doing the actual work
dream all you want to
"How did it get so late so soon?" ~Dr. Seuss
15 Mar 2017 2 Comments
doing the actual work
dream all you want to
01 Mar 2017 2 Comments
feels like spring is here
Mother Nature might get bit
she will not be pleased
Best of all, March means more Jayhawk Basketball, for which we are mad, I tell you.
15 Feb 2017 2 Comments
self-care is hard-learned
after all options used up
rest has to happen
09 Feb 2017 Leave a comment
clear out the cobwebs
brain engages as it will
worth the good effort
28 Dec 2016 Leave a comment
lull before the storm
gather your wits about you
flight is an option
26 Oct 2016 Leave a comment
fall is full of whim
having its way with the world
running hot and cold
03 Feb 2016 4 Comments
Let’s talk comfort food. First of all, this German girl has no clue what the phrase “leftover mashed potatoes” even means — I suggest you simply whip up some spuds from scratch. And on a far deeper level, if potatoes, cheese, and Panko crumbs do not say “WINNING” to you, how did we become friends?
13 May 2015 4 Comments
I can’t write, I might as well face it and move on.
It isn’t that I can’t write, I know how, but the words have all gone somewhere else. Things come to me but I don’t make it to the end of the first sentence and the orphaned drafts are starting to rack up bandwidth. I have pressure behind my eyes from needing to write something that doesn’t suck, but I sit here every day and do nothing but procrastinate.
Yes, I would like some brie with that whine, be right back …
Wrote that a week ago, walked away from it, looked through some old photos that same afternoon and wrote this. On Facebook. Just like that, shazott. Learned something about myself that’s been knocking around in my head all week, and when it settles into a shape and forms sentences, I’ll share.
So from a week ago …
Did you get the memo saying PLEASE, NO THROWBACK HUMPDAY PHOTOS?? Neither did I.
This one has layers. Start with where the truck is parked. The blue spruce snuggled up to the passenger side was brought from Colorado, by my grandparents, as a seedling back in ought-whenever because that was perfectly legal then. It grew to many, many feet tall and almost as many feet wide at the base until one day in a storm it simply came out of the ground and assumed a horizontal position, landing on and against the house but wreaking minimal havoc. (Back-story: My grandparents’ house is to the right, where we see part of a roof.)
Then there’s the truck, a fixture of my childhood. It was gray and pretty wonderful, and when my dad drove it to town with the first cutting of wheat to test for moisture content, the gray-dust-covered elevator guys motioned him to drive the front wheels onto the lift, because of course there were no hydraulics under the bed … and then they raised the front of the truck high enough for the wheat to pour out the open tailgate in the back. Which was pretty freaking high to a seven-year-old and he only let me stay in the cab with him once, but not because I cried. I’m pretty sure he decided Mother wouldn’t approve.
Which brings us to the watermelons. Big, dark green, full of luscious red fruit, and juice that ran down our chins and made everything stick to our hands. Every summer, a truckload like this and far more came from my grandpa’s big patch in the middle of a section, next to an irrigation engine. The melon patch was raided one night by a couple of carloads of high school kids — the four girls dropped the four guys off and drove around the section (a square mile), stopping to let their boyfriends stash gunny sacks full of melons in the car trunks. My dad, Grandpa, and a couple of the neighbors, alerted by the sudden rash of traffic in the middle of nowhere, ambushed them in mid-haul, blinded them with spotlights, and panic ensued. The girls drove off, the boys lost their shoes in a field covered in Texas Tacks, and the whole thing ended up in court. My grandpa didn’t mind a melon going missing once in a while, but he held a big feed for the whole township every year and it made him mad that these guys had stolen more than thirty of his prize watermelons and deliberately destroyed a goodly number of the rest just for the hell of it. But it infuriated him even more when he asked the ringleader’s name and the kid said “John Wagner.” That was my grandpa’s name and he thought he had a bona fide smart-ass in front of him. True story, though, and Big Daddy was an attorney — with the same name. I understand it got fairly comical during the hearing but my grandpa never cracked a smile. Fun and games. Told you. Layers.
04 Feb 2015 4 Comments
See the post before this one? Okay … GUESS. WHAT. DAY. IT. IS!! Yes. Again.
So it may or may not have been a somewhat challenging week in which whimpering, bitching, and one hugh-jass meltdown happened. Pretty sure there was an afternoon where somebody cried for two or three hours and totally freaked out her husband and fluffy little dog. The upside is that the eye — the sumbish in our story — actually felt better afterward, so there’s that.
The days have slipped by and the weather outside has gone from cold to warm to cold again. We’re hibernating … but ready to be sociable. Not today so much, because it’s snowy and wet and feels like 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and what you hear me saying is that unless you’re coming to our house we won’t be seeing you yet, because the fireplace is just too nice, and Maddie and I are snuggled at my desk with the divine little radiant heater Kim got us today, the same Kim who’s adorably zoned out “watching” TV … and we’re just not leaving, you can’t make us leave.
It’s gray here, and cold. I’m glad that never lasts. Grass and leaves and sunshine always feel slow coming back, just like health and well-being, but it all gets here, and mostly on time.
Coming back. Might even be back again tomorrow …
21 Jan 2015 12 Comments
Today was the day, kids — Quasimodo for the win!! The cunning little Basal Cell Surprise has been routed, three cheers for the good guys!
Muy painful, but that won’t last long, right? The eye will remain surgically closed for the next six to eight weeks while the graft (skipping right over the details here) establishes itself. Meanwhile, functioning with one eye when I’m used to two is an adventure in staying upright. Depth perception and a gyro are dicey for me on a good day, so all respect to people who manage to excel at this!
Wanna see what the MOHS procedure-thing looks like? Holy cow, what a poor sport!
Okay, I’ll just post it for my aunt and that one friend …
DISCLAIMER: Possibly NSFW
WARNING: GROSS!! ICKY!!
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU NOT READ???
And yet here you are … lord knows I tried.
Sharing to say this: IF YOU HAPPEN TO NOTICE AN ODD BUMP, DON’T IGNORE IT.
Here’s a picture of Maltese puppies to make up for that!
07 Jan 2015 2 Comments
Yesterday was a little crazy-making and today is a deep-freeze. Applying coffee, a hot shower, and M&Ms, and trusting that the immediate world will right itself before day’s end. Snuggle up, kids, might as well make the best of another HumpDay!
So an attorney and a senior citizen are sitting next to each other on a long flight. The lawyer’s thinking that older people are so out of touch he could easily get one over on this guy.
He asks the retiree if he’d like to play a fun game. The guy’s tired and just wants to take a nap, so he politely declines and tries to catch a few zzz’s.
The lawyer persists, however, saying that the game is too much fun to miss out on. “I ask you a question, and if you don’t know the answer, you pay me only $5.00. Then you ask me one, and if I don’t know the answer, I’ll pay you $500.00,” he says.
This catches the man’s attention so to keep the annoying passenger quiet he agrees to play the game with him.
The attorney asks the first question. “What’s the distance from the Earth to the Moon?”
The senior doesn’t say a word, just reaches into his pocket, pulls out a five-dollar bill, and hands it to the lawyer.
Now it’s the older guy’s turn. He asks the lawyer, “What goes up a hill with three legs, and comes down with four?”
The lawyer googles everything he can think of but can’t find the answer. He sends e-mails to all his smart friends, to no avail.
After an hour of searching, he finally gives up. He wakes his fellow traveler and hands him $500.00.
The senior pockets the $500.00 and goes right back to sleep.
The lawyer is going nuts now, not knowing the answer. He wakes the guy up again and asks, “Well, so what DOES go up a hill with three legs and come down with four??”
The weary older guy reaches into his pocket, hands the lawyer $5.00, and goes back to sleep.
(Shared by my friend and fellow old person, Rudy Loewen)
31 Dec 2014 4 Comments
Didn’t feel like losing it over anything on Monday, so you got a break. Love it while you can because that’s over in 4 … 3 … 2 …
So Monday was okay, as I recall. Tuesday afternoon we’re tootling along Hwy 10 when the tootle goes away.
Kim sits, hands on wheel, just long enough to assess how and why and mutter “F*ckin’ embarrassing” before he starts walking. Li’l Truck inhaled the last of the fumes about a quarter of a mile short of an exit, beyond which there is rumored (according to the sign) to be a service station, but just before Kim gets to the exit ramp somebody in a big black truck pulls over, picks him up, and drives away.
Which, after the shortest, most obscure Monday Rant you are likely ever to hear from me, brings us to Thankfulness Tuesday. Because yes, there was a service station just beyond the exit ramp. WAS. Extinct and crusty. Enter Ric, driving back to KC after the cold burial of a much-loved friend. Spots my husband strolling along the highway, hunkered against the chill, a heavy coat, stocking cap pulled over most of his face, imposing enough man that you’d notice, and of course pulls right over. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ric. Ric isn’t a big guy, but he sticks in your mind that way. He repairs heavy equipment and does pipeline work, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t afraid of much, but his kind heart is a lot bigger than all that. He insists on driving back down the 4-lane to get the Madster and me, carts us all back the other way to where the service station really IS, then west one more time where he uses his new truck to shield Kim from Highway Harm while he pours gas in the tank. And yeah, then follows us back to the same service station so he knows for sure we made it, and tells Kim to give that piece of green to somebody who’s looking for it.
But wait, there’s more. Kim’s a good mechanic, knows a lot about a lot. For instance, he’s known since he bought the truck that it needs a new sending unit for the gas gauge, and probably a new fuel pump while you have the tank dropped, but since he doesn’t have a place to do his own work anymore and hasn’t loved the estimates he’s gotten, he’s just gradually developed a little system. The system failed yesterday. But only so we could start getting acquainted with Ric, and so he could offer to replace the unit for parts at his cost, plus labor. Helps him, lets my husband win. Think it’s gonna happen.
Also it’s HumpDay AND New Year’s Eve. Do with that what you will, kids.
frightfully wondrous things happen here.
Working towards global equity and equality
Creative humour, satire and other bad ideas by Ross Murray, an author living in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, Canada. Is it truth or fiction? Only his hairdresser knows for sure.
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