Not doing politics right now and that occupy bullshit is in the same ballpark. It’s all ugly and not good for the soul when one is shopping for Christmas.

Here are our Fall colors. Well, as good as they get. As this happens constantly, it shouldn’t count but we take what we can find…

Lovely linkage

Everything you ever wanted to know about fighting shotguns is at Shakey Pete’s. History, models, loads, choke, barrels… it’s all there. I read it out loud to Mike; excellent piece if you’re interested in that sort of thing.

Grau’s mourning the loss of the old Chilton manuals really took me back. My father was a mechanic and I vividly remember the row of grease stained Chiltons. My Dad knew Chrysler inside and out, tolerated GM, absolutely loathed Ford but could fix anything. The manuals were mostly for those ‘lesser’ vehicles.

Speaking of GM… The Reaganite Republican details GM’s Five Epic ‘Turds’… I love it.

Doesn’t matter if you’re Catholic or Hindu, Mrs. Who delivers a severe beating to an opponent. Good stuff and it makes me want to tell someone this:

Okay, I feel better now.

Does your dog hide from you? Not under a chair or bed, but like a cat; if she can’t see you, obviously you can’t see her? Daisy does, when she’s in hunt mode and thinks she can stay outside if she can only not see me!
And you thought I just took a bad picture.

Holidaze

It’s a little early, but I’m making my Christmas wish list. My M.O. for the last several years has been Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Hints are not dropped, clues not left in strategic places for people to stumble upon. When asked what I wanted the reply was always that I didn’t need or want anything. And it was true!

But shopping for gifts this year has produced within me a burning need for stuff. Either it’s pure greed or another coping mechanism. Whatever, I’m weak this year. And strangely enough, no etsy.

So, just a few things. For Mike: Just because I like these things does not mean you buy them.

First, a very cool app for the iPad:

BookBook for my phone.

Aya Blu. Perfume is better, but I’m not picky.

Not necessarily for me, but if you’re stumped for a gift for the person who has everything, buy a piece of a Scottish castle and make them a Laird or Lady for only 20 bucks.

And finally, I would like a vat of Creme de Corps. There is nothing like this stuff; it has to be used to be believed.

See? Just a few. As a disclaimer, I receive no money if you click a link. Sometimes a link is just a link.

Capitalism is not a dirty word and consumerism isn’t dead; it’s just been beaten about the head and shoulders by O’bummer and his socialist buddies. Next year we’ll return the favor.

Have you discovered a really cool gift and would like to share? I’m running out of ideas…

Dadgum, there’s something for everyone in this post. Here is a mug Bonna gave me in… the late 80′s? I stumbled to the coffee pot early one morning, then over to the cupboard where it caught my eye and this thought popped into my head: “I want to be buried with that mug”. Yes, my first coherent -yet unplanned- thought of the morning was about dying. But I’m not going to be buried. Don’t know what all that was about, but we have those sorts of odd thoughts constantly. Shouldn’t be disconcerting. Nah.

I like doors and windows. Good for escaping…

I have a question; maybe you have an answer. Not that I’ve been following current events too closely, but why are the anarchists allowed to close private businesses and ports, set fire to each other, firebomb buildings and harass the police…among various other disgusting oddities….?

Why are businesses like the Men’s Wearhouse siding with them? How confusing. If they really wanted to join the struggle they’d give over all their earned income to the undeserving poor at the illegal encampments, correct? I don’t know which is more bizarre; their immature behavior or the authorities allowing it. Loving it. Soaking in it. Class warfare seems to be politician’s Astroglide.

I’d like to napalm the entire lot.

Daisy has been busy with her usual pursuits: hunting, sleeping and eating.

I love the crazy hair, but I’d also love to cut it all off again.

Bree joins her in sleeping and eating, but hunting makes no sense to a mind bred to protect and serve. She is a very helpful girl, ‘taking’ most things into her mouth when asked to do so and pulling as well. That’s how she recently helped us remove the wrapping from an area rug.

As for me… well, other than working in the yard I’ve put several projects into motion, including gutting my private library. That’s a fancy term for my books, but I want to donate at least 90% of them. The problem is I become overwhelmed when tackling the stacks… and end up walking away to do something else.

AND The Sims 3 expansion pack Pets was released. I don’t even care to play a dog or cat; everyone in my neighborhood has horses! Hey, for a 54 year old woman with back and neck problems, living vicariously through virtual people… is sort of sick, I know. But it’s a blast. Watching the virtual horses gather and hurl themselves over the jumps is the next best thing to smelling a stable…

Here is Grace and her horse Bucephalus ['ol Ox Head]. They’re training to enter both jumping and racing competitions.

Christmas is closing in and I’ve no idea what or who or when. Except for one gift, this is one of those years in which my head is planted so firmly up my own derriere nothing else is visible. Just lost. Thank goodness that Bonna wants the same thing every year - and that it’s easy - or even that present would elude me…

The great book roundup and some of the other projects stem from a feeling that I need to lighten the load. Some things, like this new distributive mood, are simply beyond my ken. Guess I better go with it until a better thought comes around…

I believe these to be Starlings in Autumn attire, taken early this morning and very far away, thus the bad image.
I was only compelled to photograph them because of their strange basket of sounds. Not a chirp or trill, but more like someone whistling low to themselves. Eerie.

Ego – where I and my are found cavorting.

Went to get a haircut last week, which always results in feelings of inadequacy as well as a bit of self-flagellation. Feeling like Mrs. Shrek is one thing, but breaking out in guilt because I care is another. The bright fluorescent lighting and perfectly made up young girls do not help one little bit. I don’t resent often, but when I do it’s at the salon. It’s a fleeting thing, but a vice nonetheless.

Youngest is famous for saying ‘Expectations are just resentments waiting to happen’ but I don’t consciously believe my face should be wrinkle-free at 54 or even have more hair after menopause. It’s a struggle sometimes. I list my blessings, which are so many they don’t fit on all my fingers and toes, and be grateful for what I have… but just when acceptance and gratitude seem a way of life, it’s time for another haircut.

Though I’ve nothing to be vain about, that particular sin has plagued me since self-awareness. When young I aspired to marry Jesus and become a Nun, in the surreptitious way a young Baptist would, of course. Sure that they could overcome any sin humanity had to offer by giving their lives to others through God, it seemed a wonderful way to live. Not glamorous, not at all. Just… without sin. Peaceful. I didn’t want to care what others thought of me and still don’t… but now I know better than to think Nuns have an easy, sinless existence. Everyone tries, everyone stumbles. Everyone suffers.

Besides, I’m too lazy to be a Nun.

Channeling Doris Jean.

This was my second appointment at the salon with Miss T and I was glad, for she seems a lighthearted soul. Late 20′s, single, living with roommates… I gave in to baser tendencies and envied her my youthful memories for the blink of an eye.
We talked, laughed and I started feeling like myself again. That’s when I realized that -perhaps for the first time- I’d actually been feeling my age. What a horrible thought.

Found myself dispensing advice similar to my old friend Doris, with whom I worked from 1979 through 1990. Doris Jean was older than the rest of us, and acted as sort of a mother figure to the girls in the department. She’d elicit our stories of late nights, wild parties, dancing til dawn and then encourage us to go right out and do it again. ‘Make memories now, while you’re young, so when you’re old like me you’ll have something to remember’.
Sage advice and I repeated basically the same thing to Miss T. Some things really do come full circle.

Crazy plumeria.

Low Fat Bites.

Another confession: I ate butter this morning. After craving the salty-sweet creaminess of the real thing for over a month, I was surprised that the sensation was a little greasy. An unpleasant discovery, yet it will be of some help in the future whenever I get a yen for the magic of Land-O-Lakes.

Yesterday I clearly smelled pizza and of course there was none in the house. I really miss pizza. Today it was Chinese food, which I’ve cut down on because some of my favorites are fried. The stuff they advertise as being ‘healthy’ and ‘low fat’ tastes like ass. Sorry. But really, I smelled Chinese. Like stroke toast, not there at all.

Plated and Served

The ducks are gone, every last one. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen Howard, Louie and Dewey. As a matter of fact, in a neighborhood previously abundant in waterfowl, as we have networks of canals, things are sure quiet. The duck population has dropped consistent with the jobless rate… leading me to some unpleasant conclusions. But as I told Mike, if someone was hungry enough to eat those babies, they have my blessings.
I want to think I won’t be fattening up any more for meals… but they’re so damned cute. Maybe I just won’t name them…

The three amigos in emerging feathers have been showing up on a regular basis, knocking on the door and pecking my toes for food. It’s cute now, but something tells me a grown duck pecking me won’t have the same appeal.

Still no Huey or Mom. I should have known better; you don’t get attached to wild things and you don’t name the calves on the farm.

Lost my first sugar apple. It ripened and burst on the tree, allowing ants to swarm. Maybe I could have simply brushed the ants off… but ew…

The pineapple plant has really taken off this year… but where’s the fruit?

We’re praying for our friends and relatives in Texas. As of this morning there have been at least 181 wildfires, a lot more than the widely reported Bastrop inferno. 1,000 homes lost. Yesterday one of my friends and his neighbors used bulldozers to make a mile long firebreak around their community, 500 feet wide. Just received word that they’re on their way back out with the dozers to make it bigger. I hope it works.

The image depicts major fires but small ones are still breaking out all over. Reminds me of the Florida drought at its peak about 10 years ago; fires absolutely everywhere. All around us and popping up here and there at such a fast pace the firefighters were spread extremely thin. We were constantly on edge, high alert status being difficult to maintain 24/7.

God bless and keep you, Texans.

Just a little bit of personal news, since I’ve posted about it before. Don’t know if you remember the whole ‘wonky gallbladder’ thing? Well, it turns out that my liver is fatty. It didn’t show on the ultrasound a year and a half ago because I was on a low fat diet at the time, but they found evidence of it on the latest ultrasound. After getting the call I immediately returned to a low fat diet and within 3 days felt 100% better. I’ve lost weight and did 3 miles on the treadmill yesterday. HARD miles! Took 55:33, but I quickly got my heart rate up and never let it drop. Felt great.

The doctor was very happy; now we know what’s wrong and he loves my exercising. He’s even dropped the idea of a biopsy because it doesn’t matter which type of fatty liver it is, neither kind is treatable – or curable. All I do is stay on a low fat diet and go swap stories with him every quarter. Works for me! I’m just relieved to finally know what’s going on.

It’s no surprise -or secret- that I love my iPhone. I have those ‘where have you been all my life’ moments with the thing on a regular basis. There was a biggie last week, when it was discovered that I could make calls using data, not minutes, with a 30. Skype package. We’re with Verizon, so minutes are limited but data is not. And since the minutes are reserved for Mike, this plan is perfect for me. YeeHAW.

I hate the earbuds that came with it so am in the market for a new headset. So far the Bose MIE2i looks like a winner, but will take suggestions…

Macros allow a view into a world otherwise unseen and for that reason alone I love them. But every so often I use the camera to check out things like the dog’s ears… I’ll spare you the macros of Daisy’s ear canal, which was clean by the way… but here are a couple more.

In the unplanted garden category, here’s a closeup of one of those skinny little bermuda grass fronds. Who knew it looked so different under the microscope?

Speaking of plants, the plumeria has finally decided to bud… in September!! What’s up with that?

Kitty whiskers…? Maybe, if I had a cat.

The mower, left dormant and ugly as the naked *plumeria bush, started on the first pull.
Imagine my surprise when it putted to life. That constipated sound an engine makes when the plugs are fouled and you just know it’s going to stop any second? Like that. It smoked and barely cut the tops of the fresh young St. Augustine blades, but dadgum – it worked.

My back and neck are begging for advil… and there’s absolutely no way the edging and weed eating will get done today, but mowing… that’s enough. Yard work is something one must work up to, yes?

Next month the lilies will bloom.

I think the cold snap killed our remaining coconut palm. It’s a damn sight; all but one of those big green fronds are now hanging brown and ugly at its side. Looks defeated. Cleveland promised to trim it, but that’s a vow yet to be kept.

No, in case you’re wondering… I don’t want to look at the news today. It seems somehow sacrilegious to be so angry during Holy Week.

Also, it’s Tuesday and Tuesdays are different. B knows.

I’m on a Spring cleaning kick and have already filled several trash bags with clothes for Salvation Army. All those jeans I just knew I’d fit into again someday? Gone. Some things just needed to be thrown away. Don’t know why I hang onto things like that… such as a t-shirt my friend handed down to me 20 years ago… who knows how old it really is? Still hanging in my closet, I can’t toss it. When it comes to Ts, I can be very emotional. And clingy. And needy. There’s a vacuum sealed space bag under the bed full of ancient T-shirts. When I die, cremate those with me and just spread all the ashes together, k?

Now that my second wind has kicked in, the birdbath looks like it needs a good cleaning…

*When will the plumeria bud? I’m not used to nekkid plants and that stick looking thing is getting on my last nerve.

Last night’s sunset was typical of this winter’s fare but I got a picture anyway. Can’t see too many of these, IMO.

Now that I’ve gotten a bit more familiar with the food processor, applesauce was easy to make this morning. It’s good, too…

Oh, there have been mishaps. The night I tried to chop onions and ended with onion water most readily comes to mind. But the machine and I are becoming acquainted. I’ve no doubt they’ll take over the world one day and this unit will be running it’s own segment of the Matrix.

We have a ghost.

It was 40 again last night so the house was hovering around 60… creating condensation on the inside of the windows.
This morning I meandered into the kitchen and saw something very odd: a child’s hand print on the inside of the window.

Wasn’t there yesterday.