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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.

Fun stuff,
if you like mud.
But as my dad would say, Cows gotta eat too.
They were waiting for us at the gate.  A little wet. 
A lot muddy.
Jason was grumpy.
Me:   “It’s not that bad.”
Him:  “You’re sitting in the truck!”
Me:  “Well I’d be out there too if I had artificial knees, and if I didn’t have flip flops on!” 
(The previous comment is the result of lack of brain cells)
Jason pulls in with a big round bale of hay.

And they surround the pickup like savages.
Hungry savages.
Like this one.  See how savage his long eyelashes are?  He’s cold.  I want to rub him down with a towel.
 As soon as Jason puts down the hay bale, they run to it and snag a bite.
Until they notice we’re leaving, then they’re all like, “Wait, don’t leave us! 

We want to drink coffee and wear fuzzy socks!”

Sorry, suckers. 
And we gun it. 

My Birthday Blog and Desserts to the 7th power

I woke up to this.
Ate two pieces.
Had lunch with friends.
A cupcake for dessert.
Yellow daffodils to brighten my day.
Had this at my mom’s with homemade ice cream and chocolate syrup. 
Three candles on one side, five on the other.  It’s not eight. Think hard.   
Ate this for supper, prepared by my chef Jason.
Pepper crusted filet.
Loaded mashed potatoes with fresh chives.  These make me moan.
Vegetables sauteed in butter and lemon pepper.
It was super good.   I was stuffed from all the dessert to really enjoy it. 
But I still cleaned my plate.
I had a great day with my family.
Me and my nephew Maxx loved on each other.  Well.  I loved on him.
My brother Steve-O was right in the “YOOOOUUUUU” of the Happy Birthday song when this pic was snapped.
My nephew Harley showing off the painting from my niece Ashlynn.  I absolutely love it! 
My sweet husband by my side and in my kitchen.
My best birthday ever, surrounded with good food, friends, and family.  What more could a girl wish for?

Well…a  28 inch waist for starters, and I did blow out all my candles in one breath. 
All 8 of them.

Just a Smattering

Jason and I made a pizza.  This was a first for me.  We didn’t make our own crust however, we cheated and bought a pre made one.  We used a recipe by The Pioneer Woman found in her cookbook.  It is called Leek and Potato Pizza.  It sounds atrocious I know. 

This pizza recipe calls for potatoes, leeks, bacon, mozarella, parmesean, and goat cheese.  Potatoes on a pizza?   That was my first thought.  There aren’t any tomatoes or tomato based product found on this pizza anywhere.

It was delish!

And cheesy!

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

I’m still training for a half marathon and hating myself for committing to this.  It is very challenging, time consuming, and not to mention hard on my body.  I ran 8 miles last weekend.  Tomorrow I have to run nine.  After this is over, I vow to never run again.   One of my friends who is not a runner said,
“If you see me running, call 9-1-1 because someone is after me.”  That will be my new mindset after April twenty whatever-it-is.   I can see how people can love running, but the whole not-being-able-to-walk-afterwards is a big turn off for me.  I’m not an extremist.  Running this many miles at one time is a bit too extreme for me.  I’d rather run 2-3 several times a week. 
I told Jason next year when I want to sign up for this again, there’s only one thing I want him to do.  Talk me out of it!

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

Today is beautiful.  March has come in like a lamb I think.  The birds are chirping in the oak trees outside my window.  The wind is light and the sun is out and I am going to go dirty up my fingernails in the flowerbeds.  It’s cathartic.  My tulips have popped their little green heads out of the dark earth.  I’m going to grow an herb garden this year.  My husband is so much into cooking these days, I think I’ll add to his hobby and grow fresh thyme, rosemary, sage, and perhaps some marijuana. 
Just seeing if you’re paying attention.

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

Last weekend we went down to Abilene, TX to see a group play called The Hot Club of Cowtown.  They are some talented musicians let me tell you.  Go ahead and have a listen.  It just might make you tap a toe.  They hail from NYC and play this type of music.  Come on, open your minds and have a listen.
http://www.youtube.com/v/Jr8My5Uo0gE&hl=en_US&fs=1&
We stayed with Jason’s dad, who thinks that anyone who doesn’t know who Gene Autry is should be hanged before the masses, or at least kicked out of Texas.  I had to google him when I got home.  I thought he was from Gunsmoke.  Jason gave them my blog address, so now I run the risk of him reading this and finding out I’m not worthy to be called a Texan. Oh well, that will give him plenty of time to have the gallows built for the next time I’m down there. 

Scarlett O’Hara….now, if you don’t know who she is, you oughta be shot.  It’s just my opinion.  Different strokes for different folks, I guess.  And what does that expression mean anyway?  What are these folks stroking exactly?  Makes me wonder.

A Conversation

I have a second grade classroom full of second grade students.  They are just plain groovy.  I like to mingle amongst them some, get to know them, talk with them, listen to them.  They’ll share their lives, their secrets, their fears, not to mention everything their parents’ want them to keep quiet. 
They aren’t all equipped with a filter at this age, and thoughts just come out of their mouths in brutal honesty.  I have one particular little girl who shared a story with me today. This is how it went.

Precious second grader (PSG):  I was bawling up last night because I got afraid I wouldn’t ever have a husband. 

Yes this is pretty odd for a seven year old to say.

Me:  Oh, honey.  You don’t need to worry about that.   You have a long time until you need to think about that kind of stuff.

PSG:  My mom said not to think about it and my dad said I don’t need a husband because he’s everything I’ll ever need.  And I said ‘No, you’re too old!’

We were having a good laugh right about this time, and my curiosity was extremely high.

Me:  Sugar pie, what were you doing that made you start thinking about having a husband?

PSG:  Oh, I was watching this kissing movie with my mom and dad.

Me:  EWW, I hate kissing.

PSG:  Do you let your husband kiss you?

Me:  Well……sometimes.  I…..might let him kiss me on the forehead.

PSG:   (mouth dropping and gasping) You don’t know anything about love!!

My Niece Zoie……..

We have a love/hate relationship.
I think she’s a brat, in the loving way an aunt should.
She thinks I’m a hag.
My sister thinks it’s because we’re both Pisces, and more alike than I care to admit.
Truthfully, she is a brat and I’m a hag, and we’re both just real perceptive.

Her feelings wouldn’t be hurt if I dropped dead tomorrow.

See how she’s staring me down? She knows I’m unarmed in this fight. She knows she’s got control of an endless water supply. She’s evil. My only defense is to scream, “I’ve got a camera. I’ve got a camera.”

Today I’m giving her a Happy Birthday shoutout. She is an amazingly awesome, undeniably goofy, eight year old drama queen.  Rotten to the core and more stubborn than any mule you’ve ever seen.

I got to name her.
Zoie Eden.
Her name might be in lights someday.

PRESENTING ZOIE EDEN

Can you picture it?

Go ahead and check her out.

 

Happy Birthday Zo Belle.  I hope you have the best birthday an eight year old could ever dream of having. 
And I love your little old stinky butt!

Colorful Calves

Most of what I know about cows, I’ve learned from Jason.
Rephrasing. 

Everything I know about cows, I’ve learned from Jason.

I’ve only seen one baby calf born a couple of years back, and it was one of the most awesome things I’ve experienced.  Except for the fact that it was a first time mommy. You have to keep your eyes on those first timers.  So when Jason pulled kind of close to make sure it wasn’t having trouble, she decided to stand up and flee causing the calf to fall out on its head.  Then it was something akin to trauma in the ER.  The momma cow ran off scared.  Jason had to rush out of the truck, pick the baby up by its back legs, shake it (not sure why).  Then he got a piece of grass and tickled its slimy nose until it sneezed to make sure its lungs were all clear.  Then we left and hid out with a pair of binoculars and watched to make sure the momma came back. 
And she did. 
And all was right with the world.

When calving begins, it’s my favorite part of the whole ranching life. 
Most of the time, calves are born, mommas tend to their babies, and the angels sing.  In my mind they do.
But some calves aren’t so lucky. 

While out feeding this past weekend, Jason found a calf.  Its momma was nowhere in sight and she hadn’t yet cleaned it off.  It was lying in the snow in dire need of nursing.  After an unsuccessful attempt to reunite the mom with the calf, and knowing the baby needed nourishment right away, he called me to tell me he’s bringing a baby home.  I love it!  A bottle calf.  It adds excitement to my life.

He didn’t have a good way to transport it, so he used his cowboy smarts and put it in the cake feeder.

Here you can see its umbilical cord still hanging.  It was probably born that morning.
It usually takes a good amount of time to get a brand new calf to nurse.  Everything is unfamiliar to them. 
This particular calf was very stubborn.  Jason had to pry her mouth open.  She still wouldn’t suck the bottle. 
Notice the yellow Crocs Jason’s wearing.
He likes to wear my shoes. 
And sometimes my undergarments, but we won’t discuss that.
After a very long time of trying, consoling, persuading, and petting the baby, it still hadn’t figured out how to suck.
Desperate to get colostrum (mother’s antibodies) into her, he had to tube her by running a hose into her belly and I had to pour the colostrum into a funnel. 
This was extremely unpleasant for me, and I wasn’t the one with a tube down my throat.
The gagging was the worst part.

I think I was louder than the calf.

We then decided to call it a night, desperately hoping she would make it.  The  next morning, she was hanging in there.  Since Jason was cooking a delectable breakfast for us, I decided I’d try my non-ranching hand at bottle feeding. 

She still wouldn’t take the bottle.  She fought it, thrashing her head around, chewing on the nipple.  So I decided to do what I do when I’m in doubt.  I googled it.  One little trick said to dip your fingers into the milk, let the calf suck your fingers a while, and then sneak the nipple into its mouth.  Lo and behold, this piece of sneakery worked.  As she sucked on my fingers, I stealthily crammed the nipple in her mouth. 

Did you know?  Calves only have bottom teeth.

After church, she took another bottle.  Then we delivered her to the owner’s family to raise her.  This same family bottle-raised a different black calf in the past.  The daughter named that one Rainbow.  So in the tradition of giving a little color to a black calf, this one is named Scarlet.

Frankly my dear, I hope you do well.

P.S.  Jason really doesn’t wear my undergarments, unfortunately.