Epiphany

In the months leading up to and since the recent Supreme Court decisions about same-sex marriage, I have held what I thought was a well-thought-out and unshakable opinion.

Actually two opinions – the first being that it’s none of my business since there is no way it will ever affect me directly.

That being said, I have strongly stated my belief that true love is a wonderful thing, and any couple in a monogamous relationship should be able to enjoy all the rights and privileges afforded any other couple.

My one caveat was that – while I supported same-sex couples’ right to civil unions – I thought that asking for a church wedding was wrong. 

To ask the church to sanctify something which thousands of years of doctrine has called an abomination  is something I simply could not support.  A church that would perform such a ceremony would be betraying the very thing that made it a church.

Then, this morning, I had an epiphany. 

I didn’t go blind like Saul on the road to Damascus, but I’m pretty sure I did see the light.  I do know that I heard a voice.

“How,” it asked, “is performing a same-sex wedding any different from hosting a Crawfish Boil on the church grounds, or serving bacon at a prayer breakfast?”

Heartburn equals Hair?

If you’ve spent any time in Texas hospitals, you might have noticed that Mexican babies seem to be born with a full, luxuriant, head of hair.  Not always, of course, but much more often that Anglo infants.  I always assumed it was a genetic thing, tracing back to Mayan ancestry or some such, but that was simply an assumption.

Now I learn that it may have been caused by gas!

I came upon this explanation on line -

Folk Wisdom Or Science? If you suffer from heartburn during pregnancy, your baby is likely to be born with a full head of hair.

Answer: Science

“Folksy” sounding but true. Researchers at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore found that when pregnant women reported moderate heartburn, they had hairy newborns 82 percent of the time; the majority of heartburn-free women gave birth to bald babies.

Surprised? So was the study’s lead author, Kathleen a. Costigan, R.N., M.P.H., director of the hospital’s Fetal Assessment Center. “I had heard this old wives’ tale hundreds of times and used to tell my patients it was nonsense,” she says. “We undertook this study thinking that we would debunk the myth!” Researchers surmise that higher levels of estrogen and progesterone, the pregnancy hormones that stimulate fetal hair growth, also relax the esophageal sphincter, allowing stomach acid to back up into the esophagus and cause gastric reflux, aka heartburn.

This was just one of the surprises in an article on the Fit Pregnancy Website

Piling on Paula

The world is crashing down around Paula Deen. and I’m am surprised to find that I actually care.

I don’t like her – I find her cloying molasses drawl to be a grating caricature of Southern women, and annoying as Hell – but she is being pilloried for something I suspect was geographical and generational, the use of a word once common as oxygen.

It all began with a lawsuit in which a former employee claimed that Deen once used the word Nigger, a term rappers and black comedians use all the time. 

[I once had a long and serious discussion with a good friend and (Black) coworker about how it could be perfectly fine for him to use the N-word, but never okay for me.  His final answer was “It’s just something that White folks can’t understand.”  Condescending as that sounds, he may have been right.  I still don’t understand it – a word is either acceptable or it’s not.]

The Food Network used that allegation as an excuse to announce that it was not renewing the contract for her show.  A more likely reason was that her ratings had slipped - Ratings for  Deen’s show “Paula’s Best Dishes” were down 15% in total viewers—and 22% in the 18-49 demographic that advertisers care most about—for the 2012-13 season, compared with last season, according to Nielsen ratings provided by Horizon Media.

Whatever the reason, once that news hit the air there was a stampede for the door.  Deen  has lost contracts with department stores, casinos and drug manufacturers as each company joins an Olympic level competition to see who can appear to be the most offended.

These character assassinations in the name of political correctness have become all too common.  Big corporations like KBR survive them, and I suspect  Monsanto will make it through their current woes.  But attacking an individual over something that is of little importance in the grand scheme of things is something else again.

It’s mob mentality, and sad evidence that too many among us enjoy kicking a person when she is down.

Cardinal Crash

Our pair of Cardinals have a couple of youngsters that paid their first visit to the bird feeder yesterday.  They are about two thirds as large as the parents with very interesting coloration. 

On-line bird books suggest that they are males – they are not as brown as their mother, but not nearly as red as their dad. In fact, instead of being brilliant red, their brighter feathers are a flaming orange.

As we were watching them, we witnessed a near disaster.  One of the young ones flew directly into the big picture window on the back of our 5th wheel trailer, and dropped like a rock!

After he had laid there for what seemed like minutes, the mother bird flew down to check on him.  She moved around him and prodded him with her beak with no result.  Finally, as she flew away, he lifted his head.

A minute or two later, I went out to check on him.  As I approached, he didn’t fly – didn’t even try – but he spread his wings and ran/hopped away into some underbrush at the edge of our property.  At that point, I decided it was better to leave him alone.

We haven’t seen him again, but I’m pretty sure that once the cobwebs cleared he was going to be okay. 

Wetback 101

Okay, Wetback may not be a “Politically Correct” term, but how appropriate  is a Mexican Amusement Park that lets visitors  simulate sneaking across the border into the US?

 

Glasses

Honey and I both have appointments at the Eye Doctor this afternoon.  It’s time – way past time, actually – for us to get new glasses.

It’s not like a visit to the opthalmologist is like a visit to the dentist, but for some reason we have been avoiding this for months.  I was starting to worry that we would not be able to get appointments before we leave on our summer trip, but when Honey called yesterday they had space available for both of us today.

Society of the Mind

You probably know that I read a lot, and regular followers will know that I am one of those dinosaurs who still read print on paper - no Nook or Kindle here, even though my own little novel is only available in electronic versions.

A couple times a year, when the pickings on the paperback racks are particularly slim, I’ll go back and read something I liked from previous years.  Right now, I’m rereading Society of the Mind by Eric L. Harry. 

Originally published in May of 1996, it was described as a Cyberthriller, a book having to do with the latest innovations in computing, robotics and virtual reality.  With all the innovations in the field, it is amazing that this book is as fresh, believable and up-to-date today as when it first appeared 17 years ago!

Like most good science fiction, and even more than most, this is not simply a sci-fi adventure.  Society is filled with thoughtful, well reasoned speculation on the nature of mind vs. brain, on sentience and the nature of humanity.  For those not into deep philosophical musings, there is still enough action to satisfy a die hard comic book fan.

The author, Eric Harry, is a Houston attorney who wrote four highly successful novels (the other three have to do with war and geopolitics)  but has not published anything since February, 2000.  According to his Wikipedia biography, he is still alive and practicing law. 

Why a writer so talented would write four books and just stop is a puzzle.  I wish I knew the answer.

Better yet, I wish I had book number five.

Two Creek II

We had a wonderful time at Two Creek Farm on Saturday.  Rodney and Jan Kimmons have a marvelous place.

We took the tour, riding in comfort on a multi-passenger golf cart past playgrounds and picnic areas, and fields full of  vegetables-in-progress.  Along the way, we stopped to let the little kids feed the ducks. 

As we approached the pond, the catfish felt us coming, and the water began to churn.  When we parked and Rodney threw fish food in the water, they went nuts!

I’ve seen Koi act like that, but never three to ten pound catfish.  Rodney says they will do that every time a tour stops, whether it’s just once or as many as four times in a day.

Back up at the front of the place, they have a Texas Longhorn, but those aren’t the BIGGEST horns on the place.  In the same pen, in the shade behind the shed we saw -

That’s an Ankole-Watusi (African Longhorn) and while its spread may not be quite as wide, those horns probably weigh at least five times as much.

They also have a couple of Bison, some donkeys, miniature horses, doves, rabbits, goats, etc., but the big draw for us was the farm-fresh vegetables. 

If the only tomatoes you’ve ever eaten were from the supermarket, you don’t know what you are missing.  Try one fresh off the vine sometime – the difference is amazing.

Up Two Creeks

Headed out today to Two Creek Farm.

Hard to describe – it’s a sort of combination truck farm, produce market, petting zoo and park. 

Owned and operated by Honey’s cousin, Rodney Kimmons and his wife, Jan – two people we like a lot and don't see often enough.

God and Grass

I saw this on the internet, and I stole it as fast as I could.  I wish I could take credit for it.

God and Grass
Thought you gardeners would enjoy this conversation between God and St. Francis:

GOD: Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions, violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles.
St. FRANCIS: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers 'weeds' and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.
GOD: Grass? But, it's so boring. It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It's sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?
ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.
GOD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.
ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it-sometimes twice a week.
GOD: They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?
ST. FRANCIS: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.
GOD: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
ST. FRANCIS: No, Sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
GOD: Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And, when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?
ST. FRANCIS: Yes, Sir.
GOD: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.
ST. FRANCIS: You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it, so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
GOD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn, they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. It's a natural cycle of life.
ST. FRANCIS: You better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.
GOD: No!? What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?
ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.
GOD: And where do they get this mulch?
ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.
GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. St. Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?
ST. CATHERINE: 'Dumb and Dumber', Lord. It's a story about....
GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.

Liar, Liar

On Monday, I mentioned the gauge on the side of the air filter box on our truck, and how the owner’s manual says to trust the gauge. 

 

The manual clearly states that you should never replace the filter - never even open the box to visually inspect the filter - until the indicator reaches the red. 

As I mentioned in my earlier post, I had reached the point at which I no longer trusted the gauge, and it turns out my fears were justified.

Here’s what the old filter looked like when I took it out:

It is too soon to tell how much my mileage has improved, but acceleration/responsiveness has jumped now that the engine is no longer starving for air.

Old Duck

In a few weeks, we will be returning to Glacier National Park on our summer tour.  It is just one of several stops we have planned, but should be one of the highlights of the trip.

Among other things, Glacier is the breeding ground for the Harlequin Duck, a small sea duck that almost never makes it as far south as Texas.  There have  been a few sightings, and one photographed near Port Isabel back in 1990.

The duck, named for the male’s colorful plumage, nests along the banks of Glacier’s icy streams, with the females returning each year to the spot where they were hatched.

There are young Harlequin ducks, middle-aged Harlequin ducks, old Harlequin ducks, and then one really old Harlequin duck that calls Glacier National Park home.

According to the folks at Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks, this breed of waterfowl can live to 15 years, which is old for most ducks, and Glacier officials say the oldest known banded Harlequin duck lived to 18 years and 10 months.

That puts one male Harlequin duck living in Glacier in rare company – he’s at least 17 years old, according to its band.

“Prior to these findings, Harlequin ducks were reported to live up to only 10 years of age, which makes this finding a positive indicator of the health and longevity of harlequin breeding populations in Glacier National Park,” said Lisa Bate, the park's biological science technician. “Research indicates Harlequin ducks mate for life unless something happens to one member of the pair. This old male has returned the last three years with the same female.”

I hope to see some Harlequin Ducks in Glacier, but what we really need to see this trip is a moose.  We have made a couple trips to “moose country” in the Northern tier states and Canada, saw tracks and droppings in Glacier, but have never spotted a moose in the wild.

Caller ID

One of the options  that DirecTV offers allows caller identification to pop up on the TV screen whenever you have an incoming telephone call.  It’s a nice feature to have, I guess, but it would be much nicer if we received more calls from people with whom we actually wanted to talk.

I suppose that it is a sad commentary on our lives, but if the call is from a local area code – 713, 281, or 832 – it is almost never someone I want to talk to.  More often than not, it is some local charity wanting money, or it is someone trying to sell us siding, home security or air-conditioning service in spite of our number being on the federal don’t call list.

If the ID screen shows an 800 area code, or says unknown, private or blocked, you can bet the farm that whoever is on the other end is someone I would rather avoid. Answering those calls is just inviting aggravation.

Before you decide we shouldn’t have a telephone at all, I should point out that we do get some good calls.  There are some calls we are really glad to receive.

The very best calls come from area code 512.  Those calls are from our daughter, or, once in a while, from one of our grandsons.

My Faith Has Reached Its Limit

Our Dodge truck has a gizmo like the one in the picture below.

It is  mounted on the box that holds the air filter, and  according to Cummins – or maybe Chrysler – that little gauge will tell you all you ever need to know about when it is time to change the filter.  In fact, on pages 390 and 391 of the owners manual, Dodge says you should never open the box to visually inspect the air filter and only replace it when the indicator (the yellow piston inside the clear window) reaches the red.

So far, I’ve gone along with that advice, but our truck (and the air filter that came on it) is now five years old and the odometer shows over 80 thousand miles.  At that point, with an old gas engine, the truck would be on air filter number four or five.

I’ve thought about it, and  I just can’t see any down side to having a new filter, so in spite of the manual – and the indication on the gauge - I’m going to install a new air filter this week.

Sam, from Microsoft

We had developed some cracks in the skimmer inlet of our pool – probably the result of ground shift caused by last year’s drought.

Honey was gone to the dentist, so I had carried the cordless phone out to the pool while I worked on patching the cracks.

I was neck deep in the water, kneading a ball of JB- Weld waterproof epoxy between my fingers, when the phone rang right on cue.  I set the gob of plastic down, swam to the ladder and made it to the phone just before it would have gone to voice mail.

“Hello.”

There was a lot of noise in the background – sounded like multiple conversations or maybe seagulls behind a shrimp boat – then a voice straight out of Mumbai said “This is Sam from Microsoft.  Are you near your computer please?'”

“What?”

“This is Sam from Microsoft.  We have discovered that you have downloaded a dangerous software.  If you will turn on your computer, I will help you to remove it.”

Taking a line from a State Farm TV ad, I asked him “What are you wearing, Sam from Microsoft?”

“Pardon?”

“I am in my bathing suit, in the water, repairing my swimming pool.”

“Thank you, Sir.  I will call back again.”

It has been several days and Sam has not called back – I would bet the farm that he never will.  I have no idea what that call was about but I’m sure it was some kind of scam.  In the entire history of the corporation, I doubt if the Microsoft help desk ever made an unsolicited call to a customer. 

Flag Day – the Morning After

The County maintenance crews were out this week, mowing the ditches with their big three-mower bush hogs.  Today, on our morning walk, I glanced over to see in the leftover hay and assorted litterbug debris the mangled remains of an American Flag.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much. 

It is, after all, just a scrap of cheap cotton – the kind mass printed by the thousands in some third-world country for sale here.  It was probably bought at a big box store or at a fireworks stand.

At its best, it was never more than a cheap representation of our national emblem.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much.

But it did.

I collected the flag and will dispose of it with appropriate respect later today.

No Smoking

A little late posting today, but maybe it was worth the wait. 

We went to Deerbrook Mall today, and while we were there, we bought one of those electronic cigarette setups.

Our daughter bought one back in February, and hasn’t smoked since.  We tried hers last weekend.  She uses flavored stuff in hers, and the stuff she likes tastes awful.  Otherwise, we thought it was okay.

We chose a plain tobacco flavor with a moderate nicotine level – pretty much the same amount we got from a cigarette.

If all goes as planned, there are several plusses:

No tar in your lungs

No stain on teeth

No holes burned in clothes

No offensive odor 

And you can use it in the house

If the salesgirl can be believed – and Cheryl’s experience says she can – it will also save us a ton of money.

Flood and Fire

On this date a couple years back, we were worrying about the effect flooding along the Mississippi and in the Dakotas was going to have on our summer trip.  This year, the problem may be fire.

 

That’s an aerial shot of fire raging this morning near Colorado Springs, Colorado.  Dozens  of very nice homes have already been destroyed, and as of today, firefighters are not even close to bringing the blaze under control. 

This is of particular concern to us because we will be in the area a month from today.  We have reservations at Cheyenne Mountain State Park, one of Colorado’s newest  parks, located just a few miles from the fire shown above.

 

A check of the park’s website this morning shows all facilities are open as usual, but does say “Smoke and extreme weather in the area may have an affect.”

That trip a few years ago went fine.  We did see some effects of the floods along the way, but had only one day  with detours, and all the spots we had reserved were open. 

Here’s hoping this summer works out as well.

Jump Rope

Wake Up Call

I was, as they say, minding my own business. 

I was leaning against the gas grill, having my first cigarette of the day while I waited for the cobwebs to clear out of my groggy mind, when a big oak limb fell to the ground right behind me, breaking into several pieces.

I won’t say it almost hit me – the nearest it came was about eight feet away – but it was big enough and fell from high enough that when it hit the ground I felt the thump through my feet. 

It definitely woke me up.

Our two dachshunds were in the yard with me when it happened.  Dusty, the little red one, immediately looked up and started barking at the tree where the limb broke off. 

Tinker, our black and tan, didn’t make a sound, but she ran over and attacked the fallen limb.  She bit big chunks of rotten wood off the ends of at least two of the three largest pieces.   I will admit that I’m not sure what Tinker was thinking, but I’m pretty sure that she wanted to make damn sure that limb didn’t do it again.

Super Truck

I grew up thinking Ford trucks were the only trucks to own. 

My grandfather did have a Studebaker pickup that lasted forever, and my dad did buy one of the first GMC V-6 pickups back in 1960.  When he figured out that the Jimmy had less power and burned more gas than his previous truck, he traded it in on a new Ford V-8.  It was the only new vehicle he ever kept less than a year.

All that being said, we have really loved our Dodge Ram mega-cab with the Cummins diesel engine.  It is by far the best truck we have ever owned.

It’s nice to know that Superman agrees.

Family Reunion

Went to the Kimmons family reunion yesterday, but nobody named Kimmons showed up. 

The only ones there who even used to be named Kimmons were my wife Honey, her sister Kim, and her aunt Jean. 

That is not to say it was a small group – there was a good turnout – but the vast majority of attendees were descendants of Kimmons girls who married guys named Larry or Tommy Earnest,  or Charlie Gordon.

On the sign-in table, there was a scrapbook with photos from the last Kimmons reunion, held at our house 21 years ago.  Probably ought to hold these things a little more often if we really want to stay in touch.

It could be worse, though.  There was a Couch family reunion this weekend as well.  I don’t think I’ve been to one of those since I was twelve or thirteen.

 

Distraction

Wasp

Here at the Boggy Thicket, it’s the big time of the year to watch little red wasps hauling great big spiders.  A check of wildlife sites for Southeast Texas mentions Dirt Daubers and something called the Tarantula Wasp, although I suspect that they may be referring to the same critter.

In any case, they are not dangerous – unless you’re a spider – and they don’t kill the spiders.  Their sting paralyzes the spider, which they then stuff into their nest to feed their young in a few weeks.  A dead spider would spoil, but a paralyzed spider provides a fresh source food once the wasp eggs hatch.

Their favorite nesting spot is a weep hole built into the brick walls of the house, but they will also drag their heavy catch all the way to the top of the wall to nests inside the eaves.  They will haul the spider vertically and horizontally for what seems like hours searching for just the right spot.  If they fall, or drop the heavy spider, they just start all over again.

I enjoy watching them dragging their prey across the yard and up the walls, but Honey can’t stand them.  The wasps, on the other hand, find her very attractive – she can hardly go outside this time of year without one buzzing around her head.

I did not film the video, but it gives you a good idea of the amount of challenges these wasps overcome.

How do you say….

It IS possible to learn something on Facebook – maybe not likely, but possible.

My friend Buddy Bukas posted a link this morning to some really interesting information.  Take a look HERE.

Think Again

We all make decisions constantly – some big, some small – all based on available information, prior experience, personal beliefs, etc.

We should know by now that the obvious answer is not always the correct answer.  Here are a two examples that I came across on the internet:

Question 1:

If you knew a woman who was pregnant, who had 8 kids already, three whom were deaf, two who were blind, one mentally retarded, and she had syphilis, would you recommend that she have an abortion?

Question 2:

It is time to elect a new world leader, and only your vote counts. Here are the facts about the three candidates.

Candidate A.

Associates with crooked politicians, and consults with an astrologist. He’s had two mistresses. He also chain smokes and drinks 8 to 10 martinis a day.

Candidate B.

He was kicked out of office twice, sleeps until noon, used opium in college and drinks a quart of whiskey every evening.

Candidate C.

He is a decorated war hero. He’s a vegetarian, doesn’t smoke, only drinks an occasional beer and never cheated on his wife.

Which of these candidates would be your choice? Decide first … no peeking, then scroll down for the response.

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

Candidate A is Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Candidate B is Winston Churchill.
Candidate C is Adolph Hitler.

And, by the way, on your answer to the abortion question: If you said YES, you just killed Beethoven.

Last Words

Have you ever spoken and immediately wished that

you could  take the words back…
Here are the Testimonials of a few people who did….

FIRST TESTIMONY:
I walked into a hair salon with my husband and three
kids in tow and asked loudly,
‘How much do you charge for a shampoo and a blow job?’
I turned around and walked back out and never went back
My husband didn’t say a word…he knew better.

SECOND TESTIMONY:
I was at the golf store comparing different kinds of golf balls.
I was unhappy with the women’s type I had been using.
After browsing for several minutes, I was approached by
one of the good-looking gentlemen who works at the store.
He asked if he could help me.
Without thinking, I looked at him and said,
‘I think I like playing with men’s balls’

THIRD TESTIMONY:
My sister and I were at the mall and
passed by a store that sold a variety of candy and nuts.
As we were looking at the display case, the boy behind
the counter asked if we needed any help. I replied, ‘
No, I’m just looking at your nuts.’
My sister started to laugh hysterically.
The boy grinned, and I turned beet-red and walked away.
To this day, my sister has never let me forget.

FOURTH TESTIMONY:
While in line at the bank one afternoon,
my toddler decided to release
some pent-up energy and ran amok.
I was finally able to grab hold of
her after receiving looks of disgust
and annoyance from other patrons.
I told her that if she did not start behaving
‘right now’ she would be punished.
To my horror, she looked me in the eye and said
in a voice just as threatening,
‘If you don’t let me go right now,
I will tell Grandma that I saw you
kissing Daddy’s pee-pee last night!’
The silence was deafening after this enlightening
exchange. Even the tellers stopped what they were doing.
I mustered up the last of my dignity and walked
out of the bank with my daughter in tow.
The last thing I heard when the door closed behind me, were screams of laughter.

FIFTH TESTIMONY:
Have you ever asked your child a question too many times?
My three-year-old son had a lot of problems with potty training
and I was on him constantly. One day we stopped at Taco Bell
for a quick lunch, in between errands It was very busy,
with a full dining room. While enjoying my taco,
I smelled something funny, so of course I checked
my seven-month-old daughter, she was clean.
The realized that Danny had not asked to go potty
in a while. I asked him if he needed to go,
and he said ‘No’ .. I kept thinking
‘Oh Lord, that child has had an accident, and
I don’t have any clothes with me.’ Then I said,
‘Danny, are you SURE you didn’t have an accident?’
‘No,’ he replied.
I just KNEW that he must have had an accident,
because the smell was getting worse.
Soooooo, I asked one more time, ‘Danny did you have an accident ?
This time he jumped up, yanked down his pants,
bent over, spread his cheeks
and yelled
‘SEE MOM, IT’S JUST FARTS!!’
While 30 people nearly choked to death on their tacos laughing,
he calmly pulled up his pants and sat down.

An old couple made me feel better, thanking me for the
best laugh they’d ever had!

LAST BUT NOT LEAST TESTIMONY:
This had most of the province of B.C. laughing for 2 days
and a very embarrassed female news anchor who will,
in the future, likely think before she speaks. What happens
when you predict snow but don’t get any! We had a
female news anchor that, the day after it was supposed
to have snowed and didn’t, turned to the weatherman
and asked:
‘So Bobby, where’s that 8 inches you
promised me last night?’

Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew
did too they were laughing so hard!

Puddle

 Here’s a little something guaranteed to lighten up your Monday….

 

Nothing’s Ever Easy

Today’s the day we are scheduled to take the stray cat to the SPCA. 

When I got up this morning at 6 a.m., the dogs were going nuts – much more agitated than usual – and when I let them out the back door, I saw why.

The damn cat – which until today had not made it over the fence into the back yard - was 20 feet up a tree, sitting on one of our backyard floodlights! 

I have an aluminum ladder I could use to go get her, but

• It’s starting to thunder – the combination of lightning and aluminum ladders doesn’t sound appealing.
• It’s the same ladder that collapsed with me 11 years ago (almost to the day) leaving me crippled all summer.

After trying for several minutes to call the cat, I went to get my camera.  By the time I got back, the cat was down and it had started to rain. 

We are currently under a severe thunderstorm warning, rain is pouring down and the cat is in a flower bed getting soaked.  Hopefully, the weather and the cat will calm down in time to make her appointment. 

The Cat Saga Continues

We’ve learned that getting rid of a cat is almost as hard as throwing away a garbage can!  We thought we had found someone to adopt the critter, but the deal fell through at the last minute.

After contacting all of our neighbors, our vet, and all the animal protections agencies in our area – after posting on Facebook and Craig’s List – we finally contacted the Houston SPCA. 

They first offered to schedule an “admissions interview” on June 11th, but later found a cancellation at 11 a.m. tomorrow.  It’s going to cost us a 100 mile round trip and a $20 admissions fee, but after this weekend the cat will be gone.

Do you see that dark spot on the cat’s nose?  I first thought it was a little scab from a scratch, but it turned out to be the end of a blade of grass.  I helped hold the cat and Honey pulled it out with some tweezers.  The grass went all the way down the kitty’s nostril and into its throat!

I have no idea how or why the grass got up the cat’s nose – cats are not like human toddlers with opposable thumbs who often poke things in their noses – but this is the second time we had seen this.  Back when we owned cats on purpose, Honey had to remove a blade of grass from another cat’s nose.