almost quintessence

Sneak...sneak...sneak...

2011-04-16T17:49:00.000-07:00

...

(peeking around the corner)

...

Hello?

Anybody in there?

Hey!!!

Hi! It's me again!!!

Yes, it really is me. In the...uh...erm...digital format?

Anyway, I just thought I'd check in on the ol' blog since I was going to edit the farm website only to find that I forgot and misplaced all the information I need to log on. So. One thing lead to another and here I am.

I see, in my absence, I have developed a huge Asian fan base. But since I can't make heads or tales of the comments they leave, I just went ahead and deleted them as spam.

So...

Oddly enough, or not if you are familiar at all with my blog, I don't really have any big news to share. I'm still working at my dead end job to still feed an ever-growing number of goats while still living in a house with minimal heat and an epic roofing project.

There. Now you're all caught up on my life.

Actually, we did get a new dog. A Pitt Beagle. He was just supposed to be a Beagle but I think the folks at the rescue in Ohio are either a little in the dark on the dog breed id's or a little shy with sharing it. At any rate, he's a big 'ol marshmallow personality wise. And he just looks like a very well developed beagle. If I think of it, I'll try to stick a photo up.

We're in the middle of kidding time with the goats and I think we have somewhere in the neighborhood of 16 babies right now. I don't know - I lost track. After the first couple arrive, the magic is gone and it becomes more like "GAH!!!! We were just getting ready to leave!!! Why is she having her babies now?!!!"

Farm livin' is the life for me.

So, there's a teaser.

It's time for bed.

Thanks for the Sellout, Mr. Specter

2010-03-02T19:34:00.000-08:00

You, sir, are a bastard.

Hello and Happy New Year

2010-01-08T11:59:00.000-08:00

Hey there, everyone who still reads this (d.b. - a special hello to you since I know you faithfully check in).

I hope all is well with everyone and I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season.

Ok, first an update on the dogs. I did manage to find a wonderful, loving home for Brandy. She was taken in by one of my longest, dearest friends and is currently being spoiled by her 5 year old daughter. From what I understand, they are mutually in love with each other.

And Tessa. Sigh. Sadlly, I could not find anyone willing to take Tessa. I honestly think the idea of her being part pit bull scared a lot of people off. Which is really unfortunate because she was an amazing dog and so willing to please. Since we are such saps when it comes to animals - particularly dogs - we coudln't bring ourselves to take her to the shelter. We were slowly incorporating her into life on the farm. She was learning not to chase the chickens and was actually becoming a good helper with the goats. She was so eager to help and only wanted affection in return. As it happened, she came out with us one evening when we were feeding and, I can only guess, took off after something. It was already dark so I can't even say for sure. She made her way down to the road and I'm sure you can fill in the rest. We were so sorry to lose her because she really wormed her way into our hearts and our lives. She now has a forever spot on our farm, under a statue of Saint Francis.

Hubby and I have since discussed getting yet another dog but we want to take some time and wait until we are ready.

The rest of the animals are all doing remarkably well. We actually have a goat on hold for a buyer and another potential one sold. Woot!

Some big news for our farm - we finally have our web page up and running! You can check it out at www.lpfarm.net There is also a tab on there for our farm journal. I basically set up a new blog that will focus on what is going on at Lone Pine Farm. Chances are I will spend more of my time on that blog but I will come back here from time to time - most likely to rant and rave when I need to or just to write about non-farmy things. However, since the farm consumes so much of my life right now, I imagine that won't be very often.

In other news, our daughter, Hannah, leaves on the 12th to begin her spring semester in Italy. I am so excited for her. We have also decided to send our son, Sebastian, over to visit her when he is on spring break. I just know it's going to be amazing for them. He is talking about renting a scooter while he is over there so I have to check into that. It's something that I didn't even really consider but what a good idea it is.

Let's see...what else. Oh. I have decided to temporarily escrow my real estate license. That was a hard decision. After all, I did spend a lot of time and money and really only recently earned my way to broker. However, the market being what it is, and the time strain of having a full time job, I decided it is for the best at this time. I'm not completely abandoning it but I can't devote to it the kind of time it requires. I have to admit, though, the idea of not getting calls from frantic clients while I am in the middle of my supper will be nice.

I think that about covers it on the Big News Front. Other than that, we had a splendid holiday, getting to see family and spend time with them. It's a bit sad that it's only that way around the holidays. Actually, I kind of made a resolution to get back into life a bit more. Even if we have to set up some kind of schedule to do it - say pick every third Thursday as our socail outlet day. We realized how fast time is slipping by and, even though there is always work to be done here, we need to take a break from it once in a while.

So we've got that going for us.

Our other resolution is to try to pick small projects that need to get done and accomplish something every week. Just one or two hour things, but something to always keep the momentum moving forward.

And with that, I will close so I can go work on my weekly project, winterizing the front door.

Don't forget to check out the farm site and tell me what you think. It is still under construction so some of the buttons just refer back to the home page. Hopefully we'll get the rest of the pages completed soon.

Take care, all!

Desperately seeking nice person(s)

2009-08-30T18:40:00.000-07:00

I am going to keep this mercifully short.

I have recently come into possession of two dogs for which I need to find forever homes.

Here is what I know about them...

Brandy - beagle/shepherd? mix I'm guessing this mix because she is the size and shape of a beagle but has the coloring, rough coat and tail shape of a German Shepherd. Sweet beagle eyes and LONG ears, even for a beagle (but not long enough to be bassett)
Female, probably 2-4 years.
Doubt she's spayed, doubt she's up to date on shots.
Extrememly submissive but very loving. She's so happy to see you when you get home that she starts out whimpering and goes into full blown hound bays. Former owner swears he had her hunting but I don't really know how good of a hunter she is, if at all.
House training questionable - it's hard to tell because we have a research lab rescue dog that still struggles with house training and I think she sometimes leads the others astray.
Gets along great with children and other dogs, cats, livestock, as best I can tell. Did try to chase a chicken once but dropped the chase as soon as she was scolded. Hasn't tried it since.
Just took off on us yesterday afternoon and didn't come back until 6am this morning. On the bright side, she did find her way back.

Tessa - Lab/Pit bull?/Pointer or Spaniel? mix The reason I'm guessing these breeds: Blocky head like a Pitt but looks like a Lab profile. Very short, sleek coat like a Pitt. Legs are white with black freckles ala pointer or spaniel, plus she stood in a dead point at my hubby when he rounded the corner of the garage one day. Doesn't do that often though so it could have been a fluke.
Female, probably 5 years?
Doubt she's spayed, doubt she's up to date on shots.
House training questionable - see above.
She was definitely the leader of her little pack of three but has not tried to gain any kind of alpha position when we brought her into our home with our two dogs (one male, one female). Actually, settled in quite nicely with strange dogs, although my male is a marshmallow and my female could not be bothered with such nonsense. Mostly quite - will sometimes yap when we leave the room and she wants attention but lets up as soon as she is scolded.
Fine with children, other dogs and cats, again, as best I can tell. NOT GOOD WITH CHICKENS! Which is really why she has to go. I have free-range chickens and I would never be able to have her out of the kennel area unless she was on a leash. And, to be honest, I don't have time to walk dogs on leashes.
But she is a really, really good dog. My daughter has fallen in love with her and would take her but, since she's living on campus housing this semester, cannot. Ideally, if someone (without chickens) was willing to foster her for the school year, my daughter would be ecstatic and gather her up once she secured non-campus housing.

If you feel you are able to open your home and your heart to one (or both!) of these girls, leave a comment and we can work on getting in touch.

Please remember that this is a commitment for the life of the animal. They are currently in their third home and I would like their next stop to be where they get to live out the rest of their years. They will be part of your family and you will have to adjust your lifestyle accordingly. If you're not up to that challenge, perhaps a dog is not for you.

Why don't I just keep them, you ask? Try getting up at 2:30am to start feeding livestock on a day when you have to go to your (very physical) full-time job to work overtime, only to come home and have to either run fence, vet animals, work on the roof/bathroom/etc. and then feed all the livestock again. And then maybe if you have time, you can make and eat dinner. Otherwise you just skip it. Again. And that's not counting the grocery shopping, housework, bill paying, second job, etc.

So, do I need two more dogs that will be nothing more than pets? No, I don't. I wish I had the time to devote to them, but I don't, which makes it unfair to them. They need homes where they can have the attention they deserve.

As it is, I am trying to hold on to them for a little while longer but my energy and finances will only hold out for so long and I desperately need to cut back the extraneous. They will, unfortunately, end up at the local shelter if I can't re-home them soon. I don't mean to tug on the ol' heartstrings - it's just the way it is.

So if you are actually past the phase of "Boy, isn't that whole 'having a dog thing' a keeno idea?" and actually into the phase of "I am ready to adopt.", leave a comment and we can work on getting in touch. I would be willing to do what I can to transport for a bit - the dogs travel well.

Work, Work, Work

2009-08-25T17:43:00.000-07:00

And more work.

That seems to be all I'm doing lately.

My primary job right now (as opposed to the real estate job, which has become secondary) is going off and on mandatory overtime, so I never really know what, if any, days I'll actually have off in a week, nor do I know how many hours I can expect to work on any given day. At least not until the day before because there is a 24 hour notice thingy.

And all of that is throwing a real monkey wrench in my life right now. On days that I am working overtime, and hubby is working too, I have to get up at 2am so I have enough time to feed all of the animals before starting work at 4 or 4:30am. The getting up early part is a real drag because the goats are all, "What the...? We're sleeping!!!" And then I have to proceed to drag them all out to their feeding stations because they just. Don't. Want. To. Go.

Oh, and God forbid it's raining.

Which it always seems to be doing.

Although, I shouldn't really complain because it has seemed to let up a bit at least when I need it to. They really don't like coming out in the rain to eat.

Perhaps someday when we have a big ol' barn in which to feed them, these days will go much more smoothly. Perhaps by the time we can afford the time and money to build a big ol' barn, we will also be well enough off to not have to go off to other jobs in the first place.

Ah, dreams.

So, yeah. Work.

And that's not even getting into all the additional animal-related stuff that goes on when I get home from work. Or the pressing need to put up A LOT more fence. Or the roof project from last year which still remains unfinished.

But, if it sounds like I'm complaining, I'm not.

Well...yes, I am. But it's not about the animals or the farm. It's more about not being able to really devote the time I need to to them. I think a lot of folks are still under the impression that this farm is a nice, little hobby for hubby and me.

I wish that were the case.

No, in fact we are busting our butts to try to get a bonafied business up and running. A buisiness with which we intend to replace our other jobs. And it takes a lot of works.

And people just don't get it. At all.

...

But enough of that.

I just wanted to pop in with a quickie update.

I took Fen to the vet today. All is well - it was just a check up. Ruby goes Thursday for her check-up. I had to take two different appointments because I would have had to wait otherwise.

And Jasper...

sigh...

Jasper is gone.

I can't really write about it because...well, I can't. But I just wanted to put it out there because it dawned on me the other day when a friend stopped by, that not many people know about it. Mainly because I never see or talk to anyone any more.

But, yeah. It happened over the summer and I'm still heartbroken about it. He was such a sweet, sweet boy - quite possibly the most loveable animal I've ever known - and life is just not the same without him around. If I knew the guy we bought him from was breeding the same two dogs again, I'd take a puppy in a heart beat, just in the hopes of getting another dog half as good as him.

And since it rains when it pours...

Our three and half legged cat, Fang, is also gone as well. She was just an amazing animal and a real trooper. She will be sorely missed as well.

...

And now I've lost my steam for writing. So enough for tonight. Hopefully I'll get to check in again soon and announce our farm's new website!

Sifting Through the Rubble of My Blog

2009-08-07T20:11:00.000-07:00

For some reason or other I tried to dig up an old post I remembered writing a while back. Then on a curious whim, or perhaps morbid curiosity, I came to the most recent one and saw that there were some comments.

You guuuuuuuyyyyyyyssssss.....

I feel so bad leaving you all hanging like that. (All = 2)

I thought I had better check in to at least let you know I haven't checked out, at least not in the cosmic sense.

I'm fine. The goats are fine. Everything is fine down on the farm.

But busy.

Looooooordy is it busy.

I had mentioned that I was starting a new job. Well, fast forward to today and I am still working that job (a lot luckier than a lot people), in fact working overtime hours.

And since I had just managed to obtain my broker's license, after a great amount of time, effort and expense, I did not want to just put my license in escrow. However, since the goats need to eat, and my family needs to eat (yes, in that order), I have put the real estate career on the back burner so to speak in favor of a steady paycheck and mental wellness.

Ok, steady paycheck.

But, I am still working on some real estate deals so that takes another share out of The Bucket of Time.

And then there's the goats. And goats, and goats, and goats. I think we're up to 24 now. I'm not really sure.

So, another drian on the time bucket.

In the end, after all this stuff, along with the normal demands of day-to-day living, I have very little time and even less energy at the end of the day to sit down and write.

On the bright side, hubby and I are working on a web site for our farm and I am hoping to have a sort of farm journal tied to it. So I should be able to have some regular updates there.

And maybe I'll make more of an effort to get back here now and then. Because as much as I enjoyed and needed the hiatus, I actually miss keeping this thing going. It's one of the few contacts I have with people outside of the workplace.

I'll admit it, I'm an attention hound. I need at least one person (other than my dear hubby, that is) to pay attention to me every few weeks. I THRIVE on it! Why, when the UPS gal stops for a visit ... er... delivery, I'm just all, "Hello." and stuff!

So, as you can see, I lead a pretty socially destitute life. I think I'm actually the only person that looks forward to the Jehovah Witness folks visiting.

I'm sorry to leave you folks wondering and I'm sorry I haven't been to anyone's blog in a long time. I'll try to do better with that because I do miss all the good folks I used to read.

2008-10-25T22:21:00.000-07:00

And the Times...Well, They Are A Changin'

2008-10-13T20:28:00.000-07:00

Hey there, folks.

I know, I know. It's waaaay to early for another post from me. And yet...

So we are in the full swing of autumn at the farm. And that means shearing goats. Which also means a lot of bodily pain for me, stretching those muscles that only get used twice a year.

But! I'm almost done. I only have one medium sized goat and two little goats to go. Although, we are going to try to sell the little goats so, hopefully, that will be someone else's problem. I mean, gain. Did I say problem? No. I didn't. Someone else's gain, what with that silky kid fleece and all.

Anyway...

I sheared our buck and the two bigger does, one of those being the new one that came home with us when we went to a wedding in West Virginia. Usually you just win the center piece as a door prize but, I'll tell ya, those West Virginia folks really know how to do a wedding door prize right!

Ok, it wasn't a door prize. Picking up the goat just happened to coincide with the event.

So, this is our new gal, Milan. She came with that name.

Note all the hair. I cut that off. With scissors. Because the electric shearing thing? Still apparently costs money.

In other exciting farm news...

We have peeps! Again!

Just a few days ago another one of our chickens showed up with three peeps. I thought it would be a bit late in the year for that sort of thing but that just goes to show I don't know diddly squat about the having and raising of peeps.

The hen, however, does.

Here's hubby introducing the peeps to Fen.

Fen wasn't quite sure what to make of the peeps at first and would just kind of look at them and then look at us all worried like. But now he has kind of decided the peeps are his and chases the other chickens away if they start gettin' up in the peeps' bidness.

Word.

And what discussion on the cycle of life would be complete without the mention of breeding goats. Yes, it's that time of year again. The time when the boy goats pee on their bad selves, stinkin' it up for the ladies. And the gals are all "Ooooooo, you smell soooo baaaaaaa-aaaa-aaad."

Actually, they don't stink all that bad. Just a little more goaty then normal.

Since we don't have enough actual pens to separate everyone into their assigned harems, I take the two little boys out of their pens on days when I am home and put the lucky boys and girls together in there for conjugal visits. Then at night, they all exchange numbers and the buck promises to call the does - but it never happens - and they all go back to their respective pens. I'm hoping within the next week to finish one of the new pens so I can just stick them in together and leave them there.

Autumn also brings with it harvest time. Not that I have a whole lot to harvest. I planted some tomato plants in a very poor attempt at a garden this year but... Well, it was sort of neglected. I mean, I got tomatoes and everything, but I didn't have enough cages for all the plants and a lot of them just flopped over from sheer exhaustion. I did get an awesome pot of sauce out of them though.

Also, through no effort on my part, our grape vine had a boom crop this year. So I just picked all the grapes yesterday and promptly forgot about them until 9 o'clock tonight, when I set about extracting the juice. It's sooooooooooo good. I am going to attempt jelly. I'll let you know how that goes.

Other that that, I don't really have a whole lot to harvest. Some little gourds that, God only knows why, volunteer to grow every year. One even grew in the dog kennel. Every once in a while I'll find the remains of some poor, unfortunate gourd that one of the dogs picked off their vine and brought into the house to chew up.

So that's it for our farm harvest: mohair, some tomatoes, grapes and gourds. Not a whole lot, is it? And I have no idea what the gourd commodities are like these days.

Add our pitiful harvest to the housing slump, stir in two college tuitions, and you will have the Perfect Financial Storm that has emboldened me to seek Real Employment. Which, oddly enough, wasn't too hard to find. Mainly because I wasn't being picky. I went to one interview. When the interviewer asked me, "What are you looking for in a job?" I said, "A paycheck." And so now I will be training employees at a grand new warehouse nearby. I start October 26th. This should be interesting.

So, that's the new news on the farm front.

Signing off for now. Going to list three of the kids goats on Teh Internets for sale. Cross your fingers, folks.

Penny for Your Thoughts?

2008-09-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

So, I did mention that I might get another post up today and here it is. This one is a shameless post as an entry for a contest sponsored by www.capitalone.com/financialeducation/
and parentbloggers.com . Not an entry of my writing skills, thank goodness, but for a random drawing, and we all know how much I like "Free"!

I remember once being somewhere - I can't really remember details but work with me here - with my two darling, little cherubs. Maybe it was in the car. Maybe it was in the kitchen. Who knows. At any rate, I remeber they were about 7 and 8 - or 8 and 9 - years old and, on this particular day, Baby Girl asked me, "Are we poor?"

I was really taken aback by this simple query and had to think a moment before answering.

It's not that I didn't know if we were poor or not. We weren't. At least not by Third World standards. Heck, we weren't really even poor by Super Power Nation standards. I mean, we had a roof over our heads. We had four walls around us. We certainly had enough food for our bellies. We had vehicles and jobs and access to health care.

But...

I could kind of see where the question came from.

Scrambling for buckets when the rain came was a regular kind of thing. Learning to layer not only the clothes on your body but also the blankets on your bed was the modus operandi from November to March. And when you come out of school at the end of the day, and your mom is waiting in the line of cars with all the other moms, except your mom is the only mom laying on the ground under the car wiring the muffler back on...well, one shouldn't be too surprised at a question like this.

Their friends, at least as far as my children were aware, did not live like this.

And so began the years long process of teaching our children the difference between being poor and being in over one's head. Or living on the edge. Or thumbing your nose at convention.

Or whatever way you happen to want to spin it.

Because, let's be honest, it can go any way you prefer.

They were now becoming aware of the consequeces of life choices on a much bigger scale.

We had to teach them that we lived the way we did because we chose to do it. That there were certain things we were willing to sacrifice in order to have others. That there were certain things we were willing to sacrifice because they were incidental, and it wasn't really much of a sacrifice after all. And most importantly, if need be, we were willing to walk away from all of it saying, "At least we gave it a shot."

Sure, they had to learn the value of money. They learned how it can hurt when you don't have enough. They learned how having it can make things somewhat easier, but also how it can't solve all problems. How it might get you some of the things you want but that not everything can be bought.

I've seen them experience the easy come easy go, the not so easy come yet still easy go, the not so easy come and I'm really having a hard time letting it go, and the I've busted my butt for this and just try to pry it from my fingers lessons of money. We talked about investing and credit and debt and interest and saving and spending and lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

They had some things but not everything. They joined some activities but not every one they wanted to join. They got to go to some places but not others. They learned that everyone - moms, dads, and kids - are all affected by money.

It's all part of the game.

But more importantly, they learned that money is a tool, a means to and end. They had to learn that there is value in so many things - material things, work, play, freedom, health, land, happiness, knowledge, independence, everything.

How much of my freedom am I willing to sacrifice for the almighty dollar? Would I rather have that extra day of overtime or would I be happier spending it with a friend? What if I buy this item from this store? How will affect someone else? How will it affect me? Would I be better off if I could make/grow/knit/cook/etc. it myself? How might what I choose to do or not do today affect what I may or may not be able to do tomorrow? What is more important to me?

These are the kinds of lessons I wanted them to learn. I think if you know how to answer questions like these, the answers to the money ones fall more easily into place. They are hard questions when you really sit down and try to answer them honestly. We humans are so skilled at rationalizing our shorfalls and blunders.

But I was a little nervous about whether or not we did the right thing. Maybe a small house in town would have been better. Maybe it would have freed up more time and money for other things. Maybe we really screwed it all up after all.

I was always a little afraid that my children would grow up, leave home, and never look back. I thought they might have had their fill of wacky parents with misplaced priorities, living in a drafty old house, in one of those spots in America that time just kind of forgot. I thought maybe they would like to high tail it out of Dodge and say "So long" to the old farm... I certainly wouldn't blame them if they did - they are young and the world is their oyster.

Yet oddly enough, they both have said that they would like to see a bit of the world but are considering coming back to this area when they want to settle down. There has even been mention of living on the farm.

So maybe we're doing alright after all. Who's to say? They may get out into the world and love the change and never come back to the area, but at least they are aware of and open to other options.

Thinking back, I can't honestly say that I ever set out awith the intention of teaching my children anything specific about Money. Rather, I hope that I taught them - and still teach them - that money is just one of the many, many variables that affects a life, but certainly not what defines it.

What really defines a life is how many goats you own.

Whatever.

2008-09-14T03:49:00.000-07:00

That's right. Whatever.

I know I'm a bad blogger. At least I've taken the first step and admitted the problem.

But...whatever.

Anyway...here is the (seasonal?) update from the funny farm.

When we last met, I told you about ... what. Let me go check. Oh, the kids (human) and the kids (caprine). Well, all kids are doing fine and dandy. Except the one that died and, fortunately, that one was of the caprine variety.

Yes, we lost another goat. Again, I think, to parasites. So, going against all I had hoped for, we broke out the chemical wormers and dosed everyone up. And then gave vaccines. Which, you wouldn't think it would be, but it was a pretty exciting thing what with the possibility that at any given moment after you give the vaccine the goat could get all bug-eyed, stick out its tongue and go into anaphylactic shock. And DIE.

Luckily, that didn't happen. But, I have to say, we are all getting quite the education with these critters. "We" meaning pretty much eveyone within a 10 mile radius of our farm. The people at my dog vet office found the whole goat-going-into-shock thing quite interesting when I called them and begged for epinephrine to have on hand(to counter the possible shock).

Here's the real crazy thing. A friend of a friend of ours just got some goats, and the friend in between called me and was asking for some helpful advice. After my initial reaction of "Why in God's name did they ever get goats?", I was actually able to give her a lot of good pointers. It sure surprised the heck out of me.

Regarding the other kids...

Sonny Boy is in full swing with his second year of college now, although he is still living at home since he is going to one of the local campuses of PSU. Right now he is trying to raise a VW Jetta from the dead. It involves a new engine, some sticks and mud, and strange chanting ceremonies that go long into the night. It is taking up the better part of the summer but, you know, it keeps him out of trouble.

Well, almost. There was that little incident with The Law when he evaded a police officer by riding his dirt bike through a golf course. He did manage to get away but due to the fact that the police officer kind of recognized his bike, and that sonny boy has a bit of a guilty conscience, he turned himself in after negotiating a fine.

That's my boy!

At least he's not hanging out with Republicans.

Baby Girl is in Scotland right now. Yes, that's right. She is spending her first semester of school there. I am insanely jealous, particularly when she emails and tells me things like her one friend's parents have a time share on some island off of Spain and they are thinking of spending a week there at the end of Ocotber. Oh, and since they only have class 4 days a week, they are thinking of taking a long weekend trip to Norway.

She also emailed me a picture of her in a pub, holding a big pint glass of Guinness. Because, you know, she is of leagal drinking age there. So there's that to think about.

But, all in all, both are doing swimmingly well and I couldn't be a more proud mom.

Speaking of proud moms, I thought one of our chickens had become Fox Chow earlier in the summer. They are completely free range, sometimes not coming home for a few days. As long as they have the car back before I have to go to work I don't really mind. But after a couple of weeks doing a head count and always coming up one short, I thought we had indeed lost one for good.

Then one day, Sonny Boy came and asked me where all the peeps came from. My initial reaction was to think that my mother had horded away some marshmallow Peeps from Easter and was now dropping them off, in the perfect state of stale, for hubby. She always deposits her care packages on my kitchen table (which I can never get to the point of Empty!), so I asked him if they were there. He told me that, no, they were outside.

I looked at him wondering why my mother would leave the Peeps outside. Were they on the hood of my car? The grill?

Me: Outside?
SB: Yeah.
Me: ...
SB: ...
Me: Where?
SB: Near the saw mill.
Me: ...
SB: ...
Me: Peeps.
SB: Yeah, peeps.
Me: Like, Peeps peeps?
SB: Like chicken peeps.
Me: ?!!

Sure enough the prodigal chicken - the one I had given up for lost - returned with 10 peeps! 10! All of a sudden the chicken population on our farm had doubled. So that was pretty neat.

And, yes, I said saw mill. Because, wouldn't you know, now we have a saw mill. It arrived sometime, I think, in April and was set aside and covered until such time as we would actually have time to do anything with it. It was immediately forgotten about until that fateful day when I was tracking down the smell of "something dead" and followed said smell to the saw mill.

It could have been any number of creatures - chicken, cat, groundhog - who knows. At least all of the dogs, goats and horses were accounted for. I was so not looking forward to lifting the piece of rubber we had covering it to find out what poor thing went under there to die, and looking even less forward to having to drag the thing out and dispose of it Properly, Properly being Somewhere Where We Can't Smell It. But, someone had to be brave and, since hubby was being brave in his own way (story to follow), it was left to me to do the exhumation.

Imagine my surprise and relief when I found the stink was not that of a dead animal slowly roasting under the saw mill, but merely an abandoned clutch of eggs left by a hen that finally realized if the chicks are going to smell that bad, she didn't want them anyway.

You can also probably imagine my surprise when I learned that, even if you are as careful as can be when removing eggs full of potentially deadly stink, it doesn't matter. Because they explode. That's right. I guess they were full of enough ... I don't know... Dead Chick Gas that the slightest little movement made them go "Pop!"

And boy did they stink.

All I could think was "It's a shame I don't have any mortal enemies right now." And then I thoguht, "I have to make sure I get rid of them before Sonny Boy finds these." Not because he has any mortal enemies, but because I never quite recovered from the time he put an M-80 in a pile of dog poop and lit it. It's a hard thing to forget.

So I just mentally pinched my nose, loaded the eggs in a wheelbarrow, took them to the end of our driveway which is located in that place called Somewhere Where We Can't Smell It, and tossed them into the woods.

Now, I did mention that hubby was busy elsewhere, and that elsewhere happened to be... the roof! Yes, folks. After a Long Time, we are doing roof work on the house again. And this time it doesn't involve hand-me-down pool covers. No, this time it is bonafide roof work involving building trusses, milling molding, buying sailboat windows and everything. Because when we do a roof, we go all out.

To make a months long story mercifully short, we decided it was reasonably possible that we could fix the northern most peaked roof of our house this summer. The inevitable fly in the ointment came when we also had to figure out just how we were going to deal with the small flat roof that kind of connected into this one. Like so...

After quite a few days (and beers) of assessing the situation, we decided what the hell we'll make it a peaked roof.

Indeed.

The sucky thing about roofing is that it tends to take copious amounts of time and money, neither or which we have much of to begin with, let alone at the same time.

But, after many weeks (and beers), we have gone from this ...

... to this ...

Pretty darn impressive no matter how you slice it.

I know. I lost you all at sailboat window, didn't I? Well, as it turns out, all of the rest of the peaks on our house have circle windows in them. As it also turns out, circle windows cost about 5 trillion dollars. So, thinking it would be a bit extravagant to buy a window that cost as much as a Fannie Mae bailout, we started seeing what our other options would be. As it turns out, the most affordable circle windows that you don't build yourself happen to be sailboat ones. So, there you go.

Which pretty much brings us to today. Well, in a very summarizing kind of way, at least. We did add another goat to the herd which involved a long trip home from West Virginia but, really, you've all been through this before with me so I don't really have to go into it, do I?

And of course there were all the other things we all do with our summers - attending composting workshops, breaking into our cousin's house to see if he is still alive, geting a rug loom - you know, the usual stuff. But you've all done that before so I don't want to bore you with those stories.

So, here we are at today and I think you are all caught up for the most part. I am now going to wrap this up and head out to put some fence up. And drink more beers. There is a possibility that I might try to get another post in today in a shameless attempt at winning a contest but I don't know how likely that really is. So, I'll either see you later or laaaaaater.

Peace out.

Now That I've Effectively Driven Off My Readers...

2008-07-23T20:27:00.000-07:00

It would appear that my blog is going the way of my EpiLady. Seemes like a good idea at first, but really, it gets boring having your leg hairs ripped out by the root. So it gets used less and less until, one day, you sell your blog, along with a set of Caruso Steam Curlers, for $1.25 at a yard sale.

Anyone wanna buy a blog?

So, if you are one of my long-neglected readers returning, you might be wondering, "Yo. What the crap? What is the big deal with writing a post now and then?" Truth be told, it is quite a big deal for me. I just don't...know. I don't have any ambition for this right now.

But enough of that.

I'll try to fill you in on some things that I've been up to since I last wrote.

Let's go back in time. Waaaay back. Close your eyes.

Wait.

Open them. (Or not. I guess it all depends if you want to just drift back in time willy-nilly or if you want to actually follow along.)

We're going to go way back to April. April 9th to be exact. What was going on that day? Well, that was the day I was taking my LAST CLASS that I needed before I could apply to take my broker's exam. The LAST one! This, my friends, has been years in the making. Years, I tell ya.

So, yeah. The very last one. It was in a town that I now forget the name of but remember to be a suburb of Philadelphia. Which means a two hour drive for me.

It's not the two hours that I minded. With enough coffee and cd's, I'll happily drive for two years. And it wasn't really the idea of herding myself into the morning rush hour traffic into the city. While it's not my cup of tea, I can deal with it now and then.

No, the problem this day came from, as you might have guessed, one of my goats. The goat I wasn't quite sure was baking little buns in her oven or not. As luck would have it, she was. And as lack of luck would have it, she decided to have them that day.

I don't know if there are words to describe just how sucky that predicament is. On one hand, I have no idea when I'll be able to reschedule the needed class - months, years, whatever. Which means I would have no closure in my Quest for the Broker's License.

On the other hand, I have a goat about to give birth.

After carefully weighing all the options, I did the prudent thing and left my teenage son in charge of the goat.

Well, he didn't really know I left him in charge of her as I poked my head into his bedchamber and yelled, "I have to go to class! Rhubarb might have her babies today! Make sure you keep an eye on her! Bye! Love ya!"

I know he made some sort of response. Something like "Mmphff." But there was no time to waste. The clock was ticking and I had to get to pole position on the turnpike. So I scooted out the door, made one last check on the goat, and headed to the metropolis, making a mental note to call my son every chance I got.

During the morning break I called to see if she had the babies. My son had a vague recollection of something goat being said in the early morning, and was appropriately disturbed to find out he was now on baby watch. "Everything should be fine" I told him, while trying not to think about the potential "Insert your fingers and see what you can feel" conversation. That would not go over well. After extracting a promise of an immediate phone call upon any action, I went back to class.

My next break was around lunch time. I called him again to find that she was still holding out. He was going to go get a slice of pizza.

Me: "You're leaving???"
Son: "Yeah."
Me:
Son: "Just for a minute. I'm just going to get some pizza."
Me:
Son: "I'll be right back."
Me: "Ok."

About an hour later, I glanced away from the instructor and saw that there was a missed call to my cell phone. I scooted out the door into the hallway and called my son.

Me: "WELL?"
Son: "She had the babies."
Me: "Babies? How many?"
Son: "Two."
Me: "So, how was it? Were the any problems? I guess there weren't any problems because you would have called me if there were problems. Were there any problems?"
Son: "I don't know..."
Me: "You don't know? I mean, did they both come out ok? Did you have to ... do anything?"
Son: "Um. No. I went for pizza and when I came back they were there."
Me: "Oh. Are they, uh, alive?"
Son: (looking) "They look like they're alive."
Me: "Do they look normal?"
Son: "I don't know. Normal for a goat, I guess."

And so it came to pass on April 9th, our black angora goat, Rhubarb, gave birth to two little black kids, Crow and Raven.

(They both look the same so one photo should do.)

Now we're going to travel ahead in time a little bit. Moving forward to the end of May...

May 30th. My daughter. My babygrrrrl. My sweet, little imp graduated from high school.

Where in the world did those years go? One day I'm looking for her little sneaker, trying to get her off to preshcool, the next I'm shopping for shoes to accessorise a graduation gown.

It's all gone in the blink of an eye. It sounds so cliche' but it's completely true.

She graduated with honors and a couple of college credits already under her belt. She's on her way to Arcadia University by way of Stirling University in Scotland, where she will spend the fall semester.

You know, I would love to write something meaningful about it but I am at a total loss for words. Where would I even begin? This child, this person I had a hand in making (hand and other things), is all growed up now.

I look at my son and daughter and think what cool people they turned out to be - despite my involvement. They are smart and funny and just crazy enough to get them in a little bit of trouble and yet keep them out of most. I just can't get over that fact that, for the most part, it's over. It's all kinds of sad and scary and happy at the same time. I want to go back in time and read A Visit From St. Nick on Christmas Eve one more time. I want to sit on the edge of their beds and sing bedtime songs again. I want to get lunch and go to the playground. I want to go to another piano recital and pinewood derby race.

Sigh. It all went too fast.

Ok, that's enough for now. I'll have to bring you up to speed in another post or two. Otherwise this one will get very long, as I lead a terribly exciting life and have lots to relate.

R.I.P. George Carlin

2008-06-24T20:06:00.000-07:00

Goodbye, Mr. Conductor.

A Meme

2008-05-13T20:41:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've been doing some serious blog neglect lately, I know.

But things are up and spring swinging on the farm so blog goes on the back burner.

I do have some farm related things to write about but, since they involve pictures, that will have to wait as I only have so much ambition tonight.

So I am going to tackle a meme sent to me by Professor J (See sidebar at right. Yes, I am that lazy).

I just want to pause here a moment to thank the Blog God for memes. I know some people can't stand them but, really, they are great in a writer's block kind of pinch. Or a lazy writer pinch. Which is just exactly the pinch I am in at the moment.

I also would like to say during this little pause, that I will one day get back to staying up to date on all the wonderful blogs I have been neglecting to read lately. I am in big time internet slacker mode.

So, on with the meme.

What was I doing ten years ago?

Hmm. 10 years ago would mean I was 28. I would not have been going to my 10 year high school class reunion, because my class didn't have one. Just as I won't be going to a 20 year class reunion this year either. But that's neither here nor there.

10 years ago would also mean that we had been living on the farm for three years. That was still the honeymoon period. Not with my hubby, with the house. It was back when we really still believed we'd have heat some day. And that we'd get the roof to stop leaking. Now, the relationship is more like and old, stinky sock that you lost the mate to but it was one of your favorite pair at one time so you just give it to your dog as a chew toy instead of throwing it out and spend many days just kicking it down the hall as you walk through because even the dog has lost interest in it.

10 years ago would also mean that my son was only 9 and my daughter was 8. Wow. Now that is something that seems like yesterday. Now my son has just finished his first year of college and my daughter is getting ready to graduate high school. How the time does fly.

What are five things on my "to do" list today?

Well, since today is almost over, I'll have to answer this for tomorrow.

Although, when I think about it, the things that were on today's to do list just kind of got rolled over to tomorrow's because there just aren't enough hours in the day. As a matter of fact, when I think about it, the things on my to do list are pretty much some of the same things that were on 10 years ago.

But anyway.

Tomorrow I have to mail invitations for the graduation party, go meet a friend who is writing up an offer on a house, pick the type of brick we are going to use to replace one of the chimneys when we work on the roof this summer (Oh sweet day!), get wormer for the horses, and buy groceries.

Not in any particular order. Pretty much because there will most likely be ten thousand other things that I HAVE to do as well so they get done when they get done.

Snacks I enjoy

Right now, freeze pops. I bought a BIG bag of them a few days ago and I just can't seem to get enough of them.

Also, spicy Doritos. Doritoes? Some help here Mr. President...

Things I would do if I were a billionaire

Pay someone to do the roof so I don't have to be involved. That whole being off the ground thing doesn't work for me.

Also, I'd buy a heater. Probably geo-thermal. And I pay someone to put that in as well.

Then I would buy the stuff we need - what, about a million yards of concrete? - to get our wind turbine up and running.

I'd buy a good camera. And an electric Obvio.

Gah! It's so cute I can't stand it.

I hire someone to finish the things in my mom's house that my dad didn't get around to before he died.

I'd pay off my mortgage and whatever other bills are outstanding.

I'd buy a pair of sexy shoes.

I'd go somewhere where I could wear sexy shoes.

Bet you never thought you'd hear that from me, did ya? Not that I don't loves me my steel toes, but a girl does need a break once in a while.

Places I have lived

Frackville, PA
Mahanoy City, PA
Barnesville, PA

All within a 15 mile radius.

It doesn't seem like much until you consdier the fact that there will probably be 10 Wal-Mart stores in that radius within 5 years. And nothing says "I'm here!" like having a Wal-Mart in your neighborhood.

Bad Habits

I talk REALLY LOUD when I am on my cell phone. I just can't get my brain to believe that a) the person on the other end can hear me, and b) that this teeny tiny little phone will be able to even allow the person on the other end to hear me. It drives my family absolutely nuts. They're always saying, though gritted teeth, "You don't have to talk loud! EVERYONE can hear you!"

I set things down and can't remember where they are. Like 5 seconds later.

I make funny faces when hubby and I dance together. I can't explain it. They are like "Woo! That move surprised me!" We took ballroom dancing lessons together and learned just enough to be dangerous.

Jobs I have had

Concession stand worker at movie theater. Or theatre, if you want to be fancy.
Photographer at Santa Claus and Easter Bunny display at the mall
Substitue teacher, or, wolf food
Customer service representative/correspondent for thermal underwear company. I got to answer all the letters that came in. You would not believe how many people will sit down and write a letter to a thermal underwear company. It's a lot. Some times people would include their phone numbers in their letters so I would call them instead of writing back. Once I called a guy as soon as I got into work. Unbeknownst to me, this guy lived in California and it was something like 5 in the morning there. His wife or girlfriend pick up the phone and gave a real groggy "Heeeellllooo?" And I started in on my schpiel, "Hi, I'm from Thermal Underwear Company, and I am replying to Mr. Soandso's letter..." And she said, "It's really early. Like 5 o'clock." And I said "Soooo, he's not awake?" "Nnnnnoooo" says she. "Hmmm, weeelll do you want to give him a message?" I asked. "Um, no. Can't you call back?" said she. "How about I write him a letter instead?" And we reached an agreement.
Freelance artist
Production operator at a plant that made PVC fittings
Real estate agent
Dump truck loader at a power plant
Farmer!

There might be some others but I honestly don't remember.

Peeps I want to know more about \

This is where I tag other people. So, tag! Do it if you want to, do it if you need a prompt, just do it.

A Sure Sign You Married The Best Man In The World

2008-04-30T21:02:00.001-07:00

You are lying in bed. Alone.

He woke up before you.

After about an hour or so, he walks back into the bedroom with a breakfast sandwich of fresh eggs from your own chickens, kilbo, and cheese on a freshly baked biscuit. Complimenting the entree is a hot cup of joe, with just enough milk and sugar - just the way you like it.

He hands you the sandwich and coffee and says...

"There. I bet Mr. Darcy never did that for What's-her-face."

I Cannot Tell A Lie

2008-04-17T19:45:00.000-07:00

Actually I can. But apparently not to everyone.

Soooooo...without further ado...

1. I took a gun to school.

You know, I have to wonder what is up when absolutely NO ONE picked this. What, do I look like one of the trech coat mafia? Apperently so.

Well, it IS true that I did indeed take a gun to school. I did not threaten my algebra teacher, even though I would have been the high school hero.

No, the gun was merely a prop for my Demonstration Speech in English class. My topic? How To Clean A Gun. Not that I was demonstrating any particular skill 90% of the class didn't already have.

You know, when I ok'd this with my teacher and principal, the only requirement was that I keep the gun IN MY LOCKER until it was time for class. How crazy is that idea now a days?

Moving right along...

2. My hubby and I broke into our house the night before we bought it.

Again, I have to wonder about the kind of vibes I put out into cyberspace as only one person picked the breaking and entering as the lie. This might give me a complex or something.

It would be well deserved because we did break into the house the night before we bought it. But we had good reason to. At least in our minds.

You see, the house we bought was sold at auction.

And let me just take a little break here for a public service announcement.

Don't ever buy a house at auction. Unless you have a spare mind and soul.

Back to our regularly scheduled post.

We went to the open house because Hey! a farm in our area! Going for auction! Woo hoo! But while we were at the open house, we spent most of our time wandering around thinking "Wow" and "Wouldn't it be cool?" and such. NEVER thinking we would actually buy the darned place.

Flash forward a week and a half to when we decided "Why not? At least give it a try."

So we prepared ourselves to go to the actuion and watch in dismay as the price spiralled ever upward, out of our reach. But! We forgot the fact that we never really looked at the house. You know, with the discriminating eye of a person that actually intends to live there.

We knew there wouldn't be time to check things out - like the elcetircal system and heating system - the day of the auction so it was decided that we had to break in.

See? We had to do it.

Fortunatly, the house was vacant. For something like ... oh.... 7 years. So no big worry there. Also fortunately, one of the windows was left open so we technically didn't "break and enter". It was more like "gently push the window open and enter". I think the sentence for that crime is a little more relaxed.

Here's a funny little aside to that story. As if the story itself isn't crazy enough. When my hubby was in the basement checking out the furnace, I was sitting at the top of the basement steps going through a box of letters that I found on a shelf. Now remember, this was at night, so we were doing everything by flashlight. So there I am, merrily reading along when, all of a sudden, the door behind me opens and there is a flashlight shining right in my face (Hello? Deer in headlights? Hi!) and a gruff voice saying "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???!!!"

To which I replied "Haa...ooo...oh...Hummina, hummina, hummina..."

And then my dear, darling hubby said "It's me."

And then I threw the box of letters down and set upon him in all my fury for having been made to almost wet my pants.

Ah me. That's a nice little story, isn't it?

So, yeah, I broke into my house.

Which brings us to...

3. I have had a needle in my foot since I was 9 years old.

True.

I still remember the day I stepped on this needle and the sickening feeling when in snapped off in my foot. The sickening feeling didn't come from the pain of the needle going into my foot. Nor did it come from the knowledge that is broke off in my foot, a situation that could lead to all sorts of possible complications, not the least of which was having a piece of needle float through my bloodstream and get stuck in my brian.

No, the sickening feeling came from the thought of having to tell my mom.

So I didn't.

For about 3 or 4 months after I got the needle in my foot, I had a little black spot at the point of entry. I remember sitting on the floor one day and pressing on the black spot and having a piece of the needle come out. Eewww, I know.

So, problem solved.

Or was it?

Then, much later in life, when I was 23 or so, I was doing some home rennovations on our first house and spending a lot of time going up and down a ladder. During the course of the project, I had been wearing $2 tennis sneakers - the kind that give no support whatsoever, especially for folks spending a lot of time on a ladder.

Anyway, I ended up with a REALLY sore foot. So sore that I actually thought I might have broken it stepping down off the ladder or something. I finally broke down and went to the ER where they x-rayed my foot. The doc looked at the x-ray and said "You know, you have a needle in your foot?" And I was all "Really?!! Wow! That's been ther forever!"

We - the doc and I - decided that it made me a much more interesting person so we decided to leave it in there.

4. I rode in a motorcycle race.

NOT TRUE!!!

But I have every intention of doing it one of these days.

5. I rafted a Class 5 whitewater river.

Yes indeedy I did. It was the Gauley River and I'll just let the river folks tell you about it...
The Gauley River
The Gauley River is one of the most challenging in the world. The Upper Gauley is highly technical, requiring great skill to negotiate its narrow chutes and machine-gun rapids. It ranks in the top five in the world for whitewater adventure. The Lower Gauley is a complete, all-in-one rafting experience that features numerous big Class IV and V rapids interspersed by broad pools and tremendous scenery.

Pretty impressive, huh? You might also be impressed to know that we did this in the fall and it was REALLY, REALLY cold. You might also be impressed to know that we drove there from PA, arriving shortly before shove off time, rafted 22 MILES of crazy river, and then drove right back home.

You will probably not be impressed to know that we all cried like babies all the way home because our arms were SO SORE. So sore. I ache even now just thinking about it.

Which brings us to...

6. I caught a runaway cow.

Oh yes I did! Actually it was me and hubby. We were in New York, having a little vacation at my parents' cabin. I forget exactly where we had been but we were on our way home and, what do you know, a cow! Just moseying along the road. We drove past it and just looked at each other like "That was a cow. Not in a fence."

So we turned around and went back, caught the wayward cow, and brought it back to it's farm.

Now a days I'd probably try to find a way to just bring it home.

So! There you have it!

And the winner, drawn by lottery from all correct guessers, is....

badabadabadabadabadabadabadabadabadabada.....

Nadzent! Or my couzint-in-law, Nancy!

And she wins a box of Tasteykakes!!!! Woo hoo!!!

I'll have to email you and let you know what kind are at the store.

Thank you all for playing!

Painless poverty is better than embittered wealth

2008-04-14T21:25:00.000-07:00

“You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them,” Obama said. “And they fell through the Clinton Administration, and the Bush Administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”

Some folks might be wondering what a person from the mining towns of Pennsylvania might think about this. I shall attempt to enlighten yous all forthwith.

Wait. Let me put my gun down. There we go.

…my opinion on the comme…

Sigh.

Hold on, my rosary keeps getting tangled in my fingers as I type. Leeeet me just put that right over here. There, I hung it on the scope of my rifle.

Ok. Now where was I? Ah yes, the quote from Mr. Obama.

Well, you know, when the mines all closed 25 years ago it was really har…

What? They what? More than 25 years? Since after WWII? Really?

Well how do you suppose that mix up happened? The mines done went and closed a whole long time ago. Way more than 25 years. Sheee-ut. Whaddaya know?

And I can really sympathize with the folks that say the unions brought them down. Of course they did! It’s the unions whut’s wrong with Merica anyway. Anyone knows that. The unions destroyed our great and mighty nation with things like safe working conditions and such. How’s a body to make a profit anymore? Dang.

Anyway, I think I’m getting off track here. So, yeah, lack of jobs. Why, most everyone I know is on the dole. I’m third generation unemployment myself. Because there wadn’t nuthin’ but mines here. No stores. No other factories. Nuthin’.

‘Cept Wal-Mart.

Once them mines left, why, the only new thing that came into town is Wal-Mart. The government brought that in, you know.

So’s we’re bitter now. Real bitter.

Specially ‘cause Wal-Mart don’t sell no Merican made stuff. We don’t like buyin’ nuthin’ twadn’t made in Merica. But it’s cheap, so that’s not so bad after all. But us folk ‘round here just don’t understand that Wal-Mart’s gotta go getting stuff from outside of Merica. We want cheap stuff made in Merica. We’re all An-ti-trade.

And bitter.

An’ they brought immigrants and not-coal-region-people in to work at Wal-Mart, makin’ sure to keep us folks oppressed. Sure they did. Which makes us even more bitter.

And turnt us all An-ti-immigrant.

It don’t make no never mind that all those miners was immigrants to begin with. We only have room for so many and we don’t want no one else comin’ round an immigrantin’ the place all up. We don’t want them here ‘cause the mines closed, see?

Why it’s gotten so bad we had to turn to God ‘n guns. We hold a requiem mass every Sunday for the coal industry and then we all go out to our local former breaker and give a 21 gun salute.

And it’s a shame ‘cause we never even knew what God and guns was before the mines closed.

I have to hand it to Mr. Obama, he came here not knowin’ much about us here folks and he hit the nail right on the head. Shoot, he’s pretty smart for a politician.

If they’d just open them mines back up, we could stop goin’ to church, huntin’ deer, avoiding Chi-Chi’s…

It’s a good thing we don’t have to worry about stuff like the war, the economy, the environment, health care an such. Thinkin’ about that stuff might get us all confused onnacounna we got our heads all busy with being bitter ‘bout the mines closing. It’s a good thing we got folks that know words like “antipathy” taking care of things.

I only got one gripe an’ one gripe only with what you said, Mr. Obama, and that is, if you done went an’ scared off all those immigrants I was plannin’ on sellin’ goat meat to, I’ll show you what bitter really is.

I was the son of an immigrant. I experienced bigotry, intolerance and prejudice, even as so many of you have. Instead of allowing these thing to embitter me, I took them as spurs to more strenuous effort.
- Andre Bernard Buruch

*I didn't forget about the Pick The Lie prize. I promise I'll take care of it this week.

Just Popping In...

2008-04-10T23:09:00.000-07:00

Hi.

Ok, I promise that very soon I will address the former post and let you know who the winner is and what, in fact, they have won.

But in the mean time, here is something very important and interesting for you to read.

Monsato's Harvest of Fear

Meme me me me me meeeeeee.......

2008-04-06T19:41:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I got a little jumpstart from Blog Antagonist with a meme thing. Which is a good thing because I keep thinking to myself "I really should post something on the ol' blog."

One of these days I'll sit down and write a real post again. As opposed to this post, which is just a figment of your imagination.

So, the meme is to tell 6 unimportant things about myself, with one of those things being a fib. A falsehood. A big, fat lie. And you, my dear readers, are supposed to guess which of these things is not like the other, in that it is not fact.

Ok, bombs away.

1. I took a gun to school.

2. My hubby and I broke into our house the night before we bought it.

3. I have had a needle in my foot since I was 9 years old.

4. I rode in a motorcycle race.

5. I rafted a Class 5 whitewater river.

6. I caught a runaway cow.

Ok, now for the fun part! You guess which is the lie and post it in the comments section. And, in the spirit of my Meme-or, I am also going to offer a prize to the winner of a random drawing from all the corrct answers. Or all the answers if no one guesses correctly.

And the prize will be ... I don't know ... um ... well, something special.

Good luck!

Oh, and I have to tag 6 people.

So, Professor J, my seestor, my couzint-in-law, steph, pocklock, and my brudder-in-law.

God Damn, America!

2008-03-24T19:40:00.000-07:00

I'm not big on political debates. My politics fall into the same category as my religion in that it's what I believe, I don't care if you agree, and I'm not going to debate it. If you don't happen to agree with me you can just go right on ahead being wrong.

Hee.

Anyway, I try to avoid politics like the plague when it comes to my blog. It's just how I am.

Having said that, I have to comment on the recent goings on with Obama and his pastor. And my comment is this...

Mr. Obabma... Barack ... I am disappointed in you.

When given the opportunity to comment on your former pastor's 9/11 speech, you blew it.

He's "like and old uncle who says things I don't always agree with."

Fair enough.

But you don't agree that the US was being the bully on the playground? Or do you just not have the moxie to say that you do?

This was a perfect opportunity to bring it all to the forefront. Drag America's dirty laundry out into the spotlight and say "God damn, America. What the hell is up with you? Why are you buying big, expensive homes when you can't even pay your credit card bill? Why are you bitchin' about the price of gas when you drive a pig? How can you have the nerve to cry about the 4,000th soldier to die in Iraq when YOU CAN'T EVEN CONTEMPLATE THE THOUGHT OF CUTTING BACK A BIT ON YOUR CONTINUOUS CONSUMPTION???!!! God damn, America. Wake the hell up already."

But it didn't happen. Because I guess that kind of talk doesn't win the primary. Or the election. Or anything, really, but dirty looks.

So, there it is. To me, Obama has become the not-Republican, the guy who I suppose I will vote for if he is the one to come out of the primary the winner. But I won't be thrilled about it.

Of course, this all comes on the heels of my recent viewing of "Who Killed The Electric Car?" So I'm all kinds of fired up to begin with.

Happy Monday!

2008-02-25T14:31:00.001-08:00

Here's to never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting so old again.

The Waterboys - Sweet Thing (by Van Morrison)

Some More Photos From The Farm

2008-02-22T18:54:00.000-08:00

Ok.

So I finally remembered to take my camera outside with me yesterday and snap some picture of the animals. I didn't get everyone but I figured some is better than none at this point.

So, first up are some updated pictures of some of the babies.

Here is Magnolia, Prophet and Oleander (left to right) with a little bit of Gyra's head in the very far left.

And here is Magnolia by herself in mid-chomp on a leaf.

She is getting big and lanky. And bossy.

Here is Oleander, striking a pose.

She is pretty much the same size now as Maggie and Prophet even though she is two weeks younger. I guess having the oven to yourself makes for a little more growing room (Nancy, take note).

I also figured I would introduce you to the bigger guys.

This fellow is Faja or, Red Hot Faja as he is know in the registration books. He is our boer buck and he is just over a year old.

Pretty impressive, huh? Yes those horns are big and yes, he knows how to use them. I always have to be on my guard with this guy. He isn't particularly agressive but he sometimes gets silly when we go in to feed them. I don't think he quite understands that cracking skulls is not everyone's idea of a good time.

Today when I went to feed him, he started getting a little bit pushy. Usually he'll stop on his own but sometimes I have to grab him and get his head on the ground. After a while he'll say "Uncle" so then I know it's ok to let him go. Then he acts like nothing ever happened.

Here is our angora buck, Titan. He came with that name.

He's about half the size of Faja and probably about a third of the weight. Fortunately, he is all about the food and doesn't bother to play games at all.

I am going to have to shear him soon. That ought to be fun.

And last but not least, I have an update picture of Fen.

What a good looking dog!

I tired to get pictures of the other babies but they were having none of it. I also tried to get some pictures of the horses but I made the mistake of taking the camera with me at feeding time so all I got were pictures of close-up noses.

So Many Things to Write About, So Little...

2008-02-19T19:02:00.000-08:00

...I don't know. Desire?

No, that's not it. I want to write a blog post. It's just...

THERE'S SO MUCH OTHER STUFF TO DO!

I feel like I am spinning my wheels because I can't seem to get anything accomplished. There just aren't enough hours in the day.

And it's tax time.

shudder

But enough of that.

So, my sister is famous! How about that? Ain't she somethin'? All featured in the newspaper and all...

And she mentioned me. Woot!

But most of you probably know that already since I think most of you read her blog as well. But if you don't, you should. Do it.

Let's see... What else?

Oh, I spent a lovely day at the main campus of Penn State University with my sister-in-law. We were attending - get this - an all day workshop on small ruminants. That would be sheep and goats for the non-ruminant-familiar folks.

And, I have to say, I learned quite a bit. I was a little scared going because I am, after all, a greenhorn in the goat business. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that there were folks who were even dumber than me! I mean ... um ...

Really though, it was not only good to find out how much I didn't know, but it was nice to find out that I did know some stuff after all.

The conference was organized by the Pennsylvania Association for Sustainable Agriculture, of which I am a proud member. The conference was actually several days long and consisted of many, many workshops. Unfortunately, finances dictated that I could only attend the one day. But! Next year I am hoping to go for a couple of days. They have workshops on everything from beekeeping to methane digesters to cooking bio-diesel to growing your own veggies. So many things! So, next year I am there!

And speaking of goats, they are all doing fine and dandy. The little ones are getting really big now. I keep meaning to get some more pictures and post them (because I know you are all just about dying to see them) but I keep forgetting. Maybe tomorrow.

And speaking of Penn State University, I have a bit of a call to action if you are interested. I got an email today that informed me that the Pasture Systems and Watershed Management Research Unit located at PSU's main campus is one of 11 research labs slated to be closed due to federal budget reductions. I am going to quote the email here ...

... This facility does research that benefits all the Northeastern and Mid-Atlantic States., such as improving grazing practices for dairy cows, and reducing pollution into Chesapeake Bay. Their work is practical in nature; they work not only in the lab, but right with farmers in the field. In the last 10 years, they've received many awards for their scientific work and published over 600 scientific papers.

The lab's goals include.... (1) Identifying grazing management strategies that optimize the utilization of mixed-species pastures and reduce input costs for pasture-based producers. (2) Developing profitable farm production systems that reduce nutrient losses to ground and surface waters and gaseous emissions to the atmosphere. (3) Determining optimal management and environmental benefits of bioenergy cropping systems to reduce production costs and increase yields.

So if any of that means anything to you, send a note to your Representatives and Senators and say "Hey! No!" Because it affects you. Or someone you know.

And speaking more of goats and school and stuff, I am taking an on-line course about raising goats.

No. Really. I am.

What a world we live in.

In other exciting news...

My dear little babygirl was accepted to Arcadia University. With a nice academic scholarship to boot. Woo hoo! She so takes after me.

Hee.

But really, we are at least ten kinds of proud.

What else, what else...

I suppose you are all eagerly waiting to find out how the meditation is working for me.

Me too.

When I get around to doing it again I'll let you all know.

Hopefully my meditation will lead me to enlightenment on what to do about my cats.

I have spent like $250 on cats at the vet in the past two weeks. One cat has swollen feet. Swollen feet! At first I only noticed it was one foot and I thought it would be something easy like extracting a nail out of his toe or something, but no. No, this cat has some sort of auto-immune disease that causes his feet to swell. So now he's on steroids.

I'm hoping the Yankees will pick him up in the next draft.

And the other cat is in kidney failure. This cat is probably the most personable of all the cats even though he is pure evil. So now I have to feed him special cat-with-kidney-failure food which is probably going to cost more than the food we eat.

Sigh.

What are ya gonna do?

Although, I am hoping to get a copy of Dr. Pitcairn's Complete Guide to Natural Health for Dogs and Cats. It's supposed to have some homeopathic ways to help with the kidney thing.

I'm sorry it's a whole lot of jibber-jabber with no rhyme or reason. I can't seem to stick to one coherent thought for more that 2 minutes these days. My brain is like "Goats! Horses! Real estate! Taxes! FAFSA! Dogs! Cat medicine! The other cat medicine! Hay! Groceries! Pay the bills! AHHHHHHHHH!"

So I'm going to call it a post and go do my goat homework.

DON'T FORGET ABOUT THE PSU LAB!!!

Halloooooo Out There!

2008-02-11T10:26:00.000-08:00

Hi there. Long time, no post - I know.

I know I haven't updated in a little while.

Not a whole lot new but I'll just fill you in a few little items.

My seestor gave me the book eat, pray, love for Christmas. I have finally started reading it and I am very happy to say I like it a lot. (Thanks, sis!) I'm not going to get into the whole gist of the book here but I will say it is a great read. Although, if you are easily influenced, be careful.

I've always had a bit of interest in meditation but never really gave it a try. In the one section of this book, the author is in an ashram in Inda learning Yogic meditation. I became so inspiried by this (easily influence? moi?) that I decided now was the time to start.

Now, a large part of this section of the book deals with the author's difficulties with meditation so I didn't really pin my hopes on a transcendental experience right of the bat. I just wanted to try it.

So, I sat myself on a little pillow (to ease my perpetually sore tailbone) on the living room floor, closed my eyes, and tried to relax.

...

...

Here is the little dialogue that went on im my head.

Maybe I should chant something. A mantra perhaps...

But they're usually Sanskrit and, let's face it, you have a very limited knowledge. You don't even know how to pronounce any of it for sure.

Ok, well...maybe I can just think it in my head and not say it out loud?...

Um...NO. Because if you say it in your head you still have to know how to say it.

Oh. You're right. Well then...I'll just make up my own and say it in my head.

Fine. Whatever.

So, I sat there and tried to think of a mantra.

... chunk-a, chunk-a ...

Then I thought that I could go get the book and look to see what mantra the author used and just figure it out to the best of my ability.

... chunk-a, chunk-a ...

Then I thought, no, don't get up now. I have to learn how to just sit still if this is going to work.

... chunk-a, chunk-a ...

Ok, quiet now. Relax...

... chunk-a, chunk-a ...

Reeelax...

... chunk-a, chunk-a ...

Just let the mind slip into calmness... a mantra will come to you...

... chunk-a, chunk-a ...

Sigh. Ok. Fine. My mantra will be "chunk-a, chunk-a" but I'm not going to say it out loud.

So, inspired by the crunching of the coal furnace, I set about meditating, concentrating on chunk-a, chunk-a.

To my surprise, I sat there for a good 20 minutes. Until the dog started scratching at the door. And the train started drumming its way up through the valley.

Alright, I admit, it's nothing compared to meditating pros but I was pretty pleased with myself. I decided that day that I was going to get up early every morning and meditate for a little while.

And that's the last time I meditated.

But! I still intend to do this. As soon as I can get myself up early enough.

And as soon as spring comes.

Because it's cold. Really cold. And the thought of sitting still without being directly attached to a space heater or electric blanket does not sit well with me right now.

I had to heat my lunch up twice today. Once before I started eating it and then again half way through.

Out of curiosity, I decided to check the thermometer. The thermometer in my kitchen is a make-shift cooking thermometer that came from Godknowswhere. It only goes down to 50. The little arrow was below that, buried in the bottom.

Ok, so not 50. The ice on the inside of my windows could have told me that.

There is only one other thermometer in my house and it's in my bedroom.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

I had to know. It would be like going through some kind of testing and never knowing the results.

I went into my bedroom and looked at the little thermometer.

32.

Thirty two de-freaking-grees!

That would mean that the warmest place in my house is inside the refrigerator.

Ok. I'm exaggerating. Inside the furnace would be the warmest place with the refrigerator coming in second.

And to think that I said to my hubby last night - last night after we went out in the dark to attach walls to the bottom of the goat feeder because all the big goats were pushing this one small (not baby, just smallest adult) goat out of the shelter because they are all bastards and the only place she had to go was under the feeder so we decided to close it in so she's out of the wind, and so we froze our fingers and toes off doing this in the whipping wind and 5 degree weather - "It's not too bad. The worst of winter is over."

HA!

I'm just kidding. I truly believe the worst of winter is over. Even with this minor cold snap. The sun is shining today, all the animals (including the ostracized goat) are fine and spry, and the temperatures are supposed to start slowly climbing back up. All is right with the world.

So, hang in there everyone who is at their wit's end with winter. We're almost there!

Edited to add...

I forgot! God smiled down his love upon our family this weekend, and that love was in the form of meat loaf.

I'm not a huge fan of meat loaf but we had defrosted some ground meat (in order to make room for ALL THAT BEEF) and my hubby made meat loaf.

If you are a meat loaf fan, I highly suggest you try the recipe found the the Joy Of Cooking cookbook - the one with bacon. The recipe not the book. You know what I mean.

It's GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

A Not Goat Post

2008-01-25T12:35:00.000-08:00

Alright. So it seems as though the only thing I write about any more is goats.

And while that might be understandable as they are pretty much consuming my life right now, I still feel like ... well, enough goats for now.

I've been reading some other blogs where people are suffering from a bit of writer's block lately. It must be going around. Not unlike the sinus, chest cold thing I am currentlly not acknowledging.

I know I've never really tackled Big Important topics on my blog like Politics, Religion, Dancing With the Stars, etc. I tend to keep it a bit lighter and uncontroversial. Mainly because I get enough daily debate from my hubby and children - I do not nee to get into cyber arguments.

But I also never intended for it to become a Goat Blog either.

So, today, I am not going to post about goats.

Rather, I am going to bring some attention to two of my pet causes.

1. Responsible eating

As you might have guessed from the beef post, I am a big fan of grass fed meat - beef, pork, poultry, etc. Pasture raised meat is so much better for you, the environment and the animal. And, to be quite honest, my priorities are exactly not in that order.

In the interest of sparing the easily queased, I won't post any pictures. But google "factory farm" or "slaughterhouse practices" and go exploring a little bit. See what you find. It isn't pretty - I assure you.

But what's a conscientious omnivore to do?

I'm so glad you asked! You can start .here at the eatwild web site. If you check the links on the left hand side, there is a page you can go to where you can look for farmers in your area that raise livestock on pasture. And if there aren't any in your area, many will ship meat to you! Usually, the more you buy the better the price, so check with your family, friends, neighbors, etc. It really can be an economical alternative.

2. Animal testing

Take a look at this.

That would be Ruby (sitting) and Jasper (in repose).

Ruby came into our family via the internet. A little while back, Harold at Another Monkey, posted on his blog about some beagles in need of a home. He was made aware of the situation by a friend of his. As it turned out, there were a group of beagles at Cornell University that were slated for The Big Sleep if homes were not found.

I emailed Harold and he put me in touch with the friend who then put me in touch with the woman in charge of the beagles. I told her that we would take one and made arrangements to pick one up.

When we arrived, we were shown the beagles that were ready for placement. There were 4 girls. I would have taken them all. As it was, they had other people coming to adopt and assured me that they all had homes to go to.

I don't know what kind of testing was done on Ruby. People sometimes ask me "Aren't you worried about the tests they did?"

No. I am not.

We brought her home and introduced her to Jasper and Malachi (who was still alive at the time). She got to walk inn grass for the first time in her life. We let her run loose in our yard - something she never ever experienced.

It was a little sad at first, because all she ever knew was the chain link kennel with the concrete floor. But, over time, she learned how to be a regular dog.

Whatever that is.

After we got Ruby, I started to do a little more research on animal testing. Again, I won't post photos because they are really awful and you can easily find them yourself if you want to look into it. But, people, please look into it.

What I found were pictures of dogs with cones strapped onto their faces, being forced to inhale cigarette smoke for hours at a time. I found pictures of cats with electrodes implanted into their heads. I found pictures of rabbits in cages with cosmetics being forced into their eyes.

And then I found the pictures of their little bodies in trash bins.

I can almost understand the medical industry doing animal testing. Almost.

But I cannot understand the need for animal testing in cosmetics. And cigarettes. And paint. And cleaners. And so on and so on.

Especially when there are companies out there that can bring their product to market without animal testing.

And so, again, what to do?

Well, I came across leapingbunny.org which is an organization that gives consumers a way to find products that aren't tested on animals. Go to their shopping guide and search for the products you need.

Also, with many cosmetics, you can check right on the back of the package to see if the company tests on animals or not. One warning, some may state "Finished product is not tested on animals". While it's a start, the Leaping Bunny certified products do not use animal testing in any phase of the production.

While I was at the grocery store recently, I was checking the labels on hair care items. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Alberto V05 shampoo and conditioner is not tested on animals. And it's cheap! Also, Nexxus does not do animal testing. So I may no have that sleek and shiny Pantene hair. Oh well. It's really not all that important to me in the grand scheme of things.

Okay, that's enough for today. I don't know how to cleverly wrap this all up into a whiz-bang ending. I'm just trying to point out some of the things we take completely for granted, some of the creatures that needlessly suffer because we just aren't paying attention. It doen't have to be this way

Oooooookay.

2008-01-24T17:11:00.000-08:00

Alright.

I guess it's time for an update.

Let's see...

Our goat, Opal, finally had her baby this past Tuesday morning at 1am. It was FREEZING COLD! I went out to check on her at midnight because she was acting a little jittery that day and, sure enough, our old friend Mucus String was there.

So I went back inside and told my hubby not to bother putting pajamas on because we have a baby on the way.

I was kind of concerned with this one because she seemed like she was straining and pushing for a while. I kept checking the book and it said that if they are pushing hard for over 30 minutes with no visible progess it's time to consider that there might be a problem.

Just as we were getting to cruch time, we started to see the nose and feet. Poor Opal was really screaming. Finally, the kid slooshed out. It is a little girl and her name is Oleander.

And after she came out, I could understand why Opal was loud. This baby is BIG. Probably close in size to the ones that were born two weeks ago.

It took a little while for mom and baby to get things coordinated but eventually they got the hang of feeding and everyone is fine now. We finally made it to bed at about 4am.

We were supposed to leave at about 8am that morning to go and pick up an order of beef. Back in the fall I ordered a whole beef from Wallace Homestead Farm in north central PA and Tuesday was the pick up day.

Well, we slept a bit late.

Anyway, we were on the road by 10 and back home by about 3 with 630 pounds of beef.

That's a lot of beef, even if you are splitting it with someone else.

We delivered the beef that was going to other folks and then spent the evening trying to get 315 pounds of beef into our freezer.

The top shelf is completely full of 1 pound bags of ground beef. Hubby calls it the Wall of Beef.

And here is a shot of the bottom 3 shleves of the freezer.

Have you ever seen so much beef in someone's freezer? I'm amazed by it. Sometimes I just open up the freezer when I walk by to behold the wonder of all that beef.

This will probably hold us for the year. Maybe longer. I never really buy a whole lot of beef at the store. I'm not sure why. It's not because I don't like it or anything.

But now I have scads of beef. And good-for-you- beef too. Because the Wallace's are nice people who don't pump their animals full of bad things.

When all was said and done, the beef came out to $3.75/pound, vacuum sealed and ready to go. That's pretty good if you ask me. Sure you can buy ground beef cheaper in the store. But what do you know about that beef? I met our beef's mom and dad. And that is also $3.75/pound for the best cuts as well - something you will definitely not see in the store.

So, yeah. Beef.

That's all the news on the farm front for now. I'll ty to get some more pictures of the kids up soon.

Free Publicity

2008-01-23T18:43:00.000-08:00

Hi there.

Ok, so I got a tag of sorts from Harold at Another Monkey.

As best I can tell it is a sort of blog chain letter where a body adds her/his blog to the list and then forwards it on into cyberspace.

So here's the list:

The Strategist Notebook
Link Addiction
Ardour of the Heart
When Life Becomes a Book
The Malaysian Life
Yogatta.com
What goes under the sun
Roshidan Cyber Station
Sasha says’s
Arts of Physics
And the legend lives
My View, My Life
A Simple Life
What Women REALLY Think
Not Much More Than This
Life In The Lost World
The True Tales of a Minivan Mama
"Life" is a Noun
Christie Silvers
Marla's Fun Stuff

My Pretty Face
Simone's Butterfly
Just a Flip Flop Mom

Stone Soup
Gill's Jottings

Wakela's World
Modern Day Goddess
Livin With Me
Are We There Yet??
Everything And Nothing
Little Wing
The Babblings of Whimsicalnbrainpan
Another Monkey
Multiple Synchronicities and Sclerosis
Skeet's Stuff
The Dreamtime

Life, Or Something Like It
Ink On Paper

mhryvnak.net/blog

Almost Quintessence

My Distractions In This Modern Age
If I Were Queen of the World

I think it's all geared towards increasing traffic to one's blog.

Now I am supposed to add five people and comment on their blogs and pass it forward.

However, I can't pick just 5 people for fear of offending the Not Picked. And, having just spent I don't know how long pasting these godbarn links in because I don't know if there is an easier way to do it, I hesitate to inflict this on everyone.

So, dear readers, I will leave it up to you. If you would like to join in on this, please feel free to do so. And if I am breaking the good luck chain by not specifically tagging more people, I apologize. I'm not a big one to really push my blog. I guess people who have ads and such might want to try for a bigger readership but, honestly, I'm not all that driven.

Now I will have to go and check out some of these other blogs.

This Is What I Did Thursday Night

2008-01-19T05:12:00.000-08:00

You have to kind of turn up the volume - this isn't quite the best quality.

I would be the one singing and playing the banjo.

I wish.

Ok, so that's who we went to see Thursday night. It was my big sis's early birthday present for me. That would be Uncle Earl - a five woman strong old timey string band.

It. Was. Awesome.

I knew Abigail Washburn (the banjo gal) was amazing but these five women together ... just incredible! AND, Rayna Gellert is one of the best fiddlers I've seen in a while. And the fact that I don't get out much any more is no refection on her talent.

So, I hope you enjoy the video and the song. This is my new brain worm, or ear worm or whatever you call those songs that get stuck in your head.

And, just in case any of you were thinking otherwise, MY sister is the best.

And Then There Were Thirteen.

2008-01-14T08:40:00.000-08:00

Has it been over a week already?

Dang. Time sure does fly.

I had every intention of starting a new Project Goat Watch this past week but things didn't quite work out. As you all know, we've had our hands full with the new goatlings for the past couple days but things sort of finally settled down.

Until Saturday.

Saturday we picked up our NEEEEEEEEW PUPPY!

YAY! PUPPY!

Puppypuppypuppypuppypuppypuppypuppy!

Ah luuuuuuuuvs me some puppies!

Can you tell I'm excited?

With everything we have going on right now, I am sure you are wondering "Why on earth did you get a puppy?"

Well, other than the fact that I LOVE PUPPIES!, we were looking for a dog to help keep an eye on the goats.

I know you're thinking "Suuuuuure. Goats. Right." But really, it's true. I have actually been researching this for over a year now. You see, eventually we are going to get to the point where our goats will be in areas not quite so close to the house, and we do have coyotes in the area. Actually, I'm kind of surprised that we haven't had any run-ins with them yet - knock on wood.

So I started to check out what other goat people do. The options were a dog, a llama or a donkey. Oddly enough, llamas and donkeys are very protective. I really didn't want to get a llama and, after checking with our farrier and finding that next to nobody will work on donkeys as far as hoof trimming goes, the obvious choice was the dog.

The next step was to start researching the preferred breeds. As it turns out, they are all fairly similar in that they are big, white and very protective. The big and the white I could deal with. It was the very protective thing that was holding me back a little bit. Each breed that we considered - Maremma, Kuvasz, Anatollian Shepherd, Great Pyrenees, Akbash, Polish Tatra, etc. - were all great for protecting livestock but not so great for farms where a whole lot of people stop by unannounced all throughout the day. And, after having lived with an Akita for 12 years, I did not want to row that boat again.

I know, I know, socializing is the key. But still. A breed that has been honed to protect will very likely do just that.

And so the search continued.

Then, one day, I came across an article in one of the various anti-establishement, hippy-dippy, "Hello, Homeland Security!" magazines that we subscribe to, about Farm Collies. This article described a dog that was descended from the old working collie of the British Isles, having no set standard as far as physical appearance since they had long ago fallen out of fashion in the show ring, and able to do pretty much anything when it comes to farm help - herding or stock dog; watchdog; guardian of the home place, livestock or family; predator or rodent control; gundog; tracker; accountant; marketing strategist and more.

This piqued my interest. I had to know more about this "Farm Collie".

So I started researching further into it and found that the Old Farm Collie esentially has disappeared but two breeds - the English Shepherd and the Austrailain Shepherd - were derived from that breed. A little more reasearch and I eventually found my way to a breeder in the Finger Lakes Region of NY. I called her back in the summer and we had a rather long phone conversation about our farm, what kind of dog we need and life in general. We were pretty pleased with each other and she said she would keep me posted on litters.

She had a litter near Halloween but, based on the mother's traits, she advised holding off and waiting for a litter that was due near the end of November, coming from a mother that exhibited a little more of the characteristics we were looking for.

The litter came and she kept us posted on the puppies, letting us know how they were developing and how their personalities were shaping up. We didn't get our hearts set an any particular one - we wanted to just wait and see how they were in person. Dog.

Finally, this past Saturday, we were able to make the trip. We got to meet the breeder - a wonderful lady who really knows her dog stuff - mom and dad, and the puppies. It didn't take too long for our puppy to find us.

After a looooong ride ( I got lost in the north woods of Pennsylvania. Some people refer to this area as God's Country - I now refer to it as God's Forsaken Country.), we finally got our puppy to his new home.

And so I introduce to you, Fen, our English Shepherd.

He has alredy been helping out with the farm chores, even if it is just following us around while we tend to the various livestock. Although, today, he was going to try to fend off the killer rooster. I intervened and saved him. Not yet, little guy.

Speaking of various livestock, you know how I mentioned earlier about starting up the second Project Goat Watch? Well, Sunday morning I went out to feed everyone and while I was getting some grain, listening to the normal complaining about how long I was taking to get everyone their food, I heard one particular complaint that sounded much more ... complainy.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

Not today.

You see, I was dealing with a new puppy, a very sick hubby that was leaving the following day on a five day trip, and week-old goats. I did NOT want to hear what I was hearing.

Yet...

I went over to the pen with the other two pregnant boer goats and, sure enough, there was a sac of water hanging out of Iris.

Ugh!

What the crap??!!

So, I dropped everything and got down to business. See, this girl was still out in the big pen, not in the Birthing Room. Which, inconviently, was still occupied by Gyra and her babies.

Since I already ran you through a goat birth, and since I didn't have my camera on me, I will try to give a fairly short version of what happened.

I ran into the house, opened up the bedroom door where hubby was convalescing and yelled "Iris is having her babies! I need help NOW!" And ran away again.

My poor husband.

Things were quite different for this birth - no special room, no Baby's First Photo. No, these kids were plopped right on the ground (on feeding bags) in the goat pen. How bourgeois. Or, I guess, boergeois. Hee.

She had two babies, one boy and one girl. The girl was the second one to come out and was decidely smaller. We needed to get them somewhere warm pronto.

So we had to move Gyra and her babies to a new pen and move Iris and her newborns into the Birthing Room, albeit a little after the fact. The After-Birth Room, if you will.

I'll tell you one thing. Some goats are very hard to move. Moving some goats is like trying to drag a 150 pound sled across the dirt with the sled constantly digging in.

Consequently, I am a very sore being today.

We got everyone settled and then set to work making sure baby girl goat was dried off and warm. Then I gave her some Goat Boost to help get her going. That's not what it's really called but it's pretty much what it is - electrolytes and such. Like goat Red Bull.

It must have done the trick because she seems to be doing just fine now.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent getting another shelter slapped together(which I eventually had to leave to my hubby and son in order to run errands), picking up feed and supplies and helping hubby get ready for the trip. The day is a toatl blur.

Finally, at about 11:30 that night, I sat down to check my email. That's when I came across the email asking for feedback on the house I showed at noon.

Showing???!!!

Oh darn.

But (and this leads us full circle back to the title), now we have 13 goats!

You'll be happy to know that the client I unintentionally stood up studied animal science (coincidence? I think not), and was very understanding of the fact the he was forgotten in the midst of the birth.

BIG NEWS!!!!!!!

2008-01-06T18:03:00.000-08:00

The Blessed Event has occurred!!!!

Yes - today our goat, Gyra, finally had her babies! Cigars all around!

I checked on her last night and she seemed pretty restless so I set up the watch, going out to check on her in 2 hour intervals. Hubby had work today so he went right to bed. By 4am I had enough and figured nothing much was going to change between then and 7am when I had to get up for church.

In the morning I woke up and got dressed for chuch and peeked in on her - still nothing going on.

After church and breakfast with the in-laws, I came home and started about my daily chores. I did the spine-squeeze thing when I went in to feed her and I could wrap my fingers right around the bone.

Hmmm...I better keep an eye on this.

I was going to go drive by a house for someone out of the area and snap some pictures to email so I went back in and got changed into not-farm clothes. On my way out to the car I stopped and peeked in on her one more time. And this (oh, remember when I said I would warn the faint of heart ... or, I guess, queazy of stomach ... before I post graphic pictures of the births? Well, consider yoursleves warned) is what I saw...

That would be a big string of mucus.

That's one of those things I read about in the book that means "Get ready, goat farmer, because the baby is on its way."

So, I turned around and dashed back into the house, kicking off my shoes, tossing gloves, as I ran upstairs to get changed out of not-farm clothes and back into farm clothes. Judging by what I just saw, things might get messy.

I ran back downstairs, pulled my boots on, located the kidding kit that I carefully put together over the previous weeks, located my "Raising Meat Goats for Profit" book, grabbed the camera, and dashed back outside. I peeked in on her again to see this ...

... and was all "AHHHH! Hold on! I don't have everything yet!"

I dropped all the stuff outside the Birthing Room and ran back to the house.

For what?

What?

WHAT???

Why did I come back in here???!

Oh, yeah. Newspapers. The book says to lay out newspapers so the baby can just plop onto them and then you can pull it around to the mother's head so she can lick it off.

Back out to the birthing room.

By now she was starting to push in a getting-down-to-businees sort of way. I donned my latex gloves and opened the book.

... you will soon see a bag of water protruding from the vulva ...

Yeah, yeah, yeah. What next? What am I supposed to look for? Oh crap. What do I do??!!

Skip ahead, skip ahead...

... you will soon see two little hooves and a nose ...

Check the goat again...

Oh God! There's the nose! Are there two littl hooves? Wait ... Oh crap. Get out of the corner. I have to see if there are two little hooves!

At this point Gyra laid down with her butt wedged into the corner of the Birthing Room. I figured I'd just let her go for a little bit and see how things went. Just to be on the safe side, I jumped ahead to the part of the book that tells you what to do if there are difficulties with the birth. After a little while I checked on her again and saw that she wasn't really making much progress. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that only one hoof was visible with the nose.

AAAAHHHH! ONLY ONE HOOF!!!

Check the book, check the book...

If you only have one hoof and a nose presenting, then the other hoof might be just a little bit back (just put your finger in a little ways...

Oh. Oh. My finger. In the goat. Oh. Ok.

...where the hoof should be and feel for it). In which case everything will probably go just fine, or you may need to pull on it a little to get it together with the rest of the program.

Oh. Fine. Here we go.

So, yeah, I put my finger in the goat and found the other hoof.

I rock.

After that, the baby just kind of plopped out on the next push.

But not onto the newspapers as planned. Because Gyra started eating the newspapers as soon as I laid them down. She obviously didn't read the book.

So I grabbed a feedbag and put the little goat on it. I sucked out his little nose and mouth with a bulb syringe, and pulled him around to mom.

The book said to let her lick the baby off for a bit and then dip the end of the umbilical cord and the hoof tips in iodine.

Check.

It then said to wrap the baby in clean towel and put it butt first into a bucket so mom can still lick it, baby will stay put, and the next kid can be born - if there is a next kid. The kid in the bucket will usually just fall asleep.

Baby obviously didn't read the book either as sleeping was not on the agenda.

If there is no other kid, the next thing to watch for is the afterbirth.

Ok...so...what is that? Afterbirth? Another kid?...

After about 40 minutes of watching mom walk around with this ... bag of water hanging out her, she finally started to push again and, what do you know, a nose and two hooves this time!

Plop!

Baby number two!

So we have a boy...

... and a girl.

I called hubby to give him the good news. We are bonafide! Woo-hoo!

Much thanks to Gail Bowman who is the author of "Raising Meat Goats for Profit" (from where I took the excerpts), for writing such a good, instructive book. This book is like my little bible right now.

The only thing I would add to this wonderful bit of writing is a warning to someone assisting in a goat birth that, once the babies are all dried off and on their feet, they are so darn cute you might just squeeze them to death.

I stayed to make sure the babies started nursing and to be sure that there weren't any more on the way. Mom delivered the afterbirth and promptly ate it.

Live Action Shot of Mother Eating Placenta!

Hee.

So the waiting is over. We had our very first livestock birth and are feeling all kinds of proud. Mom and babies have settled in nicely, the weather is cooperating, all is right with the world.

Crossing the Threshold

2007-12-31T19:25:00.000-08:00

There are only a few hours left before the year 2007 will pass into history.

And here I sit, the rumination of the the past 11+ months trying to mill around my brain.

What have I done? What can I look back on and say "Ah, yes"?

And the truth is I don't know.

And the even truer truth is I don't even care.

Because, really, why? To what end?

No, I would so much rather look into the New Year, blank page that it is. Or hopefully more appropriately, an untrodden path.

What will I do instead of what have I done.

I have so many exciting things to look forward to this coming year - another child heading off to college, baby goats (hopefully!), shifting the career to focus more on our farm ... so many things.

I have always loved New Year's Eve. As a child I remember parties long into the night with many families and friends. As an adult, hubby and I had the great fortune to rekindle those festivities in our own home. However, the past two years, and again this year, hubby ended up working through New Year's Eve and we had to forego the parties.

I miss being with my family and friends, kicking the old year in the pants and ringing in the new. I miss the hugs and kisses, the conversation, the smiles and laughter, the food, the music into the wee hours of the morning...

But, even though I won't get to spend "the moment" with my family and friends (or even my hubby!), it still doesn't lose its magic for me. I still feel like I am stepping off the ledge of a rock cliff and falling into the crystal blue waters of the New Year.

So much potential! So much promise!

There is nothing like the feeling of a fresh start.

So, dear blogger friends, here is my New Year's Toast to you.

... raise your glasses ...

May the new year bring peace for your mind, love for your heart, health for your body and happiness for your spirit...
May you feel fulfilled in your work, joyous in your play, and content in your home...
May you always have shelter for your head and enough food for your belly...
and may you drink up every last drop of the crystal blue New Year with an unquenchable thirst for life.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, MY FRIENDS!

Holiday Greetings

2007-12-27T17:43:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone.

I hope your holidays - whatever they may be - are happy.

We celebrate Christmas and the Solstice - although the Solstice is kind of our own mish-mosh of whatever we have the time, energy and desire to do. I ususally like to at least have some kind of fire, whether it is outside or in the living room fireplace. Other than that, we completely wing it. One year it might be a quiet fire and watching a movie, another year it might be a big bonfire and naked dancing in the woods. Who knows?

Our Christmas was very nice despite being pretty hectic in the last days leading up to it. I swear to myself every year that "Next year is going to be different!" And, indeed, next year will be different. I have resolved to take Christmas by the horns in 2008. I will OWN that holiday! No more last minute anything! My cookies will flatten out like they are supposed to! Christmas 2008, YOU ARE MINE!

Can you tell I'm still winding down a bit?

So, anyway, I did make it through the holiday relatively unscathed. I say relatively because there was actually some scathing.

You see, we apparently chose one of those rare blue spruce Christmas trees that exhibit that agressive nature that the Christmas Tree Growers Association have worked to hard to breed out. There's always a throwback.

This particular tree outright attacked me while I was stringing the lights. I'm talking it JUMPED me! I was merrily decking halls and coming a wassailing and all that and, when I briefly turned my back to untangle a string of lights, it leaped on me.

And it's a big tree.

It flattened me.

But I'm pretty scrappy for my size and I managed to subdue it and make it behave. After I established my dominance with the tree, it settled down and behaved like a good Christmas tree should.

The only other Christmas related accident I had was falling off of a floor speaker that I was standing on while decorating the tree. And, no, the tree had nothing to do with it because I was watching it very carefully. At any rate, during the fall, I manage to plant my shin bone squarely and quite hardly on the corner of the speaker. And now I have a rather larger purple-black mark on my lower leg.

Which nicely matches the two large pruple-black marks on the back of my upper leg, those being courtesy of one of the goats.

Is 2007 over yet? Because I don't know if I can make it much longer.

Project Goat Watch: Temporarily Suspended

2007-12-21T18:08:00.001-08:00

Thaaat's right.

Project goat watch is on hold due to lack of progress. And continued uncertainty as to the "with bun" status of said goat.

Plus the Livestock HMO called and said all her days are used up.

So back with the peasants she goes until we see some real progress.

*****

On the shoe thing, we were sitting at the office before heading out to the Office Co-worker Dinner (NOT an office party - that would infer sponsorship by actual employer), and I noticed M had her shoes on.

Me: How do you like your shoes?
M: Oh, they're wonderful. So comfortable...
Me: Even with two different sizes?
M: Ha, ha. You're very funny. I knew right away something was up but I though it was T messing with me.
Me: It probably was.
T: Oh you are so full of ----!
Me: What?

So, anyway, they say they knew that day that it was me. I suppose. It's not like it would exactly be out of character. They were going to try to play a trick back but said they couldn't think of anything.

Now that's sad. What a commentary about America today.

*****

Ok, I have to actually cut this short.

Today! Yes today! Is my 18th wedding anniversary!

Yay me & hubby!

So, dear hubby is downstairs right now cooking a kick-butt anniversary dinner for me.

He is da bomb!

I would write a big sappy post all about what a wonderful guy he is but I think I'll say goodnight to you all and go tell him in person.

Good Night!

Happy Winter Solstice Eve!

Project Goat Watch: Day ... Um... Whatever

2007-12-17T06:30:00.000-08:00

If you are just joining Project Goat Watch, you might want to begin
here and continue forward.

Sorry about leaving you all hanging, desperately waiting for new.

So, still no baby goats.

I don't know. I'm back to wondering if she's even pregnant at all. Maybe what I thought was a baby goat rolling around in her belly when I felt it was actually just food getting digested through the various processes.

At any rate, Gyra seems happy enough to be in solitry, not having to deal with the other goats at feeding time. And, I have to say, the Birthing Room is probably the sweetest set up yet as far as the animal shelters go. We had wind last night that would blow the hair right off your head but she was snug as bug.

So, that's the new. No news.

Now, on the shoe thing...

I was at the office on Saturday and one of the ladies - I will call her M - that ordered shoes was there briefly. I was talking to someone on the phone at the time so I didn't even get to talk to her. But I did notice that one of the shoe boxes had returned to the room in the back. The co-worker that was there the day of the switcheroo happened to be there too. I asked her if she heard anything. She said M came in with her shoebox and said "Everthing is all screwed up with these shoes. I have a two different sizes. I checked with T and she does too. I don't know what we're going to do with these."

Oh we laughed...

Then we started to wonder if they might return them. I figured nothing would happen over the weekend since m left her box of shoes at the office. She is probably waiting for T to come in and then maybe send them all back together.

But, the more I thought about it, the more I started to worry that they would end up sending them back. So I called T under the guise of asking about Christmas presents for the secretary and the bookkeeper. She said that one of the pairs of shoes that were ordered are part of the bookkeeper's Christmas present. Ah! An open door! So I said, "What's up with the shoes anyway? M was in the office and said there was a problem." All innocent like.

Then she said "Oh, yeah. It's the craziest thing. Every box had two different sizes."

"Wow. That's pretty crazy." said I.

"Yeah. But the real funny thing is that we have three full sets of shoes - the sizes we were supposed to get - but they were all mixed up."

"Hmmm. How odd."

"I know. Thank God M called me and I checked before I wrapped the pair for the present."

"Yeah, thank God for that."

So. All's well that ends well. I still didn't fess up. Maybe at the Christmas party.

Project Goat Watch: Day 4

2007-12-14T21:56:00.000-08:00

If you are just joining Project Goat Watch, you might want to begin
here and continue forward.

No goat babies again.

I was up until 4 o'clock this morning checking her every hour on the hour until I just couldn't stay away any longer. I really thought she might be in labor because she was breathing a little oddly. Finally I just figured it was from trying to get some rest with a bunch of baby goats rolling around inside.

So, nothing yet.

And the shoe thing...

Two of my co-workers came in and opened their boxes to look at their shoes and didn't even notice! Granted, they didn't try them on but I at least though they would have noticed that one shoe isn't as long as the other.

So the secretary, the other co-worker and I all managed to keep our mouths shut and we'll see what transpires over the weekend.

Project Goat Watch: Day 3, Part 2

2007-12-13T18:37:00.000-08:00

If you are just joining Project Goat Watch, you might want to begin
here and continue forward.

So, no baby goats yet.

Apparently she wasn't as far along as hubby thought.

And since I'm sure you are already wondering to yourself by now, the spine sqeeze test is still at the same spot.

And so we come to the end of day 3 with still no goat babies. Although, there is still 2 and half hours to go before the technical end to the day so, you never know.

Since I don't have all kinds of exciting goat news, I figured I'd give you a little story.

But first I have to point out that Professor J nailed the identity of My Hat from yestereday's post - she knew it was an LL Bean hat. I never even looked at the label until I read her comment and, sure enough, it's LL Bean. So, I thought that was kind of interesting. She has quite the keen eye! And quite a good blog too so you should go check it out.

Now, on with my story.

As you are all aware (if you read Part 1 of today's post) I was at work during the snow/sleet storm. There wasn't a whole lot going on business-wise so I was grasping at straws for things to occupy my time.

As luck would have it, the UPS dude stopped by with a big-ish box from Land's End. As I was carrying it to the back room, I realized that it must be the shoes that my co-workers were ording a few days prior. I remember them talking about these cute slip-on Moc shoes and they asked if I wanted to order a pair too. Since I cannot fathom the idea of buying shoes that I haven't tried on, I declined the offer. I placed the box in the back room and didn't really give it a second thought.

Until I got really bored.

I went and got the box and brought it back out to the office area. The only other person there was our secretary.

"Now what are you doing?"

Me: I don't know. But I can't just let this box of shoes here and do nothing.
Secretary: You are such a troublemaker.
Me: This is why you have to keep me occupied.

I sliced open the box and found three shoeboxes inside. I took the three boxes out and examined them. They all bought the same style of shoe in the same color but three different sizes.

At this point the secretary wandered over. "So...what are you going to do with their shoes?"

I got her to help me peel the tape off the shoeboxes, trying to be as careful as possible not to mar the boxes. There were some small spots where the paper pulled off but I was able to color it back in with a pen and you would have to look very closely to notice anything.

At this point, another one of my co-workers stopped in.

Co-worker: What are you doing?
Me: Nothing. Did you order shoes?
Co-worker: No, I was going to but I didn't. Are those the shoes they ordered?
Me: Yes.
Co-worker: Did you order any?
Me: No.
Co-worker: You're just looking at the shoes they ordered?
Me: No.
Co-worker: ...
Me: ...
Co-worker: What are you up to?

Like I have a reputation or something.

So I took the right shoe out of each box and I put the size 9 right shoe in the size 8 box, the size 8 right shoe in the size 6 box, and the size 6 right shoe in the size 9 box. Then I sealed the boxes back up perfectly, put them back into the big box and resealed that with shipping tape. It is impossible to tell the box was ever opened.

My only regret is that I won't be there first thing in the morning when my co-workers come in and are all "Oh! Our shoes are here! Let's try them on!" Because they will. Immediately. Because we have our priorities in line.

I gave the secretary strict orders that she isn't even allowed to so much as look at them when they try the shoes on because she cannot keep a straight face. She is terrible at this stuff. So she promised she won't even look away from her computer. She is only allowed to intervene if they don't catch on right away and think they need to call the company to send the shoes back.

So, I'll let you know how it all pans out.

Click here to continue reading Project Goat Watch.

Project Goat Watch: Day 3

2007-12-13T07:20:00.000-08:00

If you are just joining Project Goat Watch, you might want to begin
here and continue forward.

I know this is a little early in the day but I have some news and some time so I thought I'd give you a quickie update.

I came out of the house to leave for work this morning and hubby was fiddling with the Birthing Room. He just finished working 3rd shift so he usually takes care of the morning feeding of the animals. Normally he is done with the chores and heading off to bed by the time I am leaving for work but sometimes he gets distracted by other jobs.

Although, I kind of thought he might stay up a little later today anyway since we are supposed to get a slight battering by Mother Nature. This would be the pre-battering to the big whallop that is supposed to come Sunday. And we don't have a plow. Or working snowblower. We have a snowblower but, when you put that "working" quialifier on it, well...

So he is going to bastardize a plow onto a walk behind Gravely tractor.

I could really delve into the whole Gravely Syndrom but that would take up a whole other blog. Seriously. It's a sickness and it seems to be genetic.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh, so I saw dear hubby at the Brithing House and I started to walk over. I didn't even get to say "Hello" or "How was your night?" or anything before he said (in the tone of an obstratrician about to yank a baby) "It looks like she's ready to go."

Me: What? Now?! RIGHT NOW??!!
Hubby: Well, soon. I think. I don't know.
Me: Well, how do you know?
Hubby: She's getting all, you know, swollen in her back end. And a little mucusy.
Me: Did you squeeze her spine?

Because this, as far as I am concerned and in my vast experience, is THE way to tell. Plus it is the only skill in my bag of tools. So, yeah, spine squeezing.

He said he did and it feels closer than it had but maybe not completely where it should be.

So I looked at her. And she looked at me. And I tried to telepathize when the baby goats would come. But nothing happened. Something must have been blocking my goat sense.

"Well" said I, "I have to go to work."

Hubby: What? What if the babies come?
Me: Well then, good luck, Doctor.
Hubby: WHAT?
Me: I'm sorry. I have work. I have an appointment to show a house. I really have to go.
Hubby: They're going to cancel. No one is going to go out in this to look at a house.

For, indeed, the snow/sleet had already begun.

Me: Look, let me go in and take care of this appointment. As soon as someone else shows up at the office, I will leave and come home. If something happens and there is an emergency, call me. But I still have a job and I still have to go there.

He seemed satisfied with this.

So, here I am. At the real estate office. In the middle of a snow/sleet storm. Because, as long as there's a dollar to be made, the office stays open.

Go back and read that sentence again with a little more bitterness and resentment.

No, go ahead, I'll wait.

dum, dee, dum ...

Oh, come on. You can do better than that. MORE BITTERNESS! MORE RESENTMENT! Try again.

That's better.

Well, I did manage to bump my appointment up and show the house before the roads got too bad. Now I am just sitting here, not selling houses, because no one is thinging about looking at houses, they are thinking about shoveling their walks and plowing their driveways and birthing their goats. Er, ok maybe that's just me, but still.

Click here to continue on with Project Goat Watch.

Project Goat Watch: Day 2. And My Hat

2007-12-12T19:55:00.000-08:00

Hi.

If you are just joining Project Goat Watch, you might want to begin
here and continue forward.

So, not a whole lot of news on the Goat Watch front.

I checked in on mother-to-be this morning before I left for work and then again when I came home.

And then again a few hours later.

And then again when I fed the animals for the evening.

And again after I painted a roof for a goat shelter.

And then once more before I came to post on the blog.

Which brings us to 10:57pm EST and no goat babies yet.

So. Not a whole lot there.

I did the spine squeeze again but it doesn't seem much different from the last time I squoze it. By the way, on this whole squeezing of the spine thing, what I am doing (I think) is checking to see if the ligaments at her hip joints are beginning to loosen. "They" say that when you can reach your fingers right around and touch them with nothing but the skin in between, the goat should have her babies within 12 hours. So that's what is up with all of that business. Hooray for narrowing the window!

Other than that, she seems content enough. She hasn't really tested the fence around the Birthing Room which is a good thing because it was a real quickie job on my part. Partly because of time crunch but mainly because the post pounder is so darn heavy and I think I might have done a little something called "not good" to my back on the second to last post. I don't think I really killed it or anything. It's just ... very stiff. I probably need a good, long stretching session and a hot bath. Maybe around May I'll get to that.

So, since there isn't much happening goatbaby-wise, I have decided I am going to finally add a picture to my profile. I think I have milked the mystery factor just about as much as I can. And, when you consider that just about every bad photo of me that was ever taken has now been posted on the internet, what harm will one more do, right?

So here is the photo that is going to be my new profile thing. Avitar? Symbol? Likeness?

It's a picture of me. And My Hat. I mention it that way because My Hat has a personality of its own, as you can tell.

I found My Hat in a house that I was selling. The home was part of an estate and all of the contents were getting tossed out. So, I picked through them and found My Hat. I love My Hat. We have become almost inseparable. Much to the chagrin of my family.

I know we look a little ... odd ... but, I have to tell you, My Hat is one of the warmest hats I've ever come across. And I think it is just damn stylin'!

And, if you look closely, you'll be able to see two pieces of hay above my right eye. Garnish.

Ok, so I think I've done enough damage for today. I'll see you soon with the next installment of Project Goat Watch.

Click here to continue on with Project Goat Watch.

Project Goat Watch

2007-12-11T22:13:00.000-08:00

Hi everybody.

I know, I know. I fell into a bit of a slump after NaBloPoMo ended. What can I say? I needed a break.

Anyway, I'm back with some pretty exciting news.

One of our goats is getting ready to have her kid(s?). The goat would be Gyra - the original goat that was purchased in order for me not to have to deal with the weed wacker.

See how easily it all goes down hill?

We have her in the Birthing Room which, thankfully, is NOT in the house. It is an old chicken coop that we converted into the delivery area. She seems to be comfortable enough. I think she's just happy not to have to deal with the other goats at feeding time.

So, with this being our first livestock birth, we really have no clue what we're doing. We're mostly hoping the goat will know. But, I do have some books and a few excellent web sites. I also have the number for the vet just in case.

In anticipation of the blessed event, I've been reading and reading and reading up on every possible birth scenario I can find. And, yes, I did purchase some extra long latex gloves. Hopefully they can just stay in the bag.

We're not really sure on the exact date she is due, which is really only a hint anyway, but we think she's pretty close. At least most of the signs I've been reading up on seem to be there.

Although, I have to admit that until I actually finally felt one of the little goatlings rolling around inside her today, I was still a bit suspicious that she was not in fact pregnant and just tubby. But! All doubts have been erased and I am devoting all my time to squeezing her spine just above the tail to see if the ligaments have loosened. Which annoys the crap out of Gyra. To the point where she was doing this little I'm-gonna-keep-my-butt-as-far-away-from-you-as-possible dance every time I would go into the Birthing Room but we have now reached an understanding that involves me bribing her with baby carrots. All is well.

So, this - along with fixing fences, holiday cleaning, holiday shopping, work, Project Insulate The Back Part Of The Attic, ETC. - is what has been occupying my time lately and why I haven't been in a big hurry to sit down and blog.

However, I have decided that since I have this very exciting thing going on, I can kind of do Project Goat Watch as a mini-series and keep you all posted on the progress. Sound good? Good.

Now don't get all bent out of shape if I don't have any big news right away. These things take time.

Also, I am hoping, hoping, hoping that I will be able to include some photos of the goings on. I promise to warn you before I post any pictures of mucus plugs and stuff.

Oh. Did I just say mucus plug? Sorry.

Be back soon!

Click here for Project Goat Watch: Day 2.

Friday! Friday! Last Day of NaBloPoMo Woohooday!

2007-11-30T16:19:00.000-08:00

Ok.

So it doesn't rhyme.

What of it?

I can't believe it. I can't believe I made it all the way through ... well, except for the day I got sick. But, regardless, this is the longest string of writing I think I've ever done.

For whatever effect it may have on the world.

Ok, so Geek of the Week.

I am going to defer to my dear hubby on this one. He's all riled up.

Attention Mr. Dennis C. Wolff? Pennsylvania Secretary of Agriculture?

You are Geek of the Week.

And NOT in the traditional sense of the word either.

You are a bad, bad man.

You who would ban the labeling of dairy products as to whether or not they contain antibiotics, pesticides or rBST (an artificial growth hormone).

Just why was that again? Oooohhhhh yeah. We don't want to confuse the consumer.

Thaaaaat's it. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting how discombobulated my little ol' mommy brain gets in the dairy aisle when I see the tried and true milk suffering the wild postulating of that radical hippie milk.

Organic.

Hormone Free.

No antibiotics.

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEEEEAAAAANNN?

Oh! MAKE IT STOP ALREADY AND GIVE ME AN ICE CREAM SANDWICH!

Mr. Wolff, give me a freaking break and give me the option to choose. I don't want you and all your cronies - who are making waaaaaaaayyyy more than any dairy farmer is - to put a warm, wet cloth on my forehead and pat my hand and tell me to "Just relax ... they ain't no harm in chemeeculs an such." I wan't to be able to choose. I don't care if I am paying more for it - that's my business.

EVEN! Even if you have NO PROOF WHATSOEVER of any harmful effects of any of this stuff - EVEN THEN! - I still want the option to choose to buy my milk from someone who doesn't roid their cows all up. Just because.

At least until I can get my own cow.

So, in conclusion, Mr. Wolff, you suck.

SOAPBOX TIME!!!

If you, as a Pennsylvania dairy consumer care about this little issue, you can send along a little note to that effect to our Governor.
Governor Edward G. Rendell
225 Main Capitol Building
Harrisburg, PA 17120

Or, you can email him.

Email the Governor of PA here.

*****

Now, I have to back up to yesterday's post because my daughterchild pointed out to me that I never answered the "fun part of being my children" part of the question. Which I shall do forthwith.

The best part about being my kids, I think, would be having me as a mom. The end.

Hee.

Ok, really now. One of the fun parts about being sonnyboy, I think, would be having the ability to ride a dirt bike pretty well. And actually having a dirt bike. That runs.

Because I? Have a dirt bike. But it? Does not run.

It doesn't even walk. Or roll.

All of a sudden I just came up with a crazy idea for a pimped out walker - you know, for people who need them to get around. And it can be called, you might have guessed, The Walk-n-Roll!

Guitar!

But I digress.

Yeah, I think having the ability, and lack of fear, to go over jumps and stuff like that would be pretty cool.

Maybe I'm just getting all nostalgic because that Master of the Moto, Evil Knievel, died today.

I remeber watching his stunts on TV as a child. EVERYONE wanted to be Evil Knievel.

God rest his crazy soul.

So, yeah, that would be cool. And apparently sonnyboy thinks so too because he spends an awful lot of his free time doing it.

As for daughterchild, she has so much going on I'm not sure where to begin. She can pretty much do whatever she sets her mind to. For instance, I just popped in the living room for a moment and she was watching a movie and knitting.

KNITTING.

I can't knit. I wish I could knit.

I also wish I could make it through an entire kick-boxing class. Which she can. There's a lot to be said for youth.

But, if I had to pick a particular thing, I might pick working on the yearbook. It was one of the things I kind of always wanted to do in high school but just never did - mainly because of the moderator. It is a little know fact that Kim Jong Il was a member of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary and acting moderator of the Cardinal Brennan yearbook club. That was way before North Korea.

Fortunately for daughterchild, she gets to work with a hip (Hip? Did I just say hip?) moderator and staff. It's a lot of hard work but I really think she enjoys it. And, more importantly, I think I would enjoy it.

But in the end, I think I would enjoy a whole lot of what they do. I don't mean to brag or anything but I pretty much have the best kids in the world.

No. I do.

No, really. I do.

Ok, ok. I know. That's what every mom says.

Except I'm right.

Anyway, I just have to say that I really like hanging out with my kids. I so wish we weren't all going in ten different directions at once and could actually do more things together. Because they are cool people.

It's so amazing to see the young adults they have grown into. I look at them and cannot believe I even had a hand in anything so wonderful.

And it's REALLY amazing to think my hubby had a hand in it. (Hi Hon! Just kidding!)

I think one of the things that I am most proud of - even though I have no idea how much I've actually had to do with it - is that they are thinkers. I love thinker kids. They are a joy to be around because it is so interesting to see their take on the world. It's neat to see what makes them laugh, what moves them, what riles them ...

Here's a for instance ...

(Ha! Boy am I rambling now!)

In the summer of 2000, daughterchild's Girl Scout troop made a day trip to New York City. I went along and had the opportunity to take sonnyboy as well. It was nice because there were some general stops but we were able to break off into our own little groups.

One of the stops was Ellis Island. None of us were ever there before. If you've never been to Ellis Island, I highly recommend it. It is just amazing. And not just the Statue of Liberty.

While she certainly commands attention it was the museum that was really moving. The stories of the people who passed through there were just incredible. I could easily spend a whole day there. And, as corny as it sounds, walking around there, looking at the photographs, reading the snippets of people's lives, one really gets a sense of what is special about our country.

And I could sense that my children felt it too - as much as a child could in their limited understanding of the world. They wantered around the museum, a quick glance at this photo but staring at that one, reading this item but skipping that one, the whole time showing a sort of childish reverence for everything.

At one particular moment I was lucky enough to snap a quick photo of the two of them together. It is a moving photo that I will always treasure. It's a perfect snippet of siblings, sharing a day, a moment ...

... and a sense of humor.

My little snots of liberty. I love 'em!

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Thursday! Thursday! One Less Goat in the Herdday!

2007-11-29T18:25:00.000-08:00

Hi.

So, today we had our first goat fatality.

I say "first" because I'm realistic. These things happen.

Remember the little comment in yesterday's post about the goat in the utility tub and the tapeworm? Yes, well, that's the one.

It was one of the twin goats that I brought home from Massachusets back in ... I think July.

You know, I never had a good feeling about this goat. She just never seemed to keep up with her sibling and waivered between perky and not-so-perky healthwise. But she'd throw in just enough perk to let you think "Well, I guess she'll do fine."

Ah, she was tricky that way.

So, to make a long story short and mercifully less disgusting, I found some sort of worms in her poop about three weeks ago.

Oh... you're reminding me that I said "Less disgusting"? Right. Well, believe me, that was the pleasant version.

Anyway, I followed the worming routine and she went into one of her perky phases. Now it is generally recommended to do a follow up in about 21 days because that will then take care of eggs left behind and whatnot. So this time I decided to use an herbal wormer, you know, less harsh and good for you ... er, good for goats and all that.

This herbal wormer has a lot of garlic in it. (Makes a great seasoning for spaghetti sauce too!) These wormers act as a bit of a laxative to help flush the system.

Remember, this is pleasant.

So things get a bit more ... aqueous, if you will.

Then, on Monday, I noticed a change in the ...uh, flotsam. It looked like pieces of what could be a tapeworm.

Good. This is good. Because it's coming out. And the goat is still eating and is still perky.

Everybody is happy.

Until ...

this morning.

The goat had become decidedly less perky.

She was getting lethargic and no longer showed interest in eating. Not a good sign. I had to leave for work first so it was left up to my hubby to go get Gatorade and try to get some into her. Which he did with some success. Then he got her set up in a nice little area of her own where she could rest and not be bothered by the other goats. After that he had to leave for work.

When I got home she was even more lethargic and things did not look good. I put a call into the vet's answering service and tried more Gatorade. No interest.

I really knew in my heart that she was not going to make it. So I just kind of sat there with her until she died.

Then the vet called.

Funny how things happen like that.

I told her what happened and she said everything points to tapeworm. And! Here's the kicker. The wormer we initially treated her with will kill just about any internal parasite except tapeworms. That's a fine how do you do.

So she told me a different wormer to get and recommended treating all the other goats just as a precaution.

The one thing I have learned in dealing with goats is that internal parasites are the bane of every goat farmer. There are so many different kinds. And! You just can't worm willy nilly because they build up a tolerance to the medicine and it won't work any more. And! The wormer that says kills internal parasites does not, in fact, kill all internal parasites. And it's a cattle wormer anyway but still used on goats but not technically approved for it in the US and blah, blah, blah enough with the freaking worms already!

The vet also did tell me that we were on the right track with what we were doing but, with the first wormer not even making a dent, it probably just got too bad by the time she was given the herbal wormer. And as long as the goat was active and eating, it would be hard to tell that anything was wrong. That was encouraging - at least our instincts were heading us in the right direction.

So.

I called hubby at work to give him the news that "Guess what? You get to bury a goat in the morning."

So, while it sucks and all that, I have to say that I'm not emotionally devastated or anything. I mean I liked her and all, but having the nagging suspicion that she was a little on the frail side to begin with, I didn't really get too attached to her. But it still sucks.

And along with the we-really-didn't-want-her-to-die-because-we-liked-her kind of sucking, there is the whole part that it also represents a lost investment as well. Not just what we paid for her (she actually was a cheap goat - the yellow CLEARANCE sticker should have served as a warning), but the lost income from fiber and off-spring. While it completely lacks emotion, that part of it sucks as well - especially when you are trying to get a fledgling farm up and running. Not many people get that part of it.

That's the news from the Farmfront.

On the bright side, we did manage to get the leaking roof patched and Project Insulate The Back Part Of The Attic is back on track. So that's good news.

***

Now, I think I am actually supposed to post something specific toady. Oh yes - question from my sister. Let me check on that.

Ok, here we go.

Question: If you had to change places with each of your kids for a day, what do you think would be the most fun and most challenging parts of being them?

Hoo boy. This is a tough one. You know, even though I don't feel old (usually) or think of myself as old, it really is hard to remember what it was like at that time of life. Or, picture myself at that time of life in today's world.

Both sonnyboy and daughterchild are kind of on the cusp of a new part of life. Sonnyboy will be finished with his college program in one more year and on the brink of the brave new world. And daughterchild is in her last year of high shcool and currently in the process of trying to choose the next phase of her education.

What exciting - and yet scary - places to be in life. I think that would be the hardest part for me - trying to choose my path. Because, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm a bit of a meanderer. For me, to try to look into the future and think "This is where I am definitely headed" is not easy. It never has been.

I completely admire those people who, in high school, knew exactly what they wanted to do with their lives and planned accordingly. Imagine having everything mapped out - knowing exactly where you are headed and what you need to do to get there. How ... organized!

But I also feel a bit sorry for them. I'm not sure why. I guess I have this romantic notion of life as being a perpetual reel of "On the Road" with Charles Kuralt. That is probably a job I could do and love. I am such a sucker for the wonderful thing thats waits just around the next bend. Probably to a fault.

So those points in life where I have to make a "big decision" that will affect things for the foreseeable future always rankle me a bit. And it's not a matter of change, it's a matter of choice. I'm more of a jumper-in type than a let's-sit-down-and-analyze-the-crap-out-of-this-so-we-are-sure-we-are-making-the-right-decision type.

College? Sure! Which one? GAAAAHHHHHH!

One of the other hard things, I think, would be not wanting to bring friends over to our freakishly cold house. That sucks because I'm an adult and I still don't want to bring people into my freakishly cold house. But I have the benefit of being married to my best friend so, he's stuck here with me.

And this is why Project Insulate The Back Part Of The Attic is so important - so my kids can inch a bit closer to a normal social life. It's not about the warm, baby, it's about the par-tay!

Ok, that's a wrap for today.

Oh, one more item regarding the goat.

We are planning a private service for family only. If friends so desire, memorial tributes may be made to Project Insulate The Back Part Of The Attic, a charity near and dear to Lilly's heart. No flowers please. Unless it's bales of timothy or alfalfa.

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Wednesday! Wednesday! Find A Home For Our Dead Feathered Friendsday!

2007-11-28T18:52:00.000-08:00

So.

About the little owl that I recently acquired.

I did a bit of research and I am pretty sure that it is a Saw-whet owl.

Looky here...

Isn't that just about the cutest little raptor you ever did see?

Now, that's not the actual owl. Mine is more ... frosty.

And!

Notice what a nice accessory it is for a Christmas trees.

Well, I am sad to say that I am not going to be able to keep the owl after all.

After giving it some thought I figured I should heed the warnings in the comments and check into this a bit more. So, I called the Game Commission and found out that, unless I am an educator or the representative of a museum, I would not be able to obtain the proper permit to keep a carcass that I found along the side of the road. And, just because I have a lot of old things in my house - like knob and tube wiring - it doesn't necessarily qualify as a museum.

I get the jist of why and all that but, really, I think if you're lucky enough to find a dead owl you should be able to get it mounted for your Christmas tree.

But! Because I am a law abiding citizen (and because taxidermy is not a hobby I can afford to divert my time into right now), I am giving the owl to a teacher friend of mine. I emailed her today when I got off the phone with the Commission and she called me back right away. Apparently it was her planning period.

Anyway, I told her about how I came to be in possession of wildlife contraband and asked if she would be interested in it. She was, as I expected, pretty excited about it.

I asked her if she wanted to stop by on her way home from school but she had a whole lot of errands to run and figured she'd be too tired to stop. Then I asked her if she had a freezer at school and she told me that she has one in her classroom. So I said I would just send it in with my daughter.

Here's how that conversation went...

Me: Do you have much time between when you get to school and when you have to get to homeroom?
Daughter: Well, I usually pick up my friend so not really. Why?
Me: Well, can you call your friend and see if maybe you could leave a little earlier tomorrow? I was wondering if you could take a dead owl in for Mrs. W. and give it to her before homeroom.
Daughter: Ok, just remind me in the morning.

That's it.

I'm not sure if I should worry that my asking my daughter to deliver a dead owl doesn't even raise an eyebrow. It seems as though my children have become completely immune to the bizarre.

For instance, if one of them would have come home at about 2 o'clock this afternoon, they would have found a goat in the utility tub of our laundry room. (Don't ask - it's a long story and it involves tapeworms.)

These are the kinds of things they are subjected to on a daily basis.

So ... I don't know. Hopefully it will help them deal with the big ol' world.

***

Now! For my Best Of _____ Award!

I am going to give two.

First.

Best Teacher Award goes to my friend, Roseann, who has so graciously agreed to give my little owl a loving home. She is also going to name it after my husband.

While discussing the owl, she offered to name it after me. Or hubby. I asked her if there was an easy way to tell you know, gender-wise, what it should be named. She said it's pretty diffucult and got into the whole description as to why.

Then I suggested that since I found him dead along the side of the road, one might conjecture that it was a bit of a reckless owl.

So hubby's name it is.

And I'm hoping that maybe some year he can come "visit" our Christmas tree.

Second.

The Best Big Sister A Gal Could Ever Want Award goes to ...

My big sister. Because she is the coolest. She's smart and witty and one heck of a writer. She's a great mom. She's got a kick-butt sense of humor and one of the few people who will go into hysterics with me just by letting those balloon-animal balloons go flying around a room. She can finish my sentences and vice versa, even though we don't get to see each other very often.

She is the best!

So read her blog! Clean her house! Buy her Frangelico!

Give it up for ma sistuh'!

Woot! Woot! Hoot!

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Tuesday! Tuesday! Read the Post From Yesterday!

2007-11-27T20:50:00.001-08:00

Ok, so I just now, at 11:50 Tuesday evening, finished the post for Monday.

It's a long story that involved Computer Bubonic Plague.

So, today you get the second half of yesterday.

Go there. Read it.

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo, Perrier and Computer Bubonic Plague.

Monday! Monday! Some Randomandomandomandom Funday!

2007-11-26T12:21:00.000-08:00

Hi.

It's raining (again) and cold. Lots of mud. Lots and lots of mud, mud, mud.

Today is the first day of the hunting season where you can shoot a deer with a rifle. You can use the rifle to shoot the deer. Not shoot the deer that has a rifle. Because they generally don't carry them.

Anyway, I did not go hunting today. Rather, I chose to try to get some stuff done around the house. Which, more or less, is what happened. Lots of little odds and ends.

I have recently decided to take on a new project. I am going to put insulation on the attic floor over the two back bedrooms of our house.

These are two rooms that really don't get used at all. They are just total dead storage. When we first bought the house, I made a concerted effot to fix one of the rooms up as a play room for the chillernts. I painted it, got a cute border of cats wearing cowboy hats, and I bought a nice big carpet remnant and had a carpet place put an edge around it.

***
Crap. I have to stop and do a virus scan on my computer. Hopefully I will be back to finish this later tonight.

***

... crawling back from the tech-trenches ...

I hate viruses. I hate the people that make viruses.

However, I love the folks at Technibble.com as well as the folks at Geekstogo.com because they? Rule. They are all about the free help for computer buffoons like myself.

So the Very Bad Virus has gone away.

The End.

Remind me to add those sites to my sidebar. Props to my geekstas!

*****

Boy, talk about your random posts.

So ... where was I?

Oh yeah, the insulation project.

So anyway, the not oft used toy room is now going to be my daughter's art room. Because I ask you, what can be more inspiring to a young painter than cats in cowboy hats? Hmm?

But, as with everything, there is the pre-project kick-off that involves ... well, usually a lot.

In this case the going out and purchasing insulation part is probably going to be the easiest. Along with the purchasing of the materials, this pre-project kick-off also involves some minor things like patching two 5 foot long leaky areas in the roof - pish! - and removing and replacing the knob-and-tube wiring that currently sort of services the lights (yes, only lights - no outlets in these rooms, baby) while threatening to burn the whole shebang down with the push of a switch. Because the swithches? Are the old push button ones.

Let's see ... is there anything I missed? Oh yeah, picking the ceiling up off of the floor of the once-toy-room-soon-to-be-art-room and replacing that.

And...

there's something else...

Oh. Yes.

Getting rid of the dead bird. Which I think somehow entered through the used-to-be ceiling but I'm not quite sure of that.

*****

And now for something not so completely different.

*****

So, this past weekend I was showing a home to a young professional, his wife and their lovely children

They were looking at a modest house in a not-so-modest price range (yay for big commissions!). While walking through the house, we talked all about some plans they have going on and some plans they would like to have going on.

They have big plans.

I mean really big plans.

Big bankroll type plans.

We chatted back and forth and, as we were wrapping things up, I happened to glance down at the wife's hand.

Other than the Hope Diamond, this was probably the biggest I've ever seen in my life. And, just talking to the people, you know it's not a fake. The rock on her finger probably cost more than all my goats. And my house. Together. Based on that potential dowry, my daughter better get reeeaaaaal inspired by those cats.

Of course I didn't let on that I was mentally calculating just how many goats equal a bazillion karat diamond. I continued on with our pleasant conversation and avoided looking at the hand again - as if it were the Monkey's Paw.

But still, I couldn't help but think ... What would these people think of me if they knew I had a dead owl in the trunk of my car?

Because I did.

This little treasure was something that I had picked up off the road after showing a house earlier that day. Oddly enough, it wasn't far from the end of my drive-way.

I made a quick stop at home after showing properties to my first client and, as I was pulling out of the drive-way, I noticed a furry little lump on the side of the road. At first I thought it was a grouse but after giving it some thought, decided it wasn't. Curiosity got the better of me and I whipped the car around at the next possible spot.

As I approached the little lump, I pulled off to the side, grateful that there were no cars coming in either direction to witness my checking out the road kill.

I walked up to it and, imagine my surprise when I discovered it was a perfect little owl. It must have gotten bopped on the head by a car or something during the night. It wasn't all mangled and it was frozen.

So, I went back to my car to get a pair of leather gloves I keep for occasions such as this, and retrieved my owl. I took him back to the car, respectfully placed him on a sheet in the trunk, slammed the lid and sped away.

The whole rest of the day, this owl occupied my mind. Like the Tell-tale Owl. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

"Doesn't this home have a lovely view?"

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

"And this is the master suite with full bath..."

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

"The lot size ... GAH! STOP THAT HOOTING ALREADY!!!!!"

Ok, so I didn't actually freak out in front of the clients. Because I am a professional and I don't do things like that.

Anyway, when I made it back home after my long work-a-day, I got a gallon sized freezer bag, put the owl in it, and put it in the freezer. Between the green beans and the pierogies.

I went into the kitchen to deposit my other things and my hubby entered the room.

Me: Guess what?

Hubby: What ... now?

Me: I know what you can get me for Christmas.

Hubby: Oh really? What is that?

Me: Come here.

... walk to freezer ...

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

... open door ...

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

... grab bag from freezer ...

Me: "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear open the bag! -- here, here! -- it is the hooting of his hideous owl!"

Actually what I really said was, "I want you to get this taxidermied for me."

Hubby: What is it?

Me: A little owl! Isn't it cute!

So, hopefully by next year, I will have an owl to put on my Christmas tree.

Um ...

I understand that this could very well be the post that cements my weirdness and leads some of you to vow never to read my blog again.

Be that as it may, I have an owl!

Hoot!

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Sunday! Sunday! Havin' Some Family Funday!

2007-11-25T15:57:00.000-08:00

So, again.

No advice-seeking questions.

Well, it's great to know the world is on track because, frankly, I need a break.

So, tonight. FINALLY! We are going to have a fire in the living room fireplace and sit around and eat bowls of ice cream.

We have been trying to do this for forty years and it just seems like something or other always gets in the way.

But not tonight! NO!

So, dear readers, I will leave you with ... um, I will find some kind of music quick. Hold on ...

Ok, here we go. This song pretty much occupies my head ALL. THE. TIME.

I give you The Be Good Tanyas with Scattered Leaves.

Enjoy. You have no other choice.

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Saturday! Saturyday! Sisterly Smackdownsmatterday!

2007-11-24T11:52:00.001-08:00

Hi.

Don't get excited.

I am just throwing a quick post up to get my NaBloPoMo credits.

I will be back later with the actual post but, there is a good chance that it might be past the magic hour since guess who's going to see Ween tonight?

That would be me.

I really thought my husband was going to take one of the brothers but ... well, no.

So, in case I don't make it back in time, rest assured that I will post a picture to avenge my pride so mortally wounded in last week's smackdown. Let's just say the ol' kitchen table wasn't the only bountiful thing at mom's house this Thanksgiving.

MuuuuuAaaaaaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa!

In the mean time, enjoy some Ween.

*******UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!*******

Ok, so I'm back.

Ween was a very fun time. I'm glad I got to go.

And! They played Voodoo Lady and The Mollusk!

Woot!

Ok. Back to the business at hand.

I see my sister has pulled out all the stops for the end of the Smackdown.

As will I.

It was so hard to choose this time. What would be a proper culmination of
The Ugly Sister Saturday Smackdown?

Well, a chronology of sorts would seem to fit the bill for this.

So,to start off, since you already have shared in one of my religious sacrements, you may as well get to share in another.

First Communion

Who is that person to the left? I don't know. Not Amy. Definitely not Amy.

And next we have a little photo of us on vacation.

I would probably be about nine in that photo. Similar time period as the photobooth pictures on my sister's blog.

Next we move on to the night of my little league dinner. Look at the sisterly love!

It looks as though I still have the same plastic frame glasses as the last picture. And if they aren't the same as those, perhaps they are the same ones I am wearing in this photo.

My big sister's graduation day.

Oh my. The hair, the hair, the hair.

Had enough yet? No?

Good.

Because I wouldn't want you to miss coming along to the airport when we bid my big sister Au revoir and send her off to Europe.

And that, my friends, is a wrap. But, like my sister said, rather than scaring you away from talking to us anymore, these photos should serve as proof that even the ... oddest ... among us can turn out ok. Yes, there is hope. For you, and you, and, yes, even you.

And here is one last photo to prove it.

Or ... not.

Thank you! Thank you! And thank you sister for a fun little exercise and an easy Saturday topic during this most grueling of months.

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Friday! Friday! I'm Very Full of Pumpkin Pieday!

2007-11-23T17:50:00.000-08:00

Good evening. I trust you all had a splendid holdiay.

Me? Oh mine was just fine, thank you. Dinner was deeelish. Then we relaxed and watched a bunch of episodes of this ... I guess new show called "The Big Bang".

If you haven't seen it, it's actually pretty funny. It's the first sit-com I've seen in a long time that had some interesting humor. It mentions things like String Theory and Quantum Mechanics and our friend, Archimedes. The jist is that there are these two extremely intelligent lads - physicists - that share an apartment. The other lead characters are their two equally geeky and intelligent pals and the bomb-shell next door who also happens to be the unrequitd love interest of one of the lead geeks.

In all actuality, it is the first show I've seen in a long time period. Because, you know, the whole not having TV and all that.

But, I really enjoyed this one. I think because it really hits home for me. What with being married into the family that I am and all that.

Here's a for instance. Today I came home from work and I was about to get changed so I could go feed the animals. I heard someone clomping around downstairs and thought it might be hubby home from Black Friday shopping. (True! I sent him out to buy two of the down comfoters that were on sale for super cheap. Alas, no deal. They were all sold out.) I leaned over the upstairs banister and hollered "Haloo..?" The responding "Hello" told me that it was not, in fact, my hubby but one of his many brothers.

So I went downstairs to chat with him a bit and learned that he was having problems with some piping on his well pump and stopped by to see if we might have a piece of 1 1/2" black plastic pipe. Because, you never know. We just might and probably do.

See how easily I explained that to you?

That's not how easily it was explained to me. I got the version with the pressure this and whatever valve that and, I'm sorry, but I'm really not a plumber and understanding all of this but I'm pretty sure I know what black plastic pipe looks like and I might be able to help you even though I don't really understand.

I'd be good at Lowes.

"No, I have no idea what you use it for but it's in aisle 14."

Or...

"I don't know if this is going to solve your problem but it seems to fit the description you gave me."

I'm good at things like that. But, really, my wonderful brother in-law, God love him, talks to me while forgetting that he is not talking to a fellow engineer or one of his brothers. Which is redundant.

On one hand, it's kind of flattering. I am seen as an intellectual equal fully able to comprehend this plumbing-pressure-with-a-leak-twist dilemma. Or whatever other item is the project/problem du jour with the guys in this family.

On the other hand ...

I think they would just talk to anyone like that. Because that's how their minds work. The whole lot of them. They've got those "crazy brains".

Here's another for instance. The whole family - all eight siblings and their assorted spouses and children - got together this summer to take Mother and Father out to dinner for their anniversary. I was coming to the restaurant drectly from work and I arrived just before dinner actually started. As a result of my fashionably (perpetually) late arrival, the only chair available happened to be at the kid table. Which was fine by me because I didn't get to see my nieces and nephew in a while. All through dinner there was quite an animated conversation going on at the adult table. I couldn't really catch what was being discussed but it was being debated enthusiastically.

When dinner was wrapping up and we started to wander back and forth between tables, I worked my way over to the adult table. Upon arriving, I was immediately summoned for my opinion. "A. says that the design of a race car is such that the air flow over the body makes it actually stick to the road..." The ending tone implying What do you make of that nonsense?

To which I replied what any sensible person who made it through high school physics would, "Um...I thought that was gravity."

A round of hearty chuckles at my obviously flip humor.

"No ..." says A. "They would stick to the road even if they were driving upsidedown."

They all look at me again, awaiting my decision of which intellectual camp I would ally my mind with.

"Are we talking Hot Wheels? Because they can go upsidedown in the loop. And they stick to the track. But I don't think it has anything to do with the design of the Hot Wheels per se..."

Silence. And then ...

Another hearty round of chuckles and, hey, more wine!

So, you see, this show speaks to me.

Now, I am supposed to pick a Geek of the Week. And I am happy to report that, again, no one has bothered me much this week. So, I am going to deviate from the usual plan and pick an actual Geek of the Week - with geek being the more traditional definition. And, not only am I going to pick one Geek of the Week, I am going to pick several.

Drum roll please ...

Geek(s) of the Week is/are ...

My hubby and his bros.

Although, I have to admit, I almost bought a t-shirt this week that said "There are 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary and those who don't."

AaaaaaaaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa!

It kills me every time!

So I guess we're made for each other.

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Thursday! Thursday! Eats Those Roasted Birdsday!

2007-11-22T09:31:00.000-08:00

Today is a day that I answer a question from my sister. Let me find one.

Here we go. This is a kind of easy one, which I picked on purpose because I don't have too much time to write and I don't know if I will get back to the computer tonight.

Question: What are all the rock/pop concerts you've seen?

I don't know if I can actually do this chronologically or not, but I'll try.

Here we go.

Soon.

I promise.

...

No, really.

Sigh.

Ok , I guess you can sense that I am stalling. It's true. I am stalling because I hesitate to type the first one.

...

Sigh.

Ok, let's be brave about this.

All (or most) of the Rock/Pop Concerts I Have Seen

1. Night Ranger

Thaaaaat's right. My first concert was Night Ranger.

Alright! Let's stop right here and I will try to explain. I was home sick from school - in 7th grade! - and they had a contest on the radio and I was whatever number caller I needed to be so I won the tickets. It was free and that's all I'm going to say about that.

Moving right along.

2. The Stray Cats
3. The Grateful Dead - several times.
4. Bob Dylan
5. Lou Reed - um, sort of
6. Neil Young
7. David Bowie
8. Sade
9. The Violent Femmes
10. Three really hard core bands in Boston of which I can't remember any names. I think because they probably never really got big. And it was a long time ago.
11. The Ink Spots
12. Bon Jovi with Skid Row opeing

Um. I think I need to do some more explaining. About 3 weeks after my son was born, a friend called and asked if I wanted to go to a concert. I jumped at the chance. I didn't care who it was - obviously - I just needed to go have fun for a night. It was the first time I squoze myself into regular jeans in months.

And it was actually ok.

13. The Monkeys - don't ask
14. The Spice Girls - I am a good mother
15. Brittany Spears - I am a good mother

Actually, again, I have to say that even though these gals aren't the ones I would pick to throw in the ol' cd player, I had fun at the concerts.

16. Patty Griffin
17. The Dead - I took my mom. This is when she learned what pot smells like. Hee.

And then there are the festivals. I can't even think of how many different groups/performers I saw at festivals. When you are camped out at a place for several days that has music going on at 4 different places almost on a 24 hour basis, well, it gets to be a bit much to remember.

But, some of the names are Donna the Buffalo, Jim Lauderdale, Old Crow Medicine Show, Snake Oil Medicine Show, Ricki Lee Jones, Peter Rowan, Jerry Douglas, Dr. Ralph Stanley (and co.), Tony Rice, Jennie Stearns (I heart her), Richie Stearns, Mary Lorsen and Saint Low, The Waifs, The Hix, Occulus, Abigail Washburn, The Hackensaw Boys, Frog Holler, The Horse Flies, The Flying Clouds, The Sim Redmond Band, Paso Fino, Del McCoury, Dry Branch Fire Squad ... um ... I'm running out. There are so many others that I can't remember. Forgive me other bands, I can't help it.

There might be a few other "big names" as well, but... oh well.

So there it is. My musical experience.

Now.

For a little bit of a holiday thing.

I just want to jot down a some things I am thankful for. By all means, this list is not all inclusive. Just a few things ...

My husband and children. There is nothing I can put into words that can even begin to cover it. I love you all.

My family. Immediate and extended, including my in-laws. I come from good people and married into good people. They are the collective bomb.

My friends. I have to say that, when it comes to friends, I must have stepped in a whole lot of poop because I am the luckiest dawg. Friends, you all rock!

My relatively good health.

My farm. Love, hate, love, hate, love!

Our animals. They keep me steady.

My co-workers. Even though we are an eclectic bunch, it works. Like a disfunctional family.

Garlic.

... and last but not least ...

Music.

You all know how I am with that. Why just today, as I was starting to make a squash casserole, a song came on that just stopped me in my tracks. I had to put everything down and just sit an listen to it.

This might be a possible reason why I don't always get things done quickly.

I have a problem.

Hi, my name is Anne. I like music. A lot.

Ok, I have to actually get back to the squash as I think it is done cooking and ready for the next phase of the recipe.

Let's casseroll!

Oh, and one more person I saw.

I'll leave you with this.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Wednesday! Wednesday! Give An Award To My Friendsday!

2007-11-21T18:54:00.000-08:00

So!

As you all know, Wednesday is award day here at Almost Quintessence and Halushki.

I would like to start off today's ceremony by giving the Most Righteous Woman This Side of the Vulcan Award to my friend Kathy.

This past Sunday I received a call from her while I was grocery shopping at Giant in Hazleton. She was on her way to get some spring water ...

Um. Ok, I think I might have to explain something.

Here in the coal region you will often find people pulled over on the side of the road filling up plastic jugs with water flowing from natural springs. They are all over the place. Two of the more popular springs I know of are in impossible spots on the road - the one being along the stretch of RT 61 between Frackville and Saint Clair (also known as the Schuylkill County Autobahn where you are taking your life in your hands by stopping along the side to fill jugs), and the second on a hairpin turn along RT 339 coming down the mountain into Brandonville (also probably not the best place to sort of pull your car off the road to fill jugs). These springs are almost always flowing unless there is a super severe drought. People who live "in town" and people who live in areas where there are known septic issues and, consequently, known well issues are the ones who frequent theses spots.

I grew up on the RT 61 spring water, thankyouverymuch.

Back to our shceduled post.

... and she called me to a.) tell me she had a big roll of plastic in her car that she was going to drop off at my house, and b.) it is snowing a whole lot and the roads are getting bad and you might want to get your crazy self home from Hazleton.

Kathy lives in a big old school house with big old windows so she has a unique appreciation for the value of large rolls of plastic. She is my kind of woman. She knows what turns me on.

I think I might have mentioned before my total failure at girlyness. I really stink at it. Really. Here's a not-so-ironic factoid for you. When I was in 6th grade, I was in a sort of regional spelling bee. I came in second place. The word that tripped me up? Femenine. I mean, feminine.

So, if you tell me you have a big roll of plastic, you are my hero. If you tell me you have a multi fuel outdoor furnace and all the piping and heat exchangers to make an old farm house feel as toasty as a mother's womb, I am yours. If you tell me you have an F350 Dually 4x4 diesel dump truck with a plow, ... well ... this is a family blog so I'll just have to stop here.

By the way, if you do have the F350 Dually 4x4 diesel dump truck with plow, look me up on AOL - my screen name is HotLuv2onRearDumpxxxx. I'd loooooove to get to know you(r truck).

Ahem.

I can't wait to see the search hits after this post.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah.

So, when I came home, sure enough there was a nice big roll of plastic in front of my garage, and I have been busying myself with it ever since. Although, I am now wondering if, rather than making all these plastic window inserts, it might just be easier to wrap myself in the plastic. I admit it sounds a bit selfish, leaving my hubby and children kind of literally out in the cold. But! Desperate times and all that rot.

In conclusion, for seeing a need and filling that need with plastic, I award my friend Kathy with this most prestigious award. I don't even know if she reads this blog so Kenny, Amy, if you see her before I get to talk to her, give her the good news.

And now for my second award.

The Most Helpful at the Home Improvement Store award goes to Pete at Lowe's.

This past week I had to get yet another roll of fence for the evil ... I mean, my charming 4 legged, two horned spawns of Sat... I mean, ... the goats. I went to Lowes and bought the last roll of 4 foot woven wire fence because, why not? We bought pretty much every other roll they stocked this year. So, that and 10 (more) steel posts. All of this amounted to Very Heavy.

I had the load on one of those kooky carts they have where the middle wheels are on the ground but you can only have the wheels from either one end or the other on the ground at a time. So you can never just roll it. You kind of have to rock-and-roll it. I guess it's for leverage (Remember, Archimedes is your friend!) or something. ROCK AND ROLL! AT LOWES! YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAH!

So, I paid for the stuff (first at the store in cash, later with my soul and sanity) and wheel-bump-wheel-bumpity-bumped it out into the parking lot. I had our Subaru station wagon which we pretty much use to transport everything but coal, and that's probably not too far off as well. (Hi! Dump truck!) I was wheel-bump-wheel-bumpity-bumping the cart through the lot and, as I came up to my car, I noticed one of the Lowe's people gathering carts from one of the parking lot depots. I glanced at him and, even though I believe in my heart he tried not to make eye contact, it was too late. He looked at me and saw me. And I saw him see me. And he saw me see him see me. It was a veritable see saw. The tension mounted.

But. Being the independent woman I am, I looked away and thought "Meh, I can load this into the car. I've done it before."

So I wheel-bump-wheel-bumpity-bumped the cart next to my car and opened the back hatch. As I was clearing a space for my purchase, I caught site of the Lowes dude in my peripheral vision. Approaching. Me.

I pretended not to notice.

I clambered out of the car and there he was. Pete.

"Um. Do you want some help with this?" he politely asked.

"YES! YES! Oh, God, YES!" I might have also grabbed him by his red vest lapels and shaken him until his teeth rattled, I can't quite remember.

After we had everything loaded into the car, I turned to him and with all sincerity said, "Pete, today you are my hero."

And he said, "Well, at least I get to be somebody's hero..."

And we lived happily ever after. At least, I'm hoping for the best for Pete.

So, Pete, if you're out there reading this, YOU ROCK! AT LOWES! YEEEEEAAAAAAHAAAAHHHAAAAAHHHHAAAAAA! GUITAR!

This post was brought you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Tuesday! Tuesday! I Have A Bunch Of Wet Shoesday!

2007-11-20T18:18:00.000-08:00

The wet shoes referenced in the title would be from trying to do a whole bunch of outside chores today while the drizzle melted the snow from Sunday/Monday.

This is a challenging time of year on the farm. These are the Mud Days. Everything is just ... mud. The hardest part about this time of year is that it is so diffucult to keep the animals comfortable. Everything is just soaked.

I made an attempt to build up the bedding in the horses' stall with some woodchips. The problem is that the pile of woodchips isn't exactly right near the stall. And with the ground being as muddy as it was, it was impossible to move a wheelbarrow through it.

Here's a little math problem - with two parts.

a) How many Tidy Cat buckets of woodchips does it take to make a 4 inch deep bed in a 12 x 15 horse stall where x = the melting rate of 10 inches of snow and y = the precipitation rate of rain?
b) How many bottles of wine will it take to get the job done?

The answer to both a and b is: a lot. I was going to email this little math problem off to my daughter's calculus teacher but ... I'm not sure what he would think.

So anyway, wet shoes.

Aside from dealing with the wetness, today was a pretty productive day. I was home all day and I managed to get some little projects done - installing a dog door for the beagles, putting plastic over a screen door, fixing a screen and getting it ready for plasic, cutting son's hair.

That's it?

Well, it felt more productive. The thing with the plastic is this - we have a lot of windows. When I say a lot I mean A. Lot. Like if I told you, you wouldn't even believe me.

80.

It's 80 windows.

I crap you not.

Remember that picture of the house from the snow day? That particular room alone has 26. Fortunately, that's more of a 3 season type room that we don't heat so I'm not too worried about that. But, that still leaves a whole boat load of windows. Some have aluminum storm windows with screens and that is all well and good.

But some don't

Some have the old wood storm windows and some just have the old wood frames with screen. The latter group is the one I am currently trying to address with the plastic. I have no idea how many there are. I just kind of take it one window at a time. A friend of mine who is also living in a big ol' drafty house gave me a huge roll of plastic. It's awesome! I can't express just how wonderful it is.

So, plastic on windows. Yay for heat retention!

But back to the business at hand which would be "The Ugly Sisters Remember When".

We didn't really plan a specific topic for today but I thoght what with this being Thanksgiving week and all, maybe something along those lines would be good.

So ... Thanksgiving.

When I was growing up, my parents were pretty much always the ones to host Thanksgiving. My dad's dad was there - because he lived with us - and usually my mom's parents and sometimes aunts, uncles and cousins.

When there were a lot of people there, we were one of those families that had a kid table and a grown-up table. The kid table was the round oak table in our kitchen and the adults got to eat in the actual dining room. It was always kind of fun sitting at the kid table. We were always silly and laughing and, once in a while, boisterous enough to get a warning from one of the adults.

I can still picture my mom making dinner. She always wore one of those full aprons while she bustled around the kitchen. Turkey, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, butter beans, salad, cranberry sauce, gravy, kielbasy (smoked and fresh!), string beans, stuffing (oh heart's delight!) and several types of pies.

My dad was always in charge of the mashed potatoes. I'm not sure how he ever came to be the Potato Engineer but, once they were ready, it was his job to mash them. Which he did with a hand masher and his tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of his mouth. When they reached fluffy perfection, he would pile them in a serving bowl and then embellish the heap with pats of butter.

My dad's other job was to carve the turkey - a job he took very seriously. He would come to the table with the big carving knife and one of those knife sharpeners that looked like a sword. He would take his place at the head of the table and start the Thanksgiving pageantry, criss-crossing the knife over the sharpener, elaborate arm swooping motions, until it was just right. Whatever that was. Who knew? Then he would poke the two prong fork into the turkey and begin to carve while we all waited anxiously. When he was done, we would all pile our plates, say grace and dig in.

After dinner, the adults would clean up and retire to the living room for beers, wine, sometimes a shot of something, and coffee for the ladies. Except my grandmother - she would have a beer or shot. Or both. Rest her soul.

The kids would go outside and play. Probably tag or some make believe game. In a little while we would come back in and have dessert.

I know there are people out there that dread holiday get-togethers - something I can't even imagine. My holiday memories are nothing but wonderful and happy. I don't remember anyone ever fighting or arguing - just a lot of eating, talking and laughing. As the years went on, the number or guests dwindled until it was just my parents, grandmother my and my sister's families.

And now it is just my mom.

Who very graciously agreed to cook the 24 pound turkey I got from Giant.

Because, hey, free turkey! Plus her house is warmer.

So this year, my hubby, kids and I will have Thanksgiving dinner with my mom. And so it goes.

I don't really think about Thanksgiving Past very often so I'm glad I wrote this post. It gave me a chance to look back, almost like I was standing outside and looking in the dining room windows of my parents' house. I see a room full of people, sitting around a bountiful table, enjoying each other's company. I can hear the animated conversations and laugher. As I step back into the evening, the lights glow warmly and I can still catch the sound of an extra hearty laugh.

I step a little further back still and, even though I can no longer hear the people inside, the cheerful lights spill into the yard.

Snow flurries start to fall and I start to float up into the sky. Down below I can see the houses of our neighbors, where they are also sitting down to their holdiay meals.

Floating a higher still I can see over my whole home town and the twinkling lights of all the little houses. A beautiful peace alights on the earth, and I think to myself...

"Holy Crap! I'm flying!"

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Monday! Monday! Pretty Much Like Sunday!

2007-11-19T23:54:00.000-08:00

So, Monday. That random, crazy Monday day.

I have nothing.

No. Thing.

I am spent. Written out.

Drained.

And it's late.

I had to go to work today. And, what? Nothing. The internet was out.

Did you know it is impossible to conduct real estate business now a days without the internet?

It is.

Or ... mostly is.

Today work day consisted of sending two faxes.

That's it.

I couldn't even check email. Of course. Because that would be one of those internet necessary things.

So.

I am going to bed now.

Sorry about the nothingness of this post.

I'll do better tomorrow.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Sunday! Sunday! No One Sent Us A Questionday!

2007-11-18T18:11:00.000-08:00

Thaaaat's right.

Here we are, ready, willing and able to doll out good, sound advice and what?
No one can be bothered to ask.

Not a one.

Well, fine.

You know what that means, don't you? Now I get to ramble.

Iiiiiiii'm a ramblin'. Ramble, amble, amble, amble, abmlin'.

Ok, so after my sister's post yesterday I bet you thought I'd never come back to the internet. Well, here I am. Because, well, I don't know ... I guess because I just don't learn.

So anyway...

Guess what happened to me today! Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words so I'll just go ahead and babble for a little bit...

That's my eye.

Or ... what could have been what's left of my eye.

Yes, another tragic farming accident. Farming is ranked in the top 10 for Most Dangerous Jobs, don'cha know. And well deserved is that place.

You know, just this morning, I was getting ready to go out and start feeding the animals and I happened to glance down at my leg while I was putting my pants on. Black and blue. Everywhere. I had no less than 8 black an blue marks on one half of one leg. Eight! Where do they come from? Darned if I know. It would seem that I am always battering myself about.

A little while ago, hubby suggested in a very concerned voice that I might want to get all this black and bluedness checked out by a doctor. I think he was worried about what people might think when, say, I am walking about in a short sleeved top and look like I was just beaten in a back alley. So, when I had my regular tune up with the doctor, I had him check into it. As it turns out, I have Chronic Clumsy. I just happen to be one of those people that ... bruise. Like a fine, ripe apple I am.

So anyway, I was feeding the animals this morning and I had to lean way in under the roof part of the one feeder to put the grain in for this certain pack of evil goats. I leaned down and started to pour the grain into the trough and they all started swarming like they usually do.

Let me tell you, piranhas have nothing on goats when it comes to feeding frenzies.

Well, the long and short of it is that one of the goats stuck me in the eyeball with the tip of her horn.

In my eye.

A goat horn.

In my eye.

"OW!" said I. Because it hurt like a mother.

So now I am going to be forced to get some crazy make up to match my other eye to this one and spike my hair for work tomorrow because I am the warrior. Shootin' at the walls of heartache.

Bang. Bang.

I can't believe I got gored in the eye.

You know, with getting my eye almost taken out, slogging around doing farmwork, freezing my patootie off every winter, one might ask "Crazy Woman, why do you do this?"

Because, really, some days it is just a big ol' pain in the butt. As well as a pain in many other places.

Like today it happens to be a pain in the eye.

But, whatever the case, I could most indeedily lead a much easier life than this. So why, then, don't I?

I am going to blame Robert Frost.

Robert Frost is probably my most favorite poet. (Ok, him and Billy Collins.) I would guess that among some literary circles, saying Robert Frost is your favorite poet would be akin to saying McDonald's is your favorite restaurant. I mean, he's the guy that shows up in the fourth grade reader, introducing the masses to Poetry. He is like the grilled cheese sandwich of poetry - unassuming, comforting and familiar. Everyone knows Robert Frost.

But I love Robert Frost.

I love his talk of apples and stone walls and snow and bowed birches and cords of maple and yellow woods. I love all the beautiful, sad and nostalgic things they are.

And I have since the fourth grade. Since "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening".

And this is why I lug bales of hay ...

... and carry water buckets ...

... and shovel poop ...

... and wear three layers of clothes inside ...

... and shear goats ...

... and put up miles and miles of fence ...

... and black and blue myself ...

... and all the other stuff that seems so hard some days.

So I can go outside on a day like today and stop by my snowy woods.

For all the difficulty, challenge, sacrifices and everything else ... in the end it's worth it.

So, a day that started out with my eyeball almost getting run through on a goat horn turned out not so bad after all.

Dust of Snow
by: Robert Frost

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

This post was brought you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Saturday! Saturday! Wore My Scooby-doo Hatterday!

2007-11-17T19:28:00.000-08:00

So.

Here it is once again.

The Saturday Sisterly Smackdown!

For today's photo, I reached waaaaaaay back into the Ugly Sisters' past. Waaaay back to a special holiday. Waaaaay back to the time of polyester blazers.

I bring you...

Easter.

1984.

Dig those photogray glasses.

Yeah.

By the way, it was about 2 degrees. Typical Pennsylvania Easter.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Friday! Friday! I Could Just Pluck Out My Eyeday!

2007-11-16T20:11:00.000-08:00

Ok, this is going to be very short.

Geek of the Week?

It's a tie between...

My Computer!

Because it keeps freezing up and I can't get anything done.

And...

My Head!

Because it won't stop hurting.

Computer and Head? You both suck.

I am going to quick post this now while I still can.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Thursday! Thursday! My Sister Got Her Post Up Firstday!

2007-11-15T20:39:00.000-08:00

I'm running out of rhymey titles. It's hard to begin with but when you have to come up with something new every week, well...

So, anyway, I am going to quick post this bit here so I can technically have a post up but I am going to then actually finish the post and repost it so I will post what I am suppost (hee) to be posting.

That's more posts than a dressage event.

*************

I'm back.

Ok, so as you all know by now, Thursday is where I answer a question from my sister and vice versa.

Let's see what we've got in the line of sisterly questions...

Question: If you were queen for a day, what three laws would you enact (worldwide or local).

Oh, how often have I lolled away the hours dreaming up the answer to this question. I'm talking answers that are years in the making here. And yet, this is going to be hard. Mainly because my Queenly Precepts are pages long and it's going to be hard to pick just three.

Not that I have it actually written out.

Because I wouldn't really do that.

Really.

...

Anyway...

Queenly Precept #1: NO LITTERING! DAMMIT!

And I mean it, too. I HATE HATE HATE litter. Every spring (except for this year, unfortunately) I spend a whole day walking along the road that runs through our property picking up litter. It is so disgusting. I mean come. On. People. The world is not your garbage can. Not your ashtray. Not your compost pile. Not your whatever else people put garbage in.

The other day I heard a bit on public radio about trash and the terrible awful amounts of it that we conspicuously consuming Americans churn out in a day. And, living in the state that is the number one importer of trash (how's that for a claim to fame?) I take umbrage to the carelessness of the natives who have to treat the whole damn place like a landfill.

Umbrage. I don't think I have actually used that word since vocabulary class in school. I don't even know from where I pulled it. Umbrage. It's a good word ... I think I'll keep it.

One of the items mentioned in the broadcast was a challenge someone made to carry around with your bad self all the trash you personally produced in a week. Instead of pitching it in a garbage can, you had to put it in a bag and carry it with you. I think you were allowed to recycle but you had to make the effort to do it at the moment you were done with the item. You couldn't, say, put a glass bottle in your bag and then later, when you "remembered", throw it in a recycling bin. No, if you would originally put it in the garabage, you had to carry it with you for the week.

I think this is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. So, that would be a sub-law of the NO LITTERING! DAMMIT! Law. Everyone would have to carry their trash for that day.

The very day after hearing the NPR story, I was at work listening to two of my co-workers lamenting the fact that the office was out of plastic cups again for the water cooler. "I just brought in two packs of 50 cups!" says one. "I don't know how we go through them so fast!" says the other.

People, we don't have a lot of folks working at my office. There is no reason we should be going through plastic cups so fast. As a matter of fact, we shouldn't be going through any plastic cups because we have regular cups. And a kitchen. With a sink. Where they can be washed.

So, I listened to these two ladies go back and forth about the rapid use of the disposable plastic cups, while my inner Jiminy Cricket with the voice of an NPR correspondant whispered in my ear about "all that garbage", and it was all I could do not to scream at them to "Just use the damn cups in the kitchen and wash them!!!!"

Because they just don't get it. They don't even want to get it. Because getting it would involve effort. And, when it comes to office relations, you have to be discriminating about which hill you want to run around and rave like a lunatic on while the enemy rolls their eyes and whispers under their breath "Oh, brother. Here she goes again."

If any of you are experienced at deep sea fishing now would be a good time to try to start reeling me in. Because I will take this topic and break the surface like a glimmering Blue Marlin, dive back under, surface again another 150 feet out, flip flop like a cesium atom and break the line.

Stop. Now. Ok.

So, garbage = bad.

Let it go.

Ok, I just had to scroll back up to see what question I was trying to answer.

Queenly Precept #2: EVERYONE MUST COMPLETE 5 RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS BY THE END OF THE DAY

And it can't be carrying someone else's garbage for them.

And it can't be for someone you know.

Like, if a stranger wanted to come insulate my house, that would be awesome.

Although, they don't have to be such grand acts. You know, like a stranger suddenly coming up to me and giving me flowers. That's Impulse.

Do you remember those commercials? Now it would be "That's Creepy" or "That's a Good Reason to Run Away Fast". As for me, I'd be glad to get the flowers even if they did come from a crazy impulsive stranger. Because I'm not proud.

As long as he was hot.

Ahem.

What's the question again?

Oh. Right.

Queenly Precept #3: NO TELEVISION, TELEPHONE, RADIO OR COMPUTER

Although I have to make the exception for computers that run things. You know, like power plants and hospital stuff.

So here's my thinking on this. One day isn't going to kill anyone. Maybe we could take the time and play a game or visit a neighbor or walk the dog or write a letter or paint a picture. Maybe we could all hold hands and dance in a circle and sing a song about what a good queen I was for the day.

Maybe we would just notice each other and the world around us a little bit more.

Is it any wonder people think I'm a freak?

No, it is not.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

And the Envelope Please...

2007-11-14T17:19:00.000-08:00

So, it's Best of Wednesday.

Time to recognize those people that make my life on this planet a little easier. Something you could all shoot for.

I have to make this post a quickie today because I have a LOT of homey type stuff that I desperately need to catch up on. Like laundry, grocery shopping, paying bills. (If you don't see a post here tomorrow it might be a good indication that I didn't get around to paying the internet people.)

So, without further ado...

Best Movie Reiviews goes to... drum roll please ...

my Brudder-In-Law's Blog. I know, my sister just gave him this award last week. But! He really deserves it.

An example of my movie review would be like this:

Two nights ago I watched Live Free or Die. Last night I watched Cash Back. I liked Cash Back better because the lead character's voice was more soothing than the lead in Live Free or Die. So much so, that I was able to fall fast asleep within the first 15 minutes whereas it took at least 30 minutes with LFoD. Also, Cash Back was funnier because my hubby's laughing woke me up more often.

See? Not quite as good or technically involved. So, Best Movie Reviews goes to him.

Now for another award.

Best Thing of Chocolatey Goodness goes to the Club Sandwich by Costa Foods. It is ooooohhhhhhh so delicious. I could probably eat a whole box in one day. Ok, I just checked - 24 in a box - I could definitely do that. I don't know if you can get these outside the coal region other than internet ordering. But it is sooooooo worth it. Treat yourself to a box for Christmas. Let me know how it goes.

One more award.

Best Wife Award goes to me.

Really?! Little ol' moi? Oh! I'm so surprized! No, really ... oh my Gosh!

- Wipes tear away while accepting bouquet of roses and crown. -

Oh! I always wanted this award! Thank you! Thank you!

So, how did I manage this you might ask? By getting my dear hubby two tickets for the Ween concert in Phila. this Nov. 20somethingIforget. He doesn't know it yet. Let's see how long it takes him to read my blog and find out.

This blog was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

A Little Tuesday Trip Down Memory Lane

2007-11-13T17:52:00.000-08:00

First, I must apologize for the crybaby post yesterday.

It's probably a good thing that Blogger self-edited my post to about one third the original size because the rest of it was just a big whiny rant. The kind I would have re-read today and thought "Oh, just shut up already."

So, anyway, I think my sister caught the not so subtle hint that I was dangling on the rocky cliffs of despair because she sent me a very nice email assuring me that the rescue chopper was on the way and here's a topic that shouldn't require a whole lot of effort.

See how she is all cool like that? That's what I'm talkin' about.

But, today is a newish day and I'm in a little bit of a better mental place, so I am going to attack this post with some gutso! And even gusto!

Question: What was the name of your favorite doll?

Anne.

I didn't have a whole lot of dolls as a little girl but I do remember this one doll that one of my dad's friends gave to me at Christmas when I was about 6 or 7. She was about 10 inches or so and she had blonde hair in a kind of boy-ish cut. She actually looked like me. So I named her Anne. She had a white dress with little flowers on it and she really kind of looked out of her element in it. She always seemed like she would be more comfortable in corduroys and a sweat shirt. Like me.

I always felt a little bit bad for her because, here she was ... a doll ... and she wasn't at all like the other dolls, all frilly and pretty. She was very plain. And I think that's why I liked her so much.

I didn't carry her all around like some girls do with dolls. I took her some places with me but, for the most part, she was a pretty independent doll. We had an understanding, Anne and I. We were content to just let each other be.

I'm pretty sure she's still around somewhere.

Question: Is there a Christmas present, Hanukkah present, or a birthday present that sticks out in your mind? Who gave it to you? Was it a surprise, or something you'd been wanting and wanting?

As a child, one of the things that I wanted most of all, and persistently badgered Santa about, was a burro.

Yes, a burro.

Not a burrito.

A burro.

Like one of these...

In the days leading up to Christmas I would sometimes visit Santa at the mall. I would sit upon his lap and gaze into his face with my suppliant eyes and make my plea: "I would like a burro."

Santa never quite knew what to say.

Poor Santa.

My poor parents.

How many years they were persecuted for their unfortunate decision to live in town! "You can't keep a burro in town!" And they would get it on the other side from my sister - "You can't keep a horse in town!" "We hate living in town!" The horror we poor children had to suffer! Living in toooooowwwwwnnn!

Again, my poor parents.

So, one Christmas Santa mangaged to find - and I still to this day can't imagine where he found it - a stuffed burro.

This burro - Grizzy - went to Christmas Mass that morning. And pretty much everywhere else I went. For years. In fact, Grizzy moved with me to my first house and, again to the house I live in now.

Although, I have outgrown the habit of carrying him around. I don't take him to work.

Most days.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Monday - The Most Randomest Day...of the Week!

2007-11-12T17:28:00.000-08:00

So, here it is...8:28 Monday evening.

It's cold and raining in my little neck of the woods.

It feels cold and rainy. It would have been a nice day to stay home and bake stuff. I like to bake on these kinds of days. These days are best spent with good music in floating through air warm and heavy with baking things.

But, I didn't spend the day like that. I had to go to work. Sometimes - most times - my job really interferes with my life.

*************

I have to get myself to Giant and pick up my free turkey. Just what I'm going to do with that turkey I don't know. Stick it in the freezer I suppose. I guess this year I should be thankful for freezer space. I always have visions of a nice dinner at home with my family but it just never works out.

*************

I just tried to post quite a longer post but, for some reason,the last 2/3 of it wasn't saved and so, now I have lost the ... whatever it is that makes me want to do this.

Besides, winter is coming and I have a lot to do.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Sunday! Sunday! Sisterly Advice So Fun Day!

2007-11-11T16:53:00.000-08:00

Wecome, dear readers!

I trust you all had a grand laugh at the Ugly Sister Smackdown yesterday? The material is just too rich! No chocolate sauce needed.

Anyway, back to the business at hand which is guiding the misdirectable. Or misdirecting the gullible.

Let's see what we have today...

Should you ever Google search people you used to know after getting a mild anxiety attack after writing a blog post? And if you do, and feel slowly but surely a big L popping out on your forehead when you find them, what should you do? Moreover, if your own sister is funny and even started a blog but keeps forgetting to write in it, what do you do? start your own Wyrd Sisters competition?

Dear Wyrd Sister,

Ah...the old Post Traumatic Google Search Post Mild Anxiety Attack Post Blog Post Syndrom, more commonly known as PTGSPMAAPBP. It is referred to as the "Syndrom that is sweeping the nation" in the latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine and, luckily for you, the article was written by yours truly. So, you have indeed, come to the right place.

We are going to have to approach this like learning to dance to Cajun music and take it one step at a time. Although, unlike Cajun dancing, there are more than just two steps.

Let's first look at the post blogging anxiety attack. I've never had an anxiety attack so I'm going to have to be a bit imaginative here. I am going to assume for the sake of Pete that the anxiety attack was somehow related to the blog post in question. Perhaps you were posting some supersecret information...like...um...your...your, um...your 14 year old fantasy about Scott Baio, with all the cheesey parts. ACK! Enough to give anyone a panic attack! Here are some questions to keep in mind before clicking on that shiny orange "Publish Post" button.

1 - Will this post possibly cause irreparable damage to my reputation/marriage/family/career/brain/etc.?

2 - Will this post cause irreparable damage to someone else's reputation/marriage/family/careet/brain/etc.?

3 - How much money do I stand to make if I do/don't publish this?

4 - On a scale of 1 - 10, how entertaining would the average Joe find this post?

5 - Am I using my blog as a confessional? If so, did I make sure to include all the bad parts?

6 - What would my mom think if she read this post?

7 - More importantly, what would the Ugly Sisters' mom think if she read this post?

Once you have looked deep inside yourself and answered those questions - with a heartfelt and honest answer - once you can say "Oh my God, yes!" or "It can never be!", once you are sure - Sure! - of each and every potential outcome of this post, once you have slowly and deliberately analyzed the crap out of it... yell "Bombs away!" and click on the orange button. Because if your gonna write it, you may as well put it out there damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead. Then drink a big bottle of wine to calm your nerves.

Now, about the Googling part. You should always Google people you used to know right after you have blogged something potentially volatile and drinking a bottle of wine. Always.

The best first place to start is with old boy friends, but first, get another bottle or three of wine to sip on. As you slowly but surely feel the capital L creeping out on your forehead, drink some wine. Nothing dulls an L like a lot of wine.

Then look for guys that you wanted to be your boyfriend. After that you can move on to those people that were always so awesome and popular and you envied so much. Google them. Then Google the guys that you would probably still consider having as a boyfriend if you weren't all growed up and married.

After about the third bottle of wine, you will be ready for step three: try to find phone numbers or email addresses of these people. And when you do? Give them a call! Send them and email! They would probably LOVE to hear from you!

I do this All. The. Time. And I can't tell you how surprized people are to hear from me! They are always like "Who?" and "Why are you calling me?"

Oh, it's boat loads of fun.

The next morning when the wine fog starts to lift and the memories of the previous night come Cajun dancing back into your brain, the anxiety causing blog post will suddenly seem not all that big a deal anymore.

Now, about your sister, by all means use whatever tactics you have at your disposal to get her writing. Maybe you might want to pick themed topics ala the Ugly Sisters' example. Maybe work her into it slowly, say, picking a theme for a week - one post a week. That doesn't seem like too much.

If that doesn't work, guilt and embarrassment are mighty tools as well.

And that, folks, is a wrap.

Good luck, and good luck. Now go get 'em!

Love,

Ugly Sister 2

NEXT!

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Saturday Smackdown!

2007-11-10T20:14:00.000-08:00

Mm.

This probably isn't the best effort.

I had every intention of finding a REALLY GOOD PHOTO at my mom's house this week but, with being practially dying and everything...

Well, anyway...

this photo is brought to you from the Longwood Gardens Christmas Extraveganza! About 1997 or so.

Next week I vow to do better!!!!

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Friday! Friday! Geek of the Week Day!

2007-11-09T18:24:00.000-08:00

Ain't it just a pickle when you are supposed to pick someone to give a verbal spanking to and you can't come up with anyone?

That's a good thing, yes?

I mean, ok there are all the monsters in the national news and all but I have to admit that I haven't been keeping tabs on them this week. I honestly have to say...I wasn't paying attention.

Not much.

Not enough, anyway.

No one is sticking out.

So, for lack of an obvious choice, I will have to go with the default Geek of the Week...

George W. Bush.

No, I'm kidding. I don't want to pick him just because he's easy fodder.

This is terrible. But good. You know, this means that nobody has managed to ruffle my feathers.

Although, now that I just typed that, I have decided that I will pick for this week's geek, Killer - our terrible, rotten rooster.

Because he chases me daily to and from my car. And he's a sneaky bastard, too. He won't actually start to chase me until I am pretty far on my way down the sidewalk -having already nervously glanced over my shoulder several times, thus falling into the false sense of security that he is somewhere else. When, in fact, he is hiding behind a bush or a plastic pumpkin or something, biding his time until the perfect moment to strike.

Usually, if I hear him in time, I can turn around and stop him in his tracks by staring him down and continuously yelling "Knock it off!" or "Not today!" And then he'll stop...until I start walking again and then he'll begin the chase again. Until I stop. And yell at him.

The other day, however, I was in too much of a hurry to play his little game and I just jogged right to my car without stopping...or even looking. I got in the driver's side and, shortly after I closed the door, I heard a "Womp!" on the side of the car. He ATTACKED MY CAR. A CAR. This rooster weighs all of about 6 pounds and he attacked a freaking Toyota Camry.

He is so notorious that my mother carries a stick in her car to beat him off when she comes to visit. Nothing says "Idyllic farm" like a psychotic rooster.

Maybe it's just a desperate cry for attention.

Well, he got it. He's Geek of the Week.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Thursday! Thursday! Question From My Sistersday!

2007-11-08T17:07:00.000-08:00

Hello, dear readers.

Welcome back.

Have a sit down.

Have a cupa.

Have some Airborne.

Things are gonna be ooooooookay.

So, how was your day? Mine? Oh, it was alright. It's the first day I've felt human since The Illness set in. I actually made it to work today - which is niether cause for celebration or mourning but, at the same time, both. You know how it is.

And how it is right now is a bit strange. I am sitting here at my computer desk, my fingers tap-tap-tapping away like so many little Jack Frostcicles, and I look as though I am about to give birth to a 12 pound gray cat. Because our 12 pound gray cat? Has climbed INTO my shirt. From the bottom. So he's on my lap, in my shirt.

And quite warm, too. So I'll let him stay. For now.

Back on task!

So, if you all remember, Thursday is when I get to answer a question(s) from my sister. Since I didn't really even make a dent in the list she sent last week, I am going to steal another one from there. Here we go...

Question: If you could tell your 13 year-old self anything, what would it be?

Wow. What a question. Most of you know me long enough to also know the 13 year old me but, for those of you who don't, Welcome to the Dollhouse might be a good jumping off point.

Let's see what magic we can work with this...

Dear 13 Year Old Me,

I know it must be strange getting a letter from yourself from the future. I just want you to know up front that I am going to do my best not to make any big revelations about our life because I don't want to take the excitement out of it for you. Us. I mainly want to point out a few things that might be nice to know along the way.

Regarding your sister. Hang in there for a little while longer. In a short while you won't have the challenge of cohabitation to deal with and a whole new sisterly world is going to open up to you. Your relationship will be ramped up to a new level, better than ever before. Most of what you argue about is petty nonsense. You are on the brink of forming deep, strong bonds - the beginnings of which you experienced when chasing down Brian K. from Spencer St. and giving him the Double-Crosby Whallop for having the lack of sense for messing with one of the sisters.
Make the most of the last days you will all be together under one roof as The Crosby family because, once your sister leaves for college, those days are gone forever.

Your mom and dad are two of the finest people you will ever have the privilege of knowing. You will never know all the sacrifices they made for you but one day you will begin to understand. Be patient with them, because as much as you don't want to believe it, they aren't always right. They are always guided by love but they are only human. Take time to learn about the people they are, the people they were, the people they want to be. Take time, take time.
You are about to run headlong into Life and they are scared and excited for you - probably mostly scared. They want you to be happy and safe and won't realize that sometimes the two are, in fact, mutually exclusive. Don't misinterpret their fear.

Talk to them. Tell them you love them - they really want to hear it.

Ditto all of that for your extended family as well. These "crazy old folks" are going to be a lot more interesting as you get older so try to spend some time and pay attention to what they have to say. This is your heritage. All of that wacky screwball power has been honed and funnelled into the person that is you. Learn about it and use it wisely.

You are pretty smart about your friends. Trust your judgement - it will rarely mislead you. But try to pay more attention to the ones cast off by society - even by you. You never know if a kind word or a smile will make a difference in someone's life. The world can be a cruel and ugly place - don't contribute to that. A lot of times, people are just looking for someone to listen. Look for them - you never know if you are the last person they will reach out to. It doesn't hurt to be kind. Take time, take time.

The things that seem important to you now will be small potatoes in the future and that will hold true for every single stage of your life. But you are smart and resourceful and you will manage.

You have an exciting and wonderful life in store. You will be terrified, thrilled, elated, miserable, stressed, depressed, anxious, exhausted, challenged, victorious, defeated, and so many other things, over and over again. But that is what life is all about! Enjoy every bit of it!

You will be surrounded by people who love you and you, in turn, will love them more than you ever thought possible.

The most important thing to remember is that you are the master of your own life. Your success lies in your hands. There is nothing to stop you from achieving whatever it is that you want - you just have to decide what that is.

There will come a day when you don't have to wear plastic frame glasses.

And just because we share a twisted sense of humor, one of the following things will come to pass by the time you are 37:
- You will have a job in a foreign country.
- You will win the lottery in a big way.
- You will have a farm.
- You will hold a relatively high political office.

Good luck figuring that one out. Pretty exciting, whatever the case.

Finally, I just want to tell you that are a good kid. A little kooky but that's ok. Everyone is a little kooky in their own way. Stick by what you believe. I like who you are and, even though there's always room for improvement, I think you'll be pretty happy with who we become.

I'll let you know if I hear from the 61 year old us.

Love,
The Older You

That was a bit harder than I expected. It was hard not to put spoilers in the letter. Like, at 13, being the...less...ok, fine... least experienced when it came to boys, it would probably be nice to hear that in the future it all pans out and we get to be married to a wonderful, wacky, loving, crazy, HOTTIE! and we are absolutely mad about each other. Because it would make the next 4 year so much more bearable. But, alas! What fun would that be?

So, there you have it. Yet another post.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Day Six - One day late; Day Seven - Back on Schedule

2007-11-07T08:44:00.000-08:00

I AM A FAILURE!

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Ok. I'm over it.

I totally missed yesterday. Totally. The last time I made it out of bed was around 11am - yesterday - for a quick trip in the interest of...well, we don't need to get into it.

Then, I remember my sister calling, I think around 4 or 5. I remember talking about Thanksgiving, Jordan crackers and what question to write about on the blog later. Because I was sure - SURE! - that I would be able to write a post later on. No problem!

12 hours later I woke up again and realized I blew it. So I went back to sleep. What's a girl to do?

So I am going to try to address both yesterday's and today's topics in this post. Because I'm not too delusional.

I already read my sister's post about her bedroom and it brought back all kinds of warm fuzzy feelings about being warm and fuzzy. Which, I think, is probably what my life is lacking right now - feelings of warmth and fuzz. Because, you know, they just don't make footie one-piece pajamas with a snap at the collar for adults. And if they did, I think the world would be a whole lot better place than it is now a days. I mean, how can you scuff scuffle to you bathroom in the morning, look at your self in the mirror in your fuzzy pj's and think "I will cut my competitor DOWN today! No holds barred!" You would be much more inclined, I think, to play fair and nice.

I'm sorry...am I digressing? No, really, because it's probably going to happen a lot. I just can't get over the crazy head things a fever can do you. I mean, if they could bottle it, they would make a killing on the streets.

Here's a little for instance...today I rolled myself out of bed and thought, "Hey, I'm feeling pretty good. I'll surprize hubby and feed the animals so he doesn't have to do it and then I'll get ready for work."

Yeah.

Well it went alright for a bit - up until the part where I put the leads on the horses and walked them up the hill to the little temporary pasture we have set up in the back field. I had to take two breaks on my way up the hill. By the time I was at the top of the hill, I had that...you know the opening scene of "The Sound of Music" where Maria is twirling about on a hilltop while the helicopter with the camera flies all around? Remember? Ok, so I had that effect but I wasn't in a helicopter. Or musical. But everything was spinning. And I could hear Julie Andrews singing. I managed to get the horses into the fence and then took an apparent mandatory nap on the ground.

Suffice to say, I didn't make it into work today.

So, yeah, fuzzy pajamas. I'm there.

Good luck following me today, folks.

So, in the interest of writing about a topic that I can keep straight in my head, I will tackle my childhood bedroom.

There are two words to describe my bedroom. The first would be "pink".

It's somewhat odd that I would have ended up with a pink bedroom because I don't think you could find much less of a girly-type daughter than I was. The room used to be my grandmother's so it might have been a hold over from her. Every once in a while it griped me that I had to suffer through child hood with this insufferable pink on the walls of my bedroom but, really, it wasn't that bad. Although it was that bad. The shade of pink was like...like...Hot Island Mambo. I'm sorry...I can't do any better than that. The last time I had cause to read the shade of a pink was probably on the bottom of a tube of lipstick. Which, thankfully, I had sense enough not to buy.

I think there was a pink-ish type rug too. And the shade on the ceiling light was pink.

The second word to describe my bedroom would also be "pink".

I remember that I had wanted a canopy bed for the longest time. Finally, my parents broke down and granted my wish - which they pretty much did with everything but the horse, pony and burro. When I had mentioned "canopy bed", I kind of had in mind the type that Ebeneezer Scrooge took shelter in when the various Christmas ghosts came to visit. You know, squarish, dark, lots of big, heavy curtains for hiding. From what? I don't know. Kid things. Monsters, liver, etc. The bed that arrived was a charming double (so I could fit my sister) in maple with a full set of pink sheets, shams, bedcover, canopy and curtains.

Oh well.

The other thing about my room was that the closet door never stayed shut. Probably because the zombies inside were always trying to get out. After a while it didn't bother me but it did always bother a certain cousin of mine. And we always shamelessly exploited that bother.

Even for all the pink, there was nothing like my childhood bedroom. I remember once, after smashing my head on a coffee table...not many good memory stories probably start out that way...laying in my bed, surrounded in pink, and Dr. Hale COMING TO OUR HOUSE AT NIGHT in his houndstooth coat, with his black doctor bag and smelling like alcohol, rubbing alcohol, and I guess recommending stitches. But, oddly enough, it's not a bad memory. I think because of my room. I bet if I had been at Dr. Hale's office, in the Sea Foam room, it would have been scads worse.

Can I have some more Ny-Quil now?

No?

Another question?

Oh...ok.

Wednesday Best Of.

I'm feeling generous today so I might just give out two awards.

The first is for Best Portrayal of an Asthmatic in a Movie

The award goes to the asthmatic criminal guy in The Lookout. Which I have only made it through 38 minutes of so far. But! I grant this award based on the asthmatic character not being the typical fat, dorky bubblehead that is always trailing around after the other criminals, puffing on his inhaler.

It's about time.

Now, this award may be a bit premature based on the fact that I am currently only 38 minutes into the movie, but I've seen enough of the typical Hollywood asthmatics to say "Here ya go, The Lookout! You earned it!"

My second best of is for Best Meat Type Thing to Eat That Isn't A Regular Hunk of Meat.

That would go to Kowalonek's Kielbasy Shop in Shenandoah, PA for their hot kielbasy sticks. Mmm, mmm, good. And a little spicey too. You go git you some now!

Scrambled Eggs - A Love Story

2007-11-05T15:09:00.000-08:00

No. Not really.

So...Monday. This is supposed to be random thoughts and whathaveyou. Which, oddly enough, is going to be a bit diffucult for me. My thoughts are verily Un-random today as I am having trouble focusing on anything but the 50,000 p.s.i. head full of snot that I have right now.

Thaaaaat's right. I'm sick.

Sick, sick, sick.

Pressure head. Fever. Chills. Aches. Coughing. Congestion.

And it was all of a sudden like. I was walking out to feed the animals yesterday and it was like someone jumped out from behind the bushes and whacked me with the Snot Stick.

Have I mentioned snot enough yet?

Snot, snot, snot.

How about now?

That snot enough?

A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

He! He...he..h..h..h..

Cough, cough, cough.

Ok, I'll move along.

So...let's see...random. Random, random, random...

Here's something random for you!

A hugerific box appeared on my porch the other day. I mean big. Not refrigerator big but definitely bigger-than-a-breadbox big. It showed up the morning I was on my way out the door to a class so all I had time to do was almost trip over it and then marvel on my way out to the car.

As it turns out, my mother - Miss Randomness, herself - ordered and had delivered to our doorstep a Pilates machine.

I didn't know these things existed.

I heard of Pilates before but I thought it was more of a solo kind of venture - woman (or man) against gravity. Like baking bread the old-fashioned way.

Here, it turns out, there is a whole other dimension to this Pilates business and not unlike baking bread, they have now come up with a machine to make it much easier for today's homemaker. I didn't take it out of the box yet but I am hoping I can just put my body in the machine, turn it on for a little while and, Voila'! I'm a well toned, delicious loaf of bread. Whole wheat bread because I'm going to be all kinds of healthy too.

And I hope the machine is warm.

Because as it turns out, I have only been able to drag it into the sun room and glance in on it every so often, checking to see if the Pilates Elves came to put it together yet. It's been just waaaaaay to cold in the evening to tackle that project.

So, yeah, Pilates machine.

*****

What else?

My daughter is working on a project for her language class in which she has to make a classic-type comic of Oedipus Rex. She has decided to use stuffed animals to portray the going's on, digitally photograph them, and then work them into a comic in some computer program or other that I guess we have.

We were discussing it a bit over dinner and kicking around some ideas on other ways to do it. One was using photos of big-hair band guys from the 80's. The other was to use photos of the Bush family. Another was Barbie.

*****

Saturday I am picking up six chickens which are coming fome some farm in the Long Island area. They are heritage breed chickens - old and kind of rare. I found them on a website for rare and endangered breeds. As it turns out, the people that raise these chickens have another farm in the Berks County area of PA and are going to be in the area this weekend. They graciously offered to meet me in the parking lot of Cabela's - a big outdoor sports store that, even though I haven't been there yet, gives me the Shrine to Conspicuous Consumption heebie-jeebies - where we will make the "exchange".

"Hey, Lady. Wanna buy a chicken?"

So, that seems to fit the random category.

*****

Does the size of one's eyeballs fluctuate with the severity of a fever? I think mine do.

*****

How 'bout a picture?

I took it at the mall when I went to pick up my contact lenses. I actually had a different photo that I wanted to post but, in my sickened delirium, I loaded it onto the computer at work and then erased it from my camera.

I'm so stupid.

*****

If I have a fever and a cold, and I am supposed to starve one and feed the other, am I at risk of Bulimia?

Actually, I think the old adage is: If you're sick, drink Boilo.

Which I shall do momentarily.

But before I go, I would like to wish you all a Happy Guy Fawkes Day and, for God's sake, be carefull with those bonfires!

"We've come a cob coaling for bonfire night
Your coal or your money we hope you'll provide.
If you give us nowt we'll steal nowt, farewell and goodbye,
We won't come again till next bonfire time.

Fol a dee fol a die fol a diddle aye die day

Now down in yon cellar there's nobbut but bugs
They've etten me stockings and half o mi clogs.
We'll get a sharp knife and cut their yeads off
And have a good supper of bugs' yeads and broth.

Fol a dee fol a die fol a diddle aye die day.
Up a ladder down a wall, will you give us a cob o coal!"
- The Greenfield, Saddleworth

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Well, If I Were You, I'd...

2007-11-04T20:46:00.000-08:00

It's NaBloPoMo Sunday and you know what that means.

Advice Day - where The Ugly Sisters - wizened oracles that we are - sit upon our cyberspace hill dolling out instructions to the soon-to-be misguided.

I have no idea how many questions ended up in the mailbag, but this is the one my sister sent to me.

dear ugly sisters,
i have two friends whom i believe to be on a bit of a self destructive path. i'm worried they may not be able to live up to all of their personal goals and expectations, and their possible failure may adversely affect their relationship, or some innocent person who doesn't know that this month is not a normal everymonth-month. i hope you can advise me as to how to stop these friends from hurting themselves or someone they may love, before november is over.
signed: concerned in schuylkill county

Hmmm...a conundrum indeed.

Dear Concerned,

I am going on somewhat limited information here, but I will do the best I can.

There seem to be several issues on the table; the self destructive path, personal goals and expectations, and the relationship they have with each other. I will address each one forthwith.

The Self Destructive Path

Oh, that old thing.

Most of us have been on it at one time or another. The funny thing about self destructive paths is that we can easily see when someone else is traipsing along one but seldom notice the “You Are Now Entering Self Destructive Boulevard” sign as we drive under it ourselves.

But what of the whole idea of self destruction to begin with? I think it can be paralleled with the notion of success. Who is to say what success is or isn’t? Who is to say what self destruction is or isn’t? Who is the Holder of The Magic Yardstick of Life? For instance, a career woman might pity the woman who marries young and starts a family. The young mother might look askance at the woman devoting her life to following Phish. She, in turn, might look down on the woman “trapped” by her career. And so on goes the merry-go-round. That’s the beautiful thing about life: we can look at everyone else and think about how badly they are screwing up, and say to ourselves “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

And really, this applies to pretty much any type of self destruction, whether it is mental, physical, financial or whatever. As long as someone’s behavior doesn’t conform to what we think is “the way it should be”, it’s obviously wrong. Each and every one of us is trying to make the big ol’ world fit into the crazy personal baggage we carry around. It doesn’t. At some point you’re going to have to realize that your little Vera Bradley bag just doesn’t have enough organizational pockets to make sense of everything.

So, in conclusion, self destruction – unless it is your own – is nothing you can stop. That’s why it is SELF destruction.

Personal Goals and Expectations

Yes, yes. Personal goals. Expectations.

Here is my take on personal goals and expectations: Hope for the best, but make the best of what happens. Because, really, the ONLY thing we have control over in this life is how we choose to deal with what’s thrown at us.

You can try your damnedest for this or that but, guess what? You may not get it. So now what? What if, just what if I don’t get what I want? Well, I can boo-hoo-hoo like so many “victims” of this cruel world.

Or.

Or I can take what is given to me and deal. And try, try again.

Face it, sometimes life just craps on you. But, ultimately, it’s the only life you’ve got so you can either cry through it, laugh through it, or maybe a little of both.

It is just as hard to watch someone you care about not reach their goals or meet their expectations. But, again, you don’t have much control over it. Not unless you are directly responsible for choosing to give them the First Place ribbon or hire them for the job or whatever. Really, all you can do is give your support when you can, your advice when it might help, and a shoulder to cry on if things don’t work out and they want to cry a little bit. But not too much. Because nobody likes a crybaby.

The Relationship They Have With Each Other

Hoo, boy.

How do you feel about walking into ring with two boxers? Or, probably more appropriately, joining two partners in their high wire act?

With any relationship between two people, you have a pair of folks who have an agreed upon set way – no matter how kooky it may seem to you – of handling the world. It is like an intricate dance involving love, fear, anger, joy, frustration, bewilderment, compromise and quite often, the Fox Trot.

Trying to change the relationship that two people have with each other would be akin to handing the high wire people a Border collie and taking away the net. Maybe, just maybe, they are used to Border collies and will be able to incorporate it into the act, making it even better.

Or perhaps not.

Again, you are on the outside looking in and things aren’t always what they seem. By the same token, you might have a strikingly clear view of what they aren’t even aware is going on. But be careful - a third party may be a wedge that drives them apart or the threat that rallies the troops together.

They make just take that Border collie and teach it to recite poetry in a German accent and slip it into your tent the next time you are camping. And I’m sure we call all agree that that is a pretty scary thing.

So, relationships? Don’t meddle. It rarely ever pays unless, of course, you are a counselor. But make sure you get paid up front.

In conclusion, Concerned, you sound like a lovely, caring person. And I know I’ve been throwing some blunt commentary out there. But I don't want to send you away with nothing. So, this is what I suggest. Just sit your friends down for an honest chat. Tell them what you perceive to be going on and why you are concerned. Ask if there is any way you can help them reach their goals and let them know you will be there for them if they don’t.

For instance, I’ll give you a little hypothetical monologue, pretending The Ugly Sisters are the two friends in question:

“Hi, Ugly Sisters.

You both look awesome today!

The reason I asked you over for a delicious dinner of garlic pasta is because I also wanted to talk to you about something that has me concerned.

You see, I realize you are both making your best effort to post on your blogs every day this month, what with it being NaBloPoMo and everything. I…I’m just worried that you might be putting too much pressure on yourselves. I mean, Ugly Sister 1, you have young children and…oh, let me get you another glass of wine… And Ugly Sister 2, I know how busy your farm keeps you… more grated cheese?

And you are both SUCH talented writers! Every single post shows how much you strive for perfection…

Can I rub your feet?

The thing is…what if you get sick and miss a day? I mean, I’m not trying to push you…it’s really quite the opposite. I want you to know that it’s ok if you don’t post every single day. Scalp massage?

I know you are working together on this project, trying to keep each other going…here’s the fresh bread I made…and, consequently turning it into a bit of…oh, of course, here’s the other bottle of wine…into a bit of competition…

Your shoulders? Sure, I’ll rub your shoulders.

I’m just afraid if one of you misses…oh, your back too? Ok..

I just don’t want to see you hurt if it doesn't work out. You know, if there is anything I can do...

What? More wine? Well, sure I have more wine...but...but that's not what I meant. What I mean is, if there is anything I can do, you know, to help out during November so you can concentrate on your writing...

...um...what?

Goats?

Twice a day?

Oh.

Oh.

...uh...ok"

See? It's simple.

Good luck and good luck. Now go get 'em!

Love,

Ugly Sister 2

NEXT!

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Day Three: Ugly Sister Smackdown

2007-11-03T10:03:00.000-07:00

Sooooo...

do you all remember when my sister did this?

and the subsequent firestorm it set off?

Well, for those of you who enjoy bull fights and Jerry Springer and the like, you will be happy to know that Saturdays during NaBloPoMo will be Ugly Sister Smackdown where we post photos of the two of us from days gone by. The idea is to find the most ridiculous, awful and embarrassing photos - hopefully where the other sister is looking a bit more ridiculous and awful thereby leading to a little more embarrassment on her end - and post them.

For the world to see.

Because that's how sisters love each other.

So, in the spirit of good old fashioned competition, I bring you...

...

...you're gonna love this...

THE KISS ARMY - circa 1978

You keep on saying you'll be mine for a while
You're lookin' fancy and I like your style
You drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy

You know, there is something disarming about Gene Simmons clad in a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. And the stylin' Ace Frehley is sporting a Corvette sweatshirt in case you are wondering. I'm sure my mom still has both of those shirts.

The two gals in the background are our cousins to the second power (our dads are brothers and our moms are sisters). But since this one-upmanship is between me and my sister, we'll just leave Bridget and Linda out of this. No need to have innocent casualties in this war. So pretend they aren't there. Or that I mentioned their names.

Stay tuned tomorrow when The Ugly Sisters give advice to our readers! If you want to get in on the fun, you can email your questions to TheUglySister@yahoo.com.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

I'm On A Roll!

2007-11-02T18:59:00.000-07:00

Two days. Two posts.

Look at me go.

Ok, so I believe that the Friday theme is Geek of the Week.

I was a bit concerned about this one because I was making it through the week relatively unscathed by the rest of the human race.

That is until this afternoon.

I had a class today which wrapped up arount 4pm. I had just enough time to make a very quick stop at the local mall before I had to high tail it home and get ready for senior appreciation night at the football game. Yes, my beautiful, lovely daughter is a senior. And running back.

No, just kidding. She's a baritone. Actually, she's an alto but she plays a baritone in the marcing band. So, onnacounna all her years of dedicated service to the band, we got to walk right down the 50 yard line with her and be at least 10 kinds of proud. We were going to do the Monkeys walk but decided to be grown up about it. AND I got a flower.

The game, unfortunately, was a heartbreaker because we lost. But, on the bright side, at least we scored.

Anyway...

As I was saying, I made a quick stop at the mall with one goal in mind: to find a nice, plain white dress shirt. Fitted. And, hopefully with French Cuffs. Although I was willing to forego the French Cuffs in the interest of just finding a plain fitted shirt.

"Why fitted?" you ask.

Well, here's the problem. I'm a little short in the torso - and everything else, except for sarcasm - so if I wear regular cut women's pants, they ride a little too high. And while I can see the benefit of being able to put one's boobs in one's pants pockets, it's just not the style I am looking for. As a result, I have to buy low rider type pants.

Now if I try to tuck a regular cut dress shirt into these pants, I end up with a bit of a ... puff effect. Not unlike this:

Without the benefit of the air conditioning.

So, fitted.

I got to the mall and made it to the women's department in Anchor Store #1. This is a pretty decent sized store with quite a selection of clothing. Why, they had the white dress shirt with the ruffled front, the pleated front, the empire waist...you name it, they had it. Unless, of course, you name "Plain, fitted dress shirt". Because that? That's a big NO.

Running out of time and options, I made a last ditch effort in the men's department.

Here are two things you need to know about buying a white, fitted dress shirt if you are a man:

1. You will not be allowed to have French Cuffs on a fitted shirt. It's one or the other, baby,

and

2. Men who wear size Small, under no circumstances, are allowed to dress up.

At least those are the two rules I was able to deduce based on the stock available.

So, Fashion Industry, you are my GEEK OF THE WEEK. Because you make it impossible for me to buy a seemingly simple wardrobe staple, you can just hang your collective head in shame.

I curse you. May you all spend eternity in puffy shouldered sweaters purchased at DEB in the 80's. And peg leg jeans. That are acid washed.

Jerks.

Yes.

Two days. Two posts.

Slippin' it in under the wire.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's post: Ugly Sister Smackdown.

Ooh. Ooh, hoo, hoo.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Well, Hello November!

2007-11-01T11:47:00.000-07:00

Aaaaand NaBloPoMo.

So, here it is. The first of thirty.

Thirty in a row, that is.

So, most of you who read this blog also read my sister's blog. In this post you can read where she strong arms me into participating in this post-every-day-of-the-month-or-else thing. Also, you can read where she gives you the run down on how things are going to operate for the month, at least on our two blogs. We're going to have a daily theme, if you will.

Thursday's theme is: Question From My Sister

In anticipation of today's posts, we emailed each other a few questions. Actually, she emailed me quite a few. Like more than the FBI even asked me that one time. But these are much more interesting. Depending on your perspective.

Let me reach into my mailbag and pull one out.

Grrrrrrraaaaaah! (That't the sound of me reaching into my mailbag.)

Question: What, in your opinion, is the best invention of all time? The worst?

Answer: In my opinion, I personally believe, that the best invention ever, is the Iraq. And South Africa. And such as and so forth.

Ok. Really. That joke is just way too old. But I didn't get to blog about it yet so, Miss Teen South Carolina, your 15 minutes of fame live on!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled post.

I really believe that the best invention of all time is, in fact, the wheel.

I know, I know. The wheel is so yesterday, so been-there-invented-that in fact re-invented that several times. But really, think for a minute where you would be without the wheel.Walking, that's where. And still lowering a bucket on a rope into the well.

You sure as heck wouldn't be roller-skating around your modular home while your Kitchen-Aid mixes bread dough. Not without the wheel you wouldn't.

You also wouldn't be snug and warm in your pop-up-camper, deep in the woods of Potter County, turning your hand crank radio so you could listen to The Willis Brothers' rendition of Give Me 40 Acres to Turn This Rig Around*. No, sir. Not without the wheel.

Now, having given The Best Invention Ever Award to Wheel, I want to call attention to another wonderful invention which, I hope, doesn't feel slighted - Lever.

Lever, you are a wonderful invention in your own right and I know, I know, we wouldn't have see-saws or scissors or claw hammers or wheelbarrows - and probably Stonehenge - without you. But, being put in a position of having to choose ONE, I do have to go with Wheel. But, Lever, you get Grand Champion Reserve Invention. And, as my dear hubby says, "Always remember: Archimedes is your friend."

And now for The Worst.

The worst invention ever, without a doubt, is the Epilady Hair Wrenching Appliance.

Seriously.

Ladies, how does this sound? Let your hair grow about a quarter inch or so. Plug in the Epilady Hair Wrench and run the hair wrenching coil over your legs. Scream in pain as each hair is ripped from its follicle. Then move to your more tender lady parts - IF YOU DARE!!!!!

I don't think we need to go any further with that one.

Ok...so how about another queston? Like I said, she sent a bunch.

Grrrrrrrraaaaahhhh!

Question: Let's say that you're trapped on a deserted island with no food. Trapped with you just happen to be a bunch of lovable little creatures. Which do you eat; the bunny rabbit, the tabby cat, the puppy basset hound, or the baby deer that reminds you strikingly of Bambi? Why did you make that heinous choice? (And, ONLY if you eat one of the critters will you be saved. Just deal with the circumstances.)

This is an easy one.

Bambi goes.

Ideally, here is how this would play out.

Bambi gets it first because he would most likely have the most meat and help me hold out the longest.

Next would either be the rabbit or the cat, depending on which one I could catch first. I am hoping the basset hound will help me out with this. The next one would be the other one.

Last would be the basset hound. Partly because I am hoping it would help me catch the other ones, partly because it would probably provide the best companionship and partly because it's too darn cute! How could I eat a basset hound?!!

Look...

Aaaahhhh!!! Too cute!!!! Make it stop!!!!

Nooooo!!!! I can't take it!!!!!!

And not only are they good companions and unbearably cute, they make a lovely wrist corsage as well.

Ok, one more...

Grrrrraaaaahhhh!

Question: If you had $1,000 and had to spend it on yourself, what would you buy?

Easy. A Canon EOS Digital Rebel XTi along with whatever other accessories I could afford. (Um, Hi Santa!)

Ok. So I'm off to a good start. One day, one post. Now be sure to check out Halushki for my sister's answers to a completely different set of questions.

Theme, baby. Theme.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's post where I make my choce for Geek of the Week! Hope it's not you! Or you!

It'll probably by you.

This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

*I forgot to mention that this is my dear hubby's theme song for when I try to drive the riding lawn mower with the yard cart attached. He's very ha, ha, ha, isn't he?

On Your Mark... Get Set...

2007-10-31T06:45:00.000-07:00

Ok, so tomorrow begins NaBloPoMo. Most of you people know what that means. For those of you who don't, it means I (because my sister is making me) am going to attempt to post every day in November.

That's Every. Day.

For a month.

Every.

That's 30 all total.

In a row.

Once a day.

All because of Perrier.

Don't ask.

I think at some point I am supposed to put some kind of thing in my sidebar but I don't know if I remember how to do that. We'll see how that goes.

But anyway...

there's your fair warning.

Here I Come...Kicking and Screaming...

2007-10-11T01:54:00.000-07:00

So, a while back, my sister tagged me for a meme. A while back = September 18.

That's a long time. This post has been on the back burner for so long that the words are stuck to the bottom of the pan and any hint of moisture is long gone.

So, in an effort to drag my butt back to the keyboard, I am going to attempt this meme.

Here are the questions:
Your mission: Give one or more these questions a stab in a post (or series of posts), and then tag three more writers.

1. Go back to first or early post. How would you describe your voice back in those early days? Who were you writing to? What was your sense of audience (if any) back then?

2. Do you remember when you received your first comment? What was it like?

3. Can you point to a stage where you began to feel that your blog might be part of a conversation? Where you might be part of a larger community of interacting writers?

4. Do you think that this sense of audience or community might have affected the way you began to write?

So, without further ado...

Answer #1.
My first post, sadly, seems a whole lot like my more recent posts. I say sadly because I would think that over the course of 2+ years, I would have...progressed?

Ok, I'm kidding. I'm not all that sad about it. What's progress anyway? Pfft. It seemed like - and still does - that my blog posts were/are very much like conversations with myself. I guess that's the nice thing of having the whole world as your audience - it makes it easier to not gear it toward anyone in particular.

Answer #2.
Oddly enough, the first comment I ever received was on a post about whether or not I would know if my blog was being read by anyone. And, the comment was from my dear seestor. I'm not sure how she even found my blog. I can't remember if I told her or if I gave myself away by commenting on her blog. In any event, it seems appropriate seeing as how she was the one who encouraged me to start a blog to begin with.

Aaaaaannnnd I guess things haven't change much there either, have they?

Answer #3.
I would have to say that about 2 months into my blog, I started to see comments from more readers. As a result, I would visit their blogs and comment and sometimes drop by with a pound cake and stuff.

Or...

When I finally learned how to add links to other people's blogs in that side bar thing. Which I really should do more of but I think I forgot how to do it.

Pardon me while I enroll in Remedial Blogger 101.

Answer #4.
I would like to think no. I mean, the whole reason I started this was so I could entertain my desire to ramble in a way that would not get me locked up in a padded room. I suppose sometimes I might tweak things one way or another but, when I read over my posts, they happily read as though I were having a conversation with a friend.

Except for curse words. Because I know my daughter reads this. And she doesn't know that sometimes I say damn and hell.

So, there it is. I am going to do an open tagging on this. If this is something you think would be cool to address, then by all means, do it.

10 Signs You Have Neglected Your Blog for Too Long

2007-08-16T17:52:00.001-07:00

1. You forget you log-in information. Um...password?

2. When you are at a party and a friend/reader of your blog asks when you are going to write another post you say "Hey, how about we debate religion or politics? Doesn't that sound like fun?"

3. You can't remember the "Home Keys" on the keyboard.

4. When you type the word "keyboard" your first thoughts are of Middle C.

5. When you roll your mouse to wake up your monitor, a moth flies out.

6. Your internet provider calls you to ask if you just want to go ahead and cancel the service.

7. You forget what room the computer is in.

8. You forget if you even have a computer.

9. What's a computer anyway?

and

10. The post that you were going to write about your husband and daughter having to stick a long tube down the throat of one of the goats and then squeeze her like a big bagpipe just seems so old-news. Why bother at this point.

So there. That's what summer has done to my blog. But here are some quick titles for the posts I would have written, had I been keeping up.

-My Son's First Ride Home in a Police Car (the day before he became an Eagle Scout)
-Girl Power! My Temp Job Filling Dump Trucks. With tires bigger than me.
-Two More Goats. One Looooooong Ride Home in the Station Wagon
-Attack of the Zucchini
-Revenge of the Zucchini
-Son of Zucchini: Yellow Squash
-Little Cabin in the Woods. With mosquitos.
-The Graduation Party
-The Roofing Job (that never happened)

Well, that about sapped me for now.

Be back soon.

Heh, heh, heh.

Blue Saturday

2007-06-16T16:33:00.000-07:00

Last night my dear daughter went to a viewing for a classmate who was killed in a car accident.

He was 18.

He would have been a senior this fall.

His obituary mentions that he worked for an auto shop and an ice cream shop and that he liked listening to music.

He was 18.

He was driving too fast.

He wasn't wearing his seatbelt.

He was on his way home from working at the ice cream shop.

He was just 18.

Today, I looked out at the beautiful sunny day on my way home from work and thought "What are his parents doing now? Now that he is burried and everyone else has gone home? What do you do then?"

He was only 18.

Goodbye, Earth Shoes...

2007-05-23T12:38:00.000-07:00

...parting is such stinky sorrow.

Right.

So.

I know I have been kind of MIA for a bit. It's just been a bit crazy, what with sonny boy graduating, a second job, a bunch of animals, etc., etc., etc.

However, I am taking a quick break from the madness that is my life to relate an odd little event.

Of course odd. You know, it sometimes seems that there is no other kind.

So I was getting changed from my "professional" work clothes into my "amateur/non-profit farmer" work clothes the other day. I sat down and grabbed my pair of Earth Shoes hiking sneakers.

I bought this particular pair of sneakers about a year ago at the Goodwill. It was a really great buy - $4 and hardly any miles at all. Sweet deal. Unfortunately, the toe of one of the sneakers was promptly chewed off by a mischievous beagle who shall remain nameless. But it did not daunt my enthusiasm for my new footwear - I just figured I wouldn't wear them on rainy days.

Anyway, I sat down and pulled one sneaker on, tied it and grabbed the other sneaker. I started to put my foot in and felt something in the toe of the shoe (this was not the shoe with the chewed out toe, otherwise I might have been spared).

"Hmmm..." I thought to myself, "I guess I stuffed some socks in here the last time I wore these." Which I have been known to do.

I reached my hand into the sneaker and felt...not socks. Definitely not socks. It felt...silky.

I lifted the sneaker up and peered into it and saw...fur.

"GAH!!!" I ran into the bathroom and threw the shoe out the window.

I peered out to where it fell - 2 stories below into the tall grass - and waited to see what, hopefully, would crawl out and scamper away.

Nothing.

Drat.

I washed my hands, got new socks and a different pair of sneakers, regained my composure and walked out into the yard. Cautiously, I approached the jilted singleton. I picked it up by the egde of the sole and bopped it off the ground.

And out popped a dead squirrel.

Not a full grown squirrel and not a baby squirrel. More of a teenage squirrel. But dead as a doornail nonethelss.

Now, as you might well imagine, this perplexity leaves one with a few questions to ponder:

-Why was there a dead squirrel in my shoe?
-Where exactly (not "How" for I know my hole-ridden house well enough to know "How") did the poor unfortunate gain entry?
-Are there more squirrels where this one came from?
-Are Earth Shoes really that much more comfortable than say, fleece lined slippers, that a squirrel would choose one as it's final resting place?

and last but certainly not of least importance...

-Do my feet really stink bad enough to kill a squirrel?

I posed the last question to my dear hubby and he assured me that my feet, do not in fact, stink. At least not most of the time.

So, it is with great regret that I must send my Earth Shoes to the great beyond. That big trail in the sky. Because, even I, even I with my...odd...sense of style, cannot bring myself to wear a sneaker that smells like a dead squirrel. Just the thought of traipsing around with a deathbed as a shoe would make me feel less fleet of foot.

So, that's the kind of stuff going on in my life. And you?

Edited to add the following:

You know, it just occurred to me that my dear hubby and I have this ongoing practical joke. It started about 2 years ago when we were at my mom's cabin in New York.

For some reason that only God knows, I put some acorns in his shoes one night. The next morning I found them in my shoes. That was our last day at the cabin and I'm sure he thought that was that.

But no. I brought more acorns home with me and for the past two years they have been passed back and forth between various sets of our shoes.

I asked him if perchance he happened to put an acorn in my Earth Shoe, thus luring the squirrel into the lightweight yet rugged trap. He said that it was entirely possible.

You see, the ideal is to put the acorn into a pair of shoes that the other person doesn't wear on a regular basis so, by the time they do go to put them on, they forget all about the joke and then "Ha! Ha! Acorn in your shoe!"

Um...yeah. So that's the kind of stuff we do for fun.

And now look. It's all fun and games until someone winds up with a dead squirrel in their shoe.

Big Long Redneck Rant

2007-04-21T17:58:00.000-07:00

I am not one who debates. At one time I could argue with the gusto of a teenager full of righteous anger. Probably when I was a teenager. But no more. Now a days, I have more of a "live and let live" kind of philosophy.

Also, I am not one to use my blog to nanny-nanny-nanner other blogs. It's just not my cupa.

Having said that, and not having an english nor a law degree, it is with great trepidation that I attempt to comment, inspired by this post. Or, at least part of this post, because I know it was about much more than what I am going to discuss. For me to get into gun control, I would also have to get into things like Rope Control (BTK killer killed at least 10 with rope!) and
Baseball Bat control (Ted Bundy, anyone?) and the options of keeping wooden bats legal but having very strict regulations on aluminum baseball bats.

So the part in question begins "With all due respect to certain members of my extended family, hunting is stoopid."

Ok. Let's get one thing out of the way right off the bat. ALL sports are stoopid. Whether you are whacking, dribbling or kicking a ball, casting, climbing or landing a triple lutz, posting, flipping or freefalling, they are all stoopid. (And watching someone other than an immidiate family member play sports? Stoopid to the Nth power.)

Now that we've cleared that up, I will address one of my particular stoopid choices - the one referenced in the aboved referenced post. (How's that for double talk.) And, for the record, this isn't intended to be aimed at anyone in general. Just thought I might possibly explain hunting in a way that anti-hunters haven't considered it.

It seems to be the natural course of events when an incident such as the shooting spree at the school in Virginia is in the news, gun control will again be a hot topic. And it is also the natural course of events that when gun control is a hot topic, hunting is pulled into the fray.

And so, by virtue of being a hunter,I have unwittingly become an accomplice to a massacre.

And further so, if Seung-Hui Cho can have a manifesto, so can I.

I bring you...

Inside the Mind of a Killa'

Yes, it's true. I own guns. Plural. And I have been known, on occasion, to kill with them.

"Why????? Why would someone doooooooo such a thing???" I hear you cry.

Well, I'll tell you.

Is it perhaps about preserving cultural heritage as the referenced post might suggest? Let's see.

It is true that I grew up in a family of hunters. I can vividly remember my father, grandfathers, uncles, cousins and various family friends sitting in my parents' dining room on the night before deer season, discussing the next day's hunt as well as those of years gone by. To me, the smell of Hoppes #9 is as much a part of the Thanksgiving season as turkey and pumpkin pie are. (Deer season, for those of us not honorable enough to hunt in archery season, begins the Monday after Thanksgiving in PA.) It was as much about gathering together as it was about the actual hunting.

So that must be it, right?

Well, no.

There are some folks that feel if a person still carries on in a certain tradition, that person is nothing more than an unfortunate lemming, doomed to repeat the actions of others with no understanding as to why. So called "recovering Catholics" are great ones for this. (I have rejected the church but you have not. You must not know any better.) The idea that "one has not rejected, therefore it has never been questioned" is ridiculous.

I can't say for sure that had I not grown up in the environment I did, I would be a hunter today. All I can say for sure is that it is where I got my start but, to quote the old ad, I've come a long way. Baby.

So it isn't about preserving cultural heritage.

It is, however, very much about culture.

Or a reaction to culture.

It is very much a reaction to a culture of not having to be responsible for one's own decisions or actions. The culture that leaves the lights on at night to enhance the landscaping. The culture that tosses the aluminum can in the garbage instead of the recycling bin. The culture that complains of rasing taxes to better support schools but will buy every damn DVD/CD/MP3/concert ticket/sporting event ticket/new technological gadget/whatever the latest craze/ latest product currently touted by the sports(or music) star with the multi million dollar contract.

Ahem.

That one.

(See, this is why I don't debate.)

Let me try to explain.

When I put the sights of my gun on an animal, I know that in an instant I, personally, will be responsible for taking its life.

Have you ever looked into the eye of the animal you ate tonight? Did you ever stroke its fur? Did you even bother to thank somebody - the animal, especially - for what you have?

I am also responsible for dealing with the messiness of gutting and cleaning the animal. It's up to me to make sure that I make as much use as possible of the animal so there is minimal waste.

When you pick up the shrink-wrapped slab of choice cut meat from the grocery store, do you ever wonder about the person who's job it is to spend their entire day butchering carcasses? So YOU don't have to? Did you ever wonder about the person at the slaughterhouse who spends the entire day killing animal after animal? So you can claim to be oh so "civilized"?

I know the animals I hunt have lived as animals should. For the most part, they were bred and born wild (although I'm sure a "stocked" pheasant or two have already been victims of my bloody rampage).

Do you have any idea where your meat comes from? Is is a feedlot? A factory farm? Was it kept confined to a small space? Was it force fed? Was it hauled hundreds of miles in a trailer packed to the brim with other animals, wild-eyed with fear? Was it sick? What did it eat? Was it injected with hormones?

When I pull the trigger, it is me and the animal. I can't ignore it, I can't pass the job to someone else, I am responsible. I must be as humane as I possibly can or else I must live with the consequenses. If I am not able to kill the animal right away, it suffers at my hands until I can do so.

What about your dinner? Did the bolt gun stun it enough? Was it still conscious of anything when the butchering began (as does happen)? Do you even care?

Not many people look at thier hamburger and think "What have I done?" They don't have to. Our culture makes sure they pretty much never will.

I wish I could remember just how many times I had to hear about "killing Bambi". Just once, I would like to see...let's say Charlotte's Web where the ending is a little more like real life. In the altermate ending of Charlotte's Web as told by Ms. Quintessence, Wilbur is not saved. No, Wilbur is kept in a pen where he can pretty much to nothing but eat and poop. Then, one fine sunny day, Wilbur and all his other pig buddies on the farm, are crammed into a double level trailer. Wilbur, unfortunately, is on the bottom so he gets pooped on all the way to the slaughter house. And for once, it won't be the hunter who is villified. No, in this movie it will be some mom or dad who is demanding "More Country Style Ribs, Pronto! Little Suzie's soccer team is coming over for a cookout and I need those ribs!"

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't survive on the animals I kill by hunting. Not by any means. I too, must purchase meat. And regrettably, it is often times at the grocery store. I don't want to give any false impressions here. Hopefully, as things get rolling with our farm, it will one day be completely avoidable.

But it the mean time...

I hunt because there is a connection that I don't want to lose. I do it to remind myslef that I do not exist alone in a vacuum. My choices affect others - other people and other creatures. Some day it will be animals that I raised. If I am going to eat meat, what is so wrong with wanting the animals to lead a good life and die a humane death? It is one job I place enough importance on to be done right that I am willing to do it myself.

So, there you have it. Why I kill things. My manifesto. You can comment if you want to. But don't expect a debate - there won't be one.

Hopefully, it will give some insight into the minds of killers for those of you who are grappling with it.

And if it puts me in with the likes of Seung-Hui Cho, so be it.

At least I'm trying to get out of company with the other mass murderer that's been in the news lately. You know, the one who dosn't have to take responsiblilty because the blood isn't physically on his hands?

I guess we are all barbarians in our own way.

Edited to add: On the off chance that this post is inspirational enough to make someone want to exlpore options other than grocery store meat, Eat Wild is a great resource for getting started. Click on the "Shop for Meat, Eggs & Dairy" button and you can can search your state for farms that are committed to the well being of the animals they raise. Often times you can even visit the farm you are interested in. Please, please, please consider supporting these people.

Nerves of GAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!

2007-04-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

Sooooo...you're all caught up on the situation with the animals, right? If not, you might want to skip down to the previos post because it will make this one oh-so-much-more-meaningful.

The new goat - goat/dog. He seems to be settling in alright. Hubby and I did manage to get to the store for another 300 feet of fence which we hope to put up this weekend. Because you know, nothing says "The Lord Is Risen!" like installing fence.

In the mean time, he is still in the kennel. Which is holding him just fine.

Sort of.

He has actually warmed up to the dogs and is pretty happy when they are in the kennel with him. However, as goats are herd animals, he's not too crazy about being alone when we bring the dogs in. Not a happy goat. At all.

At first he would just kind of trot around doing the "Baaaa-aaa" thing.

Back and forth, back and forth.

"Baaaaa-aaaaa!"

Back and forth...

"BAAAAAA-AAAAA!!!"

When we built the kennel, we put it right off the back of the house so we could just open the back door and the dogs could run right in. It's great on those bitter cold winter nights - not having to actually walk the dogs out to a kennel. Just open the door and boot them out.

The downside of this, of course, is that, when you have a lonely goat in the kennel, sooner or later he is bound to realize that he can stand up and look through the window of the door. It's an old door and has four big panes in the top half - just perfect for lonely goats who want to peek in on the family.

In the morning at breakfast...
"BAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

Sitting at the kitchen table trying to pay bills...
"BAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAA!!!!!"

In the evening, having a nice family dinner...
"BAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!"

We would all try to ignore the cacophony and carry on a fractured conversation.

Me: So, Daughter, what did y-
Lonely Goat: BAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Me: What did you d-
Lonely Goat: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Me: What di-
Lonely Goat: BAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Me:...
Lonely Goat:...
Me:...
Lonely Goat:...
Me: Wha-
Lonely Goat: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!
Me: WHATDIDYOUDOATSCHOOLTODAY???!!!!
Lonely Goat: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

And so on.

It is hard enough ignoring him but he stands up and looks right in the windows at us.

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

I finally told hubby we need to get the fence up and get another goat to keep him company before I lose what little bit is left of my mind.

Because just when you think it can't get any worse...

The other night - the night when the temperature dropped from the lovely mid 60's to something like 20 below - I reached my breaking point.

I had an unusually long day at work and didn't get home until around 7:00 or so. Just enough time to feed all of the animals before darkness really settled in. I had been in a real hurry that morning and ran out the door without my lunch so, by the time I got home and fed everyone else, I was really ravenous. I foraged around in the freezer to try to find something quick and easy.

Aha! Pierogies and Sprouts de Brussels in butter sauce. Perfect.

I put some water on the stove to boil...

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAA!"

...sliced up an onion and put it in a pan with butter...

"BAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

...cut a small slit in the bag of Sprouts de Brussels in butter sauce and popped it in the microwave...

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

...checked the water - it's boiling - time to put the pierogies in...

...

...stir the onions and butter, careful not to burn them...

...

...check on the Sprouts de Brussels, oh good, the goat finally settled down...

...

...stir the onions and butter again...

...

...check the pierogies, uh oh, looks like one popped open, better get -

SMAAAAAAAASH!!!!!!

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

"WHA-? HOLY CRAP!!!"

Pierogie flying through the air.

It's funny how, in life, your priorities can shift in an instant. One minute you are happily stirring your pierogies, the next minute you have a goat smashing through your window in a hail of flying glass and, out of some sort of primitive fight or flight reflex, one of your precious little potato pockets is sailing through the air to land Splat! on the floor where it is promplty gobbled up by a beagle.

It's funny how that can happen.

All of a sudden like that.

And those tender little Sprouts de Brussels in buttery sauce, cooked to steamy perfection, now sit in your microwave, slowly giving in to the Canadian cold front that is now blowing around your kitchen as you plod around out in the garage, looking for a drill with a fresh battery and some screws and a piece of plywood and the circular saw because God forbid you find a piece of plywood that is remotely near the size you need to cover the now missing window of your door through which first came a goat and now a Canadian cold front, congealing to a gross yellow mass what was once a warm buttery sauce on your now pitiful Sprouts de Brussels.

Funny how those things happen.

The goat, you will be happy to know, is no worse for the wear.

I, on the other hand...

Welcome to Identity Crisis Acres!

2007-04-02T22:11:00.000-07:00

Where our motto is "Ummm...what am I again?"

So, I think you are familiar with the chicken. If not, you can read a bit about her arrival here. When she first arrived, she was pretty sure she was a cat. She ate cat food, she hung out with the cats. Now, however, she is a goat. At some point after we got
Rhubarb, she decided she was no longer a cat but, in fact, a goat. She now eats the goat food, grazes with them when they are out of the pen, and sleeps with them and night. The only essential difference between her and the goats is that, when they all come out of the goat house in the morning, there is sometimes an egg in her spot.

Here at Identity Crisis Acres, we feel it is important that each creature explore all the possibilities of livestock lifestyles. Take time to explore you!

I also think I might have mentioned that we are in the process of getting two more goats.

I'm having a little trouble on the angora end but we did have success with the boer - or beer! - goat. Hubby and I went to the farm last Saturday and picked him out. The only problem with that was that they have an awful lot of goats right now. Like hundreds. And they need to move them out. So they could only hold ours for us for a week.

This would be the week hubby worked every day. It would also be the very same week that I took son to look at a college. The long and short of it is that we didn't really have a place to put him.

Now, you might say "Well, just put him in with the other goats." And that, eventually is what will happen. However, we aren't quite ready to breed just yet so we need to keep him away from the girls. Or, probably more appropriately, keep the girls away from him.

I had to work on goat pick-up day so the task was left to hubby. We decided that the new goat could just go in the garden for now since it is a nice, big, fenced in area. Hubby went to the farm to pick him up - in the station wagon, hee hee - and deposited him in the garden. All was well.

Was being the key word.

At about 3 o'clock, I finally wrapped things up at work and I was on my way to see my children in their first track meet of the year. As I was putting the last of my items in the car, my cell phone rang. It was hubby.

Hubby: Hey.
Me: Hi. What's up?
Hubby: Our new goat?
Me: Yeah...?
Hubby: It's done gone and runned off.
Me: CRAP!

So, instead of seeing my children in their first track meet of the year, I was instead canvassing the neighborhood for the errant goat. We both drove around for a while with no luck, checking back at the house every once in a while. Eventually, I passed hubby on my way out of the driveway as he was on his way in. I told him I let the girls out in hopes the new goat will see them and just hang out with them.

Then I headed down the road and made a turn on to a small road with a few houses. The last house on the road is the one that borders our property to the east. It was sold about 1 1/2 years ago to a youngish couple but I never really met them as of yet. Not because I didn't want to be social or anything - it's more a case of just not having, or making, the time. I was just going to go past this house and continue on to the dirt road that goes on to our property when I spied one of the neighbors in front of the garage. I stopped, sighed, and turned the car toward the garage.

I could tell he was on his cell phone. He hung up as I got out of the car.

Me: Hi! I'm your neighbor. Did you...
Neighbor: Hey! Hi! Are you missing a goat?
Me:...yes.

And that is how I finally got to talk to my new neighbor. And then hubby showed up and we really had a grand ol' time chasing the goat around his yard.

We still weren't having any luck so I went back to the house to get one of the girls in hopes of luring new goat home. While I was away, the goat trotted off through the woods towards the highway.

Now, imagine yourself and your spouse (who happen to be other neighbors of ours who live a little bit further down the road) driving along, minding your own business when, from out of seemingly nowhere, you see my husband leap off a cliff from the woods onto the road below on the heels of a goat.

I wish I could have seen it. Hubby said he was running kind of sideways and backwards trying to hold up his hands to stop traffic when he realized the people in the one car were our neighbors laughing hysterically.

He eventually was able to run down the goat, catch it, and carry it up through the woods where I met him with the car.

We brought the runaway home and, having nowhere else, put him in the kennel.

At Identity Crisis Acres, we offer a wide variety of living arrangement to suit your individual needs. Not happy with your current roommate? We'll find a perfect match for you.

So, you see, things are a bit odd here. Now, you might be thinking "Well, at least things worked out ok with your horse." And, for the most part, you would be right.

Remember the horse? How's about a little picture to refresh your memory?

Isn't he getting big? Isn't he cute? Doesn't he have a lot of legs?

...

So, as always, here's the story.

When we initially picked out the horse, it was pretty much by a photo on-line. Fine. The horse shows up and all is good. I was so happy with him, I put his baby picture - the very first one I ever saw of him - on my computer as the desktop background.

Then, I took some more photos. I would open up the photos on the computer and compare them to the baby picture, oohing and aahhing at how big he was getting.

And then...

Once in a while I would wonder "Gee, he has a bigger white sock now than he did when he was a baby. Unless..... Nah." That little feeling was always there but, really, what were the odds that I wouldn't have the right horse?

Then, about a month ago, I got a call from the rescue coordinator.

Me: Hey! How are you? We LOVE our horse!
RC: Oh. I have to talk to you. I don't know how to say this...
Me: What?
RC: You have the wrong horse.

So, apparently the odds are pretty good.

As it turned out, there were three colts that were almost identical. The one we got had the right ID tag but it was the wrong horse.

So, what other choice did we have?

Identity Crisis Acres

Where you never quite know who you are or what the hell you should be doing.

While You're At It, Here.. Take My Soul

2007-03-21T16:24:00.000-07:00

Hi there.

I know, it's been a while.

It's been such a while that I don't even know where to begin.

So, I'll start with the obvious and end with the calamitous.

First -

I was in Florida.

Let me say it again just so I might be able to spirit myself away for one brief, sunny, capri-wearing moment.

I was in Florida.

Sigh.

So, it wasn't like a real vacation because my husband and I were helping as chaperones (Oh! How funny is that?!) for the high school marching band. But, it also coincided with Pennsylvania's last dip into single digit temperatures so Yay! for us. Also, our particular group of kids was awesome and gave us no trouble whatsoever so I suppose it is as close to a vacation in Florida as we are going to come for, oh, another TWENTY TO THIRTY YEARS!

Ahem.

This whole going to Florida thing. This whole Disney thing. It seems so...dreamlike. It was all very amazing in every sense of the word.

Every. Sense.

Like, I mean "good" amazing and "bad" amazing.

The good amazing is everything you would think and more. It is probably the cleanest place - including the emergency room at the local hospital - that I have ever been. And the lengths to which they go to make the imaginable real is really something to behold. I have never seen so much formed concrete in my life.

I guess that last line won't exactly make it into the Disney tourism literature.

As for the bad amazing... Well, there's the whole "lengths to which they go" thing. And it's cleaner than my local hospital emergency room. Which isn't necessarily a bad reflection on Disney.

No, really the worst of it was probably the excess.

And the strollers.

I have to say that I am very proud of hubby and myself in that we made it all the way to the second day before we found each other irksome.

Forgive us. It was overwhelming.

At some point on day two we had the conversation that goes like this:
Me: What would you like to do?
Hubby: It doesn't matter. What do you want to do?
Me: It doesn't matter. You pick.
Hubby: No, you pick.
Me: No, really. It. Doesn't. Matter. You pick.
Hubby: I. Already. Told. You. I. Don't. Care. YOU PICK.

And so on. Until...
Me: Can't you Just. Pick. Something?
Hubby: I told you. I. Don't. Care. How about this - I want to do whatever will make you happy right now.

And that, friends, is when I told him...

Me: You want to make me happy? You Want To Make Me Happy? OK. This will make me happy. Stop saying "What do you think Walt Disney would think if he saw what this whole park turned into? Do you think he'd be happy about it?" OK? Stop saying that. And stop pointing out the excess. Excess food. Excess spending. Excess EVERYTHING! Stop that. Stop being such a downer for the next two and a half days and Just Be A HAPPY LITTLE CONSUMER!!! OK?!!! THEN WHEN WE GO HOME, WE CAN GO BACK TO BEING OUR NORMAL BITTER SELVES!! THAT'S WHAT WOULD MAKE ME HAPPY!!!!!

Hubby: Ok.

And merrily on we went.

I think that little exchange took place somewhere in the middle of Epcot. Or maybe it was MGM. I don't know.

So, Disney. There it is. Amazing. Magical. Not bitter. No bitter allowed.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Second-

So, goats.

Yeah.

We're getting more.

Yeah.

More goats.

Two, as a matter of fact. Two bucks. Boys. Males. Gigolos, basically.

We are getting one boer goat and one angora goat so's we can breed all the girls this fall.

Without getting too much into the whole goat thing - because I will give you updates complete with photos when we get them - I just want to replay another little conversation between me and my better half.

The first thing you need to know about angora goats is that one of the big things you breed for is color. Or colors. The other thing you need to know about angoras is that breeding for color is only slightly more complicated than trying to genetically breed humans that will not only like performance art but will actually financially support the little local theatre that features it.

There are not only genes and chromosomes. There are allels, loci, genotypes, phenotupes (which may or may not reveal the underlying genotype), homozygous, heterozygous, dominant, recessive, epistasis, hypostatic, epistatic,agouti, eumelanin, pheomelanin and white spotting. These are all the things one must try to coordinate to maybe get the color goat one wants out of a breeding. And even then, it's not a sure bet.

So, here I am, merrily shopping around the internet for a goat, emailing breeders and what not. After checking out a lot of places, I kind of had my heart settled on this one particular farm. We were emailing back and forth, exchanging information about our goats, when she informed me that the person we bought our goats from has recessive color goats where as she has dominant color and, were I to use one of her bucks, we would actually lose color.

No, they wouldn't be see through. They would be white.

So, at breakfast I relayed this to my hubby. Bear in mind that I was mainly the one doing the background reading on this and it was the first time he was even hearing it...

Me: I got an email from the one farm that I wanted to buy the goat from and, as it turns out, we probably shouldn't buy hers because we have recessive and she has dominant.
Hubby: And...?
Me: And, we shouldn't breed dominant and recessive.
Hubby: You shouldn't breed dominant and regressive?
Me: Recessive.
Hubby: What happens if you breed a dominant and regressive? What do you get, an obsessive compulsive?
Me: No, you get white.
Hubby: White.
Me: Yes, white.
Hubby: And how do you get color?
Me: Well, you have to breed dominant to dominant or regressive...recessive to recessive.
Hubby: What if you breed compulsive to obsessive?
Me: I don't know. Neurotic?
Hubby: So what do we want?
Me: I guesse we want an obsessive and a progressive.

And so on it went...

So, yeah, goats. I will be on the computer for many, many hours trying to concoct a goat cocktail that will hopefully yield success.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Third-

This is the one the title of the post referrs to.

As some of you may know, our first born will be graduating high shcool this June.

Oh happy days! Oh joyous time of youth! Out in the world! Out on his own!

Out $90,000.

Roughly.

Because Financial Aid?

GAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I think that is all I can write about this at this time as I now have to call my doctor for some anxiety medication.

See you soon!

Warning: Memory is Almost Full. List to free up space.

2007-02-22T14:57:00.000-08:00

Three days ago...at least, I think it was three days ago...I saw a crow with white wings.

I suspect it was a crow because, other than the white wings, it looked exactly like a crow and it was hanging out with a bunch of other crows in my driveway, smoking and shooting dice. Ok, they were pecking through the rubble left by the plow.

I stopped the car and they all flew off. Its wings were white on the bottom as well as on the top.

When I got into the house, I called my friend - the friend that knows a bit about everything and a real lot about some things, like birds and plants - and told him about it. We discussed the possibility of it being a magpie. We also discussed it being just another freak of the farm. Ahem, nature. Freak of nature.

After checking some pictures of magpies on the internet, I am convinced that it is, in fact, a white winged crow.

I am also convinced it was sent to me by God. I'm not exactly quite sure yet but I suppose the prophecy will be revealed in His time.

In the mean time, my hubby has parodied the song Wings of a Dove, changing the words to describe his dear spouse's latest mania.

This little event got me to thinking about all the cool and odd things one gets to see in life.

There are some things you see that you just know you're never going to forget. For instance, the World Trade center falling down or the Challenger exploding.

These, however, are not the type of events that I'm talking about. I am more referring to those things that, at the time, seem so cool that you don't think you will ever forget them but, alas, they slip one by one from your brain as you replace them with things like remembering to drop off the marching band uniforms for the Florida trip or ordering wormer for the goats.

You all know what I mean.

So.

In order to remember some of the cool things I came across in my life, I am going to make a short list here so I can then free up that brain space for other items. Here we go.

1. I once saw some sort of bird of prey dive bomb into a pond, go completely underwater, and then flap out with a fish in its talons. This was a very Mutual of Omaha moment for me. Or, I guess it was a Wild Kingdom moment proudly sponsored by Mutual of Omaha. "Mutual of Omaha is people...you can count on when the going's rough..."

2. Going along that same line, I am going to combine two other Wild Kingdom moments. I once got to see a sleeping baby deer in my yard. So cute! It was only this big. And! I got to be nose to nose with a very large black bear that came to our house. He was strolling around on the patio so hubby and I went out to hang out with him. Then he wanted to get a little bit closer so we went inside and opened the window. Like wide open. I'm talkin' tore open the shutters and threw up the sash kind of open. The bear came over to the window and we were all inches away from each other. I wanted to squeeze his nose but I thought he might freak out.

3. One day during some other winter, I was driving along this road where there are a whole buch of cemeteries. There was snow on the ground. I looked and saw two guys in the cemetery, standing watch over a large, smoldering fire, with a back hoe parked nearby. Then I realized that they were burning the fire because the ground was so frozen that they couldn't dig the grave. It seemed all kinds of old timey. Except for the back hoe.

4. I once saw frogs mating. Eeew is all I am going to say about that.

5. I once saw a house fully engulfed in flames. That was about 30 minutes before I konked my head on a metal climby thing in a playground and practically knocked myself out.

6. One night there was a really heavy rain storm with all the bells and whistles. I was driving home in it. All of a sudden, there was a little hole in the clouds and I could see the full moon through it. The lightening was still going on around it. Crazy.

7. Another meterologial event - thundersnow. Now that one was just plain ol' unnatural. Or so it seemed. But I guess the joke was on me because, hey, it's nature.

8. I once saw someone get hit so hard by a person on a snow tube that the poor, unfortunate victim was knocked clean out of his boots. Do you have any idea how hard you have to hit someone to knock them right out of their boots? If you don't, you can ask my son because that's who it was. Although, he may not want to talk about it.

9. I once saw a bag full of feral cats. Literally, a bag of them. "Bag of cats" is often a phrase used to describe a bad-tempered person. I probably should not be around that person because if they are anything like a real bag of cats, I would laugh so hard I would probably wet my pants.

*******************************

STORY TIME
Here is the quick explanation about the bag of cats. Through a rather long and involved story involving my daughter getting rabies shots, our family became the proud owners of a passel of feral cats. Passel = six.
We managed to catch all of the cats and have them spayed or neutered accordingly.
All but one.
This particular cat became wise to the Live Animal Trap that so easily caught the other cats. She could not be lured, tempted, cajoled, persuaded or tricked into the trap. Even when I held off on putting food out, she would not go in the trap. I could catch the other cats numerous times, but not this one.
By the way, her name is Flop. Sister to Flip. Who is no longer with us through no fault of mine, thankyouverymuch.
I was determined. I was driven.
I was desperate.
After trying every plan and failing, I searched way back in my memory. Back to my grade school years. Back to Saturday mornings. Back to my training at...
The Wile E. Coyote School of Wildlife Capture

I assessed the situation. The cats all ate in one spot. The spot they were familiar with. The spot they trusted. This spot was on our patio, under an overhang of the roof. Bolted to the roof was a clothesline type wheel. The Plan began to take shape.

I found an old sheet and sat down at my ACME sewing machine to stich a large hem around the sheet, leaving a hole in one spot. Taking the sheet outside, I spread it out under the pan from which the cats were given their daily bread. Kibble. Whatever.

After a few days, when the cats were used to the idea of the sheet under the pan, I proceeded with The Plan.

I took a lightweight yet sturdy rope and fed it into the hole and through the hem of the sheet. When the end of the rope was all the way through, I made a loop in one end and fed the other end of the rope through the loop and the hole. Then I took the rope and fed it up through the clothes line type wheel and out the other side.

For the piece de resistance, I emptied two cans of tuna into the food pan and set it in the middle of the sheet. Then, I took the free end of the rope and stealthily crept into the pantry, leaving the the door open just a crack.

And then I waited.

And waited.

Aaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnddd waited.

One cat. Not the right cat.

Two cats. Not the right cat.

Three, four and five.

Still not the right cat.

Finally, I could see her peek her little head around the corner of the house, eyes perpetually wide as saucers. She approached the pan.

She ran away.

She approached the pan.

She ran away.

10 x (She approached the pan; she ran away) = Very frustrated me

And then.

She stepped onto the sheet.

She ran off.

She stepped on.

She ran off.

She stepped on and took a bite of tuna.

She ran off.

I figured this was pretty much going to be a now or never kind of thing so I waited, with an itchy finger and a hair clothesline wheel.

She stepped onto the sheet and lowered her head to the pan.

With all my might, I yanked the rope as hard as I could.

Now, with a plan such as this, there is always the nagging voice at the back of your head telling you that it is really a hairbrained scheme and it isn't going to work at all. Then there is the voice, the voice of a Happy Days character telling you "It's a crazy idea but it just might work."

As it turns out, they are both rigth in a way.

The rope spun over the clothesline wheel. The ends of the sheet gathered. The "bag" - cats, pan and tuna - rose into the air.

I stood gaping at the bag hanging from the the wheel.

It was slowly twirling around with very pronounced lumps projecting and protruding from it at all kinds of odd angles, going in and out and in and out.

And then my knees buckled because the silliness of the whole situation finally smacked me upside the head.

So there I was, hanging for dear life onto this rope, suspending a bag of cats, pan and tuna in midair, laughing myself to tears.

And while I was in my state of incapacitation, Flop clawed her way to the top of the bag, slipped out through the hole, and scampered off to mate. Or hide.

I don't know. I didn't care. I couldn't stop laughing.

All I could do was hang onto my bag of cats and cry.

You will be happy to know that, eventually, I did manage to catch the little minx and get her spayed. Using, oddly enough, another technique of The Wile E. Coyote School of Wildlife Capture but one that wasn't nearly as preposterous or entertaining.

*******************************

So then. There we are. Now that I've freed up some space, I can defrag my brain tonight and then condense files. And maybe, just maybe, I'll remember to pick up the Girl Scout Cookies tonight.

And I think, through the course of telling the bag o' cats story, I have now coined a new phrase. If you ever need to describe something in toto, instead of that plain ol' "soup to nuts" or "the whole kit and kaboodle", please feel free to say "cats, pan and tuna".

Scooters, Vacation, Fall

2007-02-13T06:37:00.000-08:00

This is the list of most popular headlines I came across on MSN.com today:

Most Popular
• Most Viewed • Top Rated • Most E-mailed

• Teen gunman kills 5 in Utah mall rampage
• Four people shot, killed in Philadelphia
• On the plus side, experience was educational

I'm not sure what the last headline was about but the list made me chuckle.

Why do I even notice these things?

Anyway...

Today I was forced - literally, forced - to upgrade my blog. I couldn't sign in to my old blog anymore.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. I mean, there was nothing wrong with the old one. It served it's scrimpy purpose. But nooooOOOOOooooo. I had to update.

Pshh. Oh well.

The one thing I do kind of mind is now I guess I have to label my posts. Or at least I guess I should. Who knows? Better yet, who cares? But the funny thing is that next to the box where I would type my label in it says this - Labels for this post: e.g. scooters, vacation, fall

And I'm all about following suggestions. So scooters, vacation, fall it is.

Sunday was my birthday. I have officially been on the planet 37 years. Unofficially, I have been on the planet 2,047 years but that can only be verified by my lack of energy and my general consternation with the world - neither good enough to get me into the Book of Records.

Today it snowed. A lot. Actually, yesterday it snowed. A lot. And then, sometime during the night, it turned to sleet. And it sleeted. A lot. Like 4 inches and I'm not even exaggerating. And then, somewheres around 10 o'clock this morning, it turned back to snow. And it snowed. A lot. And it still is.

And now, because of all this snow and sleet, I have rubber arms. Because I had to go shovel out the end of the driveway so hubby would have a place, other than the road, to park his car when he got home from work. And there it sits. At the end of the driveway. Waaaaaaay far away from the house.

I also have rubber arms because, after shoveling 45,000 tons of snow and sleet from the end of the driveway, I had to slog around feeding animals. This chore starts off with carrying two 5 gallon buckets of water and ends with foot prints through the snow akin to the course that Moses and the Israelites left in the desert after 40 years of aimless wandering whilst carrying 10 gallons of water.

If I ever turned up lost the search and rescue people would probably spend the first few hours of the search standing around scratching their heads wondering just how much I had to drink before I wandered off.

And I just now realized that this post has taken on the path of my evening wanderings, making absolutely no sense whatsoever.

I am tired. Mother Nature kicked my ass today.

The Ice Cream Wars

2007-01-22T04:21:00.000-08:00

My mother lives about 15 miles away. Except for a small, springy Jack Russel terrier, she lives alone. That she lives alone and within a relative close distance to my house both contribute to rather frequent visits.

It might be on her way to bingo at this or that church or school. Or to pick up one of her grandchildren to go here or there. Sometimes she even makes dinner and trucks it to our house. Any number of reasons. Whatever the reason for the visit, she usually also has some sort of care package. I guess she can't stand to see a coupon go to waste.

So she might show up with cat food. Good, we have many, many cats. Or she might show up with cereal. Fine, we eat cereal. And then sometimes it's ice cream.

Now...you remember I have an issue with ice cream, yes?

I have no complaints with her bringing ice cream. None at all.

The problem is this.

When it comes to ice cream flavors, there are those who are the bulwark of the ice cream industry, buying chocolate and vanilla and maybe, on a special holiday or something, Neopolitan. Then there are those other people.

I'm in the former category. BORING! I hear you cry. But, it my defense, ice cream is, in large part, merely a vehicle for hot fudge and bananas. You just don't want to go polluting that with all kinds of flavors of craziness.

I will admit that sometimes I will spring for the occational Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough or Cookies and Cream or, perahps, Chocolate Marshmallow. But, they are usually just variations on the original theme.

I am...uh...mmm...the most, ... let's say accomplished ice cream eater in the house. The other memebers of my darling little family like ice cream but...not like I do. So I, being the head ice cream eater and grocery shopper, get to pick the ice cream flavors. And, fortunately, all the subject of my little frozen dairy queendom are usually happy with my choices.

My mother, on the other hand, will bring flavors such as Strawberries and Cream or Black Cherry or Something With Nuts Which Should Be A Punishable Offense. She buys the ice cream she likes to eat.

She and my dad pretty much shared the same taste in ice cream so you can imagine what it was like growing up in that house when you are a chocolate/vanilla lover. It's not that she never got chocolate or vanilla. But I was just a peasant in her frozen dairy queendom at the time. It would kind of be like if you had a pack of wild dogs and, for the most part, tossed them loaves of stale bread as their main source of food. Sure, they'll eat it because there's nothing else. But then, once in a while, you throw them a London Broil. Guess how long it lasts. Right.

And it's not that she will even eat ice cream when she's here. I can say, "Hey mom, would you like a bowl of that green ice cream you brought last week?" Because she'll say, "No, you eat it. I got one for myself. That's plenty." And then I walk around the corner where she can't see me and bang my head on the freezer.

Fortunately, for me at least, my little frozen dairy peasants are not so discriminating and they will often eat the strange and bizarre ice creams that materialize in the freezer.

After they've helped devour the flavors I like.

.....................................................

And then there is a certain hubby who shall remain nameless who claims one day "I don't like chocolate" and then happily deposits the last spoonful of Double Fudge Brownie Death By Chocolate into his gaping gob the next.

You don't like chocolate. Riiiiiiight.

And then he'll say, "Well, only sometimes. But I like vanilla more."

So, the other day, I sliced up a banana, warmed up the hot fudge and reached into the freezer to get the ice cream.

Uh oh.

The container felt awfully light. I mean really light. Now, I knew when I put it back there was at least enough for a decent serving of chocolate/vanilla still in it. I opend the container to see about two tablespoons of chocolate in the corner.

WHAT THE CRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How?! HOW could someone leave A TINY LUMP OF OCE CREAM IN THE BOX AND PUT IT BACK INTO THE FREEZER?????????!!!!!!!!

I can't exactly prove who did it but I have my suspicions.

Sigh.

What's a girl to do? I spooned the ice cream into the bowl of bananas and ate it.

.........................................................

Last night I came home from the grocery store (again) and started to put the groceries away. Hubby sorted the various dry goods while I juggled some stuff into the chest freezer. Eventually I ran out of room. There were still some frozen items that needed a home so I opened the freezer half of our double door refrigerator. I tried to shift some things around but, as they say in the business, I was shit out of luck.

Then I saw the two ice cream containers that have been sitting on the shelf, mocking me, for the past 3 or 4 months. Mom ice cream.

I tried juggling a few more things all to no avail.

I looked back at the ice cream.

We stared each other down for a minute or two and then I said "Ok, this ice cream is going to have to go."

I picked the first carton out of the freezer. It was suspiciously light.

"It doesn't feel like there is even any ice cream in here." I set it on the counter to deal with later and picked the next carton out of the freezer. It was as light as the first. "I don't think there is any in this one either." I set that one on the counter next to the first and went back to stowing groceries.

I suppose curiosity got the best of hubby because he wandered over and opened up one of the ice cream containers and looked in. And started laughing. I turned to see what was going on and hubby said there was a note in the bottom of the ice cream carton.

It said "There's still a little speck right here. (with arrow pointing to said speck). Who's clever now?"

What?! I walked over and looked in. Sure enough. There was the note, in my son's handwriting, and a tiny speck of ice cream.

While I was gaping in disbelief at the first note, my hubby opened the other container and found the second note.

"Ha, ha. It's funny when I leave like 1 spoonful of ice cream in the container so somebody else can take care of it, right?"

I...don't even know what to say about this. I mean, I can understand the righteous indignation and all that but to take the time....

...notes in the ice cream container.....?

Night of the Wish I Was Dead

2007-01-15T19:56:00.000-08:00

...zzz...

...zzz...

...zz?...

Wha? Hm? Oh.

Oh hi. Hi everyone.

Everybody doing ok out there? Yeah? That's good.

Me? Oh, I'mmmmzzzzzzz....

I'm a little tired. Can you tell? I'm really kind of running on empty right now.

Actually, no. I'm running on pain killers and muscle relaxants. I think I mentioned once before about the whole chronic migraine thing and how the medication I'm on for it, even though is says on the bottle "MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS", that it does not, in fact, cause drowsiness but the exact opposite of drowsiness. Awakiness. Or alternatively, Very Alertiness.

So it would seem as though the migraine monster is going to rear its ugly, painfull, throbbing, light and sound sensitive head again. This past Wednesday I could feel it coming on. You know, the little bit of uncomfortableness that starts in your eyeball and eventually works its way through your brain, into your neck and pretty much the rest of your life? Yeah, that.

I managed to put off taking my medication until probably a little too late in the afternoon on Thursday because by about 10pm that evening, when all the other little real estate agents are nestled and snug in their beds, I was wondering if there were any 200 acre tracts of land that I could walk. Or maybe I could clean? How about that? Oh, yeah. Other people in the house are sleeping. Well then, how about finally taking down the Christmas tree? Nah, not yet. How about spending way too much time on the computer researching heritage breed chickens?

Ok! That sounds productive!

So at about 4:30am Friday morning, after I managed to track down every breeder of Javas, Dominiques, Delawares and Chanteclers on the east coast and email them about chickens. I finally stumbled off to bed.

I can't even imagine what the chicken people must think when they check their email and find a message from someone who was still up at 3 in the morning inquiring about chickens. Maybe they think I'm really excited about it. Or really strange.

Then 6 o'clock rolls around and, hey guess what, it's time to get up again! Because guess what? Work!

Oh, and guess what else? Guess what lack of sleep contributes to?

Oh! I know! I know!

More migraines! Whee! It's like being on some kind of crazy ride that goes around and around. And around. With pain. And then medicine. And then more chickens!

I managed to make it through work and get a second wind. I knew I had to stay awake until at least 11pm because sonny boy and baby girl were on their first ski club trip and would need a ride home from the school. And, since hubby was working night shift, it was all up to me. So, around 11pm, I left the house and headed for the school. Baby girl decided to go to a friend's house to sleep over so it was just me and sonny boy going home. On the way, sonny boy reminded me that he needed a ride to camp because the winter trip for his scout group was this weekend.

Tonight.

That very night. The one where I promised myself that by 11:30 I would be in REM state.

As it turns out, 11:30 found me checking my email to see if any of the chicken people responded (they didn't) while waiting for sonny boy to gather his camping stuff. By 12:30am we were on the road to the campground.

The one on the other side of the county.

An hour away.

And then another hour home.

So, around 3am or so, I finally crawled to bed.

And then up again at 6am! Woohoo! Because why? Why would I get up at 6am on Saturday when I don't have to go to work? Well, let's see... Oh! Oh yes! The class.

I signed up to take a class!

Doesn't that sound fun? Kickboxing? Pottery? Or could I finally be on the road to learning how to play my violin?

Nope.

How about...

Real Estate Law.

Now that sounds exciting eoungh to keep me awake, doesn't it? I bet you all envy me knowing that I spent this past Saturday, and will spend the next three Saturdays, studying Real Estate Law.

You all just wish you were that cool, eh? No? Not even a little bit?

Fine.

Well, at least I knew I had the evening to get my little self to bed early and finally catch up on the lack of z's I had suffered.

Or...

not.

Ok, well not completely. Because I did manage to take a nap on the couch for about 2 hours until

Ring.

Ring.Ring.

Ring,Ring,Ring,RRRIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG

Me: Mmph. What? Hello?
Hubby: Were you sleeping?
Me: Mmph. Hello?
Hubby: Hey,
Me: What? Where are you?
Hubby: I'm on my way to pick up baby girl. How do I find the owner of a dog?
Me: What?
Hubby: A dog. I found a dog. How do I find the owner?
Me: What time is it?
Hubby: 11 o'clock. He doesn't have any id tags.
Me: What kind of dog?
Hubby: A chocolate lab.
Me: Where did you find him?
Hubby: He was on the road. It's really foggy. How do I find out who owns him?
Me: um... Where exactly are you?
Hubby: Near the baseball field.
Me:...um...isn't there a bar near there? Why don't you go there and ask around?
Hubby: Ooh. Good idea.

...zzz...

Ring.
Ring,ring,ring.
Me: Mmph?
Hubby: No one there knew who he belongs to.
Me: What?
Hubby: The dog. No one knew.
Me: Where is he now?
Hubby: In the car. He's coming home with us.
Me: Oh.

So a few minutes later hubby and baby girl showed up with a chocolate lab. He had a collar on and you could see that his family took good care of him. He was older - a little gray around the muzzle - but in good shape.

We introduced him to the beagles, gave him a drink of water, set him up with a comfy blanket on the kitchen floor and then went off to bed. Finally.

Finally I could lay my head on my comfy pillow.

Finally I could snuggle under my two comfortors.

Finally I could

Bark.

Hm?

Bark.

Dont' get up.

Bark.

Just lay here.

Bark.

He's just getting settled.

Bark. Bark.

He'll lay down soon.

Bark. Bark, bark.

Just close your eyes.

Bark. Bark. Bark.

Just take nice, slow, deep brea-

BARK!

This isn't going to work.

BARK! BARK,BARK,BARK! BARKITY BARK BARK!

Oooohhh...

BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK...

2am...

BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK...

4am

BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK...

5am

Bark. Bark,bark.

Bark?

6am

Beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep...

BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK

Beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep,beep...

BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,BARK,

8am (in church)

Please, God, please let a very large rock fall off some very high mountain onto my head today. Amen.

The happy ending to the story is that we were able to locate the owner later that day. And I finally got some sleep Sunday night.

Until...

Oh, nevermind.