Muttering in Circles

Tags

Catholicism, Christmas, DADT, Democrats, essay, GOP, pets, poverty, teabaggers

I’m bored. I’m also, shocking I know, feeling lazy.  Okay, pick yourself up off the floor. I should have warned you.

I am not quite sure why that is. I’m not unhappy. Far from it. I’m rather serene actually. That is a word that seldom bumps up in a sentence next to I. Spooky.

I’m laid back. This too is “not me.”

I should be livid. I really should. I should be laughing up a storm at the Republicans. Do you know they managed in one 24-hour cycle to piss of huge sections of the electorate? Latinos, social security recipients, and gays. Wow, that’s some accomplishment. To say nothing of the fact that the “teasippers” are none to pleased with them either. I think an award of some sort is in order.

I’m not despondent. Frankly this is really scary, given the time of year. After all, there is white stuff on the ground, not the green I prefer, nor the brown I can tolerate. I am into live and let live as far as the weather is concerned. You KNOW that is not me.

I’m quite happy with my church. I feel good there. I feel “right.” I had a rare utterly spiritually elevating moment, my voice almost breaking at a Hallelujah. I was staring at the crucifix, and, well, how does one explain? You don’t of course, you just glory in the moment. You realize once again why you trudge twenty miles with temps in the teens to be in this place. Go figure.

The Contrarian is doing very well. Was it due to my unceasing prayers? I don’t know. But his balance, after YEARS is much much better. He sleeps later in the morning. Miraculous, or just a lucky choice? Does it matter? It’s all God to me.

We got that appointment at the Cedar Rapids VA. He likes his new doctor. She didn’t like the medications he had been prescribed in Iowa City. She changed them. He’s breathing a good 50% better now. She has him on Aleve for his rotor cuffs. He’s barely mentioning his shoulders now, and insists on “dressing himself” which entails finding armholes alone and fiddling with bib straps. He’s been out for going on two hours, pulling logs and cutting them up for splitting. Did the same thing yesterday. I’m relieved, and for the first time in months, don’t find myself worrying.

I’m proud of the House Democrats. Somebody has to stand up to power and say, “this is not right, and we are not going along!” A secret: Obama as the ability to convince me of just about anything. And he almost persuaded me to go along with this “deal”. But he’s wrong here. He has to stand for something. And if he won’t then we have to.

So, I’m bored in a good way. Friday is a good day to be bored on I think. The Contrarian has been threatening me with “Singing in the Rain” on Saturday. I trumped that with some disaster movies, about earthquakes and polar ice something or other. I like smash-em up disaster movies. I’ve told you that.

The opening page on WordPress is the featured blogs of the day. There are an inordinate number of writing blogs. I find that odd. They talk about writing. Isn’t that cheating? Writing about writing isn’t writing, it’s explaining why you are so bereft of ideas you can only talk about what you are doing. Egocentric? A bit.

Not what I do. I’m chatting with myself, in front of you. Intimate isn’t it? Get to see how the wheels turn and such? Fascinated, aren’t you? No? Well, excuse me. I’ll whisper.

We have one cat who will not go outside in winter. Hates getting his little paws into the snow. So we finally had to relent (you don’t want to know the alternative), and put in a litter box. Now the other freakin’ three are using it too. Have they no shame?

Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat exhibit shame. Cats walk across a table, knocking a coffee cup off and smashing it, and look at you. “You might want to clean that up so I don’t cut myself when I jump down.”

Dogs know shame. They can look at you and you are sure they wish they could disappear down a hole, they are so embarrassed. Dogs are simply more human than cats.

We decided to have ham for Christmas. Then I added a potato casserole. Then some glazed carrots. Then the left-over dressing (now in the freezer–I haven’t left it since Thanksgiving!), then the cranberry sauce also left over. Then some raw veggies. Rolls. Sigh. . .you see how this stuff multiplies? It’s a freakin’ dinner. But I’m standing my ground on dessert–I’ll buy sumpin’ at the grocery store. Not baking.

But I’m sorta baking. Gotta do sugar cookies. I mean that’s required. And some truffles. They are easy. And some  nut clusters.

And some lights on my humongous umbrella tree. And maybe the crèche. Some candles for the table?

And then there is New Year’s Day. Finger food. Pizza, and chicken tenders with barbecue sauce or blue cheese dressing. And raw veggies with a chipolte-spinich dip.

Sigh. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Now that IS depressing.

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They Drive Me Mad With Love

Tags

cats, dogs, lessons of life, life in the meadow, pets

Since I was about 15, I’ve seldom been without a pet. Mostly dogs, but I added cats to the mix quite a few years ago, and find them just as endearing.

I also hate pets. Cats seem to spend their days looking for new places to throw up. It’s especially nice to step in in the middle of the night.

Cats jump on your stomach full strength in the middle of the night, walk across you to the other side of the bed, and calming jump down, just because.

Dogs collect every burr known to man and then some and spend the evening pulling them out. They are mighty nice to step on in the night as well.

We don’t take vacations because of our pets. Another downer.

Ours are getting old now. Our dogs are aroundish 13 and 12 respectively. For large dogs that’s a lot, and is testimony to the stress free, healthy life style then enjoy. Our cats are slightly younger but not much. Probably the twin orange boys are around 9-ish.

That cats seem devoted to keeping themselves clean and to cleaning up each other. Mostly. Hobbes has the roughest fur and I work a wide toothed comb through him to get mats out of his hind quarters. I take a pound of hair out of him and his brother Calvin. Kate and Spencer (notice the themes please!), don’t seem to be plagued with much undercoat. They just throw up all the time. Always have. No matter what we feed ’em.

The dogs, well they are both long hairs. They are a freakin’ mess. Both have mats over mats over mats. They then get out in the weeds and collect all manner of burrs and sticky vines and come in looking like they are camouflaging for combat. And then try, mostly unsuccessfully to pull them out.

Did I say that it’s best not to walk in my house shoeless? That should be obvious.

It’s not that we don’t try to help them out. But Bear growls and gets snappish if you try. And Brandy starts to cry.  We’ve tried all manner of clippers, scissors, and combs, mostly to no avail. Neither has been cut or pinched yet; still they are terrified of the process and squirm and wiggle and snarl and whine so much that it is exhausting.

But things have gotten to a bad place. Both are very uncomfortable carrying mostly two coats around. There are burrs inside the mats, and frankly certain bodily functions are now being impeded, and THAT is no fun to deal with.

We are ashamed to take them to a professional who would no doubt charge us at least $100 a piece which we can’t afford.

So, we took my best fabric shears and started whacking. We had some success. We think maybe the clippers need new blades, so that is on the agenda if we ever get the danged brakes fixed. (two trips to Bill’s and two trips back, since he is still backed up and the Contrarian must wait for the fix.)

Meanwhile these two dogs continue to make my house look like a barn. Bear paces a lot, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep, but always manages. They still wag their tails. They seem better now that we got some neck hair and rear mats removed. They are sound asleep now, awaiting dinner. I love them madly I truly do. I think often that we won’t have them long now. They are slowing down. They don’t run the lane like they used to. One trip does them in. But few dogs have had their life of fun. They are never hungry and always have access to a dry and warm place.

People often say that our pets will get us in or out of heaven depending. I suspect there is some truth to that. As the Contrarian says, they ask for so little and give so much.

They give all in truth. They love fully. They love blindly. They never stop. And as time-consuming and irritating as they can be at times, I am going to miss them, every one of them, when they leave us. And God willing we will get others.

They hold up a mirror to us, and invite us to our highest, best, self. And then have no clue they are doing it. They just are. Until the very last moment they trust us, as we seldom trust ourselves.

And that’s why they drive me mad with love.

**PS: if anybody has a good solution to cleaning out badly matted dogs, give a yak at me! lol..

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God’s Joke: The CAT

Tags

animal behavior, cats, dogs, God, Humor, pets

I have it written on my list, then when I get my first sit-down interview with God, I intend to ask him about his creation of cats. Something along the lines of “What were you thinking?”

You may have been under the impression that the duck-billed platypus was the all time winner in the God’s joke category, but I tell you, no. . . . it is the creature known as the “domesticated” cat. The word is in quotes for a reason.

We have four of the simple creatures, and I cannot say that I came to cat ownership naturally. We were Americans, thus we were dog people. Cat people were always somewhat suspicious, somehow not quite like us. They didn’t eat red meat and spit. They tended to decorate in cottage early American, and have lots of decoupage items around.

Probably to separate myself from the parental influence, I started a life with cats. And life has never been the same.

What is most true, is that no two cats are even remotely alike. They appear to be distant cousins to each other. Dogs, on the other hand, are all pretty much the same. They like being petted, like car rides usually, like treats, and like to give kisses. Doesn’t matter whether they are chihuahuas or great danes, they are pretty much the same.

Cats, well, as I said, they are all different. Ours are no exception. Kate, the first and only female, is crazy as a loon. She hates other cats, all dogs and well, anything else smaller, she catches. She thinks she’s human, and demands constant attention, but you can’t pet her as you wish. No there are rules. What parts may be touched, which cannot. She has no humor whatsoever. She is both nosy and clumsy. She has a fear of being left alone, and will follow you walking down the road, pitifully yipping her whiny disapproval of all this walking business. She spends the evening between us on the couch.

Spencer is the demon spawn who has mellowed in the last year. He is extra long of tooth and nail, and is a killing machine. He was arrogance personified, often jumping directly onto one’s stomach at 3 a.m. in search of a comfy spot to nap. After wheedling his way between the Contrarian and I, he proceeds to take a thirty minute bath, and then resettle with a plop and drift off to dreamland.

Letting him out has been a game. He scratches that he wants out. He then runs under the table while you go and open the door. Then you must step away from the door, and let him wander there in his own time. I get the broom. We don’t play that game much anymore. As I said, he has mellowed and is a bit of a cloying actually now. He seems glued to my lap every evening.

Calvin was apparently traumatized as an infant. He barely allowed us to touch him for years. Yet he was kind and around. Finally he has become a petting whore. He demands dozens upon dozens of pets each day. He digs at your hands with his paw, with just the slightest touch of claw, if you haven’t done enough. He doesn’t like to be held, but will tolerate it for a few seconds. He loves milk each day.

Hobbes is a big boy. He is a gentle, laid back dude who just loves to cuddle. You can hang him around your neck and he would be happy. He can be petted, carried, and he doesn’t take offense if you indicate that you don’t have time for him. He is one jealous little stinker who horns in should anyone else pay me too much attention. He’s a master of the lay against, and slowly ooze his way onto my lap, usually displacing Spencer. 

Not a single one of the little buggers will give a kiss. Not a single swipe with that rough little tongue will be offered, no matter how much cooing and lovey dovey sounds you make. They are aloof. A cat has a way, when you speak to it, of turning it’s head slowly, finally meeting your eyes for a split second, and then moving on past. You are not sure he even responds to his name. You are obviously not worth his time.

You buy them toys, and they play for five minutes and then never touch the dang thing again. They have a love-hate relationship with their tails. Touch it and they look at you like you are a child molester. If it flicks off a cup and breaks it, they look at you in amazement, “Me? no, I have no idea what that thing is, and how it broke your cup.”

Now, I can see that they might resent us in some sense. After all, we didn’t adopt them as pets just cuz they are cute. No, they were “tamed” to do work, like kill mice in the pantry and storage facilities. Not so hard, and heck, it’s very natural for them. So I don’t know what is all the stink. Dogs were domesticated to work too at first, and many still do. They are still able and willing to look at their owners with pure adoration and offer kisses.

Not the freakin’ cat, who holds grudges for years. When Kate was young, she had an eye infection. I put the goo in her eyes and she has never forgiven me. You can be sure, that face touching is not allowed, ever!

Which takes me to the latest. Last night, or should I say before the crack of dawn, the Contrarian arose as is his normal practice. Not so easy, since he fell yesterday on the front porch and  injured his hip. I knew he was struggling, so I got up and asked if he needed things. And in fact he did, so I was searching out the cane, a coffee cup,  and his skull cap to keep his head warm.

I turned on the bedroom lights to look for his cap, and when I came from his side of the bed, here comes Spencer running full tilt into the room. He stops, spits, and drops a headless mouse in front of me. He looks at me with bright, “oh ain’t you proud of me” eyes, and meows. “Thanks butthead! You’re a peach,” I yell over my shoulder as I take the cap on to the Contrarian.

Yeah, 5 a.m. and I’m getting a paper towel to remove the headless playmate from next to my bed. Nice joke there God. Your point?

Don’t Mess With the Girlie!

Tags

Bear, Brandy, cats, dogs, Iowa, life in the meadow, pets

Let me start out by saying that everyone is okay. No lives were lost. It bears repeating. . . . no lives were lost! We were not sure at the time, but the morning rays of sunshine proved to expose no bodies mangled beyond recognition, and a head count resulted in the magic number of six–a full ship.

This story involves the mild-mannered and thoroughly lovable Brandy, “B” dog extraordinaire. A little history will suffice.

Brandy, pictured to the right, somehow found herself jailed at the local animal shelter with a number of siblings while only a few weeks old. We, the Contrarian and I, were in the market for a second dog to companion the very “A” dog, Bear. We figured a youngster was best, and probably a female.

As we wandered through the caged area, no dog seemed to fit the bill, until we came upon the group home of “The Brando” and some of her siblings. As I approached, they all began to scramble to the front of the cage. Our soon to be Brandy, stood on her tippy toes, her eyes locked on mine, and remained centered on me, as she was buffeted back and forth by stronger brothers and sisters. She exhibited an indomitable will to be mine. I chose her.

A few days later after a nice bath and so forth we ventured to pick her up, Bear in tow. She sat on my lap, licking my face furiously. No idea why she was so drawn to humans given her history, but she was. Bear leaned over the seat and growled. She peed. We laughed. I changed once we got home.

For the first several weeks, Brandy was subjected to some rough treatment. Bear kept her strictly in line as she tried dutifully to follow him everywhere. From time to time, he would bowl her over, sending her tumbling and rolling in the grass. Often he pinched her with little bites, bringing yelps and cries for help.

She idolized her big brother, harsh task master that he often was. An amazing thing happened however. Brandy grew. And she grew. And she grew. Soon, she weighed more than Bear. Soon the tackles didn’t knock her down any more. Bear started to bounce off her. Yet, she remained properly submissive and humble. Unless he really hurt her, she never retaliated but took her lumps and continued on her happy life.

To say that Brandy is a happy dog is to not understand the term. She is ebullient, she is ever expecting the best, ever hopeful, ever new to every day, no matter how many times she has experienced the same basic things. Although she enjoyed chasing cats, she would never bite one. She was a push over. Cats could snoop in her bowl without punishment. They could walk by her without a concern about her “mood.”

Behind all that sweetness there was a dangerous animal however. She soon learned to work with her brother to corner coyotes, and she was vicious in her growls and bites as they tag teamed the unfortunate canine cousin. She had no compunctions about killing rabbits or other small animals, and found them most tasty as well.

There was, and is, only one area where Brandy our “girly girl” is not to be crossed. And no less than Bear is obedient to this warning–do not mess with the girl when she is asleep.

No doubt, this relates to her extreme childhood. No doubt, a sibling bit her while she slept. She has never forgotten. And she is ready to kill if you violate her space. Everyone of us has had the sad occasion to inadvertently “touch” her by the barest means, only to have a slavering, toothy snarl erupt from her otherwise placid countenance.

Such happened last night, and it was one of the worst. We had gone to bed, all animals safely indoors for the night. The cats are used to being in and out during the night during warmer times when doors can be left open and screens adjusted so they can slither out and do “cat things.” Not this frigid night. Yet of course they wander about at night as cats are wont to do.

All of the sudden, a wail arose from a cat, and violent barking and snarling was heard. Doors were hit, and movement was frantic. Everyone was running every which way. A minute or so, and all was again quiet. A few minutes later, a cat lept to the bed and laid down quickly. Nothing further was heard.

No blood was found anywhere, and all cats were found intact. One seemed a bit recalcitrant in wanting to travel through the living area, keeping to the walls, skittering from bed to food, carefully watching out. I think Calvin got the brunt of the rude attack. I am not sure he caused it, since Spencer is noted for his summary lack of respect for the canine species. In any event, Calvin, I suspect,  spend the night in the cold basement rather than chance another encounter with the girlie.

All are friendly today, as I said, if everyone is wary. Brandy appears not to know what all the fuss is about. She’s her usual passive sweet self this morning. She’s ready for any adventure life may offer. Just don’t disturb the girl when she’s asleep. She’s dangerous then, until she has woken up and realizes where she is. Just thought you might like to know, should you ever run into her.

I Want to Ask

Tags

advertising, celebrities, courts, creationists, evolution, Gitmo, journalism, Madison Avenue, Media, Muslims, pets, rapture, terrorism, Young earthers

It seems an opportune time to rid my brain case of a few puzzling thoughts. Ain’t you glad you stopped by?

I want to ask all those who oppose trying the Gitmo detainees in American civilian courts if they have ever read the Declaration of Independence? I mean, given the fine patriots you all claim to be, I would think it would be something you read regularly at your patriotic meetings. Am I wrong?

There are lots of reasons why the right wingers don’t want the prisoners tried in open American courts. Mostly to keep the dirty laundry in the hamper I believe. Don’t want to let those Muslims use courtrooms as soap boxes to spout their rhetoric and at the same time, report all the sordid things done to them do we?

The one that is utterly ironic to me is the argument, that “they aren’t American and thus not entitled to our rights.” This is where the Declaration comes it. I believe somewhere in that document is says or words to the effect,

All men are created equal and are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, . . . .

Does this mean what I think it means? All as in A L L? Didn’t one Georgie Dubya Bush talk about how it was our Christian duty to export democracy around the world and so that everyone had the wonderful rights we have? Hows come, the flip folks? No what goes around comes around? Enlighten me please.

I want to ask creationists what research they have done that proves their thesis that the earth was created by God around 6,500 (+/-) years ago? I mean scientists do science and offer their results to the world for examination and retesting. For reformulation, rehypothesizing, and new testing. What creationist has done any research at all?

It seems, as has been said by others, that they simply mine the data field, picking and choosing here and there, and then making up arguments without proofs of any kind. You’re beliefs are not testable propositions. Show us the research that proves your claims. Dare ya.

And don’t give me that bull that you aren’t required to be both a creationist and a young earth proponent. Course you are. If you believe in Genesis, creation story one, they you believe the earth is flat. That’s what the text alludes to. Are ya not smart enough to see that?

But of course, you probably aren’t smart enough, cuz if you were, you wouldn’t be a creationist in the first place. It’s why you believe that Stephen Colbert is a conservative too. You don’t have much grasp on the concept of irony do ya? Enlighten me.

I want to ask those ad men and women, just where in the H2O you came from? Why do you continue to run ads that are offensive and counter productive to your presumed cause?

Case in point. There is a ad for a toilet. Yeah, I know, who needs a commercial for THAT in the first place. But watch. The married dude sees a sexy “plumber” and then tries to sabotage his toilet by throwing all manner of crap down it, just so as how he can call the plumber and ogle her I guess. In walks the wifey as he is pouring dog food down the john. This is supposed to entice me to purchase your product?

Or this one: Levi Johnson talking about being protected or something. And then a wise guy banging another’s head onto a table to crack a nut. This to sell pistachios. This is neither humorous nor tells me anything I want to know about nuts. Except that you are one. And the idiot who decided to pay you for this is even more of one. Enlighten me.

I want to ask the media just how long ago it was that they started offering a course in “how to phone it in” at all our major schools of journalism? What you claim as journalism is sophomoric to say the least. Bloggers are making you look silly dudes.

We don’t mean Foxy of course. They are not lazy, they lie on purpose. They have an agenda, and lucky them, a following composed of atrophied brains so useless that said watchers cannot tell the difference between fact and fiction in the first, second and third place.

No, I’m talking about the insipid drivel that passes for journalism virtually everywhere. Every news cycle is dominated by more non-news that news. Tiger had an accident. It may be all innocent, or it may have a lot to do with a marriage gone sour. I don’t know, I don’t care, I don’t have any business knowing. Some celeb wannabe’s crashed the White House gig. Who they are? I don’t care, I don’t CARE!

Same for Letterman, and Oprah, and that Mackenzie had sex with daddy, and that Mike Tyson has grown up, and that Whitney has seen the light. I don’t care. I don’t care. When will you people get that I don’t care? Sigh.

I do care that 1 in 6 people today is applying for food stamps. I do care that our health care system is an immoral morass that caters to those with sufficient income. I do care that the climate is going to hell in a hand basket and nobody is doing much about it. I care you see about what real people are suffering through. I don’t give a rat’s bottom what rich people are “suffering” through mostly through their own stupidity and arrogance.

Can you all get that? I want to ask somebody, anybody. And while your at it, when you have nothing better to do, then at least promote things that are worthy of real consideration. Like this fine piece:

A site called Eternal Earth-Bound Pets, makes the following claims:

You’ve committed your life to Jesus. You know you’re saved.  But when the Rapture comes what’s to become of your loving pets who are left behind?   Eternal Earth-Bound Pets takes that burden off your mind. 

We are a group of dedicated animal lovers, and atheists. Each
Eternal Earth-Bound Pet representative is a confirmed atheist, and as such will still be here on Earth after you’ve received your reward.  Our network of animal activists are committed to step in when you step up to Jesus.

It seems right up the alley of those aforementioned brain leakers. They have so far had 100 takers and operate in 22 states. I guess, I should have something I want to ask them too, but I’ll have to think a while on this one.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Tags

depression, Iowa, life in the meadow, pets, Thanksgiving afterthoughts, walking

Whew. . . . I take it you made it? I mean you survived the day? All that mound of food, irritating relatives and watching the never ending saga of the sad Lions and another loss?

And this is just the beginning. We get to do all this again, and more in about a month. Is there something ever so slightly masochistic about all this?

If yesterday and the previous three days of preparation weren’t enough, a surprising number of otherwise sane appearing Americans forewent sleep and even set up pup tents in parking lots in order to be first when the doors opened at 3 am. All to secure what are undoubtedly amazing deals on electronics and clothes and other “must have” items that somebody can’t live without.  (Read: if you are a good parent you will secure said item for your children.)

No, I did not participate, although the idea of a lap top for $299. at Best Buy was intriguing. Learning that people camped out all DAY yesterday in order to get one of the 7? they had, well, I am glad I am a more principled person! I did not succumb, but rather archly commented “amateurs!” and other such epithets as I snuggled deeper into the quilt.

No way that we were ever going to do that, though the Contrarian offered to wake me up should I wish to head off at 2 am. He would not, however, be accompanying me. Yeah, like I thought he might?

We had a good meal yesterday. Most everything came out as planned. The dressing was to die for, and we both were full way to soon. It continues to drive me nearly insane to realize that I spend probably six solid hours of work on food that is consumed in 30 minutes. It does not seem fair. The best fall out is that we warm up everything again for today. At least I don’t have to come up with a menu for dinner today!

The Contrarian did the clean up which was deeply appreciated. The dogs got turkey, gravy, and some taters. The cats strut around wondering why they never get such treats. Several of them mentioned this to me, so I guess I’ll have to come up with something. Milk doesn’t seem to be a sufficient “extra” so they say.

I’ve recognized the onset of another bout of depression. The weather has been atrocious the last few days, rainy and/or cold/windy/dark/crappy. I’m feeling awfully achy and out of sorts. The Contrarian suggested that I not walk today–“take a break” he suggested. But I figured that the sun shining today was an invitation I should not turn down. It was cold, but not too windy, and the sun was helpful I think. Anyway, I feel a bit more energized.

Mostly it’s back to business as usual. Back to studying again. It’s on to EXODUS! We all have our wildernesses don’t we? We all have our hopes in the promised land, however we define that.

Walking today, I noted that as usual, the dogs pay very little attention to me. Brandy turns around now and again, just to make sure I haven’t slipped off to a vehicle to go for a ride. Otherwise, she and Bear trot ever further ahead of me, and arrive back at the house several minutes before I do. My only real companion is Spencer.

I must say, Spencer, in his aging has mellowed. Once the hell cat from well, HeLL, he has gotten older, and is now rather a sweet older guy. He’s around tenish, give or take a few months. He walks with me, although he often lags behind on the walk to the road. Sometimes he tires and stops and waits my return. Today he walked most of the way.

Unlike the dogs, who as I said, leave me in their hurry to get back to the house, Spencer walks behind me, then races ahead, only to stop, sit and wait until I catch up. If I stop to catch my breath or turn my face to Sol, he comes and brushes against my leg, then sits patiently. He is my new buddy, more faithful than his cousins.

Kate occasionally follows in the summer, but she keeps up a constant whining complaint both up and back. Neither Calvin or Hobbes would dream of wasting their time following a human on a walk. For that matter, neither would the Contrarian.

The Contrarian believes in powered vehicles for movement. Enough said. He’s weird as you know. He’s always talking about eating and drinking anthropologically, but never seems to make the connection to the  purpose of legs and feet for movement from place to place. If he can ride, he will, even if it’s a hundred feet. He likes his tractor and his truck. He’s a man. Enough said.

I promise myself not to get “into” the hubbub of the holidays this year. Mostly I will not. We play down Christmas here. We select a “gift” that we both can enjoy. We let it go at that. I’ll feel slightly jealous and left out, but mostly I won’t. I won’t be frazzled and bedazzled. I won’t face hideous bills in January. I can concentrate only on the thing that matters–Spring!

Sweeping In a Whirlwind of Dust

Tags

church, Contrarian, Facebook, housework, Humor, pets

Big title for a rather mundane blog. Yes, you heard it here first, so don’t complain when you get to the end, that it was much ado about nothing. Credit to Shakespeare!

I hate housework. Always have, always will. I don’t care for things that are boring and have such transient results. In my house that means a few minutes often. And that definitely makes it less than worthwhile.

I do it, and have been pretty darn religious about it since the big room by room wash down a year and a half ago. Still, you wouldn’t even want to think about eating off my floors. Only the dogs do that, and they have no class at all anyway.

I can mop a floor here,  and go off to shop only to return to find large sand piles in the kitchen where the dogs have plopped awaiting my return. It’s dangerous most days to move around unshoed. Cats puke with regularity around here for some reason, and well, you get the picture. Everything that can cling to dog or cat fur ends up on my floor.

The walls are always speckled with muddy water, shook from said dogs. Cats seldom shake, and I don’t know why that is. Tubs are ringed with tiny kitty prints as they snoop far and wide.

And don’t even get me started on husbands! No, best leave that subject alone.

And you thought living in the country was clean? No, in a word. We live 1/2 mile from the dirt road and it manages to find its way back here and leaves a dusty trail with about two days. So much for all that “clean” air.

I have in a word given up, and just keep the surface clean, but don’t even suggest you want to visit, cause I’ll get the vapors. I’m just lucky to live with the Contrarian who thinks closets and drawers are for people who want to lose things. Better to dump it on the floor nearby where I can stub my toe in the middle of the night.

Speaking of which, a joke all women can relate to:

How do you know when your husband has fallen asleep on the couch, from the other room you are in?

When you hear the remote hit the floor.

Relate? Told ya you would.

***

I’m off to a luncheon today at the Church, which is why not much thought is going into this post. Just so ya know. Conversation with women is always so eclectic I think. It can range from tampons to Iran in a heartbeat and it all makes perfect sense to us.

***

I’m doing Facebook again. I signed up a couple of years ago, never got it, never found any groups I liked, and pretty much ignored it. Border Explorer mentioned to me that she had “friended” me and I related that I didn’t much participate.  Well Twittering has pretty much been a bore, especially since all those who want to be me twitter friends these days are young women who don’t like to wear clothes. I’d be suspicious that the Contrarian was about nefariously twitting behind my back on my name, but he cares less about that stuff than he does about what’s going on in Big Brother, and he cares NOT about that.

Anyhooo, I had some time, and wandered over. Either it changed a lot, or I didn’t get it. It’s a lot more fun than I thought, and BE and I are mafia partners and playing Mafia Wars. It seems that QuakerDave is there a lot, as is Jeannelle, and a number of other bloggers. We exchange a lot of links and so forth and chat real time occasionally, which is also new.

I’ve befriended a few Church friends too. But what I just started doing is tracking down high school classmates. I’ve been in touch with a couple so far, and the stories of what we have done in the intervening 40+ years is truly amazing. It’s just fascinating to learn who married who, and what people ended up doing for a living and so forth.

So if you Facebook, look me up. You can follow the link on the left side or just enter my name, Sherry Peyton to find me.

***

Brandy and Bear had a great walk today with me. Brandy was in the bean field, only her tail wagging furiously as she ran along down the rows. Every ten yards or so, she leaped up and dove back under, much like a dolphin. Soon Bear got intrigued and joined her.

They raced along, until, whhhooooosh, a hen pheasant rose, followed by two, then two, then two more, all juveniles. So the pheasant population seems to have done well this year.

 The dogs were ecstatic, and she was grinning from ear to ear as she rejoined me on the lane. I guess that passes for great fun for a dog.

***

Tomorrow is another full day at church it seems. Meetings at 9 before service, and at 10:30 after. I seem to be getting “involved.” I’m visiting the food pantry Tuesday to “learn the ropes” as it were. I went from having almost no commitments any month to having 5-6 or more. For a lazy person, that’s a lot, but I’m enjoying it, and finding it worthwhile and satisfying. Hopefully I am of some service to others in some small way.

Catch ya tomorrow for something or other! Visit on Facebook if time is short!