Saturday, August 11, 2012


Try as I might, I don't seem to be able to come up with any more original stories.  I have 16 ideas (with notes) in my draft file but I just can't commit to any of them.   Most of the stories that have published since the death of my father in October of last year, were written beforehand and waiting out their turn in my scheduled file.  Each time I go in to my draft file I find I actually don't want to write.  I guess when someone has been a part of your life for 70 years it changes your life when they leave.  It has been about 10 months now.  Shouldn't I be back to normal by now?

It pains me to come to the conclusion that the very activity that got me through a few tough years being sequestered in my home caring for my father, is now over.  I keep telling myself that it is just an aberration and soon I will be able to write again.  Well, I can still write, but the humor does not come any more.  If I can't laugh as I write, then all of the fun has been drained away from the act of writing, which was why I wrote.

I think one of the worst parts is that I no longer want to read other blogs.  I carefully chose blogs that made me laugh or at least break into a big smile.  This is an important part about being a blogger.  It builds the friendship that feeds the blogger.  But, I don't even want to do that anymore.  In fact, I don't want to do much of anything.

Self analyzing is probably a fool's mission, however, I believe that my problem lies in the fact that I have always  been a caretaker.  Always made my life be about some one else (husband, children, students, aunts, mother, father).  I don't think that was a conscious choice, but something I was more than willing to do.

Perhaps, I have lost my identity and need to re-invent myself.  But, at 71, I don't really know how to do that.  And, it's not just this blog.  I can't really see to relate to the world outside these doors.  I have forced myself into several activities, but the key word , of course is F O R C E D (and one last time:  Yes, I'm shouting).  

Until I figure this out I am (again) forced to quit blogging.  I say forced because my last scheduled blog posted last Monday and I can't seem to come up with anything for this coming Monday.  So, good bye for now, dear friends.  I love you all.

(just wanted you to know I took a deep breath and paused before actually hitting "Publish.")

Monday, July 30, 2012


When my daughter, Patty, was about 2 1/2 or 3 we had a 10 gallon fish tank.  In that tank were several beautiful fan tailed guppies.  They were small, delicate and easy to raise with two children around.

Everything was fine, that is until we got out turtle.  He was the cutest little paddle foot about 1/2 inch in diameter.  Patty name him "Flumpy" because his shell was bumpy all over the top (bumpy).  When we first introduced him to the tank he would chase the guppies.  After a while we found out why he chased them...HE WANTED A BITE OF THEIR TAIL (and probably had designs on the entire guppy).  He was a very well fed turtle but, apparently he desired the real thing.   

This is not the kind of turtle he was, but he looked
something like this.
It didn't take me long to decide that he wasn't going to eat those expensive guppies.  The whole idea of watching that part of nature take place in our den grossed me out.   However, Patty hastened his departure when, one day, I heard a scream coming from the den.  Patty, (who had been told MANY times to keep her fingers out of the fish tank) didn't listen (What? didn't listen!).  When I rounded the corner I found her there standing by the aquarium screaming bloody murder (and incidentally there was a small, determined turtle dangling from her pointy finger).  

He had quite a grip and it took a toothpick to pry him off her finger.  I found a home for Flumpy that very day (No, it was not down the toilet!).

kt 6/2012

Monday, July 23, 2012


He started his life of crime as a young boy.
You can see the look of regret in his eyes.
My dog, Toby, is a thief.  The minute I let him in the house he takes off like a shot to see what he can find before I catch up with him.
That's the wrapped sport and napkin in his mouth!
One particular day, I went to KFC to get some chicken. Toby went with me, as usual, as I am trying to get his acclimated to riding in the car.  Like most dogs he loves to hang his head out the window (in this part of the country we call dogs that do that hedge or tree trimmers).  Anyway, the back windows were down so he could do his thing.

Toby was hanging out the back (driver's side) window, sniffing the delightful smell coming from KFCThe kid handed me the sack with the meal inside, however he forgot to give the napkin wrapped spork.  He said, "Oh, sorry, here's your spork," and with that he handed it out the window.  In a blink of an eye, Toby reached out and grabbed the darned thing right out of the kid's hand.  The kid cracked up and then yelled over his shoulder, "Hey guys, come see this dog.  He just stole this lady's spork!"  Everyone clustered around the window as they watched Toby prance around the back seat with his prize.  I declined a new spork and drove off laughing to myself.  Toby kept his prize until I got home and cornered him in the back seat.

The thing is, I always go around and do what Walmart calls (over the intercom) ZONE RECOVERY before I let Toby in.  Checking everywhere for things that can be grabbed forces me to be a neater housekeeper, but I must be lousy because he ALWAYS finds something.  My reading glasses are his number one target.  Next are pens and my hairbrush.
Spoons are also a favorite.
He first charges into the kitchen and quickly checks the floors, counters, and table.  Heaven help me if I left one of the chairs pulled out at the table because he will hop up onto the chair and grab something (anything) and then he takes off.  He thinks it is a game (eyes bright with tail and butt wagging), no matter how punitive I get, this is a game he continues to want to play.

Finally, he has started to respond to a YELLED (with a threatening voice) D R O P   I T !  He will hang his head and then slowly walk toward me, then drop the pilfered item.  However, sometimes, just before he gets to me, his head will pop up, his eyes will get THAT look of devilishness, his hind quarters will start to wag and off he goes for a loop or two around the front room, behind and up onto every chair.   He will then zip right past me and make a tour of the rest of the house.  I have taken to shutting the doors to every room that has a door.
                                   But he will glom onto anything he can grab.
                            Here he is with a duster.

"Awh, Mannnn, do I have to give this bottle back?"

The reason I do not have many pictures of Toby is because he is in constant motion.  My camera's shutter doesn't move fast enough to capture anything but a blur.
Here is a snatch and run that was taken when
I was sanding the floor of my bathroom.  Yes, that is
sandpaper he took off with.
Toby is super smart and has learned a lot of tricks.  When asked to bring his Moo-Cow he selects the correct one from the pile and brings it to me (he also does this with Duck, Blanket, Bone and Froggie).
He sits, lays down, gets up and speaks on command.  He shakes hands and bows when asked.  However, the commands "Stay" and "Leave It," are known to him and followed ONLY WHEN HE WANTS TO!

I teven taught him to shut doors.  Now, he shuts every door that is open.  I thought that was really cool.  However, that thought went right out of my mind one night, as I heard the LOCKED front door slam behind me when I went out to turn off the water.  I seriously think he knew what he was doing and was secretly celebrating with a winners lap around inside the house.  In addition to this, he has shut himself in the bathroom, twice.

kt 4/12


#240 - 

Monday, July 16, 2012


Mom came home with a white Toy Poodle somewhere in the late 50s.  Her name was Coquette and she was both smart and spoiled.  She usually slept with me and her favorite position was draped over the top of my head like a horseshoe, of sorts.  This didn't bother me until one morning I woke up laying on my side  staring at her... ...well, you know!

Mom trained Coquette to do her "business" on a newspaper on the back porch.  This was quite efficient and the dog always used her paper.  Anyway,  one day we were returning from a trip to the mountains around L.A.   Coquette loved to ride in the back window of the car which is where she had perched herself on our trip back.  Suddenly, the car swerved and Dad started cracking up.  He had just checked his rear view mirror and saw poor Coquette trying to hit a small 3 x 5 piece of paper that happened to be laying there.  To our amazement she hit her mark and parked her "poo" dead center.  Of course we had to roll down our windows, pull over, and deposit the droppings on the side of the road (but not before we got to watch several cars pass us filled with people laughing their heads off).

I really liked the idea of paper training so, many years later when I got a dog for the kids I paper trained him (key word).  His name was Jasper (an adorable Beagleand he took to paper training at an early age.  I was real pleased with myself as I never had to get up to put him outside.  He just did his business on newspapers on the service porch. However, months later I was in the kitchen and I looked up to see him hike his leg and pee on the wall.  To be honest about it he did pee on the paper, as it did run down the wall and onto the paper.  I couldn't believe that I was so stupid.  It took me a while to convenience him to abandon his back porch training and due his "business" outside.

kt 3/22/12

Monday, July 9, 2012


Written on 5/13/12:

I have been in Connecticut for a week taking care of my grandkids while my daughter and son-in-law have fun in the sun in COSTA RICA!  Pat's company awarded him (and his wife BUT NOT HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW) a trip for being #1 in sales.  They got an all expenses paid trip to a luxuriously appointed retreat and I got an all expenses paid trip top CT.  Not complaining just saying'

The week has gone smoothly and I have enjoyed getting to the number 1 person for my grandchildren to to go when help is needed.  They are in all kinds of activities and I don't see how my daughter gets it all straight.  She is sooooooo organized and had it all printed out for me with names and addresses plus anything else I might need (plus cash to blow...yeah!).  My first act as grandmother was to go out to dinner and a movie (on a school night).  While the parents were ensconced in a hotel last Sunday night ready for an early Monday morning departure, the kids and I went out on the town.

We ate at Friendly's and if you don't have one where you live then you have missed a great place to take kids to eat.  The desert is to die for!  After dinner we went to see THE AVENGERS!  I didn't think I would like it but I did.  Guess I am still a kid at heart because I thought it was funny and exciting dispute the ridiculous premiss.

But, it is the ridiculous thing that happened to me several days later that really cracked me up.  I had to run back to the theater to pick up the hoodie that my grandson left in his seat (no surprise there...the only surprise is that I hadn't left something also).  On the way home I noticed I was almost out of gas so I stopped in the Shell station is the town just before my daughter's place.

Let me digress a moment to tell you about her neck of the woods.  One can not drive from point A to point B without traversing ever direction of a compass, negotiating hairpin turns, climbing steep hills, or
zipping down into valleys.  It is a nightmare during the night and an interesting drive during the day (avoiding turkeys, geese, and other cars on a narrow two lane road).  Needless to say the roads around here are not conducive to gas efficiency.  So on with the story... ... ...
This is what her car looks like (well except for the fact that
hers is much older and definitely not sooooo shiny).
I was in desperate need of gas however the button with which I needed to pop the gas tank lid was no where to be found.  The attendant came out of the office and tried to help.  He couldn't find it either so he called his boss away from a car he was servicing and they both poured over the inside of the car.

As for myself, I was visualizing the kids getting off the school bus without my smiling face to greet them and protect them the one half block from the corner to their home.  I was envisioning not being able to get Shay off to soccer practice or Logan to his baseball game.  I was envisioning just how much it was going to cost me to rent a car or how much it was going to cost if I had them pry the panel open... ... ...and on and on and on.

In a bit of a snit over my dilemma and potential negative outcomes I walked back to where the gas tank was hidden by the offending door and smacked it.  Then pop...the darned thing just sprang open.  I mean, my daughter's car is a fairly new Cadillac and who would have thought that it didn't one of those little openers.

I felt like such a fool, but I was in good company with two supposedly knowledgeable guys also fooled.

kt 5/2012



Monday, July 2, 2012

#236 - TRUE LOVE

They're cute,
(but you should smell their 'poo!')

At one time Pot Bellied Pigs were tremendously popular, but I never expected to get to know one up close and personal.

This story took place one sunny, spring, morning in the year 2000.  I was on my way to work (I was a teacher) with my friend Carol when we spotted a small pig trotting down the center of the road, in town!   We couldn't believe our eyes and, since we both were animal lovers, I pulled past the pig and stopped.  Amazingly enough, she came directly to me snorting and squealing.  Not knowing what else to do I popped the hatch and lifted her into the back of my small car.  She screamed holy murder when I picked her up but quickly settled down into squeaks and grunts as I headed on to school.

Now, my students knew to expect the unexpected from me, however, when I showed them the pig in the back of my car the news spread throughout the school like wild fire.  The principal told me to get rid of her fast.  I knew if I turned her over to the animal control officer the owner would have to pay a whopping fine.  So, one of my students volunteered his back yard as a temporary holding pen.  

I rushed to his address, parked out back, and hefted this fat pork chop out of the car and through the back gate.  When I began to leave she ran at me and started biting my ankles.  So, much for thanking me from keeping her from being pork pate'. (I probably spelled that wrong)

Doing a galloping goose step I managed to flee the yard, jump into my car, and race back to school in a few short minutes.   The day settled into a normal routine except for the thousands of questions I was fielding from teachers and students alike.  I put a FOUND PIG add in newspaper and hoped for a call in a day or two, but in the meantime worried about putting her back into my car for the long trip home after school.

Have you ever seen a greased pig contest.  Well, I found out that they are hard to get hold of even if they aren't greased.  My friend stood at the gate cracking up as I chased this little ankle biter all over my student's back yard.  Finally, I tossed a blanket over her and tackled the darned thing.  I am sure that the squealing could be heard for blocks, but I got her into the car and headed home (60 minutes away).

Once home I constructed a make shift pig pen, called around for advice about feeding and congratulated myself for being such a nice person.  Three days later, I received a phone call from a relieved lady who was almost in tears over finding "ARIEL."  She drove over to my house that day and the reunion was monumental.

Ariel started squealing the minute her owner drove up.  I opened the makeshift pen and the little pig ran like a jack rabbit, straight for her owner.  Now, the lady started squealing also and yelling,  "Ariel, Ariel, sweet, Ariel."  The woman had her arms stretched out, and they both rushed toward each other (you know, like two star crossed lovers meeting up in a field).  Any way, the lady dropped to her knees just as she got to Ariel and the darned pig rushed into her arms like a long lost child.  The grunting and cooing (from both sides) was unbelievable.

Apparently, Ariel was a bit of an escape artist and the animal control officer had threatened to remove the pig from her owners care.  So, Ariel was whisked off to a farm a short distance from where the owner lived and we all lived happily ever after.
kt 4/22/12



Monday, June 25, 2012

#235 - DEER ME!

I live in a small town surrounded by farmland.  No matter where I drive I an always passing through miles and miles of country.  It is wonderful and I will always be thankful for the every day beauty this area has to offer.  It is nothing to see cows, pigs, chickens, ducks, turkeys, goats, owls, geese, turtles, snakes and hawks almost on a daily basis.  However, when one is driving at dawn or dusk there is one animal you don't want to see and that is a deer.

Over the years I have hit 5 deer.  Two, just damaged my car, two destroyed two different vehicles (one was an F-150 Ford Truck) and one sent me airborne for the ride of my my life.  It is this story that I am going to relate.

A friend and I were on the way home after seeing a particularly awful movie in Joplin.  We were driving down the highway discussing the dreadful flick when we saw some activity on the right side of the road.  Several men were standing there talking (in an animated manner) by their trucks on the right side of the road.  Not a single one of them waived, pointed, or signaled us of any danger but, I pulled over into the left lane just to be sure.  Since their presence on the side of the road was unusual I was looking at them and did not notice lump laying in the middle of the left lane.  By the time I spotted the carcass of the HUGE dead dear, it was too late.  My tires ramped up the belly of the deer and the car was launched up and over the mound much like an Evil Kinevel stunt. It seemed as though the car was in the air for a very long time, at least long enough for me to contemplate what kind of a landing might be ahead of me.

With my hands firmly on the wheel (still steering of course) of this small, red, Ford, Escort I felt as though I soared up into the sky.  My friend was screaming something and I think I uttered, "Oooooohhhhhh, sh##!" then landed on the two front wheels followed by the two rear wheels.  I felt like Cathy Rigby sticking her dismount and receiving a perfect 10.

The car wobbled a bit, but stuck to the road as an eerie silence settled over the car.  We drove on quietly for a while and then began to get mad.  We realized that those STUPID men were probably arguing over who was going to get to take the meat home.  None of them thought to warn any oncoming vehicles.  I felt like going back and giving them a piece of my mind and charging them $50 dollars for the customized tenderizing I had just performed.  However, I knew that since my hands were trembling like crazy that my knees were doing the same.  Falling flat on my face in front of them wasn't an attractive idea so, we went on home.

kt 3/15/12


#236 True Love

Monday, June 18, 2012


That's Jasper on the cat tree (no, that's not Kit).
When I lived in Southern California (60s-70s) I shared a duplex with my parents.  They were in the front and the kids and I were in the back.  This worked out really well, until our dog, Jasper (an adorable, but ornery Beagle) decided he liked roses. 

Mom had a large flower bed filled with beautiful roses in her part of the back yard.  She pruned and preened them almost every day.  She spent so much time with her lovely flowers that Jasper apparently thought it would be a good idea to help her.  He started digging in the beds around the base of the flowers.  And this, my friends, started the  "War of the Roses."

Mother complained to me, but I was away at work all day and didn't see how I could control Jasper's sudden interest in gardening.  I told her to just lock him on my side of the yard. But, the danged dog then developed a keen jumping style that propelled him over the short fence with little effort.

After talking with friends Mom came up with the idea of sprinkling cayenne pepper in the flower beds to make Jasper's gardening attempts less desirable (or so she thought).

One Saturday morning I heard this weird noise coming from the back yard.  There I found Jasper digging in the rose bed.  His beat red eyes were running profusely.  He was coughing and wheezing like an old worn out Model T.  As I stood there watching him excavate the loam he sneezed at least a dozen times.

I felt sorry for him, but it served him right for digging.  Finally, he gave up and went to the side of the yard to brood and rest up his respiratory system.  Now, it is important for you to know that Jasper was a VERY smart dog.  He was actually planning his next foray into the rose garden.

That next week I got a call from Mom while I was at work.  "He's really done it now!"  She exclaimed.  Confused, and thinking she was talking about my son, I replied, "What did Skipper (my son's child hood nick-name) do?"  "Not Skipper, "my  mother testily replied, "Jasper!"  She related to me how Jasper waited patiently by the back door until she stepped out.  Then he ran to one of the rose bushes, plucked a rose off and tossed it into the air.  When mother shrieked, Jasper knew he was on the right track and plucked some more.  Mother took chase and the war effort was doubled. 

Unfortunately for Jasper he was soon taken prisoner and chained to the back of the garage.  Her orders were that he was not allowed in the back yard unchained.  Well, what good is a dog if the kids and I could not play freely with it.  He was such a hyper-active animal that after a while I felt it was crewel to keep him chained up.  But, Jasper ended up winning after all as he was dispatched to heaven. wasn't put down!  I wouldn't do anything like that.  You see, I found him a home at a farm that raised beagles and since he was from a long line of prize winners the good ole boy was put out to stud!  Maybe this was his plan all along!!!!!!!

kt 4/12

#235 Deer Me
#236 True Love

Monday, June 11, 2012


A month (or so) ago I noticed that my clothes dryer was not drying as it should.  Now, friends, we all know that this means there is too much lint collected in the darned thing.  "Easy enough."  I thought, "I can do this myself."

Those of you who have gotten to know me by reading this blog are already on high alert.  "Yes," you are saying to yourself, "she is about to go into that place where she has gone many times before...debacle land (better known as the wacky world of Karen's projects).

Of course I pulled the dryer out, unhooked the foil covered 'slinky' thingy and cleaned out the back of the dryer (and said 'slinky').  I hooked everything back up and tried the dryer...nada, zip, zilch...still wouldn't dry.  This meant that the tin pipe that ran from the center of my house (where the laundry room is), under my bedroom, and out into the back yard had lint (and probably a sock or two) trapped inside. 

I went into a preplanning brainstorming mode (whichin retrospect proved to be totally useless) and devised a plan to clean out this 25 foot pipe. "Really," I thought again, "I can do this.  Besides a plumber would charge me major bucks! Think of all the money I can save." (And while I am at it...why is there a 'B' in plumber? Yes, I have ADHD)

First, I had to devise a way to reach the gunk held hostage in this long, looong, looooooong pipe.  I had a scathingly brilliant idea (and there will be extra points awarded to those of you who can tell me what movie that phrase came from).  "Easy peasy", I thought.  "All I have to do is tape together several of those old tent poles I have been hanging on to."  And 'voila' (Impressed? I am multi lingual), an 'obstruction removal device' was constructed.

With my helpers, Toby and Kit (who always love to watch me at work...for the comic relief I am sureI set about getting the job done.

Toby has already had his nose 
in that hole several times. (See
the long pole..clever huh!)

Kit kept swatting at the end of the pole
 like it was some kind of snake.

I carefully (key word) taped each segment of the poles together and rammed the end up into the pipe until it reached the curved portion in the laundry room floor (below).  Then I tied a nylon rope to the end and pulled it through the pipe.  
Here are the props for my scathingly brilliant idea. 
Once I had the line running through the pipe 
I attached a fuzzy duster to the cord.
Well, Toby had a different idea.
                                                         "Nope, Mom, you can't have it!"

"Ok, you chased me clear 
out into the back yard, so 
I guess you can have it now."
The next step was to pull the duster through the pipe.  Brilliant, right!  I had to hot foot it outside to pull the cord then do a reverse hot foot to pull it back.  However (and you knew there was going to be a however didn't you), there appeared to be a point about half way through where it got caught and I had to tug a little.  "No problem," I said to myself, "I will just tape a hand trowel to the end of the 'obstruction removal device' (the long poleand use it to poke and scrape the stubborn debris from the pipe."  

Considering this an even more scathingly brilliant idea, I went about the task of adding the trowel and then poked the entire devise up into the pipe.  I could feel the obstruction when the point of the trowel reached the spot so I jabbed at the reluctant glob and was elated to feel it give away.  Happily, I pulled the pole back so I could pull the duster through again.  HOWEVER (and this is the big however that you have been expecting), one of the taped sections came loose and lodged in the pipe.  Most of the pole came out but the section with the trowel remained behind.  "OH BOTHER!" (was not what I exclaimed).  

"Not to worry, I can fix this," I muttered to myself (I was definitely in a state of denial).  The nylon cord was still in the pipe so I attached the fuzzy duster to it again and proceeded to pull it through the pipe thus (in theory) dislodging the trowel and pole.  Nope, didn't work.  Not only that, the fuzzy duster is now held captive along with the trowel and partial pole.  

End result pictured below:

Sooooooo, if I wish to use my dryer (which is thankfully electric)
 I have to keep this filter on the back to catch the lint.  
The only problem is that
kt 5/31/12 

#234 The War of the Roses
#235 Deer Me
#236 True Love

Monday, June 4, 2012


Last summer I caused myself a bit of a dilemma (what's new).  I have a bad habit of climbing up onto whatever is close to reach things above my normal grasp.  This, in the past, has caused the demise of various cans, tables,  and, yes, boxes.  But none can compare with what happened when I climbed up onto a plastic outdoor chair.  

Picture this with a gaping, jagged
hole in the center.
You know the kind I am talking about.  You see them at every Target, K-Mart or Walmart each spring.  They are the colorful ones that grace almost every other back yard patio in the world.

Anyway, up onto the chair I went, to try and fix the garage door which was refusing to open (again for the 100th time).  I stepped up onto that plastic perch (which had apparently been in the sun waaaay to long to hold even a person half my weight).  No sooner than I had stepped up, my leg broke through the center.  The problem was not that I fell but... the chair seat immediately broke into a chard pattern and was holding my leg hostage.  In order to get my leg out I was going to have to pull it out against the chards.  "Oh, mannnnn, this was going to hurt," I said  (deja-vous, it seems as though I have said this to myself before).  

Add to this that I was in the garage and had no place to sit down in order to ponder the best plan of attack.  The garage door wouldn't budge and the only possible path to another chair was up two steps and through a spring-loaded storm door.  I gingerly walked over to the first barrier to gaining entrance to the house only to be stabbed in 3 places by the pointy chards.  

Obviously the problem occurred when I tried to get through the spring loaded storm door.  Acting much like an alligator the darned thing kept glomming onto the chair.  I couldn't seem to put the trapped leg up first or hop up the steps on my right leg.  The danged door opened up to the left.  I couldn't reach far enough to hold it open in order to avoid the chair which had latched onto me like a pirana (yes, I know the door is an alligator and the chair is a pirana...apparently my garage is a swamp of some sort).

Next, I looked around for some tools to break (or cut) the chair off of my leg.  Now, if your garage looks like mine, then you know that there is no clear path to anything of importance.  So, I staggered around with this chair maintaining a shark like grasp on my leg (may as well keep the analogies in the realm of deadly water animals).  

Picture this upside down.
I found a small crate on which to sit and attacked the 'sharkesque' chair with a small saw.  Makes sense...use teeth to attack teeth...NOT!    When I pushed down on the saw it worked OK. But, when I pulled up the monstrous teeth bit into my leg.  

Struggling to my feet I went in search of a more deadly weapon (at that point if I could have found a gun I would have gladly put the chair to death).

The only thing I could find was a rusty pair of pruning shears.  So, I plopped myself down on the crate again and began to try and cut the plastic.  Well, that danged stuff was brittle enough to shatter when I stepped on it but, held together when I tried to cut it.

I sat there thinking while sweat dripped of me as if I were actually in a stinking swamp.  As I was looking around for an idea I spotted a coil of clothes line rope.  BINGO!  Gingerly, I wrapped a loop around each shard (one at a time) and pulled the loop up over the arm and tied it off.   

It worked great.  Well, almost...The last chard broke and I fell backwards onto the plastic crate (that had, also, apparently been in the sun way too long).  The chair flew off my leg, and my butt was suddenly stuck in the broken crate.  I said, "Well, sh!!, this is another fine mess you have gotten yourself into."   (I think I must be somehow related to Laurel and Hardy).

I sat there laughing at myself and eventually turned over to the side and got my crate covered rump up off the floor.  With a little tug and wiggle the crate dropped to the floor.  

That day I went to Walmart to buy a step-stool.  On, occasion, I do learn from my mistakes... ... ... 

(And YES, I am in my "Blue Boy" period).  It seemed like the thing to do when the all the art turned out to be blue.


#233 Double Debacle 
#234 The War of the Roses
#235 Deer Me
#236 True Love

kt 3/18/12

Monday, May 28, 2012


When my kids and I first moved to Missouri in the early 70s  I was determined to let my kids have lots of animals around.   I have written about most of them. (Daisy #65 =  2/11/10), (Bantys #18 = 8/5/10), (Ducks #219 = 3/9/12) However, I have not written about how Daisy handled a little bantam rooster we called Turkey.

First, you have to understand how our bantam Rooster got the name Turkey.  We had two and they were both beautiful and so very colorful.  Their feathers shined in the sun and almost glowed
in the moonlight.  Dandy was sweet and gentle and came when called.  He was almost a pet.  Where as his anthesis, Turkey, was mean and evil so we called him Turkey (as in what a Turkey!) 

See, isn't he beautiful!
Anyway, Turkey always wanted to fight.  He tried to pick fights with Dandy.  He tried to pick a fight with his reflection in the hub caps of my car and the trash can.  He had a real problem with anger management because he would attack anything that moved and some things that didn't.  I had to resort to carrying a broom when I entered the back yard as Turkey would attack my legs immediately.  So, big deal.  He was only about ten inches tall.  However, on his legs were 3 inch spikes, not to mention his sharp beak.  Turkey was a real TURKEY and we were all just about fed up with his behavior when my dog, Daisy, decided she was fed up too.  After all, she had to share HER yard with this feathered fiend who thought it was HIS yard.  

One Saturday morning I let Daisy out and started washing dishes.  (This is the ONLY time in my life I actually liked to wash dished.  The reason is that my sink over looked our three acre back yard).

I heard Turkey's screech out his call to attack and looked up just in time to see him lunge at Daisy.  Well, Daisy faked to the right, spun around, and grabbed him by his neck.  I started to run out the door to save his sorry little butt, but Daisy simply held him by the neck.  She held him high so his claws barely touched the ground and then she did her daily rounds with Turkey helplessly hanging from her mouth.  

You see, every time Daisy went outside she her usual check for interlopers.  Today was no exception.  With Turkey clutched tightly in her mouth she conducted business as usual.  She ran around behind the garage, down the west fence, then across the south fence, (did her business with Turkey still in her mouth. a feat worthy of olympic status) and then trotted up the east fence to finish the rounds of HER yard.  She finally turned Turkey loose (who must have had his life flash before his eyes several time).  He staggered around like he was drun.  He then plopped down shaking his head (I guess to see if it was still attached).  Next he slowly got up, stretched and shook his feathers out, fell down, and then staggered to the chicken coop, disappearing inside.

I went out back to make sure he was all right.  He appeared to be fine however, his neck feathers were in a disgusting sopping wet disarray.  Poor Turkey did not come out of the coop for a couple of days (not even to announce the arrival of dawn).  When he did come out it was like he was "born again."  Turkey never attacked another man, beast, or hubcap again.  Apparently, Daisy made him see the error of his ways and he repented.

Monday, May 21, 2012

#230 - "THWANG!"

The thwanger and the thwangee, CHRISTMAS 68

This is a short one...I seem to be running out of stories or words or both. 

Thanks to Melynda and her Pee story I remembered this about my two and prompted the question,

"At what age should a parent stop allowing  siblings to take baths together?"

Well, my daughter was about 2 1/2 and my son was around 5 which means that  I had been giving them baths together for around 2  years.  They got along well and it was obviously less time consuming to wash them both at the same time.  Bath time was a lot of fun with lots of toys, splashing and giggling.  

Then, one day my son stood up to step out of the bathtub and the above question was answered rather quickly.  My daughter suddenly reached up and smacked his....his....his...well you know and then said,"Thwang! "  Both kids laughed as I groaned because that meant bath time just changed and a I was going to need to have a personal conversation with my son to explain why.

So, the answer to the above question is:  The time has definitely arrived when there is a wiener whacking, followed by sound effects.

Monday, May 14, 2012


A while back Laila  (The Untroubledkingdomoflailaknight) sent me a challenge and one of the questions I had to answer was:  #5 = Have you ever thrown your panties/underwear at a rock star or other celebrity? If so, which one(s)? If not, which one(s) WOULD you throw your panties/underwear at, given the opportunity?

This was my answer:
I have never thrown my underpants to anyone. However, it just so happens that I did throw my panty hose at a Matador while in Tijuana watching a bull fight.  But, cerveza (beer) did play a major role in that fiasco (and I did have underpants on under the hose).  This incident is on my list for a future post.  

So, here is the post I alluded to to which I alluded. (See, I do know not to end my sentences with a preposition, but it sounds so prissy.) 

The summer after my senior year in high school I was asked out on a date by a very handsome and sought after young man.  I was ecstatic and looking forward to the date.  However, since he wanted to go to Tijuana I insisted that we double date with a friend of mine.  He had a friend that would be just right so the date was made.

After the two hour drive we arrived at the border where we had to park our car and take a taxi into town.  The taxi ride was part of the adventure.  None of us spoke Spanish, but all we had to say was bull fight and off he went (at the speed of sound).  He weaved and dodged other vehicles and sightseers.  The driver appeared to be in a race with other taxi drivers to get his fares to the spectical.   He took one turn on two wheels and then screeched to a stop.
In front of us was a long line of cars going up this narrow road to the place where the bull fights were held.  Seeing that the only way around the traffic jam was to take a detour to the right side of the road he did just that.  This meant that he had to drive on the side of the hill as there was very little shoulder on the road.  With all four of us in the back seat we slid together like sardines.  It was then that I realized that we probably should have stopped in town and gotten blitzed first.

Finally, after a harrowing ride we made it in one piece to the arena.  The place was filled with people, most of them drunk and apparently celebrating surviving their ride to the arena.

After finding a seat fairly close to the pit we stopped a young man walking around yelling,
"CERVEZA."  Immediately, our hands popped up in unison.  It was a good thing that I had several cervezas under my belt before the action started.  It was interesting at first, but then the bloody part started and right then I decided I was never going to another bull fight.  By the time the whole thing was over I was so drunk that I was really inthralled with the Matador.  So, when several women started taking off their panties and tossing them into the ring I guess it must have seemed like a good idea to me.  The only problem was that I had panty hose on over my pants (thank God).  So, I, not so delicately, pulled off my panty hose and tossed them into the ring.  That must have been quite the sight as they kept catching on everything.  I can remember having a hard time getting them off so I must have danced and gyrated quite a bit.  My girl friend said loud cheers that rivaled those that the matador had received rang out during my exhibition. 

Imagine this guy with a pair of panty hose
hanging from his nose.

The taxi driver taking us back to town drove like a little old man.  He probably knew to take it easy so his cab wasn't littered with recycled cerveza.

But that's not the end of my story (what a surprise).  We then had a terrific meal at a street side cafe (with bottled water of course).  We did some sight seeing and walked around looking for a show to attend.  I was aware of the raunchyness of some of the shows in Tijuana so I carefully reviewed the pictures on each marque posted outside of each establishment.  After what seemed like ages we came to one that showed a fully dressed (gorgeous) woman only dancing, so we went in.  Wanting to keep my dinner in my stomach I had stopped drinking by this time, but the guys hadn't.

We watched this beautiful woman dance for about 40 minutes.  She was very good and extremely seductive.  She had the most beautiful legs I have ever seen and the guys kept making all kinds of comments about what they would like to do with those legs (as you can probably imagine).  I was beginning to worry about what the guys might want to do after watching such a sexy show, however, the dancer took care of that for me.  Once finished, and with quite a flourish, she took a bow.  (It is what happened next that took care of my worries.)   She reached behind her back and undid her braw.  I sat up straight and softly said, "Oh, no!" (thinking it was a strip tease after all),  then to my delight HE flipped HIS bra and HIS wig off at the same time.

I roared with laughter as I knew that this was a real embarrassment to the guys who had been going on about HIM throughout the entire show.  One might say it was a real downer!


kt 9/2011