That is, he set up his amateur radio equipment outside, transmitting and receiving via wire – I mean antenna – strung in a tree. He kept one eye on the grill while he made QSO’s – radio contacts – all over the world.

No doubt I was sprawled in a lawn chair, reading and keeping an eye on the turkey.

Something made a sizzling sound, then a pop. The turkey was in flames! Oh no – it was cooking way too fast. It wouldn’t be tender.

My husband responded quickly, interrupting his current QSO and hurriedly speaking into the microphone:
“Roger, roger, the turkey’s on fire. Over.”

That camping classic was almost as funny as watching him inflate a king-sized air mattress using only his own air because I didn’t bring a hair dryer with a truly cool setting. Thankfully, he was a runner with good lungs. Nevertheless, over the course of 45 minutes, his face turned 33 shades from pink to purple. Oops.

This column was originally published in The Facts newspaper on 9/25/05.

N5KAE CQ Contest CQ Contest

Here my husband fires up his "winter garage" amateur radio station. His fully loaded ham shack is inside the house.

Today he made contact with Argentina, Aruba, and Dominica, all by CW telegraphy using his Morse code key (15 and 40 meter bands).

Last weekend he entered the ARRL Sweepstakes Sideband Contest and worked 161 stations, and all 80 ARRL sections (all 50 states, Canadian sections, Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, etc.). He will get the “Clean Sweep” coffee cup from the ARRL.




Shown here is an old but reliable transceiver….the Drake TR-7. It runs on vacuum tubes. Mark restored it and it has been in use for 23 years, and was bought used in 1986. Antenna is a Cushcraft A-3S tri-band Yagi at 40 feet. Bencher iambic telegraph key, with an MFJ keyer rounds out the CW portion of the station.

Currently has “Worked All States” for mixed, phone, CW, 10, 15, 20, and 40 meters. Has DXCC awards for mixed, CW, phone, 10, 15, and 20 meters, with 235 countries confirmed in the mixed category.

Yeah, he says, he’s a nerd, always has been, and admits it with pride.

Halloween remains the sweetest holiday

Childhood Halloweens were sweet – getting dressed up, gorging on candy.

But my fondest Halloween involved not Dots and Hershey’s, but a tiny, reddish-haired troll. I tucked it into my jewelry box, below a velvety trap door in the bottom. Even today, I would be heart-broken if the troll went missing.

My mother truly made Halloween fun with her crafty creativity. One year she scoured neighborhood stores for just the right child-sized brooms and pointy little black hats. I was about 9 when she outfitted my younger sisters and me as little witches. As we moved into adolescence, I’m afraid she got more than she bargained for.

She was great at coming up with simple, last-minute costumes for her girls. Several years, she cut two eyes out a pillowcase. Classic ghost.

A few times I dressed as a hobo, easy if you have a bandana, mismatched clothes and old shoes. No problem there.

My sister got to go as Raggedy Ann. Years later, I borrowed the idea for my own daughter, using a (new) orange dust mop for the hair. She was extremely cute.

As my children were growing up, Halloween costumes were as easy or as difficult as I cared to make them. The easiest was when my son toddled along as an Indian in a fringed, decorated paper-sack costume. In later years, he went as a pirate (curly, drawn-on mustache) and a puppy (gray sweats with black felt spots sewn on).

Then, around age 7, he became too cool for costumes and just went for the grub.

My daughter’s Halloween costuming phase lasted into middle school. I remember many an Oct. 30 gazing in horror at whatever pattern she and I had picked out. It was always impossibly complicated. Sometimes there were way too many ruffles. One time I was supposed to miraculously applique a black cat onto a poodle skirt using only sequins, needle and thread.

The worst was when I foolishly selected lame', a fragile, shiny-metallic fabric that shredded as quickly as I could sew a seam. I must have been using the wrong sewing machine needle. It’s a well-known fact that my sewing machine has a love-hate relationship with me. For the past few years, the lever has been stuck on H instead of L.

So, while I’m relieved the costume-making phase has passed, I’d still spend all those late nights sewing fairy costumes for my daughter.

Every mother wants her daughter to feel like a princess, at least one day a year. Growing up is hard enough the other 364.

This column was originally published on 10/23/05 in The Facts newspaper, Clute, Texas. Copyright The Facts.

The hungry hordes

What are all these bugs double- and triple-parked on my tomato? At first I thought these were stinkbugs, but they're actually Leaf-Footed Bugs at the nymph stage. The Houston Garden Book says Leaf-Footed Bugs prefer tomatoes and okra. These nefarious pests cause damage as they suck out the plant's fluids. I found a really good bug identification guide at http://bugguide.net/node/view/15740

Electric Chihuahua

My little dog, Skip, has a slight attitude problem.

Handmade originals by Karen

This is one of my latest necklaces. Contact me if you're interested in adopting it! Length: 20"-22" adjustable.

Handsome couples

This is our daughter, Vickie, and her wonderful significant other, Nathan. They're a great couple!







Here's our son, Ed, with his wife, Jaclyn, shortly before the birth of their second child. Jaclyn is amazing!

I can no longer skirt the dress issue

By Karen Nace (in 2005)

“Mom, surely you’re not going out in that,” said my son, visiting from college. He was clearly concerned.

I looked down at my outfit.

“No, I just can’t do it.” I laughed and turned back to change clothes.


The next week I tried again. No way.

Finally I got up the courage. By golly, I had on my whirly-twirly outfit for a night out square dancing with my husband. Yee-haw.

My mauve-colored blouse and knee-length skirt were fine. My issue was with the ivory-colored petticoat – 60 yards of poufed up crinoline just waiting to take over the world.

I soon discovered that a square-dancing petticoat fills whatever space it’s given, in this case the front seat of the Honda. A few minutes later, I self-consciously squeezed out of the car and the somewhat compacted petticoat sprang into action. It flounced me right up the stairs and into the Lake Jackson Civic Center. There, it propelled me into the reassuring presence of the Lake Jackson Promenaders.

“I feel like an inverted tulip,” I confessed to one of the ladies.

“It’s just a costume, Honey, think of it as a costume You’ll get used to it.”

The Promenaders are wonderful people. They’re kind, courteous and very, very patient with me, a petticoat-propelled klutz.


One time I was supposed to Four Little Ladies Chain. Instead, I created a new dance step – the Barge Through – nearly knocking down two of the little ladies and sending the caller, J.C. Flowers of Lake Jackson, into fits of laughter.

I do know how to California Twirl, make an Ocean Wave and Weave the Ring. Star Through is pretty easy and I have the hang of the basic Swing. Keep in mind that it took 20 weekly lessons to even remotely get the hang of 70 basic moves.

Now my husband and I are badge-wearing members of the Promenaders and dance at least twice a month.

I’m still stepping through the complexities of square dancing. Luckily, my whirly-twirly petticoat is there to propel me through the Allemande Thar, Wheel and Deal, Flutterwheel and the still-puzzling Ferris Wheel.

Two hours of dancing is great exercise, and when I get home and take off my suede-soled dancing shoes, I have one more thing to do. I take back control of the petticoat.
Wrestling it back into its small compartment and zipping the bag closed brings an odd sense of satisfaction.

Ha, I win again. Now stay there.



This column was originally published 9/11/05 in The Facts newspaper, Clute, Texas

Do we look relaxed?

This is from our long-awaited cruise not too long ago.

Harvest time

Five weeks ago, I was enjoying my first successful crop of corn. I had 92 corn plants and they were producing like crazy. We had home-grown corn every night.

Corn worms

Just about every ear of corn I harvested had a small worm at the top. A few days later the worms were enormous, so I put in a call to the Garden Line -- my wonderful father-in-law. He advised me to put a drop of mineral oil at the site of the problem. Bingo, worms were dead.

More devastation

The problem grew worse in just a few days. My father-in-law said this damage wasn't from worms. This time it was squirrel damage. These hungry little garden pests had munched their way through the tops of the ears. The squirrels had pushed every stalk down to the ground and taken little bites, then moved to the next ear.

Scarecrow-like beings

My father-in-law said that a fake owl and some fake snakes might help deter the hungry hordes. I ran right out and bought a fake owl ($12.99 at Lowe's) and 11 fake snakes ($1 each in the novelty toy department of Walmart.)

Corn destruction

The next day dawned on complete devastation.

The true culprit

Here Skip the Chihuahua smugly sits for a portrait of his handiwork -- 92 stalks of corn in the compost pile. He's definitely smart enough to take the squirrels' lead in pushing down corn in order to munch it. He had quite a time. Or maybe the true culprits were raccoons?