Well, I certainly have let the grass grow under my feet when it comes to posting, that's for sure. Winter blahs? Indifference? Depression? Who knows? Oh well, I'm back now.
I tell you, it's hard to not be outside doing something on this most beautiful of days. The problem is, I am supposed to be out there planting stuff to eat, not re-potting flowers and trees. I tell myself that I am primarily a vegetable gardener, but especially lately finding myself working with ornamentals. And another problem is, I keep telling myself that I am not going to plant anything else here, I want to take it all to the new place, (if we ever move, that is); so, as a result, I have many, many things planted in anything that will hold dirt. And, I have to ask myself, "why, oh why, am I babying little black walnut trees? Anyone that gardens on a regular basis knows that black walnut trees emit something called "juglone", that inhibits the growth of lots and lots of vegetables that you may be trying to grow for food. And, yet, I STILL find myself transplanting the forlorn little tree into a big tin can, hoping to give it the will to live, and grow. (I guess gardening is like owning a bird; you really don't understand WHY you do things, you just know that you have to do them for some strange reason.)
So, instead of getting out there and planting food to eat, I spent the afternoon aimlessly pulling weeds on a plot of ground that I really don't intend to use this year, (but I actually DON'T want it to grow up in weeds like it did last year), so I guess the afternoon wasn't a total waste; it got me outside, made part of my depression go away, I got a little exercise, (still hoping that that will make me lose a few pounds; hasn't happened yet, but I'm still optomistic for some strange reason), said hello to the earthworms and thanked them for doing such a good job, and so forth and so on. And when you've got a beautiful day, with beautiful weather, and no mosquitoes, and a good helper like your green-feathered-two-year-old, then you really can't complain that you got nothing done, right? Happy gardening.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, December 26, 2008
When Married To A Sheetrock Hanger:
This is for all you girls out there who are considering marrying a sheetrock hanger, or a construction worker. These are things that I have learned over the years.
1. They tend to want to unload their tools in the front yard. Which wouldn't be a problem if they would go put them up afterward, but the one that I'M married to, just leaves them where they fall. He does, however, stack them semi-neatly in the front yard, which I guess I should be thankful for.
2. If there is a chance that it might rain, then the tools are unloaded onto the front porch. Even though they are under cover, it still makes the appearance of our place look so junky and unloved. I regularly go out and clean the porches off, but the minute I get them looking good, they get junked back up again. And some of these tools are danged heavy, and it's hard to put them up.
3. We went to the expense of buying and building a shed to store all the tools in, but the shed is too far away from the front of the house, ( probably about 50 feet or so), so it is too much trouble to put them where they belong. I understand that he's tired; I have learned the hard way that getting older means you can't do the things that you used to be able to do. Simple things like walking and lifting, are much harder to do when you're tired or you have degenerative disks in your back, and a hurt shoulder that you can't get fixed because you can't be off work for the time that it takes to heal. Because:
4. When you are in construction (self employed), you do not have medical benefits. If you get them privately, you pay big time cash every month, as well as a huge deductible for every procedure done. When you are self-employed, if you don't work, you don't get paid; so you suck in the pain of whatever ails you, and go to work anyway, and don't get your medical needs taken care of. All that to say, if you are too tired or hurting too bad to walk 50 feet to put your tools up, then your front yard is continually going to look like a yard sale or a construction zone. We'd never make it in a gated community, that's for sure.
5. And if you DO manage to get him to put his tools in the shed where they belong; he stands at the door, and tosses, and where ever they land is where they stay. It doesn't take long for floor space to run out in a 16X16' shed. (I regularly used to try to clean the shed too, but the minute I do.............
6. Sheetrock dust follows them around in a cloud, especially in the summertime. Sheetrock hangers look like PigPen off of Peanuts cartoons, only the dust is powdery white instead of dark. And when it's time to wash their clothes, the combination of dust and sweat makes a kind of white mud that is yukky indeed to have to pick up to put in the washer.
But, on the other hand:
1. Sheetrock hangers get up very early in the morning to go out into all kinds of weather to earn their living, and provide for their families. (all of them are not so good at this, but the one that I'M married to is).
2. He works when his shoulder is hurting so bad that he cannot lift his arms above his head, because he cannot afford to take off for the six months that it would take to heal if he had the surgery that he needed.
3. He works in the freezing cold in the wintertime, and the burning heat in the summertime to provide for his family.
4. He stresses every Friday about whether or not the people that he worked for this week will pay him what they owe him. If they don't, his workers get paid anyway, but he doesn't. And if he gets ripped off by the builder, then that loss is his.
5. The work is so physical that it is no wonder that he has shoulder and knee problems. As he likes to remind me often: "We're not spring chickens anymore".
There are many other pros and cons, (more cons than pros, let me tell you), about what to expect if you marry a sheetrock hanger, but I have thoroughly depressed myself, and don't want to think about it anymore.
So, bottom line is: these are just a few of the things that you will face, but you have to ask yourself if the hassle of putting up with the aggravations are worth the reassurance of knowing that he will do his best to take care of you and the children that depend on him, and know that he does what he can do, and if you want a clean shed and yard, then either clean them up yourself, or marry a professional man. I guess I'll stay where I'm at, after 30 years, I've 'bout got him broke in, and at times I'M not the easiest in the world to live with either. (sheepish grin)
Besides, if I didn't have junk all in the yard, then I'd be mighty lonely, 'cause he wouldn't be here, and I'll put up with the junk (don't mean I gotta like it), in order to have someone to argue with. Happy Gardening!
P.S. What does this have to do with gardening you say? Why, because I keep my garden tools in the messy shed of course! (All put up neatly, I might add).
1. They tend to want to unload their tools in the front yard. Which wouldn't be a problem if they would go put them up afterward, but the one that I'M married to, just leaves them where they fall. He does, however, stack them semi-neatly in the front yard, which I guess I should be thankful for.
2. If there is a chance that it might rain, then the tools are unloaded onto the front porch. Even though they are under cover, it still makes the appearance of our place look so junky and unloved. I regularly go out and clean the porches off, but the minute I get them looking good, they get junked back up again. And some of these tools are danged heavy, and it's hard to put them up.
3. We went to the expense of buying and building a shed to store all the tools in, but the shed is too far away from the front of the house, ( probably about 50 feet or so), so it is too much trouble to put them where they belong. I understand that he's tired; I have learned the hard way that getting older means you can't do the things that you used to be able to do. Simple things like walking and lifting, are much harder to do when you're tired or you have degenerative disks in your back, and a hurt shoulder that you can't get fixed because you can't be off work for the time that it takes to heal. Because:
4. When you are in construction (self employed), you do not have medical benefits. If you get them privately, you pay big time cash every month, as well as a huge deductible for every procedure done. When you are self-employed, if you don't work, you don't get paid; so you suck in the pain of whatever ails you, and go to work anyway, and don't get your medical needs taken care of. All that to say, if you are too tired or hurting too bad to walk 50 feet to put your tools up, then your front yard is continually going to look like a yard sale or a construction zone. We'd never make it in a gated community, that's for sure.
5. And if you DO manage to get him to put his tools in the shed where they belong; he stands at the door, and tosses, and where ever they land is where they stay. It doesn't take long for floor space to run out in a 16X16' shed. (I regularly used to try to clean the shed too, but the minute I do.............
6. Sheetrock dust follows them around in a cloud, especially in the summertime. Sheetrock hangers look like PigPen off of Peanuts cartoons, only the dust is powdery white instead of dark. And when it's time to wash their clothes, the combination of dust and sweat makes a kind of white mud that is yukky indeed to have to pick up to put in the washer.
But, on the other hand:
1. Sheetrock hangers get up very early in the morning to go out into all kinds of weather to earn their living, and provide for their families. (all of them are not so good at this, but the one that I'M married to is).
2. He works when his shoulder is hurting so bad that he cannot lift his arms above his head, because he cannot afford to take off for the six months that it would take to heal if he had the surgery that he needed.
3. He works in the freezing cold in the wintertime, and the burning heat in the summertime to provide for his family.
4. He stresses every Friday about whether or not the people that he worked for this week will pay him what they owe him. If they don't, his workers get paid anyway, but he doesn't. And if he gets ripped off by the builder, then that loss is his.
5. The work is so physical that it is no wonder that he has shoulder and knee problems. As he likes to remind me often: "We're not spring chickens anymore".
There are many other pros and cons, (more cons than pros, let me tell you), about what to expect if you marry a sheetrock hanger, but I have thoroughly depressed myself, and don't want to think about it anymore.
So, bottom line is: these are just a few of the things that you will face, but you have to ask yourself if the hassle of putting up with the aggravations are worth the reassurance of knowing that he will do his best to take care of you and the children that depend on him, and know that he does what he can do, and if you want a clean shed and yard, then either clean them up yourself, or marry a professional man. I guess I'll stay where I'm at, after 30 years, I've 'bout got him broke in, and at times I'M not the easiest in the world to live with either. (sheepish grin)
Besides, if I didn't have junk all in the yard, then I'd be mighty lonely, 'cause he wouldn't be here, and I'll put up with the junk (don't mean I gotta like it), in order to have someone to argue with. Happy Gardening!
P.S. What does this have to do with gardening you say? Why, because I keep my garden tools in the messy shed of course! (All put up neatly, I might add).
Monday, December 22, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The Does And Don'ts of Clearing Garden Debris
This is the way it works: you decide to finally get off your lazy bum-bum, (Frankie and Steven's new word for rear-end, courtesy of two years of living in California), and slog your way out through the (literally) five-foot-high weeds, to clean up the area that is supposed to be called your garden. Now, in the first place, you are not supposed to let your garden get into such a state, and in the second place, you are not supposed to let it go for so long without cleaning up for the winter. (I kill myself, preaching about how to get your garden ready for winter, and then letting mine go so bad). I know! I can blame it on SADD, the seasonal disorder that some people get in the wintertime, when they recieve less sunlight, so it makes them depressed........ Well, it sounded good anyway, sigh...... Ok, ok, I admit, I've let the stupid garden go all to pieces. Well, to the weeds anyway. Can't blame the bugs this time, they are all dead, YIPPEE! Finally got rid of them little suckers, halleujah! 'course, now nothing is growing, (weeds included), but, by golly, them bugs are history baby! Ok, now that I've gotten that off my chest, I feel much better, (MY kind of therapy is cheap, hehehe!)
Back to the subject at hand: to re-cap - I've slogged my way through the five-foot-high weeds, gotten through the guilt-trip, and rejoiced about the absence of bugs........ So, as I studied the situation, (all the tangles of thick, dead weeds), I ultimately decided that the best way to handle the dilemma of getting rid of them from my raised beds, was to burn them off. Now, first of all, when you decide to burn weeds, you 1.Make sure that it is not a windy day. 2.Make sure that you have a water supply handy. 3.Make sure that you are not alone. 4.Make sure that you have cell-phone signal, and 5. Make sure there are no structures or vehicles close to the burning area. The reason that I know what NOT to do is simple: 1.I burned weeds on a windy day. 2.The water supply had been turned off at the pump-house for the winter. 3.I was all alone on a dead-end country road with very few neighbors. 4.The area where I was has always been completely without cell-phone signal, and 5.Steven's junky trailer AND my vehicle were within danger range.
Now, I've said before that I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, and every lesson that I've learned has always been learned the hard way, so you'd THINK that I would have given this some thought. I probably wouldn't have done it if I had not had a lighter, but lo and behold, I found a lighter in Steven's junky old trailer, just in time to do the dirty deed. Yippee!
So, I went all around, setting lots of little areas on fire, (had to make it burn away faster, don't you know), and before I knew it, all kind of grass was burning. Now, it's hard to have to try to decide to fight the fire by yourself, or call the fire department; if you take the time to call someone, the fire can spread so fast, because of the wind, and if you decide to fight the fire before calling (so you won't be embarrassed about causing such a calamity, because even I'VE got to admit, it was a pretty stupid thing to do), then the stupid thing could get out of hand so quickly.
So, I started raking and stomping, and frantically beating that darn thing out as fast as I could, so I wouldn't have to admit to anyone that I'd made a ton of mistakes; and hoping and praying that I could handle it by myself; when I actually started making head-way, and could actually see being able to put it out without having to call someone. Whew! what a relief! dignity restored. Now, if only the neighbors up on the hill didn't notice anything.
So, in the end, I got the fire put out; hung around for a while afterwards to make sure that no sparks got carried by the wind, and re-set the darn thing, and tried to breath a sigh of relief that the situation got no worse than it did. So, all's well that ends well..........except that...........the stupid weeds in my raised beds didn't burn at all.........they were wet and mushy and did not light up; it was the grass all AROUND the raised beds that caught on fire. Good Grief!
Back to the subject at hand: to re-cap - I've slogged my way through the five-foot-high weeds, gotten through the guilt-trip, and rejoiced about the absence of bugs........ So, as I studied the situation, (all the tangles of thick, dead weeds), I ultimately decided that the best way to handle the dilemma of getting rid of them from my raised beds, was to burn them off. Now, first of all, when you decide to burn weeds, you 1.Make sure that it is not a windy day. 2.Make sure that you have a water supply handy. 3.Make sure that you are not alone. 4.Make sure that you have cell-phone signal, and 5. Make sure there are no structures or vehicles close to the burning area. The reason that I know what NOT to do is simple: 1.I burned weeds on a windy day. 2.The water supply had been turned off at the pump-house for the winter. 3.I was all alone on a dead-end country road with very few neighbors. 4.The area where I was has always been completely without cell-phone signal, and 5.Steven's junky trailer AND my vehicle were within danger range.
Now, I've said before that I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, and every lesson that I've learned has always been learned the hard way, so you'd THINK that I would have given this some thought. I probably wouldn't have done it if I had not had a lighter, but lo and behold, I found a lighter in Steven's junky old trailer, just in time to do the dirty deed. Yippee!
So, I went all around, setting lots of little areas on fire, (had to make it burn away faster, don't you know), and before I knew it, all kind of grass was burning. Now, it's hard to have to try to decide to fight the fire by yourself, or call the fire department; if you take the time to call someone, the fire can spread so fast, because of the wind, and if you decide to fight the fire before calling (so you won't be embarrassed about causing such a calamity, because even I'VE got to admit, it was a pretty stupid thing to do), then the stupid thing could get out of hand so quickly.
So, I started raking and stomping, and frantically beating that darn thing out as fast as I could, so I wouldn't have to admit to anyone that I'd made a ton of mistakes; and hoping and praying that I could handle it by myself; when I actually started making head-way, and could actually see being able to put it out without having to call someone. Whew! what a relief! dignity restored. Now, if only the neighbors up on the hill didn't notice anything.
So, in the end, I got the fire put out; hung around for a while afterwards to make sure that no sparks got carried by the wind, and re-set the darn thing, and tried to breath a sigh of relief that the situation got no worse than it did. So, all's well that ends well..........except that...........the stupid weeds in my raised beds didn't burn at all.........they were wet and mushy and did not light up; it was the grass all AROUND the raised beds that caught on fire. Good Grief!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Improving The Soil
I don't know what happened to that last post. It is a collection of my favorite photos, set into a movie. It posted, but, for some reason, I can't get it to play. Oh, sigh.
While Amber and I were in California, I was able to get some baby lily bulbs from Tansy's front yard. She has got some beautiful lily flowers that some military wife planted, before she and Jacob got there. I was totally amazed and awed at the quality of the dirt in Monterey. Here, we have clay, which is good in its own way, (it's good about holding water), but it is absolutely back-breaking to try to dig, plow, or otherwise generally disturb in any way.
When I started digging in Tansy's flower bed, I was totally amazed at how easily the shovel went through the dirt. It was so crumbly, and light; I could have dug a hole to China in just two hours, it was that easy! You can, however, improve the soil where you live, if you are not so fortunate as to live in Monterey, where the soil has the consistency of lumpy flour. (I swear to you, it was that easy to dig). Improving the soil where you live is not a complicated matter. What I did in my garden this year was, when we built the raised beds, we put a mixture of clay dirt, and bagged top soil. At the time that we put the beds in, we had a man out there with his big tractor, clearing off the spot where our new house was to go. I told him while he had his tractor there, and was disturbing the dirt anyway, to take a good truckload of topsoil down to the garden area for me. Topsoil is great for planting in, especially if it has lain fallow for a long time. Forest topsoil is fantastic; all the leaves and pine needles and other forest debris that has decomposed over the years, is just brimming with wonderful nutrients to grow plants in. Topsoil is a lighter color than the subsoil. It is more crumbly, easier to work, with lots of compost and castings in it. So, I don't think that what the guy put in our garden area was exactly top soil. It was just as red as the red clay that was all over the rest of the place. But it was there, and seeing as how I didn't have the money for a dump truck load of compost or topsoil, I figured I'd just have to make the best of the situation. So, we tried to mix equal amounts of dirt and bagged top soil, and compost, (bagged at this point, because I didn't have enough compost made for three, thirty foot-long garden beds.) Filling those beds in was some more kind of hard work, let me tell you. Hauling the dirt to the beds, dumping it all in, and then mixing the dirt and topsoil together. And, I knew that I didn't have enough top soil to do the job correctly, but when you're on a strict budget, you do the best you can do. I was hoping to do what I could this year, and slowly try to improve year after year, which, actually, is basically what all gardeners do. So, we got it mixed the best we could, and planted, and we actually had a pretty good garden. (We are NOT going to talk about critters at this time). My plan this next spring is to shovel some compost on the top of the beds, work it in, and see what happens this next garden season. Now that I've got the bulk of the dirt in the beds, hopefully the rest shouldn't be as hard to do. I've got a fairly decent compost pile; a neighbor has horses, and I helped clean out the stalls so I could take the bedding and "other stuff" for my compost pile. It has gotten kind of soggy, which compost is really not supposed to do, but I figure I can salvage it by shoveling on a layer between now and spring, so it will have a chance to dry out and finish breaking down. (But first, I have to get all the debris from last season out of the way, sigh.......) That's my plan, anyway. Happy gardening.
While Amber and I were in California, I was able to get some baby lily bulbs from Tansy's front yard. She has got some beautiful lily flowers that some military wife planted, before she and Jacob got there. I was totally amazed and awed at the quality of the dirt in Monterey. Here, we have clay, which is good in its own way, (it's good about holding water), but it is absolutely back-breaking to try to dig, plow, or otherwise generally disturb in any way.
When I started digging in Tansy's flower bed, I was totally amazed at how easily the shovel went through the dirt. It was so crumbly, and light; I could have dug a hole to China in just two hours, it was that easy! You can, however, improve the soil where you live, if you are not so fortunate as to live in Monterey, where the soil has the consistency of lumpy flour. (I swear to you, it was that easy to dig). Improving the soil where you live is not a complicated matter. What I did in my garden this year was, when we built the raised beds, we put a mixture of clay dirt, and bagged top soil. At the time that we put the beds in, we had a man out there with his big tractor, clearing off the spot where our new house was to go. I told him while he had his tractor there, and was disturbing the dirt anyway, to take a good truckload of topsoil down to the garden area for me. Topsoil is great for planting in, especially if it has lain fallow for a long time. Forest topsoil is fantastic; all the leaves and pine needles and other forest debris that has decomposed over the years, is just brimming with wonderful nutrients to grow plants in. Topsoil is a lighter color than the subsoil. It is more crumbly, easier to work, with lots of compost and castings in it. So, I don't think that what the guy put in our garden area was exactly top soil. It was just as red as the red clay that was all over the rest of the place. But it was there, and seeing as how I didn't have the money for a dump truck load of compost or topsoil, I figured I'd just have to make the best of the situation. So, we tried to mix equal amounts of dirt and bagged top soil, and compost, (bagged at this point, because I didn't have enough compost made for three, thirty foot-long garden beds.) Filling those beds in was some more kind of hard work, let me tell you. Hauling the dirt to the beds, dumping it all in, and then mixing the dirt and topsoil together. And, I knew that I didn't have enough top soil to do the job correctly, but when you're on a strict budget, you do the best you can do. I was hoping to do what I could this year, and slowly try to improve year after year, which, actually, is basically what all gardeners do. So, we got it mixed the best we could, and planted, and we actually had a pretty good garden. (We are NOT going to talk about critters at this time). My plan this next spring is to shovel some compost on the top of the beds, work it in, and see what happens this next garden season. Now that I've got the bulk of the dirt in the beds, hopefully the rest shouldn't be as hard to do. I've got a fairly decent compost pile; a neighbor has horses, and I helped clean out the stalls so I could take the bedding and "other stuff" for my compost pile. It has gotten kind of soggy, which compost is really not supposed to do, but I figure I can salvage it by shoveling on a layer between now and spring, so it will have a chance to dry out and finish breaking down. (But first, I have to get all the debris from last season out of the way, sigh.......) That's my plan, anyway. Happy gardening.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Cute Lil' Snake
I was doing some clean-up work in the garden today, and as I was pulling spent bean vines, (minding my own business, don't you know), and I saw what looked like a great big worm. I can be kind of slow, but eventually I figured out that it was a snake. A SNAKE! IN MY GARDEN! UNDER MY DADGUM BEAN VINES! RIGHT BESIDE MY HAND! And, if this weren't bad enough, he was leering at me! I tell you what, that snake had his nerve, invading my garden, eating my bugs, leering at me! What is this world coming to, when an innocent person, (who is minding their own business), can't go out into the lovely world that God has so generously created for us, without encountering bugs, rodents, and reptiles? I've had my share of these creatures all summer long; all I needed to complete the trio was to see a snake. I'm complete now; the snake I've seen. There he was, hiding under the bean vines, (which were HUGE, by the way), slithering along in a concrete block, looking for all manner of things to eat, and he looked at me like I had the nerve to mess up HIS day, by tearing down all of his lovely bean vines! What makes creatures think that they can just trespass on someone's property and lolly-gag around, doing whatever, without a care in the world, la-di-da? So, I'll tell you what I did; I grabbed me a big stick, crept up on him from behind, (although this was hard to do, because he kept squirming around), and got ready to WHOMP the tar out of him............. when I got to thinking........... wait a minute. Didn't I read somewhere that 1. the bees and butterflies pollinate the vegetables and flowers 2. the toads , bats, and the lizards eat all the creepies 3. and the snakes catch vermin!
Let's see, let me think about this a minute; (you remember I told you from the first that I was not the sharpest tool in the shed?) Hmmm, a snake in the garden might not be such a bad thing after all. Lets add up all the reasons why I should not whomp this bugger, right where he slithers. 1. He eats vermin. (well, he will someday, when he grows about two more feet; did I mention that he was only about twelve inches long? too little to make snake stew out of , sheepish grin............) 2. He actually wasn't leering at me after all; it's kind of hard to tell if a creature is leering at you when you can't see his eyeballs very well, because they are pin-pricks in the sunshine. 3. He was kinda cute; he was all curled up, ( it kinda looked like he was posing, really! ), and he was flicking his tongue at me, (you know that snakes use their tongues to check out the world around them, don't you?), and yes, I could swear that he was winking at me! (Ok, maybe he wasn't winking, snakes don't have eyelids, after all............. or do they?) 4. He wasn't lunging at me with intent on bodily harm; actually he looked kind of docile, come to think of it. 5. And, (drum roll please), he is already in the process of eating vermin! He's not big enough yet for mice and rats, but some day he will be, and in the meantime, he can cut his teeth on crickets and other such creepie-crawlies. And if something in my garden is willing to eat the creepie-crawlies, then have at it brother! All of that said, I just couldn't bring myself to whomp him, he was just too little and cute. Problem was, I didn't know if he was poisonous or not. I'm not a snake expert, and he couldn't talk to tell me whether I needed to worry or not, and I certainly didn't want my dear husband, (who is getting on up in years, and not able to swiftly get out of the way, poor thing!) , to get bitten by what might, or might not be a poisonous reptile. So............ I bravely, and with great trepidation, lunged at him, grabbed him by the tail, and whisked him with lightening speed into a soft-drink cup. Now, this is probably not the best thing in the world to keep a possibly poisonous reptile in, but out in the wilderness, you do what you have to do, to accomplish the task at hand; (protecting my aged, infirm, ...........well, you know.) I did manage to find some screen-wire and rubber bands to secure the top of the cup; (this wilderness was maybe not quite so void of SOME needed items, it seems.) Well, to make a long story short, we took Elmer, (the baby snake) up to my brother-in-laws house; and we were told that he was just a chicken snake, wouldn't hurt you, actually make good pets, and so forth and so on. We took him home to show JoAnna, and then let the poor little creature go forth back out into the wilderness, to do what snakes do. (Ok, ok, this is what really happened: I took him out to show him to JoAnna and Joe, and he took one look at freedom, and jumped right out of my hands, and took off like a streak of brown and tan lightening, vvvrrrroooooommmmm! ) Oh well, I've got vermin up here that need to be eaten too.................
Let's see, let me think about this a minute; (you remember I told you from the first that I was not the sharpest tool in the shed?) Hmmm, a snake in the garden might not be such a bad thing after all. Lets add up all the reasons why I should not whomp this bugger, right where he slithers. 1. He eats vermin. (well, he will someday, when he grows about two more feet; did I mention that he was only about twelve inches long? too little to make snake stew out of , sheepish grin............) 2. He actually wasn't leering at me after all; it's kind of hard to tell if a creature is leering at you when you can't see his eyeballs very well, because they are pin-pricks in the sunshine. 3. He was kinda cute; he was all curled up, ( it kinda looked like he was posing, really! ), and he was flicking his tongue at me, (you know that snakes use their tongues to check out the world around them, don't you?), and yes, I could swear that he was winking at me! (Ok, maybe he wasn't winking, snakes don't have eyelids, after all............. or do they?) 4. He wasn't lunging at me with intent on bodily harm; actually he looked kind of docile, come to think of it. 5. And, (drum roll please), he is already in the process of eating vermin! He's not big enough yet for mice and rats, but some day he will be, and in the meantime, he can cut his teeth on crickets and other such creepie-crawlies. And if something in my garden is willing to eat the creepie-crawlies, then have at it brother! All of that said, I just couldn't bring myself to whomp him, he was just too little and cute. Problem was, I didn't know if he was poisonous or not. I'm not a snake expert, and he couldn't talk to tell me whether I needed to worry or not, and I certainly didn't want my dear husband, (who is getting on up in years, and not able to swiftly get out of the way, poor thing!) , to get bitten by what might, or might not be a poisonous reptile. So............ I bravely, and with great trepidation, lunged at him, grabbed him by the tail, and whisked him with lightening speed into a soft-drink cup. Now, this is probably not the best thing in the world to keep a possibly poisonous reptile in, but out in the wilderness, you do what you have to do, to accomplish the task at hand; (protecting my aged, infirm, ...........well, you know.) I did manage to find some screen-wire and rubber bands to secure the top of the cup; (this wilderness was maybe not quite so void of SOME needed items, it seems.) Well, to make a long story short, we took Elmer, (the baby snake) up to my brother-in-laws house; and we were told that he was just a chicken snake, wouldn't hurt you, actually make good pets, and so forth and so on. We took him home to show JoAnna, and then let the poor little creature go forth back out into the wilderness, to do what snakes do. (Ok, ok, this is what really happened: I took him out to show him to JoAnna and Joe, and he took one look at freedom, and jumped right out of my hands, and took off like a streak of brown and tan lightening, vvvrrrroooooommmmm! ) Oh well, I've got vermin up here that need to be eaten too.................
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Connor, the Conure Parrot
Since I don't really have anything worthwhile to contribute to the world today, I thought that I would just let my thoughts go where they will, and see what happens.
First of all, I would like to talk about my pet parrot, Connor. ( Connor, the Conure parrot.) I got Connor about a month ago; I have always wanted a parrot. I wanted one that I could teach to talk, but two things influenced my decision to buy Connor. Main thing was the price. Conures are the small parrots, they don't usually talk, if they do, it is limited (according to the articles that I have read). I like to research everything before buying, and according to research, Conure parrots have a more out-going personality than their larger feathered friends. Large parrots are more prone to bite, although they are capable of an extensive vocabulary. So, the second main reason for getting a Conure was the fact of having a more social pet. I'm telling you what, I never knew a bird could have a personality like Connor does. He's just like a little person, I've read that they are like two-year-olds. He absolutely loves to be paid attention to; if you don't do it voluntarily, he will sit on the door of his cage, (we keep it open most of the time during the day), and he will either screech, whistle, or trill to get our attention. He's usually very vocal during the day, but when I cover his cage at night, somehow he figures that the screeching and yelling will not work, so it's the funniest thing to hear him try to sweet-talk us into uncovering his cage. He makes soft little chirrup noises, and any other little birdie noises to try to get our attention. In the morning, when I go to uncover him, he will hop onto the inside of the door and "ride" it as it comes down, he just can't wait to be held and talked to. If you don't pick him up right away, he will strreeeettcchhh toward you as hard as he can and try his best to "talk" you into picking him up. It amazes me how human he acts.
The previous owner told me when I clipped his toenails, that I'd be better off taking him to the vet and letting them do it, because he holds a grudge; but if I did it, I'd better hold him in a towel. So, tonight I decided that I really needed to cut the toenails, despite the hard feelings that may result, because he keeps getting hung up in Sarah's hair every time she lets him sit on top of her head. I actually had to break several hairs to get him disentangled from her hair last night. I decided that I'd better not put it off any longer. So, I get my little towel, and wrap him up, and try to do the job. Let me tell you folks, it's harder than you think that it might be to clip a parrot's toenails; especially when the parrot doesn't want you to. I never in my life heard such screeching as I did tonight. You'd have thought I was killing the poor little thing, it's a wonder the neighbors didn't call the police for parrot abuse, the way he was carrying on. I just thought he was loud before, it didn't even compare to the decimal level that I heard. That was one mad bird. But it was kind of funny to see him throw a fit like that, he just seemed so human! Parrots don't have but four toes on each foot; good thing it didn't take that long, poor thing would have probably had a heart attack or something, the way he was all worked up. Goofy bird! But, you know what? He didn't seem to hold a grudge; that was unexpected, but a welcome relief. I guess he was so glad that I turned him loose, that he wasn't worried about pay-back. Either that, or he knew that he needed his nails clipped, and he knew that this was the only way to get it done. Who knows how a bird thinks? Good grief, when I start thinking like a bird, then everyone can legitimately call me a bird brain!
I love to watch him eat sunflower seeds. He uses those toes like fingers. He'll hold the seed in his mouth, and crack it, and then will stand on one foot, and hold the seed in his other foot, and PEEL the little skin off the seed, (until this time , I never knew that sunflower kernels HAD little skins on them.) Then he will delicately nibble a little at a time until the kernel is gone. He looks so human when he does it, it's hilarious!
He LOVES to get into your hair, and stomp around. Then he'll start to groom. It's the funniest thing to watch; he'll take little individual strands and stretch them out in his mouth all the way to the length of the hair, (can you imagine him doing it to Sarah's hair? ) But his favorite head of all time to stomp around in, is knot-head Steven's. He gets so excited when he gets in Steven's hair; he stomps all around, and gets in a frenzy to get him all groomed before someone removes him. And poor little Steven looks kind of nervous with the bird tromping all around on his head; after all, Connor is not completely potty-trained yet. (Yes, Conure parrots can be potty-trained , interesting, huh?) But, all's well that ends well; so far Steven has not been "doodied" on, although I can't say the same for the rest of us!
First of all, I would like to talk about my pet parrot, Connor. ( Connor, the Conure parrot.) I got Connor about a month ago; I have always wanted a parrot. I wanted one that I could teach to talk, but two things influenced my decision to buy Connor. Main thing was the price. Conures are the small parrots, they don't usually talk, if they do, it is limited (according to the articles that I have read). I like to research everything before buying, and according to research, Conure parrots have a more out-going personality than their larger feathered friends. Large parrots are more prone to bite, although they are capable of an extensive vocabulary. So, the second main reason for getting a Conure was the fact of having a more social pet. I'm telling you what, I never knew a bird could have a personality like Connor does. He's just like a little person, I've read that they are like two-year-olds. He absolutely loves to be paid attention to; if you don't do it voluntarily, he will sit on the door of his cage, (we keep it open most of the time during the day), and he will either screech, whistle, or trill to get our attention. He's usually very vocal during the day, but when I cover his cage at night, somehow he figures that the screeching and yelling will not work, so it's the funniest thing to hear him try to sweet-talk us into uncovering his cage. He makes soft little chirrup noises, and any other little birdie noises to try to get our attention. In the morning, when I go to uncover him, he will hop onto the inside of the door and "ride" it as it comes down, he just can't wait to be held and talked to. If you don't pick him up right away, he will strreeeettcchhh toward you as hard as he can and try his best to "talk" you into picking him up. It amazes me how human he acts.
The previous owner told me when I clipped his toenails, that I'd be better off taking him to the vet and letting them do it, because he holds a grudge; but if I did it, I'd better hold him in a towel. So, tonight I decided that I really needed to cut the toenails, despite the hard feelings that may result, because he keeps getting hung up in Sarah's hair every time she lets him sit on top of her head. I actually had to break several hairs to get him disentangled from her hair last night. I decided that I'd better not put it off any longer. So, I get my little towel, and wrap him up, and try to do the job. Let me tell you folks, it's harder than you think that it might be to clip a parrot's toenails; especially when the parrot doesn't want you to. I never in my life heard such screeching as I did tonight. You'd have thought I was killing the poor little thing, it's a wonder the neighbors didn't call the police for parrot abuse, the way he was carrying on. I just thought he was loud before, it didn't even compare to the decimal level that I heard. That was one mad bird. But it was kind of funny to see him throw a fit like that, he just seemed so human! Parrots don't have but four toes on each foot; good thing it didn't take that long, poor thing would have probably had a heart attack or something, the way he was all worked up. Goofy bird! But, you know what? He didn't seem to hold a grudge; that was unexpected, but a welcome relief. I guess he was so glad that I turned him loose, that he wasn't worried about pay-back. Either that, or he knew that he needed his nails clipped, and he knew that this was the only way to get it done. Who knows how a bird thinks? Good grief, when I start thinking like a bird, then everyone can legitimately call me a bird brain!
I love to watch him eat sunflower seeds. He uses those toes like fingers. He'll hold the seed in his mouth, and crack it, and then will stand on one foot, and hold the seed in his other foot, and PEEL the little skin off the seed, (until this time , I never knew that sunflower kernels HAD little skins on them.) Then he will delicately nibble a little at a time until the kernel is gone. He looks so human when he does it, it's hilarious!
He LOVES to get into your hair, and stomp around. Then he'll start to groom. It's the funniest thing to watch; he'll take little individual strands and stretch them out in his mouth all the way to the length of the hair, (can you imagine him doing it to Sarah's hair? ) But his favorite head of all time to stomp around in, is knot-head Steven's. He gets so excited when he gets in Steven's hair; he stomps all around, and gets in a frenzy to get him all groomed before someone removes him. And poor little Steven looks kind of nervous with the bird tromping all around on his head; after all, Connor is not completely potty-trained yet. (Yes, Conure parrots can be potty-trained , interesting, huh?) But, all's well that ends well; so far Steven has not been "doodied" on, although I can't say the same for the rest of us!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
All Around The World In Just Three Hours
Ok, so maybe it wasn't all around the world; just all around St. Clair county. But what makes it fun, (did I just use the word "fun" for the set of circumstances that JoAnna and I experienced last night?) ; Ok, let's call it fun for the time being, I can always edit later, and I HAVE to call it something.
It all started with a good deed, which I am feeling real noble about, because, as you know, good deeds are fun to do when you can pat yourself on the back for sacrificing for someone else. But, wait a minute, the good deed was for my daughter, whom, as we all know, we sacrifice for from the minute they are born; nay, from BEFORE the time that they are born; so does this still count as a good deed since it was a sacrifice that I would have done anyway, since she is my daughter; or does it only count if it was done for someone of which I wouldn't normally have done it? Oh, lordy, I'm getting sidetracked, see what you have to look forward to as you age? (Where's my cane and glasses?)
Ok, so back to this good deed, (that I have decided DOES count as a good deed, because the bible says that if you have done it unto the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto Me, and since Amber was there and Jesus wasn't at the time, and Amber needed a good deed done, and Jesus said.................good grief , here I go again!!!!!!)
So, here's how the good deed thing works. When you are feeling bad, either physically or emotionally, (good deeds count for either in this case; see, I restrained myself, I'm not getting sidetracked again....), anyway, when you are feeling bad, (either physically or emotionally; oh wait, I've already covered that); then whichever is the strongest of you at that time, is the one to go out of their way for the other. Now, recently, Amber has been the stronger of the two of us; I had just gone through a bad several days, and Amber was there to lend support, (which is a miracle in itself, because she has been feeling really bad from being "with child", and has not been able to take care of herself and her family, much less be a support system for dear old Mom, but she stepped up to the plate admirably, and was there for me!! Yay, Amber, go girl!!!! Oh lord, here I go again!!!!) Dang, I keep this up, I'm gonna have to write this in installments.
Back to the subject at hand; now what was it? Oh yes, good deeds. As I have already established, I have been down, and Amber has been the support person. Now. Last night, the roles were reversed, and Amber was down, and I was the support person. I had Knot-heads 1 and 2 at my house, because grandchildren and grandparents get very cranky if not given an opportunity occasionally to eat junk food and watch cartoons and spend money on junk toys at Dollar General. But when it came time for the boys to go home, Amber and Frank both were wiped out; her from being "with child", and him from working, being an angel of mercy and all. So, since I was not as tired and worn out as they were, then I felt like I should volunteer to take the boys home, so their dear deserving parents could get some rest. Dang, I feel noble, where did I put my humble crown (encrusted with diamonds)? Oh good grief, Carole, get on with the story!!!
So the trip to the boys house went fine. We sped along the back country roads, singing with the cd in the player, looking out for deer, so we wouldn't hit one with the car accidentally. (Frankie and Steven were watching for the deer, because whoever rides shotgun is automatically appointed that job; and let me say what a fine job they did too, we did not hit one single deer on that ride home......thanks, boys!!)
Ok, so we made it to the boys house in one piece; no deer were harmed in the making of this story, me and Frankie sung Steven to sleep, and Amber and Frank got some more rest.
The real fun started when JoAnna and I left to go home. Now, it is a known fact, that I could not find my way out of a wet paper bag if my life depended on it; and here I am in the boonies, with no sense of direction; which is not really a problem, because I have driven that route many times, and knew how to get home. The problem started when I got the bright idea to stop by WalMart for groceries before heading home. After all, WalMart is just a couple of miles out of the way, I'm going in that general direction anyway, we DO need groceries, and if we stop at this particular WalMart it will be good, because everyone knows that the people in the little towns are ever so much friendlier than the ones in the big city, it's after ten p.m. so they won't be too crowded. So, I get directions from Amber, and off we go into the wild blue yonder; well, BLACK yonder, 'cause it was nighttime. I've been told by a higher authority that Amber is not the best judge of distance when it comes to giving directions, so I tried to allow for a little lee-way, when , what should have been approximately three miles seemed to stretch on and on and on, (and on).
I told JoAnna that this was the longest three miles that I had ever been on, and was wondering if someone had changed the linear footage of a mile and forgot to tell me, and so I finally decided to pull over and get out the good old GPS, and try to get back on track. I started looking for a place to pull over, and thought I never would because, after all, we are in the boonies, it's after ten p.m., and other than me, JoAnna, and the cows, I saw very few signs of life. After a little while, I came upon a wide place in the road, with a building, and LOTS of cars. Now, I'm not the brightest star in the galaxy, so when I started wondering what kind of business could possibly be thriving that late at night, it wasn't too hard to figure out "bar", especially when a huge sign by the side of the road proudly stated "Tha Bar". I kid you not, this is what the sign said. Tha Bar. (hehehe)
So I pull over into the parking lot, and was looking for a place to stop, and to the right of the car, a headlight came between two parked cars, and stopped literally 2/16th of an inch from the passenger-side window. I absolutely had a heart attack, I am not kidding. I'm driving along in the boonies, a weary traveler trying to find her way, and almost run down by a drunk dude on a motorcycle. Now, I couldn't for sure attest to the fact that this dude was drunk, but 1. He was in a bar's parking lot; surely he wasn't there for his health at that time of night, and 2. he drove between two parked cars and almost hit a car that was ten times bigger than his motorcycle; how in the world he managed not to see something that big, and how in the world he missed it are beyond me. Which leads me to assume that the dude had to have been drunk. And the bad thing about it is, if he HAD hit me, it probably wouldn't have done a whole lot to my jeep, but he would have been seriously hurt, and as an EMT, I would have had to save his stupid, drunk life. I've never been in a serious car accident, but, I'm telling you, this (almost) one like to have scared the living daylights out of me. And at the exact second that this near-miss happened, my cell phone started ringing, and progressively getting louder and louder, and I couldn't answer right away because I literally could not move from shock. So, the guy was not hurt because he didn't hit us, and the jeep was not touched, so I pulled over to compose myself, and try to get back on track.
Only to find out that the GPS was not in the car at all; I had taken it into the house a couple of days before, and forgotten to put it back into the jeep. So, not only am I lost, but I am still in the boonies, I have just had a heart attack, I have no idea where I am, how far off track I am, no idea how to get back to civilization, and a bad tire on the front of my jeep. I could just see myself having to call my husband to report a mutilation of my vehicle, and you're where?, and what are you doing THERE? , at this hour of the night. Embarrassing! So, I decided to try to turn around and go back the way I came and try to figure it out myself; so, about eight miles later, I came upon an intersection that looked familiar, and lo and behold, there was WalMart, lights shining in the distance. Now, I had told myself that I wasn't going to stop, I was already aggravated enough by that time, but I am a stubborn person, and I wasn't going to let this beat me; so off I go into WalMart's parking lot. The trip inside wasn't too bad; I bought my groceries, only having a little incident inside the store that was a little stressful, and loading up and starting for home.
Now, to re-cap, I am the one that cannot find my way out of a wet paper bag; I am still in the boonies, (friendly people in the country, but nevertheless, still in the boonies),I now have frozen food in the back that needs to be in the refrigerator, it's even later at night than it was an hour ago; I still have a bad tire on the front of my jeep; and I really still don't know where I am, and I am hoping that if I point the front of the jeep in a direction, that it will be the right direction. Well, folks, let me tell you, this strategy is not a good one. Take it from me, you really need to know where to point your jeep, because trusting that little blue devil to know the way home is sheer foolishness.
I saw a freeway sign just out of WalMart parking lot, but I thought that if I did that, then it would take me the long way around, and I had already had my nice little drive through the country tonight, thank you very much. Also, I didn't know if I was supposed to go north or south on the freeway, and I sure didn't want to wind up in Timbuctoo, so I didn't get on the freeway. So, I drove forever and ever, (this three miles was even longer than the last three miles), and the bad thing about it is, I even thought I recognized landmarks along the way. Now, let's see, did we pass St. Clair County Correctional Facility before? (and remember not to pick up any hitchhikers if I should happen to see any; oh never mind, that's another story). I started to get worried after about ten miles, so I figured that my only choice was to keep going, that if I turned around now, that it would take me just that much longer to get home; and there are no roadsigns or anything to tell me where I was. ( I didn't figure that the "Hay For Sale" sign would do me any good.) FINALLY, I saw a sign, and it said "Welcome To Ashville". Boy, when I make a mistake, I do a royal job, don't I? I couldn't explain if I had to, how in the world I got to Ashville from Springville. (But I saw a sign in Springville that said the EXXON had gas for $2.99 a gallon; we haven't seen it that cheap in a long time!)
Well, I figured that if I just drove along, that eventually I would come to a main intersection that I could use to try to figure out how to get home. I drove along for a while more, and saw some blinking lights in the distance, and it kind of puzzled me because they would appear and disappear. I thought that that was strange, until I got to the enormous tree that was lying across the road, hiding the police and fire apparatus on the other side of the tree. So, now I had no choice, I HAVE to turn around and go back the way I came. A good ten dad-gum miles, no less! RRRrrrrrr!! I literally cannot win for losing, but at this point, I'm thinking, this is totally ridiculous, it can't get any crazier than this, let's play this out and see what happens. So, I finally had to break down and call Steven, and answer all the questions that he seemed to think that I needed to answer before he could tell me how to get home; where are you, how did you manage to get THERE from HERE, what were you doing in that part of town, you did what?, and so forth and so on; only to hear him finally say, " I have no idea where you are, or how to tell you to get home". What do I keep a dang man around for if he can't help me in a time of crisis, I ask you? Had to go through the embarrassing question and answer session for nothing, 'cause I still didn't get any help. Good grief!
His final advice was to turn around, get back to the freeway, GO SOUTH, get off on the next exit, take a right, and you should know where you are. Which almost worked, it didn't take me exactly where I had been before, but before I had time to worry, I arrived at a place that I knew, the very place I had started from, two hours and forty miles earlier.
But, while I was there, I stopped and got gas for $2.99 a gallon. What a bargain!
It all started with a good deed, which I am feeling real noble about, because, as you know, good deeds are fun to do when you can pat yourself on the back for sacrificing for someone else. But, wait a minute, the good deed was for my daughter, whom, as we all know, we sacrifice for from the minute they are born; nay, from BEFORE the time that they are born; so does this still count as a good deed since it was a sacrifice that I would have done anyway, since she is my daughter; or does it only count if it was done for someone of which I wouldn't normally have done it? Oh, lordy, I'm getting sidetracked, see what you have to look forward to as you age? (Where's my cane and glasses?)
Ok, so back to this good deed, (that I have decided DOES count as a good deed, because the bible says that if you have done it unto the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto Me, and since Amber was there and Jesus wasn't at the time, and Amber needed a good deed done, and Jesus said.................good grief , here I go again!!!!!!)
So, here's how the good deed thing works. When you are feeling bad, either physically or emotionally, (good deeds count for either in this case; see, I restrained myself, I'm not getting sidetracked again....), anyway, when you are feeling bad, (either physically or emotionally; oh wait, I've already covered that); then whichever is the strongest of you at that time, is the one to go out of their way for the other. Now, recently, Amber has been the stronger of the two of us; I had just gone through a bad several days, and Amber was there to lend support, (which is a miracle in itself, because she has been feeling really bad from being "with child", and has not been able to take care of herself and her family, much less be a support system for dear old Mom, but she stepped up to the plate admirably, and was there for me!! Yay, Amber, go girl!!!! Oh lord, here I go again!!!!) Dang, I keep this up, I'm gonna have to write this in installments.
Back to the subject at hand; now what was it? Oh yes, good deeds. As I have already established, I have been down, and Amber has been the support person. Now. Last night, the roles were reversed, and Amber was down, and I was the support person. I had Knot-heads 1 and 2 at my house, because grandchildren and grandparents get very cranky if not given an opportunity occasionally to eat junk food and watch cartoons and spend money on junk toys at Dollar General. But when it came time for the boys to go home, Amber and Frank both were wiped out; her from being "with child", and him from working, being an angel of mercy and all. So, since I was not as tired and worn out as they were, then I felt like I should volunteer to take the boys home, so their dear deserving parents could get some rest. Dang, I feel noble, where did I put my humble crown (encrusted with diamonds)? Oh good grief, Carole, get on with the story!!!
So the trip to the boys house went fine. We sped along the back country roads, singing with the cd in the player, looking out for deer, so we wouldn't hit one with the car accidentally. (Frankie and Steven were watching for the deer, because whoever rides shotgun is automatically appointed that job; and let me say what a fine job they did too, we did not hit one single deer on that ride home......thanks, boys!!)
Ok, so we made it to the boys house in one piece; no deer were harmed in the making of this story, me and Frankie sung Steven to sleep, and Amber and Frank got some more rest.
The real fun started when JoAnna and I left to go home. Now, it is a known fact, that I could not find my way out of a wet paper bag if my life depended on it; and here I am in the boonies, with no sense of direction; which is not really a problem, because I have driven that route many times, and knew how to get home. The problem started when I got the bright idea to stop by WalMart for groceries before heading home. After all, WalMart is just a couple of miles out of the way, I'm going in that general direction anyway, we DO need groceries, and if we stop at this particular WalMart it will be good, because everyone knows that the people in the little towns are ever so much friendlier than the ones in the big city, it's after ten p.m. so they won't be too crowded. So, I get directions from Amber, and off we go into the wild blue yonder; well, BLACK yonder, 'cause it was nighttime. I've been told by a higher authority that Amber is not the best judge of distance when it comes to giving directions, so I tried to allow for a little lee-way, when , what should have been approximately three miles seemed to stretch on and on and on, (and on).
I told JoAnna that this was the longest three miles that I had ever been on, and was wondering if someone had changed the linear footage of a mile and forgot to tell me, and so I finally decided to pull over and get out the good old GPS, and try to get back on track. I started looking for a place to pull over, and thought I never would because, after all, we are in the boonies, it's after ten p.m., and other than me, JoAnna, and the cows, I saw very few signs of life. After a little while, I came upon a wide place in the road, with a building, and LOTS of cars. Now, I'm not the brightest star in the galaxy, so when I started wondering what kind of business could possibly be thriving that late at night, it wasn't too hard to figure out "bar", especially when a huge sign by the side of the road proudly stated "Tha Bar". I kid you not, this is what the sign said. Tha Bar. (hehehe)
So I pull over into the parking lot, and was looking for a place to stop, and to the right of the car, a headlight came between two parked cars, and stopped literally 2/16th of an inch from the passenger-side window. I absolutely had a heart attack, I am not kidding. I'm driving along in the boonies, a weary traveler trying to find her way, and almost run down by a drunk dude on a motorcycle. Now, I couldn't for sure attest to the fact that this dude was drunk, but 1. He was in a bar's parking lot; surely he wasn't there for his health at that time of night, and 2. he drove between two parked cars and almost hit a car that was ten times bigger than his motorcycle; how in the world he managed not to see something that big, and how in the world he missed it are beyond me. Which leads me to assume that the dude had to have been drunk. And the bad thing about it is, if he HAD hit me, it probably wouldn't have done a whole lot to my jeep, but he would have been seriously hurt, and as an EMT, I would have had to save his stupid, drunk life. I've never been in a serious car accident, but, I'm telling you, this (almost) one like to have scared the living daylights out of me. And at the exact second that this near-miss happened, my cell phone started ringing, and progressively getting louder and louder, and I couldn't answer right away because I literally could not move from shock. So, the guy was not hurt because he didn't hit us, and the jeep was not touched, so I pulled over to compose myself, and try to get back on track.
Only to find out that the GPS was not in the car at all; I had taken it into the house a couple of days before, and forgotten to put it back into the jeep. So, not only am I lost, but I am still in the boonies, I have just had a heart attack, I have no idea where I am, how far off track I am, no idea how to get back to civilization, and a bad tire on the front of my jeep. I could just see myself having to call my husband to report a mutilation of my vehicle, and you're where?, and what are you doing THERE? , at this hour of the night. Embarrassing! So, I decided to try to turn around and go back the way I came and try to figure it out myself; so, about eight miles later, I came upon an intersection that looked familiar, and lo and behold, there was WalMart, lights shining in the distance. Now, I had told myself that I wasn't going to stop, I was already aggravated enough by that time, but I am a stubborn person, and I wasn't going to let this beat me; so off I go into WalMart's parking lot. The trip inside wasn't too bad; I bought my groceries, only having a little incident inside the store that was a little stressful, and loading up and starting for home.
Now, to re-cap, I am the one that cannot find my way out of a wet paper bag; I am still in the boonies, (friendly people in the country, but nevertheless, still in the boonies),I now have frozen food in the back that needs to be in the refrigerator, it's even later at night than it was an hour ago; I still have a bad tire on the front of my jeep; and I really still don't know where I am, and I am hoping that if I point the front of the jeep in a direction, that it will be the right direction. Well, folks, let me tell you, this strategy is not a good one. Take it from me, you really need to know where to point your jeep, because trusting that little blue devil to know the way home is sheer foolishness.
I saw a freeway sign just out of WalMart parking lot, but I thought that if I did that, then it would take me the long way around, and I had already had my nice little drive through the country tonight, thank you very much. Also, I didn't know if I was supposed to go north or south on the freeway, and I sure didn't want to wind up in Timbuctoo, so I didn't get on the freeway. So, I drove forever and ever, (this three miles was even longer than the last three miles), and the bad thing about it is, I even thought I recognized landmarks along the way. Now, let's see, did we pass St. Clair County Correctional Facility before? (and remember not to pick up any hitchhikers if I should happen to see any; oh never mind, that's another story). I started to get worried after about ten miles, so I figured that my only choice was to keep going, that if I turned around now, that it would take me just that much longer to get home; and there are no roadsigns or anything to tell me where I was. ( I didn't figure that the "Hay For Sale" sign would do me any good.) FINALLY, I saw a sign, and it said "Welcome To Ashville". Boy, when I make a mistake, I do a royal job, don't I? I couldn't explain if I had to, how in the world I got to Ashville from Springville. (But I saw a sign in Springville that said the EXXON had gas for $2.99 a gallon; we haven't seen it that cheap in a long time!)
Well, I figured that if I just drove along, that eventually I would come to a main intersection that I could use to try to figure out how to get home. I drove along for a while more, and saw some blinking lights in the distance, and it kind of puzzled me because they would appear and disappear. I thought that that was strange, until I got to the enormous tree that was lying across the road, hiding the police and fire apparatus on the other side of the tree. So, now I had no choice, I HAVE to turn around and go back the way I came. A good ten dad-gum miles, no less! RRRrrrrrr!! I literally cannot win for losing, but at this point, I'm thinking, this is totally ridiculous, it can't get any crazier than this, let's play this out and see what happens. So, I finally had to break down and call Steven, and answer all the questions that he seemed to think that I needed to answer before he could tell me how to get home; where are you, how did you manage to get THERE from HERE, what were you doing in that part of town, you did what?, and so forth and so on; only to hear him finally say, " I have no idea where you are, or how to tell you to get home". What do I keep a dang man around for if he can't help me in a time of crisis, I ask you? Had to go through the embarrassing question and answer session for nothing, 'cause I still didn't get any help. Good grief!
His final advice was to turn around, get back to the freeway, GO SOUTH, get off on the next exit, take a right, and you should know where you are. Which almost worked, it didn't take me exactly where I had been before, but before I had time to worry, I arrived at a place that I knew, the very place I had started from, two hours and forty miles earlier.
But, while I was there, I stopped and got gas for $2.99 a gallon. What a bargain!
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