Uncategorized – Page 35

Run, Auntie, Run

13.1: miles in a 1/2 marathon

4.5: days until the race (race! Ha!)

298: times each day I look in the mirror and cuss myself out for signing up

5: number of months we’ve been training

6: pounds I’ve gained while running

7: pounds really

1: day I’ve trained when the temperature was above 40 degrees

112: degrees it will probably be on the day of the marathon

20,999: number of people that are going to trample me at the start line (I can only hope)

3: hours that I pray I can finish in

40: mph the ambulance will drive to get me to the nearest hospital after I collapse across the finish line.

2: number of knees that will afterward need replacing

17: blisters on each big toe

13: years it will take me to recover

0: times I will ever run again unless being chased by a rabid dog

************

I picked up my marathon shirt the other day.

I’m running with a very large group of fellow agile, vigorous marathoners from my hometown.

We’re all wearing the same shirt, so we can be noticed out of the 21,000 other runners.

It’s definately loud enough.

Really……it’s probably not a good idea to ask me how I’m feeling.

The Harvester is our little town’s mascot.

The mighty Harvester who wields a fierce sickle or yo-yo or something.

Bringing in the sheaves,

We shall come rejoicing,

Bringing in the sheaves.

Sorry. Just looking at him makes me want to break out into song.

Ask me how I’m feelin’ and I’m supposed to say Harvester Good.

But only time will tell what may come out of my mouth on Sunday after about 8.4 miles into it.

After aches, pains, limps, cramps, sweating, wheezing, dehydrating, and puking, I’m supposed to say Harvester Good.

Wrong Answer.

I hope I can refrain from flying the bird to all those questioning, happy spectators.

Jason suggested mine should say something else,
like….

“Because I’m stupid”

“Because teaching school isn’t punishment enough”

or maybe

“Because I really don’t need my knees”

but my favorite is

“Because I make limping look good”

But seriously y’all.

Will all the joking aside, this is rumored to be an awesome experience.

One that I will never forget.

Maybe even cherish.

And all the hard work, time, blood, sweat, and glucosomine chondroitin will be well worth it.

“There will be days when I don’t know if I can run a marathon. There will be a lifetime knowing that I have.”

See ya at the races,
Angel

I have a nasty habit.
It’s not as bad as picking scabs, slurping, or letting the dog lick my face after he just licked his boy parts however.
But some (my husband for one) may consider it pretty gross.

It’s sunflower seeds. I love them. I have a spit cup from The Rambling Road Trip Vacation Bible School I taught one year. I hide it in a special place in my cabinet so no one inadvertently drinks out of it. I eat them while I blog. I eat them while I drive. I eat them while I watch TV. If I were a junkie, sunflower seeds would be my crack pipe.

I truly believe with every ounce of my being that eating sunflower seeds takes talent.
It’s almost an art form.
None of that picking them up one by one, holding them between you finger and thumb as you gingerly crack them and then remove the seed.
No sirree bob.
You have to throw a handful in at a time, till your jaw poofs out, suck the salt, and spit out the shells. If you can’t eat them this way, you have no business eating them at all. You’ve got to eat them until the tip of your tongue is raw.

Ever since my niece Ashlynn was a wee little one, she’s been eating sunflower seeds. Of course in the beginning she wanted to just eat the whole entire thing, so I had to teach her. I took great pride that she knew how to eat a sunflower seed unlike her sandbox peers. She’s a one by one kind of sunflower kid, but she can crack them with the best of us. Give her time, give her time.

One summer, when she was about four or five years old, I as driving around town with Ashlynn in the back seat. I was snacking on some sunflower seeds when she asked for some. Oh, I’m stingy with them. I hate sharing them. What junkie likes sharing her crack pipe? But even more than that, I hate wasting them, and to hand them off to a little pip squeak is about the most wasteful thing I could do. I only knew she’d spill them in between the car cushions.
But being the loving, affectionate, sacrificial auntie that I am, I passed her a handful with a mere cringe. Several minutes passed, and I heard the window in the back rolling down.
“What are you doing? Are you throwing out sunflower seeds? Quit that!” I shrieked, “Quit wasting my sunflower seeds! Give them to me if you don’t want them!!”

I flopped my right hand back behind my head and held it there as she leaned forward and put sunflower seed after sunflower seed in my hand. I popped them in my mouth, sucked off the salt, spit out the shells, chewed and swallowed them, and then heard this wee little voice…..

“But Auntie………… they were in my butt.”

Apparently, she needed both hands to crack open her shells one by one, so she sat them between her legs on the car seat, and as I gassed it at the red lights, they shifted up the legs of her shorts, until she pulled them out and placed them one by one in my hand.

I might as well go let the dog lick my face. It couldn’t be any worse could it?

Just call me Lizzie for short

The Texas Panhandle = Wind.

Crazy kind of wind.

Wind that makes you kind of crazy.

The kind of winds that you really can’t even fathom if you haven’t ever visited here in the Spring.
Or the Winter.
Or the Summer.
Or the Fall.

It blows all year long. Except when you want it to.

We consider 30 mph to be a slight breeze.

I’ve lived here all my life and I really should be used to the wind by now. But I’m getting cranky and irritable in my old age.

I find myself thinking of Lizzie Borden a lot lately. Did you jump rope to her little sing-song when you were a small child?

Lizzie Borden took an ax,

and gave her mother forty whacks,

when she saw what she had done,

she gave her father forty-one.

I didn’t jump rope to that either. It’s just that my mother told me her story. My mom who is a lover of all things morbid and murdery. I remember murder mystery magazines stacked nearly to the ceiling in our garage in my childhood home. Covers with pictures of women laying murdered, ropes around their necks, half dressed, blood pooled under their heads. It’s a wonder I turned out normal, and the jury is still out on that one.

Legend, or my bad memory, says that Lizzie Borden lived in the 1800’s. There was no air conditioning and a massive heat wave enveloped her area. The temperatures soared, the heat was unbearable, not to mention she had to wear all those hot dresses which only intensified the problem. So the tale continues that the Borden family had to eat stew, or something similarly wretched, day after day after excruciating day. The stew spoiled, I assume there wasn’t a Frigidaire in the house, or any Secret anti-perspirant, and they sweated and ate rotten meat for days. Until Lizzie had just had it. She couldn’t take it anymore. A girl can only eat rotten meat for so long, and so she bludgeoned her mom and dad. I mean enough is enough. The crazy weather can really get to a person can’t it?

Did I mention the wind is blowing? Did I mention it’s been blowing for day after day after excruciating day? Did I mention my mother’s mystery murder magazines that infiltrated my brain as a young impressionable youth? Did I mention I have an axe in the garage?

Kidding!

Maybe.

Here’s a picture of my dresser.

See that empty spot right there.

I had a lovely topiary sitting there from my wedding reception. There’s a matching one on the other side.

Have I mentioned the wind’s blowing?

Maybe the curtain whipped really hard.

And the wind must’ve helped.

Somehow, my lovely topiary landed on the floor, right next to my slippers.

I’d opened the windows to get a refreshing gale during the night, and mistakenly left them open today.

Woe is me.

I’m off to find a broom.

And maybe an axe.

Peace,

Lizzie

P.S. I googled good ole’ Lizzie and couldn’t find anything about the rotten stew and heat, so don’t quote me on this. Really you probably shouldn’t quote me ever.

It’s a fine line between a good story and a lie.

Easter

Ashlynn colored Easter eggs.

Yet, again.

Is she too old for this?

A part of me says yes, and a part of me says, let her be a kid as long as she can.

She did a good job freehanding some art on them.

She’s showing off a bunny, but it more resembles a cat too me.

We both agreed it was a mammal.

We’ve come a long way.

Journey with me down memory lane.

From back when her 2T training panties were too big and the eggs were dipped in a solid color. It appears she’s dropped a big old load in those underpants, but really it’s just that she has the butt of a frog.

Droopy drawers.

When you’re not quite two years old, you really have to crouch down and look carefully.

Various Easter egg coloring pictures from years gone by.

I hope everyone had a glorious Easter.

I know I did.

“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; He has risen!” Luke 24:5-6

Be Blessed,
Angel

The Heifer

I’m anxiously awaiting a heifer to calve.

I’ve called Jason several times to ask him if there is any progress. I want to be there so badly.

Heifers are young cows, first time mommas. Sometimes they run into trouble, so Jason has to babysit them. There’s certain signs a learned cowhand can look for to know when they’re getting close to calving. A winking vulva, for one. When these signs appear, Jason pens the heifer so she’ll be handy in case he has to help pull the calf.

I got the opportunity to see this once and it was awesome, the most exciting thing ever! And I have also witnessed a gruesome birth where the calf was stuck in the birth canal. The calf was too big for the momma cow and died. It was not so pleasant. Utterly devastating actually. But that is the way nature operates.

We went out the other night to check on the little momma. The stars were just beginning to appear.

Here’s the expectant mother.

Isn’t she great? I especially love her hair, the way it appears that she used a rat tail comb on it. We interrupted her supper so Jason could could check her parts.

Go ahead and hang your head Maybelle, it’s humiliating I know.

This night was not her night.

Neither was the next.

Tonight, we’ll do it again.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

No wonder Jason wants to be a Cowboy

I picked up this book from an elementary school library a couple years ago. They were cleaning out some titles. It’s old and they were getting rid of it due to it’s copyright date…..1977.

It’s like any other ABC book you can find…..

I adore this jackrabbit.

Skinny sucker, aint he? He’s scattered all through the book.

Ramrod = Jason

Tenderfoot = Angel

Ewe = Range maggots according to Jason, but I’m still getting some…..someday!

And chickens too!

Oldtimer = Jason in about 6 months!

When I wrote my little storybook called Doggie went a Courtin, I wanted it to be Dogie went a courtin’, but I figured most people would just think I misspelled it.

So the Cowboy ABC book goes on to talk about the standard cowboy words like jerky, mustangs, things you expect in a children’s book.

Then, it gives a litttle dating advice:

Filly = a good looking girl.

And maybe, just maybe, it fosters substance abuse a bit much, for a children’s book I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Drinking and Driving, why not?

It was probably this book that kicked off the need for the DARE to keep kids off drugs programs.

More good advice: Blow all your money on your addictions.

Feeling tired, hungry or thirsty kids?

Have a cigarette!

It fixes it all.

And then…..

Really!

W could be for wranglers, the original western wear.

Or wild west.

Or wabbits.

But wetback does start with a W afterall.

Maybe the library was just getting rid of it because of its copyright date. Or maybe kids never checked it out because it didn’t have wizards or avatars or sparkly princesses in it. Or maybe it is a bit inappropriate in a public school in a politically correct era.

Nah.

I love it.

I can’t wait to read it to my grandchildren.

Luuuucccccyyyyyyy!!! You got some ‘splainin’ to do!

This book has a new copyright date of 1990 and from what I can tell, its a revised edition.

For more James Rice books, here’s a website

http://www.pelicanpub.com/products.asp?cat=469&pg=3

Good-Bye Lilly

Jason called the other day to inform me that he had found a German Shepherd out on the road in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t belong to any of the neighboring ranchers.

My response was: Take her to the pound.

She’s real hungry.

Well bring her home, feed her, and then take her to the pound.

Why do I say crap like that? Sometimes I just try to sound so tough. Like the minute I saw this little puppy, my heart didn’t ooze into a puddle of goo?

Meet Lilly.

She spent the night with us.

We fed her real good and gave her a round tummy. No one can stay here longer than 4 hours and remain thin. It’s against our religion.

She was the sweetest dog. She just laid on the steps by the back door most of the time. She didn’t bark, she didn’t cry, she didn’t chew up anything.

I posted her picture on facebook as an abandoned country dog and had someone to give her to in about 0.8 seconds.

Then by the good will of the Lord one of Jason’s friends called to chit chat. Because that’s what Jason and his friends do. Really, they are worse than women.

During the course of the conversation, Jason mentioned this German Shepherd to his buddy and he just so happened to know who it belonged to. The owner came by to pick her up the next afternoon.

She had traveled about 12 miles away. He even mentioned she had papers. Are you kidding me? She was actually worth something?

It’s incomprehensible to me that a dog can be worth something.

Especially when I own this.

Yo! Happy B-day Steve-O

My brother Steve……..

……..loves the camera,

…….eats icecream on a plate,

……….has patience o’plenty when it comes to his kids,

…..except maybe not right this second,

……..loathes removing fish hooks, but does it anyway,

………should think twice before doing this kind of stuff at his age,

……..or this kind of stuff,

…….and wears out easily!

Sleep tight Birthday Boy.

It’s all uphill from here.

There’s Green Stuff in My Fridge, Trust Me

My Spring Break To-Do List:

1. play piano
2. read
3. catch up on DVR
4. nap
5. surf the Internet
6. blog
7. nap

So far, so good.

I am cruising along enjoying the art of absolute nothingness.

Treating Tuesday like it’s Saturday.

Basking in my alone-ness.

Nooooooo problems at all.

Until I get hungry.

And Jason isn’t here to feed me.

PROBLEM!!

Lately I’ve become obnoxiously spoiled. Yes I admit it. Jason takes very good care of me in the food department. Very soon I’ll be shopping for my wardrobe at the tent and tarpaulin store.
Very, very soon.

I rarely have to fend for myself when it comes to food. I confess that I haven’t cooked a meal in a very long time. I mean a VERY long time. Like try two months, maybe three.

But Jason has this thing called a J-O-B and is out driving around looking busy. And I have these things called hunger pangs.
Not really, but it sounded good.
So I open the fridge.
And the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

I am faced with a dillema.

Should I:

A) Clean out this very frightening fridge and risk throwing out something good.
B) Eat something from this very frightening fridge and risk ingesting something bad.
C) Sink even further into pathetic-ness
D) Notify Hoarders as soon as possible

I remember test taking strategies.
When in doubt, choose C.

I pick up the phone.
Jason, do we have any left over chicken fried rice from last night? And if so, just where would I find it? Because, I’m like on vacation here and certainly don’t want to have to do anything labor intensive. Better yet, why don’t you run home and fix me some lunch?

Too bad for me, he responded with a dial tone.

Now these little devils are good right here. These are some blueberry tarts that were whipped up last night.
Not by me.
Obviously.
I had one for breakfast at 11:00 since it was too early to make an important decision like A, B, C, or D and they were just so handy.

If you want to know a good way to ruin a great cup of coffee, try this. Sugar Free Coffee Mate, bought by mistake.

And yes, I CAN see that there is a small carton of buttermilk dated February 21st.

Stop judging me!

And that right there, peeking out from behind

a-more-than-likely-out-of-date-yogurt………

That is a yoo-hoo.

Because doesn’t everyone have a yoo-hoo in their icebox?

Do you call it an icebox or is it only me that reverts back to 1923 during desperate times like these?

Well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

I carefully weigh my options.

And then I sink even further in my cesspit of pathetic-ness.

Choice E: Grab a Fiber One bar and hold out till Suppertime.

All this has made me very tired. I must nap now.

Good bye.

Rain + Dirt = One Ill-Tempered Cowboy

Today is the official first start day of my Spring Break.

The weather is crazy!

To borrow a line from a facebook friend: It’s like snowballs from heaven.

It began raining about 3:00 a.m. I know that because I was awake. I was awake because I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep because I can’t walk. I can’t walk because I need two knee transplants. I need two knee transplants because I ran 10 miles yesterday. I ran 10 miles yesterday because I signed up for a half marathon. I signed up for a half marathon because I destroyed way too many brain cells when I was a teenager. I mean, OBVIOUSLY!!

Anyway, it rained most of the morning, then these ginormous snowflakes began to fall. They were gorgeous actually. Fluffy, wet, and the size of quarters.

Today was the kind of day to curl up, wear fuzzy socks, sip coffee, and watch movies while listening to the rain pitter patter against the window panes.

Unless you’re married to a cowboy.
Then you have to work.

I went out with Jason today to put out hay.