Let’s Laugh, Shall We?

We often read those hilarious misprints, gaffes, or typos that make us all giggle when we see them. Sometimes, we even find those good intentioned, “there was just no way around it” labels, headlines, etc. that no matter how you try to make it sound appropriate or tasteful…well…let’s just take a look…



While reading a section of a local paper intended to inform of upcoming events, I happened upon this little gem in the County Calendar, “Children’s Market: Bozo’s Big Bowel Movement at the local Children’s Market will begin at 6:00 PM, Thursday, August 19th…” This was a free family event, luckily. Shame to have to pay to experience that "function". Wow, I'm not sure if I would’ve been tempted to purchase any “locally grown produce” from this particular farmer’s market…makes you question the possible experimentation of going green with local fertilizer, huh?  Spend the rest of the day trying to wipe that image clean.


Another, I will share at my own expense. Many of us have laughed as we have read those funny wedding announcement headlines in papers. You know the ones...some are a little inappropriate and some are just downright funny.  Traylor/Hooker, Moore/Bacon, the list goes on....  Since I have suffered from this firsthand, I feel obliged to share that my maiden name is Little, a name of which I am proud and would not shame my father’s legacy for any reason. We Little’s are a proud clan, we are! However, I married a Johnson…need I say more…



Oh yes, I shall…while attending my 10 year high school reunion years…and years…and years ago…the officers of our senior class were required to take on various duties of the night. Being the class secretary, I was so fortunate as to have the honor of calling together everyone and announcing the Emcee or DJ for the night (memories a little cloudy, so these details may be a little misconstrued). The guy asked me to introduce myself and if I was married, to please give my first name, maiden name, and married name. Really, dude? Come on.



After already being nervous to speak before a crowd of my peers and dreading the intro, I willed my way through it (keep in mind that I was also largely pregnant at said time)....waiting for the giggles…and...yep, they came. At which time, I feel the sudden urge to explain that this has no bearing on my husband. The response…even more giggles…to which I decide…it’s better to just sit down. How do you come back…I ask, just how do you come back?


Now, come on, guys!  I know you all have a little something you can share.  Please feel free to share the laughter...we all need it!


*Bozo's BM compliments of Neighbors, A Journal Publishing Company, August 19-25, p. 2.

Whhhhh...uhh...cough, cough, hack...

Do you hear that?  Yes, that is me, blowing the dust off of my computer (or now, my smart phone), literally!  I did not even venture a look at the date of my last post in fear that it would paralize me further into shock.  It has been such a busy and everchanging year, that posting to anything (including a checkbook at times...shame, shame) has been a good intention which quickly joined an already quickly forming pile of afterthoughts.

Have I missed it...yes, to an extent, but really...I guess I haven't had much to say (a moment of shock for those of you who know me).  Just really enjoyed taking the last couple of years to really get a new perspective and just enjoy getting to know my children even better...you never go wrong there...unless you're raising cannibals, I guess.

So...
with a little work and determination, maybe I can get the hang of this again.  Writing on a regular basis will not be priority, but I will at least make an effort.  I realize that none of you are breathing a sigh of relief or were hanging on to the edge of your chair to hear that bit of earth trembling news; it is spoken more for my ego than for your benefit (you know...it's one of those many self-assurance/help resolutions I considered at the beginning of the year.......then quickly let settle back to the floor with the other dust that floated through the air from the recent computer/winter cleaning session.  I hate New Year Resolutions...don't even expect to find a single one near my page...I will fight them with emboldened fever!) 

I have enjoyed reading some of your posts and seeing what is going on in your lives and art!  I can't wait to read on and find out what you guys have been up to.  I hope you will all have a little mercy with my writing...it's been a while, but maybe like bike riding...once you learn, you got this thing...so here's hoping for a successful jump back behind the handlebars!

Hoping this is an awesome year for you all,
Andrea

What I'm Afraid Of...

I've noticed the trend of having guest writers on blogs, on which I am totally unopinionated.  Last week, however, my paper gun-weilding 11 year old handed me a short (very short) essay he had written on "What I'm Afraid of..." for his fourth grade teacher last year.  Don't ask me what nook or cranny of his backpack it had been stuffed into, but I'm glad he dug it out.  I found it an interesting and amusing read.  I decided to share it in hopes you find it just as entertaining!  And now..."What I'm Afraid of..."

"What I'm Afraid of..."

by Hunter

     I'm afraid of girls.  Why, you ask?  Because they have long hair, fingernails, and terrible tempers!  You can't escape one because they will keep you in their arms.  I can't be near one because they will get me.  Plus, they like boys...wait a minute...I'm a BOY!!!  Ahhhhggg!!!  Am I going to die (now)? (If so,) At least I won't have to suffer at the hands of a girl!  If I were you, I would hide from all those girls!  You better run for your life if you see one.  Of course, I hate running from girls, but I am afraid they will get me.  Those girls have weapons like lip gloss, blow dryers, and other things like that.  But wait!  We have booger blasters, mud-flingers, and underwear cannons!  We have supplies of water balloons and Nerf blasters with strong fire power.  Will it ever be strong enough?  They don't stand a chance because they will run when they see that we play hard!  We will sin this war!

     Of course, when I grow up, I may have a different idea about girls, but I am always going to keep my booger blasters close!

Not too shabby for creativity and humor for a 4th grader...of course, I may be a little partial (maybe).  When asked what the motivation was for writing this, he explained that the girls at school chase some of the boys all over the playground - sometimes he can't even play with his buddies!  He said, not to get him wrong, he liked 'em, but they just wouldn't leave them alone sometimes!  Now, I'm sure that "guy time" is important to a 4th grade dude just trying to "hang out with his buds", but I'm thankful that he isn't rushing the girl thing just yet - the stories I hear!  (There are probably even some 20 & 30 year olds who feel the same way - they can't find a peaceful corner of the playground in which to just hang out with their buds!)  He's growing up, guys, way too quickly!  Oh well, I guess when I get to mourning his lost baby fat and his once hairless underarms and top lip, I'll get out my tear pistol and search for HIS booger blaster!  Hummmm....maybe the underwear cannon explains his room.

Love you, bud!  Keep up the great writing and keep building with that imagination,

Momma

It Don’t Matter. Really?

     For those of us who are very indecisive or who are usually just along for the ride in life…this restaurant may be perfect…maybe. During a recent trip, my children and I were depending on a trusty GPS to get us from one destination to another. Some people hate these modern conveniences. I…blindly depend on them like they were some life support system. Now don’t berate me just yet, I have actually depended on a map a time or two in my life and have even followed the once “new fangled” invention of MapQuest, etc. (without even re-entering the addresses backward and forward so as to get the directions to and from exact). That’s right! Momma reversed the directions using a little common sense (very little, but I got back OK).


     Alright…sorry for the above paragraph that had little to nothing to do with the point of this post. So, we were headed to our next town at an extremely late evening hour passing through towns and down roads I had never heard of and tried in vain to imagine the origin of their names when we came across the following “side of the road”, “mom and pop” diner (or at least I’m guessing it was - it was too late to go in and confirm by this time of evening): “It Don’t Matter Family Restaurant”. Ok. I'm not going to pen my thoughts about this one.  I want your thoughts splattered on my page!  Any comments?

     You might even want to share what might have brought about the end of the Breakfast Buffet?

Please! Share with me, friends.

Bonding Over Buzzards

     No, I don’t have a morbid fascination with buzzards.  And no, I haven't moved to a desert.  I would like to observe, however, that it was very weird when last year, within a couple weeks' time, I had a very strange second sighting of buzzards in my area…a little too close for comfort. I wrote one entry called “Omen, Anyone?” where I shared a picture of two buzzards who had landed on a cross on top of a steeple. Strange as that was, weeks later, we were headed home when the kiddos and I saw two buzzards perched in a birdbath in front of a small house. “What are those!?” we all resounded. As we got closer, I couldn’t resist but to slow the car down for a better look…and besides, no one was home at the time (I hoped). Realizing that they were the same type of ominous bird I had seen earlier, I laughed then mused, “Well, isn’t this coincidental?”


     Being one that believes I have to prove what I’m telling, I ran home to grab my camera in hopes that no one would return to this quaint little home, and that the buzzards wouldn’t make their grand exit until I could make it back. As luck would have it, they were still happily (can buzzards exude happiness?) on the birdbath involved in some imaginary conversation I had projected upon them. (I think one of them was telling the other, “Paparazzi! Can you believe this lady? She actually went all the way home to get her camera!” I was only brave enough to pull over on the opposite side of the road and snap a couple of quick pics.

     The fowl must’ve decided that they could get a mile out of this ole gal after they had given me a yard. The next day, they weren't there.  Suddenly, two days later, they appeared again, this time, closer to the house. This pattern continued and, in the coming weeks, we began to notice that there hadn’t been a car at this house in quite a while. Oh yeah…you imaginative types already had your creative juices flowing before I got to this point, didn’t you? You can imagine the stories that began to grow in that little car on our way "to and from" every day. Of course, we always used reason…well, most of the time.

     Finally, the brave little scavengers had made it onto the porch! That’s right. They were comfortably and confidently hanging out at their new vacation/love shack/"dead person must be inside" house. We kept the trusty camera in the car and flashed a couple of see-it-to-believe-it photos when they were spotted. Finally, one day, they were no more…they had moved on…flown the coop (sorry – corny, I know, but as my friend says…God just made me this way).

     Now, as interesting as this story is…it doesn’t end there.  Recently one of our co-workers bit the dust to retirement, so of course the position had to be filled. Upon chatting one day and getting to know the new person, I was sharing with her where I lived. When I stated the street name, she exclaimed, “Oh, yes! I know that road! Listen, I have the funniest story about driving down that road.” I couldn’t help but stand there, mouth agape, as she recited to me how she and her family had been riding down that particular stretch of road and saw…these two buzzards sitting in a bird bath!

     OMW!! (Oh my word!!) I laughed and laughed! She looked at me as if I’d lost it…I mean, finally lost it. I told her to hold on and grabbed my camera. I began to scroll through the photos and she began to laugh and share with me that it had unnerved them so that they had called the sheriff! (I hate to admit it, but I think we had all thought of that as we passed by – never any cars at that little house, scavengers inhabiting the yard and porch for weeks, then suddenly…gone. (Oh, please! Like you were thinking it!)

     There haven't been any more scavenger birds and there's almost always someone home now at the little house on the side of the road.  Wonder if the sheriff ever found anything…hummm?  I also wonder what the buzzards are talking about as we speak, “Hey Alfred (is that a buzzard name?), you remember that time we had those people going…man, we even sat on the porch just to freak ‘em out a little.” “Yeah, Sherman, that was a good one!” And who would’ve thought two co-workers could’ve bonded over buzzards.

So, Where've You Been (a sad monologue of self-loathing)

Yes, I've been absent from the blogging scene for a while.  Thank you to those of you who continued to let your presence be known (to let me know I have a blogger-friend or two) by leaving an occasional comment or just right out asking, "WHERE ARE YOU?"

Well, let's just say that a much-needed blogging siesta was taken.  Life sometimes throws you off a little, you know - like, when you are walking along nicely on the sidewalk and all of a sudden you accidentally step off the curb and you do the "jelly ankle" thing and pray that no one saw you and you try to recover with looking really cool (if you're a girl, maybe brushing your hair away from your now reddened face and looking like "how in the world!"; if you're a guy, you...well what do ya'll do? Maybe a swagger thing or something.).  Oh well, the great thing about getting thrown a curveball is learning how to catch it and play the game with grace, skill, and sportsmanship (jelly ankle, swagger, and all)! 

I am not ashamed to say that faith has brought me through so many things in life and it is that same faith that is bringing me through now.  Just when we get ready to sink into our big pity chair (not to be confused with "potty chair") surrounded by oversized pillows that we burry our head in and scream, God lifts our face and says, "Wait.  It's ok to do that for a time, but don't sit there and give up!  I didn't create that in you and we are just gonna sit here for a while, scream or cry or just be silent, take a deep breath (eat some chocolate - I really am convinced that He must like it since He led someone to create the heavenly stuff, right?), and prepare to get back up and live.  We have stuff to do, places to go, and people to see."

I want to share something that has spoken to me lately, during one of my more whimpy days.  Seems like words like these come your way when you need them the most.  In fact, the night that I read these, it was truely as if I could breath again. 

God, Master of Union and Disunion, teach me how I may

now walk alone and strong.  Heal my wounds; let the scar tissue

of Thy bounty cover these bruises and hurts

that I may again be a single person adjusted to new days.

Grant me a heart of wisdom, cleanse me of hostility, revenge and rancor,

make me know the laughter which is not giddy, the affection which is not frightened.

Keep far from me thoughts of evil and despair.

May I realize that the past chapter of my life is closed and will not open again.

The anticipated theme of my life has changed, the expected story end will not come.

Shall I moan at the turn of the plot?

Rather, remembering without anger's thrust recalling without repetitive pain of regret,

teach me again to write and read

that I may convert this unexpected epilogue into a new preface and a new poem.

Muddled gloom over, tension days passed,

let bitterness of thought fade harshness of memory attenuate

make me move on in love and kindness.

(Source Unknown)

I simply share those words today because I don't believe that I'm the only one who needs a little encouragement from time to time.  Thank you to those of you who have been such a positive little ray of happiness to me.

Grateful for my Lord, my family, and my friends (which many of you are considered),

Andrea

Christimas Wishes!

Just a quick note to say that I haven't fallen off the edge of the planet...yet!  I am planning on returning from my extra-long leave of absence soon.

I wanted to take this time to wish each of you a very happy, warm, & blessed Merry Christmas!!!

Love to you all!
Andrea

The Creatures from Outer Space (a.k.a....My Back Yard)

I have mentioned before that I live in a rather “rural” area. As long as I can recall, there has been this strange noise that permeates the air during the sweltering summer afternoons, a symphony of sound that is as strange as some of the cousins that come out of the woodwork during a family reunion. It is this strange swelling of a noise like none other; a buzzing, but more rhythmic and musical.
What, you may ask, is all "the buzz" about? (OK - so that is such a cliche, but it fits so well!) Cicadas! After doing a little (very little) research, I found lots of facts about these guys, but don't worry - you aren't in for a science lesson (I'm not Annie the Science Gal), but I couldn't help sharing some of the more interesting ones.
1. They are NOT locust - despite what some people around "these here parts" call them. I would even say they are a little "friendlier" than locust, but a little uglier (not that anything that can fly at you, jump on you, wiggle, gnaw, or creep, or crawl is ever something I would be attracted to, but, hey, bless their hearts, like me, they can't help how they were made!).
2. They grow a shell that they shed and leave behind, similar to some types of crabs.
3. Only the males make the loud "caterwauling".
4. Some people even eat these things. NO-I HAVEN'T, I'M NOT GOING TO & I DON'T HAVE A "MEMAW" THAT FIXES 'EM UP JUST RIGHT FOR THOSE AFOREMENTIONED FAMILY REUNIONS!
5. There are different types - 17 yr, 13 yr, etc. They bury into the ground and only come out every 17, 13, or so years. (Which leaves me with the mystery of why I hear them almost every summer. Maybe there's some poor confused little pod of cicadas that makes the occasional late appearance - I can so relate!)
OK - enough facts. On to why I'm sharing this wealth of information. These "aliens" (just take a look at the pics) form outer shells and then crawl out of the top of them, leaving behind a very strange looking form. When I was young, I can remember being so afraid to touch them! I was terrified that the shells weren’t, in reality, dead and would miraculously/wickedly come to life after I picked one up and attack me! If you’ve ever handled one and had it "cling" to you – you know exactly why that thought might've crossed my mind! Their sharp barb-like legs prick and grasp you like an Velcro needle!
A couple of weeks ago, my son came running into the house after finding one of these bizarre little bug's former inhabitants and eagerly suggested a cicada hunt. So, we all trekked to a group of towering pine trees in search of the mysterious spoil. Looking up, inspecting the bark, we found shell after shell of the creepy little flea/crab/grasshopper/alien-looking insects' casings. We gathered quite a few and decided to line my son’s shirt with them. He said he looked like a decorated army general of some strange planet. I agree! When I was a little girl, we would decorate our own shirts or hats with them or wear them like rings on our fingers (so gross (and sometimes painful) but, hey, cheap jewelry!).
It was fun putting them on yesterday and sharing that memory with the kiddos.  Being a part of their memory-making and just enjoying the simple things in life.  No Nintendos, Wiis, TVs, texting, or hi-tech entertainment (aside from the camera)- just ...time spent together, actually talking, laughing, and listening.  Here are a few shots of our captives.

This guy looks like he is almost ready to "escape".

A little bugger preparing to come out of his shell.

My little alien army general being decorated!

This is what the shell looks like - you can see where they make their exit.

They look like they are invading!

So...anyone up for a cicada hunt? There's still plenty to be found! We’ll be glad to lead you, and it’s a whole lot more fun than a snipe hunt.

The Four Seasons

No, this is not a blog entry on the luxurious hotel. But after discussing the heat of summer in my last entry, I was reminded about something that I said to one of the roofers. I made the comment that it seems, here in Mississippi, we experience the best of all 4 seasons. When it’s Spring, you see all the plants in bloom, the weather begins to warm up, we get a decent amount of rain (usually), and there are beautiful colors everywhere. Everything seems to come to life (including allergies - oh, sorry, this was supposed to be positive).
When the summer begins to bounce into being, we get lots of (as aforementioned) heat and humidity, but when the weather is cooperating, it can be an extremely nice day. You want to be out soaking up the sun, swimming, skiing, etc!
Then fall appears, the leaves begin to change some of the most beautiful colors – yellows, reds, browns, oranges – it’s simply amazing. Winds begin to blow in a crisper air. A more mild, cool temp pervades as the leaves then begin their descent. And sometimes you can catch the smell of people burning leaves in their yards (this can be good or bad!).
Winter rages in last, with really cold temps that can occasionally fall below freezing. You want to bundle up to go outside. We may see it get down to the negatives a couple of times (and, hey, you people up North and in Canada – don’t burst my bubble! I know I ain’t seen nothin’, as “they” say, but you know, it's just as good as Antarctica to us -LOL!). Here, the warning of snow or ice (and we have actually seen an ice storm or two) sends people rushing to the store to buy up milk, bread, and water. (I’ve never understood why those three, exactly, are the necessities. For me, common sense would say water (yes), bread (ok), but add meat, AND CHOCOLATE! OR ANYTHING SWEET!! And batteries! No one ever thinks to get batteries!) At any rate, we always pray for a white Christmas, rarely get one, but see the white stuff a couple of weeks to months later.
So, what’s it like where you reside? Where you grew up? I told one of the roofers that there was no way I could make it up North – I wear a jacket in the office here during the summer if the air’s turned on for too long. Go ahead, say it! WHAT A WIMP!
So I guess we COULD say that I have stayed at the “four seasons” - if we really stretch this. Well, who would’ve guessed?

Guess What? It’s HOT!

Summers in the South…well they’re hot and they’re humid. They are sticky; they are draining; they are saturating; they are smothering (worse than your Aunt Matilda's Christmas hug!). Did I mention that they're HOT…and HUMID! I’m sure that many of you have seen or experienced the extreme heat wave we seem to be having nationwide. Now, I haven’t studied up on this, so I can’t actually make such a statement as “record-breaking”, but, guys, IT’S HOT! Most days are hovering around the upper 90's. But we’ve seen numbers like 103 with heat indices of 115. Yes, I know that those numbers may be relatively common for people living in say, Arizona, California (shout out!), Hades, etc. But, there’s one thing we have here that certain areas of our nation don't seem to complain about – HUMIDITY! It’s just one of those things that you can’t explain – you just have to experience it to understand it!
For a month or two now, we have had a number of fellas working on a roof project (yes, I am going somewhere with this!). After seeing 2 or 3 companies walk off the job, we discovered the reason. Their complaint – the heat! They said there was no way they could stand the heat and humidity – that they had never experienced anything like it and simply couldn’t finish. Needless to say, one group finally came riding in on a white horse (named Dodge!) and saved the day. They claimed the same thing…never had they experienced this kind of weather. But…they were the only ones who stayed and completed the job. So kudos to them!! And thank you very much, gentlemen. Sorry that it was such a miserable job, but we appreciate it all the more!
Let me try to explain, for those of you who may have never known such an experience, what a hot, humid, Southern summer day is like. You have the heat, it’s quite hot, actually very hot. There’s no wind, no breeze (and you thank God if you’re walking down the sidewalk and someone opens a business door and you feel a bit of air! Might even duck in for a minute or two and pretend to look around! No - not me - never done that, myself!). So you walk out of your front door at 7:00 AM, and are hit in the face, instantaneously, with a wall of heat. OK, let’s say you walk outside and you feel the heat hit you in the face at the same time someone takes a steaming hot blanket and throws it onto you and drenches your hair, your face, and your clothes and you have to carry that sopping blanket around all day – THAT’S SUMMER IN THE SOUTH!
As much as this sounds like a complaint, it isn’t. I am thankful for the days I spent running around as a child in my neighborhood, playing while carrying around my sopping wet blanket, too stupid to go inside and cool off, listening to my father's perverbial warning, "Stay in or stay out!". So we stayed out until we had to come inside because we were all the shade of lobsters, hair glued into Ed Grimly position by the perspiritory wipings of the brow. And there was always that neighborhood kid that had a pool, but never invited anyone over! Yeah, thanks, dude. That's why you never knew where our secret clubhouse was! Then, FINALLY, someone's mom would always pull out the POPCICLES!! Thanks, MOM!
I guess everyone has something about the area in which they live that they either love or hate - something that makes the place endearing. I don’t hate the heat, but it would be nice if it would cool off just a bit. Maybe I'll stick my head in the FIRDGE for a while! Maybe pass out some POPCICLES! WANT ONE? I call grape!

Hilton, Schmilton - I'm Stayin' Here!

Driving through town, I couldn’t help but notice this sign outside of a local motel.  I pass it daily, but have never taken the time to actually READ it. (So much for their advertising efforts!)  And yes, I DID go back later and discretely snap this pic after my mind got to running rampant with halarity.
OK – just reading at face value here…is NEMAX the extra-strength, turbo version of the standard enema? And we all know that a motel room is just not a motel room without all the modern conveniences like a FIRDGE.   Those amenities add to the motel that would normally fall below standard, making it a 5 star dream.
Maybe this is actually the cheaper version of a day spa for those dreaming of colonics and saunas. Maybe this is the working man – the blue collar version – Lord knows it would be all I could afford. Maybe I’ll book m’self a day – a day of all out pampering complete with N EMAXES and FIRDGES! But for now, I guess I’ll just dream.

I Feel … OLD!

Despite the seemingly obvious implication of the title, you are not about to read a dreaded list of whining and gripping from some old lady who is having a bad day (though I COULD tell you about my popping knees, my stiff back, and aching joints ect., if you want to give me a minute or 10 – just kidding!). No, I am talking about the ancient feel of my latest excursion with the kiddos.


After much debate and the flip of a coin, this hen and her brood of two, along with a friend and her daughter, decided we would head east to the lovely coastal town of Charleston, South Carolina. Why there? Well, when you have two extreme kids, one being a very busy, imaginative child interested in “what’s next”, and the other who only wants to relax at the beach and is so laid back you have to check their pulse occasionally to make sure they’re still alive, you learn to plan around two very different ends of the spectrum when attempting to entertain individual interests. Charleston, however, proved to be the perfect place for both!

After a 9 ½ hour drive, two sudden, hail-pounding thunderstorms (and a beautiful double rainbow – wow – which excited us, but not as extremely as the guy on You Tube!), the 4,000th answer to “where are we now” followed by the standard “how much longer”, and a bout of extreme quizzical musing over the time zones and why our phones hadn’t changed yet and then suddenly they did, we finally arrived at the hotel. We unloaded, checked in, then ATTEMPTED to grab supper (story w/in itself). Once settled, we crafted a somewhat casual itinerary for the days ahead. One day at the beach, the next downtown, another at a military site.

Beach day – PERFECT!! Town exploration day– (wore my butt out walking, but) BEAUTIFUL AND SO COOL! Military appreciation day – EXTREMELY EDUCATIONAL AND HUMBLING!

That evening, while making our way down the moonlit lane back to our car from the picturesque lighthouse we had just visited (which was a little disappointing simply because we thought we’d be able to walk right up to it – nope – it was out in the middle of the water – AND it was dark!), I made an observation, “Is it just me, or does this place feel OLD?” Surely, our earlier trek through historic downtown had oozed into my brain and set the tone for the feeling that seemed to pervade the present air. (Or was it just old, musty, ocean
air.)

Told you it was a LONG WAY out there!  (Sorry for the dates on the pics - dufus, here, tried something new with the camera - yep, she knows how to remove it, just thought for some "old lady" moment that it would be nice to have the date printed on there!  Lesson learned!)

This was in no way made with disrespect, but simply out of the awareness of the history that ran deep along the beaches, the buildings, the streets, the stories we had experienced throughout the day. My friend must’ve understood my cognizance – she nodded with the same look on her face that twisted mine. Though there was a breeze, the night was strangely stale, in a very inexplicable way.

I have been to both the coast of Florida and Mississippi. I have seen those beaches and the cities and life that surround and pulse throughout them (not to an extensive degree, but enough to make an intelligent comparison). Having now experienced a day or two on this coast, there were palpable differences. As I looked around the palmetto-lined, sandy path, I wondered how many other people had walked this beach before us. Pirates who may have landed on the very beaches we had just strolled, couples who may have snuck here to steal a little time listening to the moonlit music of the tide, soldiers who had occupied ships sailing around this very shoreline – all these flash-bulbed through my mind. The tale of Blackbeard having stayed in the dungeon that we toured earlier in the day must’ve gone to my head (and stuck in my imagination like pepper on the front tooth of a first date).

Have you ever been to a place like that? A place that you could literally FEEL, where you could BREATH IN the history, the surroundings? Having a pretty vivid imagination can sometimes prove to be negative; but in cases like this, it can prove to create a beautiful landscape for the actual past that helped shape our early history. How fortunate I am to have been able to take my children to such a place and learn with them about some of the people, places, and events that painted the history of our land, our nation.  I guess that's the kind of "agedness"  I don't mind "feeling".

What a Horrible Girl Am I?

No, I am not Little Jack Horner's horrid little sister, or stuck my thumb in any weird places like the middle of a pie (is it just me or is that weird - I mean, have you really read any of these nursery rhymes) but I have been very neglectful lately, and I apologize!  (Hope someone actually cares that I feel neglectful...and co-dependant enough to actually apologize and think you might care that I think you care! Ok - enough!) 
I was given an award by a very special fellow blogger - Mr. Cal over in the Cave!  Yes, that's right, my neighbor to the North is a great guy and decided to give this particular "Sunshine Award" to myself and some very awesome fellow lady bloggers (you should check them out if you haven't already).  I wanted to FINALLY tell him how much I appreciate the kind and thoughtful sentiment.  I will be sure to post it (cause ya know most of us love these things - gettin' and givin' 'em).  I am determined to create one and, EVENTUALLY, get around to handing them out, myself, dadgumit!  (Love that word - along with "flitter".  Go on, try it.  I dare you!  Next time you get outdone with something, yell, "FLITTER!"  Just don't say, "FRITTER," or you may have some things to explain like why you yell out random foods! Or you may get surrounded by a bunch of hungry neighbors or co-workers.  We've all experienced that one before, not good.)
I do thank you, Cal, and want to tell you how I laugh at and love some of the bits of wisdom you pass on daily!  (Wish I could get a "Num Num" care package of some of the ones you post (chocolate strawberries, um hum) as a complimentary treat (hint, hint), but I guess I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, huh? LOL!)  Seriously, all the best to you, buddy!  And my sincerest apology for the lateness of this entry but wanting you to know how much it is appreciated, moreover!

My White Whale!

So why haven’t I written in a while, you may ask (or may not even give a toot!)? Hopefully, the following will give a glimpse as to what had me preoccupied over the last couple of months.
This entry is in no way intended to be a book review, so please don’t abandon ship (pardon the pun) after the first sentence or two. To divulge a little about myself, I enjoy reading. I enjoy reading a lot. I don’t get to busy myself with this indulgent hobby as often as I’d like. Nor do I have a particular genre of literature (or music or food or anything, for that matter) that I follow with passion. My usual habit is to not read for a while; then, I suddenly punish myself by piling on a mass of books from the rush of desire that has built and is crashing upon my rigid shore of deficiency. Not good … many a noble man has gone down when hit from behind by those briny, roaring walls of desire! (Yeah, right!)  Consequently, I often find myself entangled by word-laden kelp.  Hit hard by a whale of a desire to catch up, I, of course pick out the most challenging (boring) books I can find.  One reason for this is to try and read as many of the "classics" as possible.  Even though I had the opportunity to read a couple of them in high school and college, I still always felt somewhat of a DUFUS because of the lack of being able to understand so many of the references and allusions written about or mentioned in many of my college lit classes.  I felt...deprived!
Having been “out to sea” with my latest book and neglecting my poor blog, I felt I must explain my absence (like anyone gives a patooty). Care to guess, with ALL THE HINTS, just what classic I have tackled as of late? That’s right (or – nope, sorry, wrong answer, depending on your response)! Moby Dick, Herman Melville’s sea sick sentiment of the whaling industry. OK, so “sea sick” might be a little too strong. Never-the-less, thus became my nightly ritual: lie down, set alarm for next morning, pick up copy of classic literary masterpiece (ball and chain), and read until my eyes fell heavy with complete exhaustion (boredom) which took all of a couple of pages (1 page), bob head at least 4 times (waking with confusion), then relinquish the battle. Therefore, what would’ve taken the average novel completion time of a couple of weeks, took me more like two to three months. Depressing.
Though the experience, itself, did not strip me of an actual appendage, leaving me hunting the monster (novel) that was getting the best of me (as Moby took Ahab's leg); I was left with a feeling of complete exhaustion as if I had survived a shipwreck. On a lighter note, I also came away with a greater respect and knowledge of the whaling industry of Melville’s time (actually, I feel more like a guest at that hotel chain that promises you get a better deal through them and leave a wiser person!). I feel as if I could go a’whaling now!  Not that I'd want to...it was really rather gross!  I am proud to have gotten this one classic under my belt, so to say, and no longer stare at it on my “to read” list. I’m no longer chasing my white whale; I have captured (and killed) the poor thing! Unlike the anguished Ahab, poor bugger, I have returned to shore in one piece without sacrificing my whole ship, crew, and soul in the process (although I did notice that my kids were begging for food out by the road and their clothes looked a bit "shabby" the other day)! So, yeah, you know it’s comin’ - just call me…..Ishmael (the tortured reader)!

Omen, Anyone?

Real life, I’ve often thought, is more fascinating than fiction. I’ve never been the superstitious type, really, but something happened the other day that we’ll just say, “was a little weird.”


Sitting in the office, my fellow co-workers and I heard a call come over the radio, “Girls, you all come out to Andrea’s car. Come on – all of you.” Naturally, our first thought, unanimously, “Oh man, what’s happened to Andrea’s (my) car!?” We all scurried out the door but, looking toward my car, couldn’t decide why we’d been summoned, “What in the world?” There didn’t seem to be a thing wrong with my car and there was no one outside. By this time, we began searching for the culprits of an apparent practical joke. I walked toward my car, carefully inspecting as I approached, when I noticed some of the guys at work outside. They pointed our attention to the top of the steeple where we found…

(Just a view of the steeple to give you an idea of how far away the picture was taken.)

That’s right, ladies and gentleman, buzzards (vultures)! Right on the top of the cross at the very tip of the steeple, they were perched like dark ambassadors of doom. To see an idealistic dove, or almost any other foul, would’ve been appropriate and would have given the more typically happy feeling. Let me know what you guys are thinking! Omen, anyone?

“You Need Woofle Ball Bats and Moss for What?”

Hopefully (since we've almost worn it to a frazzle), this will be the last in the "Super Secretary" installment!  Ready for just one more adventure (to put up with my long-winded stories one more time)?  Let's go...

In today’s adventure, Annie gets what first appears to be a casual phone call from her boss checking on things at the office. She informs him that all is well and there is nothing to worry about there. Before hanging up, Boss nonchalantly mentions that Annie needs to pick up about 7 woofle ball bats and some moss at the local Walmart. (Annie mind glimpse…don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask… “And what do we need these for?”) The compulsive urge proves to be more than our super heroine can withstand. “And what do we need these for, sir?” “The bats are for the angry mob to wave at and possibly beat Jesus with, and the moss is to add to the set so the stones look "mossy" or "old." (Why do I ask?)


Annie waits until she has the purchasing card to fly (drive) to Walmart to secure the items needed to fulfill this mission. Once at the store, Annie makes her way to the toy section (‘cause where else would one find something to beat Jesus with but in a kids toy department) and discovers that this store only has 5 bats! Oh, drats! Foiled! What shall our super heroin do? Making her way to the craft department to obtain the moss, she remembers a second Walmart on the “other side of town”. That’s right, she must risk life and limb to retrieve the other two bats and fulfill her mission! But before she can do this, she must choose the correct moss. More than one type!? How many decisions can a super secretary make in one day (give me a break…) Using her super secretary decision making skills, Annie calls The Prop Master to aid in this very risky move. Retrieving the sage wisdom of this fellow defender of the universe, she reaches down and makes her choice! (Whew! That was close!)  No pesky steel blades of death or poisonous gas to deal with...for now!

Soaring (trying to weave through traffic without beeping the horn or rear-ending anyone) to the second store after procuring her purchase, Annie wonders (hopes she can get this task marked off her to do list) what will be waiting for her in the mysterious "Section of the Toys" this time? Meditating (praying that this store has enough bats), she glides through the isles searching for the illusive woofle ball bat. Hark! In front of her hangs the prize. She makes her way over and there are just enough (plenty of) bats. As with the others, she breathes a prayer, asking forgiveness for every time she picks up a bat that, though it’s only a play, may be used to wave angrily at Jesus or bash him. (Not to mention the agony I had over actually trying to choose the right bat – there were 2 different types – and colors. I deduced that they would be painted or something because the thought of swinging a pink bat at Jesus just didn’t seem plausible, so I should just choose the one that looked more "clubbish".)

Arriving back safely (whew! cause we all know how harrowing that was) at the office, Annie is met by Boss who explains that today’s mission is not yet over. She must now search for and purchase paper bag-like material with which to cover the bats and brown spray paint. Facing traffic yet again, Annie secures the correct supplies and makes her safe return to the office. Finding a tarp, with the assistance of the mild-mannered handyman, she is readying the supplies to cover the bats with the paper and spackle (oh yeah – messy, but fun) when she realizes, “I’m only going to be able to do half a bat at a time – I don’t have anything on which to hang them in order to work on the whole bat at one time!” (This is not the most convenient of thoughts when you’re up to your elbows in spackle, bats, and paper.) When out of nowhere appears Super Maintenance Man! “Would you like for me to rig up a couple of ladders and a string for you, Miss?” “Oh, could you!?”

No, the evil forces of unpreparedness shall not be victorious today! In no time, the woofle ball bats are transformed into angry mob wielding instruments and the moss is stuffed in the craggy walls of styrofoam to make them look "old"! Just another day in the life of our friendly super secretary.

What will tomorrow hold for our mild-mannered heroine? Will she be able to keep her identity and her homeland safe as she returns what appears to be an ordinary, innocent mound of costumes to their owners, or will she be forced to reveal all as the question is posed, “What’s that smell?”  (Actually, I'm not going to write that one in "Super Secretary", super-entertaining manner...I'm just gonna write about it...as myself.)

A Prima Donna Donkey Goes Bad

Let’s see, where did we last leave our sedulous secretary and the sadistic Mr. Bear? I believe we were cleaning poop – yes, sounds about typical at this juncture. After retrieving our prima donna donkey, I was to tie him back up at the trailer and come back in quickly for the next lamb scene. (Remember that I am working all this out as I go this first rehearsal in that no one has told me the SPECIFICS of the songs and areas that the animals will be required to make their entrances and exits. By the end, however, I am glad to say that, with a couple of wonderful little helpers, we were able to get things “down pat” and move quite fluidly from scene to scene. THANK YOU TO MY LITTLE SHEPHERDS & SHEPHERDESSES, THE GENTLEMAN WHO WALKED BEAR BEFORE HIS SCENE WHEN I WAS RUNNING LIKE A CHICKEN, AND MY BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN WHO STUCK BY MY SIDE TO HELP WHEN AND WHERE NEEDED – EVEN WITH THE FAKE BLOOD CLEANUP EACH NIGHT!)


So I return Bear to the trailer where I am faced with the duanting task of tying the sacred “jerk knot”. You know when you think you have something totally memorized and all of a sudden the task is required of you and you go completely blank. Well, this was ALMOST one of those moments. I could remember the first step of the knot, then…I just saw nothing on my mental monitor. OMW – I was standing there with this mammoth thinking, “I need to be in there with a lamb in about 5 minutes – I actually didn’t know exactly HOW much time I had, but I whipped out my program and it wasn’t enough to stand there like a dufus trying to tie behemoth here to the trailer. So I took a deep breath and did the best I could. The first try left the poor donkey (yeah, I kinda felt sorry for him for the moment) unable to reach down to eat his hay – I was afraid he would choke to death. I untie and try again. Second tie, a little better, but now I’m just totally insecure, so I untie again. Third time, again. OK, buddy, this is it – I’ve got a lamb to get to the priest so he can raise it above his head and pray it doesn’t squirm it’s way out of his hands or poop or pee on him while he’s holding it, last try! “I go around the back, I go around again, and then I … IT WORKED!” Alright, dude, eat some grass and DON’T GO ANYWHERE!

This night finally came to an end and the next two nights of rehearsals went off OK aside from the doggie diaper failure and a couple of lamb pellet cleanups. We had, had this grand idea that if dogs could wear diapers, why couldn’t lambs – run to the local pet store, pick up some diapers – medium size for a lambs backsides, and dress the lambs with the cute little diapers. Great idea, right? Um…no. It seemed that no matter how tight we put these contraptions on the lambs, the poop just rolled right out. Now tell me…no, never mind. I don’t really even want to think about it.

First night of performances, I have my time and mapping laid out to a close perfection and all animals and people are in place. My job lies as follows:

1) Ready lambs, but keep them quiet just off stage for their first scene which is at the end of first song (have you ever tried to keep a bunch of scared baby lambs quiet – give it a go, go on, try it).

2) Hand lambs off, when 1st song begins, to shepherds (a bunch of fussy teenage boys who were more afraid of lamb poop than wearing gowns on stage!)

3) Run behind curtain DURING this 1st song and wait for cue to pull curtain back for character entrance and then wait for end of song to close it back.

4) Retrive lambs and hand two of the four lambs off to individuals who will make sure they get back to their pen safely, then transport the remaining two around the lobby (as quietly as possible – again, scared baby animals inside building with loud music and people scurrying everywhere) to the other side of the stage for their next scene.  Have children wait there with lambs to give to the appropriate people, then wait for the lambs to return & run put them up once again.

5) Scramble to the front of the church where Bear is waiting to be walked around and we are to watch for that “cue”. I am also to brush any knots or rough spots out of his coat so that he will look nice for his appearance.

6) Move Bear into the building and hand off to Jesus. Move to the other set of doors and watch for Bear to come up the isle so that I can retrieve him and secure him to his trailer.

7) Run back inside, make sure the two lambs were returned safely and quietly to their pen and clean up any accidents.

8) Listen for the song in which the last lamb is to appear, retrieve the lamb, then wait, keeping him quiet, until he is needed. Hand him off to priest and, when that is over, return him to his fellow brothers in holding.

9) Clean up, once more.

This is one of those things that looks much more simple on paper than in reality, but it actually wasn’t all that bad! I had fun and the animals weren’t all that bad. I felt a little like a zookeeper by the end, but it was great!  (Like I might be able to make friends with those bellowing cows across the street yet!)

Now, do you remember from the list above #5? Well, there is a reason that I listed the later part of that chore. Brushing an animal to brighten its coat and to make it look presentable is not a bad thing, right? What the animal does in response to that just might be. I wrestled with whether or not I should divulge this part of the story, but facts are facts and I thought it might shed light on just why I call myself “Lily” (innocent or naive) and just what a comedy my life really can be sometimes. 

So I’m rushing from spot to spot, handing off animals left and right and trying to make sure that my part in this production is done with proficiency and professionalism. First night, things ran rather smoothly with actually little to no poop or goof-ups. All is well! Second night, I am transitioning smoothly and handing off the two lambs for their second scene and preparing to head to Bear’s trailer to walk him and make sure that he is looking presentable when one of the ladies stops me and inquires, “Annie, just what did you do to old Bear before you brought him in for his scene last night?” “I just brushed him and walked him around. Why?” “Oh. Well that would explain it,” she informs me. “Explain what?” “Why we had a really happy donkey last night.” “Huh? What? Why was he particularly happy last night? What would brushing him…? OMW!!! No way!” “Yes, girl. My boyfriend was here last night and he knows enough about horses to know that Bear was a happy donkey, or at least a little relaxed last night when he sauntered down the isle.”

My face must have looked like someone watching a baby deer getting eaten by a crocodile!  I had no idea – I was simply doing what I had been told! Who knew? How embarrassing – I was headlong into an “Ewwwww!!! dance” when I finally replied, “No more brushing for that old donkey! Knots or not, I’m not doing that again! He’ll just have to look nappy!” And that was the last time I will ever brush an animal, folks. Lesson learned, face red, reputation…tarnished.

I would like to say that was the end of me and the Bear adventures, but it wasn’t. This donkey was good for at least one more story. Tomorrow? How about, “OMW! You guys sprayed the weeds!? With poison?!”

Locked and Loaded: Paper Gun Style

For months now, I have watched as my son has discovered a talent for making paper guns. I watched as he saw a boy on the internet show how he rolled paper into barrels, folded it into stocks, and taped them together to create what looked like a rifle or pistol. Hunter has always had that little boy instinct of picking up a stick and using it to play soldier or cop or, in most cases at our house, storm trooper. At first, this little “talent” disturbed me, “Oh my word, he’s becoming obsessed! He’s headed for a life of violence and destruction!” After being reassured by more than a few individuals that I was most likely NOT raising the next Hitler and that he was a well adjusted, normal little boy, I began to appreciate his flair for the creation of paper weaponry.


Honestly, dudes and dudettes, he’s becoming pretty stinkin’ good at this. His first gun was an MP5. Of course, I wouldn’t know an MP5 from a C3PO, but he is learning. Originally, I simply thought he was just making up letters and numbers to sound impressive. Apparently, this has been a long-time habit of men (little boys) everywhere because I’m discovering that these letters and numbers really do mean something to their makers and most of their users. This first gun was made from cardstock and tape he found in my office. The only other supplies necessary are scissors. He watched and followed the instructions on the tutorial and that was that. He went home and there began the total domination of the paper gunsmithing kingdom. My house is now literally overrun with paper MP5’s, pistols, sniper rifles, AK47’s, STG44’s, MP40’s, BAR Browning rifles, Thompson submachine guns, and a few of his own creations (hope I got all those names right!).

Not only are we fully supplied by paper a gun arsenal (and I can hear the gun control comments rushing through the air as I write this), but we have the occasional battle ax, knives, swords, grenade launcher, bazookas (sorry that one may be a gun), scopes, clips/magazines, and tripods/stands. We are ready if any paper legions head our way – watch out Oh Great Paper Faux (ha – foe)!

I have even received my own tutorial session on making a paper gun (couldn’t tell you what I made – remember, the # & letters thing is lost on me), and I can tell you that he’s a pretty good instructor. He carried me through each step of rolling, folding, taping, cutting, and attaching. He was very patient and knowledgeable about his craft. I will say that occasionally, it gets a little old stepping over all the “gunnery” in the living room (and all other living places and/or vehicles), but my little man has found something he is excellent at, and who wouldn’t admit to owning that kind of confidence!

I thought I’d share a few of his creations here. The good thing about them – we are recycling! We have lots of paper that just gets thrown away at my office, so I am trying to collect it to see how much we have at the end of the year (Ah! Moment – new blog entry!) and Hunter has found a way to use it. Aside from the cost of tape, this little hobby isn’t costing me very much at all. He even buys his own tape if he has money from allowance, etc. Yep – “green guns” and peaceful ones at that. We could be members of “The New Earth Army” (see Men Who Stare at Goats!). Pretty cool! Pretty cool kid!

                                                    

                                                      

“There’s a Donkey?”

“Is Sam here yet?” quizzes Annie’s boss. “I’m not sure. Why am I looking for Sam?” Annie returns. “Because he has Bear. I don’t want to use the lambs tonight, but I do want to use Bear.” “Bear?” “Yes, Bear. Bear the donkey.” “Oh – you want ME to go get the donkey, sir?” “Yes, go get him and have him ready for the next scene.” (Annie mind glimpse, “……………………….”.) We now join Annie, AKA, Super Secretary, as she dashes around the building in a made rush to discover the whereabouts of this mysterious Mr. Sam and his donkey, Bear.


Rushing toward the lobby, someone emerges from the shadows. Could it be the covert …Mr. Sam? “I understand I am supposed to obtain possession of a donkey from you, sir. Is this correct?” “Yes, he is outside. If you will follow me, I will instruct you on how to care for Bear.” Annie proceeds with Mr. Sam to a horse trailer where they are joined by Mrs. Sam (who knows a lot about horses & stuff, thank God). (Ok – I can’t write the rest of this story in super hero fashion just because it’s a donkey, for goodness sakes, and it involves lots of OMG moments for me! Excuse me as I transition into just Plane Jane Annie for a moment…)

OK – out of my costume and ready to just tell it like it happened, folks. You won’t believe…well, I’ll just tell it.

Alright, so I follow this guy who is responsible for transporting the donkey (a borrowed donkey) from his pasture to the building every night for the next week. We have dress rehearsals for the next 3 days followed by 3 nights of performances (that’s 6 straight days of sheep, lambs, and donkey, guys!). “Sam”, his wife, and I are standing behind this horse trailer discussing the craziness of this mission when they open it to reveal a pretty “fluffy” looking donkey (and by “fluffy” I don’t mean cute and furry - just picture with me a donkey that looks more like a small horse than the typical big-eared, short, thin, little donkey that you see in most pastures or pictures – yeah – I’m assuming that you’ve all seen plenty of pictures or have been around lots of donkeys – and you know what assuming gets you, but this guy was more like a mule). I am shown how to untie him, lead him out of the trailer, and how to tie him back up with a “jerk” knot or some kind of "quick release knot". As I am being taught this tying technique (and please understand that Lady Lily here has only been on a horse like two or three times and NEVER has she EVER had to tie ANY kind of knot or “hitch” anything securely aside from her shoes or other articles of clothing (and those get “hitched” pretty darn securely). So here I am in the middle of my impromptu rope tying lesson when this old coot of a critter decides he wants to push me – that’s right! PUSH ME! And he HUFFED doing it! ‘Scuse me? (In my best valley girl accent.)

“Bear! What is your problem?!” Sam’s wife yelled. That’s when I confirmed that it wasn’t just me – she saw it, yeah! She saw it too! Alright you! (I could’ve called him by his true biblical name here, but it would have been more like a swear and I try my best not to do that, so I didn’t and won’t here. You can imagine the Annie mind glimpse.) I just pushed him back – that’s right! Now, normally, I would be a little more cautious when altercating with any animal – especially one that outweighs me by such a great ratio (we won’t get into precise comparisons!), but I thought, “I gotta work with you solo all week, bub! And I think I remember someone telling me that you had to show you animals who’s boss. So you better WATCH IT!” Not real sure that this philosophy is an exact bit of sage wisdom – but it was like a Jedi thing – it just popped into my head so I went with it – it worked at the time, so I followed the “inner voice”.

Lesson concluded, we led Bear out of the trailer and onto the sidewalk where I was to hold him until his “scene”. I had been told to walk him around A LOT so that “his bowels will move” and he will be less LIKELY to leave mementos on the carpet as he takes Jesus down the isle, drops Jesus off, then heads back up the next isle to exit. Walk donkey…I can do this, no pressure. As if that wasn’t enough, it dawns on me that I have been left alone with this donkey and, even though I have the full program written down on paper in my pocket, I CAN’T HEAR OUTSIDE WHAT SCENE IS BEING PERFORMED ON THE INSIDE!!! I HAVE NO CUE!! WHERE’S MY CUE? WHEN DOES JESUS NEED THE DONKEY?! NO ONE TOLD ME WHERE THE CRAZY DONKEY WAS TO COME IN FOR HIS SCENE! It’s like being responsible for the most awesome rock band headlining a major event and no one tells you where or when they are to go on – do you know the pressure – you’ve all been there, right?! I guess I am supposed to follow that little “voice” again?

So here I am holding the blessed donkey in the middle of the city in a parking lot that just happens to have a nice landscaping of grass (with a couple of weeds interspersed – this plays a part later), waiting for my mystic “cue” when I realize that I’m being overwhelmingly pulled in the direction of the nice green landscaping. Humm…I wonder what donkeys eat? WELL, IT TURNS OUT THEY MUST LIKE GRASS & WEEDS (I guess Bear decided to follow HIS inner voice – “Hey! Food!”). Crud! (Deep sigh.) Then I remember the voice – “Oh no you’re not! Get OUT of this grass. COME! ON!” (Yeah, you can go ahead and envision, but even I can’t imagine what I must have looked like standing there pulling this 300 + pound animal!)

“You. Will. Come. On.” Finally, I look helplessly toward the door and see a face peering out like, “Are you coming?” Apparently, this was my cue. Genius. So I head toward the door. Notice I said, I I I I head toward the door. I guess the divo of a donkey (or whatever you call the male equivalent of a diva) decided he was ready for his close up, Mr. Deville, so he followed me. We managed to get him through the door and into the lobby…where he decided to leave us a little calling card. Yep…it happened. I’ve had better relationships with animals, people. After a couple of on-lookers freaked out and a quick inquisition was held to find a broom, etc., I was finally handed a broom, a dust pan, a spray bottle of carpet cleaner, a carpet brush, and a towel. Yes, it took all of those – for not only had my new friend “left a little” in the lobby, he decided (I’m convinced this was a cold and calculated move on his part) to step in it and spread the love onto the carpet (thankfully – a divine intervention, I’m also convinced – held him to only two “hooves” worth). Thanks, Bear – just had to, huh? That grass may have been a plotted move on your part, but it will take more than a little shove and some poop to beat this super secretary down. Poop will not be your kryptonite today, sir. LOAD UP!!! And NO VANILLA WAFFERS FOR YOU!!! (Not sure if that’s the universal bribe for donkeys, but this big guy melts like butter for them. Too bad - he didn’t deserve any that night! Harsh, you may say. No, remember the inner voice – it is leading me at this point and it says, “No vanillie waffies for you, Jack.")

The story doesn’t end there – but my blog entry does. Join me tomorrow for our conclusion when you hear me ask, “I was just brushing him, why?”