Sounds Scary, Doesn't It?

Tomorrow morning, early, I will get up and take Chloe for a walk.  I will come home and give her some water.  I will have her jump up into the Mercury with me and we will go off on a journey.  She will be excited and stick her nose out the window.  It's really the only part that reaches up to the window.  Her nose.  But she loves it.  She will be happy, happy, happy. 

I will get to where we are going.  I will go in and fill out some paperwork while Chloe waits in the car.  Frankly, I think it's strange that they ask you to keep your dog in the car.  She would be on harness, and trust me, she can't go anywhere but at my side when on harness.  That's all the length it has:  from my hand to her chest.  But, maybe they think she would smell the fear.  I wonder what fear smells like? 

Anyway, I will take her inside and kiss her goodbye and I will leave.  She will be confused and upset.  She's very attached.  I suppose I should warn them she is an escape artist.  Otherwise she will be out the door behind me before they realize what is happening.  She is so cute, they will think, look at that little twisty spinny thing she is doing--what!  How did she get out of that collar?  How did she escape?    They will need to pull up the security camera footage and replay it frame by frame to see it.  She's a cute little devil, yes-sirree. 

But if they actually happen to get her back behind the doors, she will be frightened.  They will poke her with a needle and put her to sleep.  Sleep, Chloe.  Sleep. 

She will dream doggy dreams of bones and leaping through the forest in pursuit of her prey.  She will imagine she is playing with her Pig and she will wag her imaginary tail.  And while Chloe is dreaming, they will perform Spay surgery upon her little lady parts.  It's not easy being a responsible dog, little Chloe.  With adulthood comes responsibility.  Ask Mrs. Bunny.  She'll tell you an earful. 

Chloe will stay overnight at the clinic and in the morning I will take her home.  I can image her now, with pink stitches on her belly, and a pink Elizabethan collar, her pink tongue lolling out the side of her pink mouth.  She will be cross with me, and then she will jump all over me joy.  'Can we please go home now?  I don't think I like this place.'  I will pick her up and put her in the back on a blanket in her crate, just to keep her comfortable, and we will go home and put the whole nasty business behind us.  "Let us never speak of it again, Chloe."  She will weakly 'woof' in agreement and that will be that. 

Happy Spay Day, Chloe. 

Haircut

I had initially started growing my hair out because we were broke for several months.  Then I remembered my goal to be an old lady with a long grey braid going all the way down my back.  So I toughed it out and grew it down to about my shoulder blades.  The problem was that my hair has become very thick, and very wavy.  Perhaps wild, unkempt, bushy are better descriptors. 

After my 3AM flirtation with cutting it all off, I did trim about an inch and a half off in an effort to restore some sort of order.  The removal of some of the weight actually made it worse, if possible.  So, I did my hair style research to decide what I should do.  I have Always been fond of short hair.  I think it dates back to Doris Day

and Audrey Hepburn

and even David Bowie! 

Not that I haven't had long hair.  I have.  But truth to tell, I don't like it.  It gets in my face.  People inadvertently pull on it.  I spend money on hair bands and head bands and clips and wear it up and back all the time, so it might as well be short anyway! 


But, I had put all this effort into growing it, and Ronny seems to like it longer, so I tried to find a compromise.  Something Sholongish. (That looks like a bad word, but really it's just short + long.  Like Spanglish or Chinglish.)  I finally decided I would like a flip.  That works with my hairs natural desire to wave/curl, and with some layering it might tame the bushiness.  This called for a visit to an actual, professional stylist.  Or some chick who cuts hair in Rustburg.  Either way.

There was trimming and snipping and the application of some styling product.  And in the end, it looks like this.

  It'll be 'flippier' tomorrow, when I've wet it and let it do it's thing, but for now, I'm happy.  It's out of my face, so that's a good thing.  And I figure I can always go back and, um, work on it some more.  As long as there's hair, there's hope. 

Ramblings

I could not sleep last night, even with a few chapters of a boring. poorly written novel for a sedative.  I think I was in some sort of 'alternate reality' state, however, as I distinctly remember getting up and going into the bathroom, putting my hair in a rubber band and picking up a pair of scissors to cut it all off.   I only stopped because I saw how grey my hair was and decided I would color it first.  Thank God for small voices of sanity in a sleep deprived mind! 

I got up in the morning and decided that I would clean the house room by room.  Starting in the master bathroom all the way through.  Laundry started simultaneously, dishes being washed, floors being mopped, etc.  By the time I got to Craig's playroom he decided that I had done enough and he blocked the doorway.  I took this as a very strong hint that we needed a break and, not willing to mess my kitchen with such a thing as lunch, we went out to run some errands and visit Burger King. 

Now, I did not know it at the time, but while I was between Rustburg and Lynchburg, driving along minding my own business, there was an earthquake that everybody else on the east coast of the United States experienced.  I felt nothing.  I attribute this to my vehicle having excellent suspension, rather than the possibility that I was in La-La Land.  Once in Burger King, some woman was talking loudly about an earthquake, but since she wasn't talking to me I just ignored her.  Everybody sat chewing their food like placid cows in a pasture, oblivious to anything but their lunches.  My phone rang (in Craig's pocket, since he has appointed himself Guardian of the Cell Phones) and it was Allison in a tizzy of excitement over this earthquake she experienced.  I reminded her that she had been in two previous earthquakes:  one while living in uterine splendor, and the other when she was about eight.  She discounted both, saying she had slept through the lot of them and this one she had been conscious of.  She didn't talk long, since the idea of the earthquake opening up a chasm in the neighborhood seemed to take hold of her fancy and she wanted to go see if anything like that had happened.  She's so blood-thirsty, the poor thing.  I don't know where she gets it. 

No sooner do we clean our table and leave, than the Chicken Disciple calls me with great concern over how I have fared through this great quaking of the ground.  This was my first inkling that this had been a local occurrence as well.  I assured her that not only was I well, but oblivious to boot!  She detailed her adventures and said 'adieu', leaving me the only kid not picked for the team.  Hoping to feel better, I called my hubby, who was on the road somewhere in West Virginia.  Getting the pleasantries out of the way quickly, I rushed to the point:  "Did you feel the earthquake everybody is talking about?"  How glad I was to hear that he too had missed the whole thing!  Misery loves nothing better than company and we cemented our bonds of affection over having been the only people to have been oblivious to the event. 

We said our good-byes and I continued on home.  All of the animals had apparently been checking out the farms in La-La Land as well, since no one appeared to have any concerns or cares.  Not even Chloe, the world's jumpiest dog, seemed perturbed by anything other than the fact we had eaten our lunch and brought none home to her.   She smelled us vigorously and dismissed us.

So, it seems the most excitement Good Enough Farm saw was the broody hen leaving her imaginary clutch to snatch her share of leftover mac 'n cheese.  It's a small excitement to be sure, but it's a small farm.  We take what we can get. 

Hope everyone else is safe and sound.  Chloe sends her regards and wonders if you have any onion rings.

Heading into Fall

If there is a book called "Farming for Dummies" I should have it.  I will admit that I did not know that you could plant anything besides cabbage for a fall garden.  But thanks to a fantastic graph I found, I now know what to plant and when to plant it.  So, August 15th I crunched up the soil in my garden beds and pulled out any stringy roots left from the spring garden, and I planted non-cabbage stuff. 

Two years ago I would not even have considered putting 'bought' plants into my garden.  No, I had to start everything myself from seed!  But  I know better now.  It's better to buy your started plants than not have anything to plant because you didn't start your seeds when you should have.  I'm learning.  So, I purchased broccoli plants and leeks from Village Garden in Appomattox.  Check out their website, as I hear from a source in 'the know', that they are planning a Fairy Garden and I was privileged to see a Fairy house under construction. 

Besides the above, I also put peas and lettuce in.  I finally found the lettuce I had grown and loved years ago;  I love the way Salad Bowl Lettuce grows and thus I had a small exploratory expedition into Farmer's Seed and Supply in Lynchburg to find a bag of seeds. 

I had, heretofore, only driven past it on occasion, but now I will have to go back again.  They had enamelware pots and pans and other funky little items that called to the funk in my soul. 

I know they look like rats, but they are chicks playing in the compost mess.  We've had loss from illness, from Chloe and from a hawk.  Thank goodness one of the sisters from the Hall wants to order chickens, so I'm replacing my losses and placing a joint order.  Tomorrow I am building a run specifically for the little chicks to keep them safer from attack, whether it be aerial or wearing a pink collar.  The amazing thing is the Buff Orpington has survived, and being the lightest colored one, I would have thought it would have been the victim of the hawk.  Instead it was a barred rock pullet.  Oh, well, that's farm life, isn't it? 

Spiritual Jam

The Brother giving the talk this morning at the Kingdom Hall told a little story which I love.  It goes something like this: 

When he was a boy, he hated wheat bread.  Now, this was an older, country raised brother, so you can imagine that that was mostly what he was given.  But he hated it.  So, to make it something he would be able to swallow, he would put on an extra thick coating of jam.  Suddenly, the thing he hated was not so bad after all. 

He then went on to explain that sometimes our brothers and sisters say or do things which we hate.  They offend us or bother us in a way that we do not like at all.  That is like the wheat bread.  What we need to do is take the jam made from the Fruitage of God's Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22,23)  and slather it on there real good.  Cover it over with love, with peace...that way we can swallow the hurts that come from living in close quarters with our brothers and live with each other in a way which brings glory to God. 

I will caution you, however.  There's lots of sugar in Holy Spirit Jam! 


Image:  http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d0/Strawberry_jam_on_a_dish.JPG

USA Credit Rating, Cracker Barrel and Troublemaker's List

Last Saturday evening I was in Princeton, West Virginia at Cracker Barrel with Joey and Allison.  (look at all those prepositional phrases!).  You may recall my comments on the order mistakes made by waitstaff in an earlier post.  This week we have been blessed with a visit from Allison and, knowing Cracker Barrel is her favorite place to eat, went out to lunch at the Lynchburg location. 

Everybody's order was filled correctly, Allison finally got her pork and mashed potatoes, even if it took a different state and five days to do it, attention was given to our happiness and the level of our beverages.  It was a good time with no complaints.  Shortly before we left, Allison noticed this sign on the wall: 

She said, "How come root beer can have a triple A rating, but not the United States?"  We all laughed and I suggested she take a picture of the sign so that I could blog about it.  She tried to do so at the table, but was too far away for a good shot.  She walked up to about three feet away from it, took a picture and returned to the table.  Within 30 seconds, two blue shirted men came out from the kitchen and stood on the very spot she had been, peering out into the seated crowd as if looking for someone.  Allison stage whispered, "I think they think I was taking a picture of the kitchen!"  At this point we realized that the sign was, in fact, directly at the side of the kitchen entrance and one could easily have gotten that impression. 

Before you could say 'boo', a bus-person was at the table to remove dirty plates, our drinks were refilled, and the tension in the room seemed to have shot up like the mercury in a thermometer on a hot summer day.  We decided to leave.  Allison said, "Oh no, what if they have a list of Cracker Barrel troublemakers and they took my picture and now I'll never be allowed in a Cracker Barrel anywhere ever again!?"  (No, I don't know where she got this tendency to exaggerate and have ridiculous ideas.  Why do you ask?)

While I payed, they browsed in the store for a few minutes.  An aproned woman approached to ask how everything had been, had there been any problems, could we find everything alright?  We smiled.  'Yes, everything was great,' and left immediately. 

We really had a good time and hope our pictures are not now gracing the 'Troublemakers" sign posted in the Manager's Office at the Lynchburg Cracker Barrel, with the notation "Do not Serve".  Allison would never forgive me.  She loves their biscuits and gravy.  *sigh*

Crazy 'Bout A Mercury?

This is my 2000 Mercury Mountaineer. 

This is my 1989 Dodge Ram Pickup.

I want to state right up front that I am a snob.  A sort of perverse, reverse snob.  Most people would be snobby because they have a fancy shmancy this or la-de-da that.  I take strange pride in the raggedy-ness of my truck.  It's got no working Air Conditioning.  It's got a radio that picks up maybe two stations if the weather is good.  It smells a little funky inside and I love it.  But it's not really the most travel worthy of vehicles.  It tends to leak gas now and then, and it burns a lot of oil, and it probably gets about 8 miles per gallon. 

So, being as we are paying off Ronny's car this month, it seemed good to buy a car for me to get around in.  It had certain criteria it had to meet:  High Ground Clearance, 4WD or AWD, Four Door, Plenty of Cargo Room.  Beyond that I wasn't too picky.  When we found the Mountaineer it met all those criteria, as well as the other one I did not mention:  Extremely Affordable. 

The Mountaineer is the antithesis of the Dodge.  It has Air Conditioning that comes on with the goal of cooling the car to 60 degrees.  It has four doors with windows that all work.  It has All Wheel drive all the time; I don't have to get out and lock hubs and then come in and try to get the stick in the right slot for High or Low.  It has a radio that works (although it has a bad circuit board or resister or poor solder point and so it is unpredictable.)  Comfy seats that adjust with little electronic buttons.  A display that tells me all about my gas mileage, my fuel levels, the status of every system in the car. 

So, we bought it and brought it home and I have been trying to like it ever since. I think I must have the worst case of Sour Grapes in the world.  It's so bad that when I get the grapes I don't want them because I've programmed myself to disdain them.  I'm trying to do Exposure Therapy.  I drive it every day with the AC and the Cruise Control on.  I packed up the back with lumber and chicken feed so it felt comfy.  I took a pile of CDs with me to play if I wanted to.  I rode it in a heavy rain to feel the AWD kick in with no effort on my part. 

Maybe in time I will forget my first love. 

How Do You Handle A Broody Hen?

One of the Squatter Twins has been overcome by a deep desire to set.  She will set on nothing.  She will set on one egg.  She will set on broken eggs.  This could not be allowed to continue.  (Just for reference, these are non-fertile eggs.) 

I've had this problem with her before, and tried various methods of 'breaking her up'.  Ice cubes underneath her?  I think she rather enjoyed it, but she certainly didn't budge.  Putting her in a space away from the other hens?  She could not have cared less.  Rousting her every hour or so?  She would just go back. 

This year I have tried a new tactic.  Dipping.  Yes, I pick her up and dip her in a bucket of water.  It serves two purposes:  It cleans all the broken egg goo off her belly and it upsets her badly. 

She's been out in the yard for fifteen minutes clucking her irritated cluck at me and 'floofing' up her feathers. 

"Why the nerve of some people!"  says Squatter Twin Number One.

"It'll take me hours to fix these feathers!  Hours!"

On a more earthy note, the garden is getting stripped in preparation for a mid-August planting.  I took down the last of the corn today and composted it.  The beds look positively 'nekkid.'

 

The only things left are the tomatoes, the one square of lavender, and one lonely pumpkin. 

Sad little pumpkin.  Don't you worry.  Soon I will make you into a pie and your purpose in life will be fulfilled. 

Trip To Bluefield

This Sunday, July 31, my son-in-law gave his first Public Talk at the Bluefield, West Virginia Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses.  That's a pretty big deal, so on Saturday morning we packed and set out on our merry way to pay them a visit.  It's a three and a half hour drive uphill--when you can reach out of your car window and touch the sky you know you're there! 

We went out to dinner at Cracker Barrel.  It was very busy and it took forever to get our orders and they were all messed up.  Poor Joey.  He's mentally eaten his dinner already seven times but he doesn't feel any better.  And Allison has worked all day and she's starved.  We asked for biscuits but they never came.  :( 

Joey wanted a meatloaf sandwich but ended up with a hamburger.  It's just not the same. 

Craig was happy because his order came just fine.  Hamburger and fries, anyone?  Please pass the ketchup!

We went back to their apartment and Allison and I looked through her old homeschool papers that I brought up with me.  We laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.  Joey went out for a while to practice his talk so he would feel that much more secure in the morning.  We went to bed and woke up bright and early. 

For breakfast, Joey had some herbal concoction to calm his nerves.  He went to the Hall to practice again and we drove through McDonald's for a bite.  Craig got very nervous at the Hall.  He wanted to sit in the back room, which makes him feel more secure, so we did.  I got two pictures of Joey through the glass. 

The theme of Joey's talk was 'Comfort From Jehovah', based on 2 Corinthians 1:3,4. 

That's his Momma in the right hand corner of the picture.  His family came from Wytheville  for the occasion.

He did so well.  His voice is very well suited to speaking about comfort:  it is gentle and reassuring.  And, as in the best of talks, I felt it spoke to me in certain areas, moving my conscience to ways I could improve my relationship with Jehovah God. 

Joey had responsibilities to attend to, so we had a quick lunch with Allison and then we all had to go our separate ways.  She went off to work, we began our downhill journey home.  We took some pictures as we went through the mountains there.  They are magnificent. 

   I loved the layering of the hills and the clouds. 

Rain, Rain, Go Away, I've Got to Drive Downhill All Day

My lousy sense of direction doesn't matter.  As long as I'm going down, I'm good.

 We got home just in time to give Ronny a quick hug and kiss as he headed out the door.  He thoroughly bonded with Chloe while we were gone, and she gave him a kiss good bye as well.  We all got comfy and cozy and cuddled with Chloe.  It's good to be home again. 

It's a dog's life.

"Next time you go away, I'm coming with you!"