Happy Birthday IamLuke!  

                        And BIG love!

                                  -Your Fifi

    Yesterday:  Easter shopping for grands and the great managed to sudk up every ounce of energy I had and more.  Unlike a lot of chicks, I do not possess a "shopping gene."  I'd pay someone to get my groceries if I could.....and I love giving presents, but I hate shopping for them.  Go figure.

    Today:  If the sky turns blue, I'll work outside.  If it doesn't, the dreaded chore of finishing the taxes before Saturday beckons dismally.  In addition to hating to shop, I also hate numbers.  My 8th grade math teacher used to tell me that numbers were my friends, but she lied.  Words are my friends; songs are my friends; animals are my friends; and people are my friends. Numbers are enemies and should be avoided with gusto except under penalty of law.

    Tomorrow:  I am an official "Egg-Hider" for Amazing Grace's Easter celebration at school and afterward, it's "IamLuke's" 2nd birthday.  Pictures soon, I hope.

    • Yes, I got the backyard grass cut.  No, I did not have to jump JD....he started without a hitch on Friday.  I should have known that he would, but my temporal lobes had temporarily misplaced the fact that Toad Hall is located smack dab in the middle of the “Bermuda Triangle of Electronics.”

    • Definition(s) for The Bermuda Triangle of Electronics:
      (1) any place where you turn a TV on and it turns itself off.  And vice versa. 
      (2) any place where two out of 5 televisions can change their own channels, usually in the middle of a suspenseful program. Sometimes, if one is patient, they will change back again, but they are not reliable about that.
      (3) any place where the stereo receiver turns itself on every time there is thunder and lightning outside.
      (4) any place where you flip the switch to turn on the kitchen light and it might come on and it might not.
      (5) any place where you cannot run the vacuum sweeper and heat the front room concurrently without popping a breaker.
      (6) NEW!! Any place where John Deere will turn over only when he is in the mood, regardless of the same technique being used for each attempt by his owner.

    • Semi-related thought bubble:  I once owned an electric alarm clock that began running backwards for no reason; ditto a wind-up Davy Crockett wrist watch.  The clock burst into flames immediately following it’s unusual behavior, but the watch just kept running backwards every time I wound it.  I do not mourn the alarm clock, but Davy has been sorely missed ever since.

    • A birthday dinner last night for my sweet, wonderful mother-in-law at the home of my no-good, rotten stepdaughter included, but was not limited to, the following: 

      (1) 14 people crammed into the dining room of a mobile home;
      (2) a heretofore unknown 15-year-old guest weighing approximately 350 pounds who had recently shaved her head;
      (3) another heretofore unknown 15-year-old guest who had a REALLY skinny little kid in tow and was extremely pregnant with another kid;
      (4) an adult guest weighing approximately 350 pounds who is also pregnant but you can’t tell by looking, who announced that she is diabetic and couldn’t eat anything;
      (5) 3 wooden chairs that fell into several pieces while people were sitting on them;
      (6) an apology from the hostess for not remembering to apply glue to the chairs before dinner;
      (7) dusty serving plates that had previously been used as wall decor;
      (8) no apology from the hostess for not remembering to dust said plates;
      (9) a “gourmet” meal cooked in an oven with no handle on its door;
    (10) an especially-made titty-pink Dairy Queen cake the size of Delaware; and
    (11) there’s more, but I (still) have a headache.
 

    • My sweet, wonderful mother-in-law is 84 years old now.  I love her dearly and find her amazing in EVERY way -- largely because she can take all of the above in stride and never bat an eye.  My own eyes are still batting furiously.  God knows when they will stop.

    • Fifi O’Toole can be found this day grasping a bottle of Excedrin tightly in each hand while kissing the ground at Toad Hall and singing, "Gee, it's good to be back home again," along with John Denver.

    Can you guess which one of these is mine?

Here's a hint:  It's the one that won't start. 

Despite just having returned from the Deere Hospital a mere few weeks ago, yesterday JD coughed, sputtered, and flatly refused all my attempts to get him into the backyard sea of grass.  Furious, I grabbed the phone and punched in the Deere Doctor's number:

Fifi:  "It hasn't been more than a month since I paid you a BUCKET of money for John's yearly check-up and now he won't start!"

Deere Doctor: "Try charging his battery, lady."

Fifi:  "Oh."

But now it is pouring rain, so I suppose there's not much point in jumping JD today. He'll have to wait until tomorrow.  Perhaps I'll work in the basement so I cannot hear the grass growing taller and thicker in the backyard.  Or maybe I'll search the Yellow Pages for a Bush Hog.

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Brief tribute to Gene Pitney, with whom I had an equally brief fling when I was 11.  He seemed handsome and romantic for a time, but then I met Bob and marveled that I ever could have loved a guy with unmovable hair and such a whiny voice.

I just learned that Gene died last Tuesday. So long, Gene. Again.   

     Long live Bob...long live his hair...long live his harmonica!

    Wednesday's Thought Bubble:  The amount of pollen inhaled while mowing grass is directly proportionate to the size of one's nose.

    Feef's Corollary to Wednesday's Thought Bubble: The speed at which grass grows in the backyard is (apparently) directly proportionate to the number of animals who use it as a lavatory.

Editor's Note: No, this is not an ACTUAL photo of my backyard....just a reasonable facsimile. I am still working toward my goal of being the last person on earth to purchase a digital camera.

        Havoc reigns here at “Toad Hall-On-the-Hill” every time there’s a thunderstorm and it tends to annoy me beyond zebra because I genuinely LIKE storms. But unfortunately, two out of three dogs have declared them to be a mental health menace, and so has Obsessive Olga, my neighbor across the road. Picture last night:

    I get home from a late run to the grocery just in time to make it in the house before buckets of rain descend from the heavens.  It is almost 10 p.m. -- supper time for the critters -- so I begin to round up dog & cat dishes.  The phone rings.  Olga, who is terrified of any type of weather short of a heavy dew, announces that we are under a tornado warning and that she is going to the basement and will not be able to hear her phone if I call.  (Never mind that I NEVER call Olga -- she does this every single time bad weather is imminent, tornado warnings or not.  Without fail.)

    Tongue planted firmly in cheek, I thank her, hang up, and postpone feeding the critters for a moment to turn on the television see if she’s exaggerating again. She is, but only a little. It’s only a tornado “watch” and hasn’t reached “warning” level yet, but there definitely is some heavy duty weather hurtling our way.  I begin to hear the wind pelting hail against the side of the house and two out of three dogs immediately go bonkers.

    For #1 dog, Sadie, storms at suppertime are always a horrible dilemma. The world’s biggest chow hound, every night she goes into a food frenzy, racing ‘round and ‘round the kitchen and barking at the top of her little doggie lungs.  (It always sounds as though the Hottentots have just arrived and are breaking down the front door to come in and kill us all, but it’s really just a small starving Sheltie.)  Storms, on the other hand, tend to shatter her little doggie nerves and she usually paces and pants....paces and pants.....paces and pants.....until they subside.  So...what to do?  Pace and pant, or perform the feeding frenzy ritual?  She finally opted for the frenzy, as I’d guessed she would.  Nothing gets between Sadie and her food.

    But #2 dog, Angel the Hun, an enormous black Lab, is not nearly as impressed with food as she is terrified by thunder and rain.  Pointing out to her that Labs love water and that’s why she has webbed feet goes in one floppy ear and out the other.  She becomes 100 pounds of dead weight sitting on my feet and leaning against the front of my legs. I cannot move forward, obviously, so I am attempting to maneuver about the kitchen backwards when -- (insert loud crash of thunder here) -- the power goes out.

    I am now standing in a pitch black kitchen with a scoop of Purina Dog Chow in my hand and a 100-pounds of quivering black Angel attempting to climb up and sit on my shoulder.  As I attempt to pry myself loose from the now-invisible Hun and grope about blindly for a flashlight, the phone (also black) rings again.

    I finally get to the flashlight, locate the phone and answer it, only to hear a screeching Olga on the other end:
 
    “DidyourPOWERgoout?MyPOWERwentout!” she screamed without taking a breath.  I wanted to ask why in the hell she came up out of her basement to tell me something I already knew, but I didn’t.  Before I could think of anything more diplomatic to say, however, she yowled that she was calling the Electric Company and hung up. (Clearly a one-sided conversation....all I got to say was “Hello?”)

    To make a long story longer, the dogs and the cat ate by candlelight last night.  I went to bed at an unheard-of early hour, leaving Sadie to pant and pace alone.  And Angel firmly planted herself as close to the bed as she could get.  Although I couldn’t SEE her, I could smell her doggie breath....so after making a mental note to remember to vault over her in case I had to get up in the night, I sunk into my pillow and slept.  A mere hour later I was awakened by Buster Kitty kisses on my face, the TV blaring, every light in the house on, and 3 dogs standing over by the door with their legs crossed -- quite desperate to go outside. Three cheers for the electric company.....and Olga the Persistent.

    Got up, let the dogs out, turned off the lights, turned off the TV, sunk BACK into my pillow. Yesss!   But then the phone rang again. “Is your POWER back on?” screeched Olga.  “MINE is!”

    GAWD!  Get me a GUN!!

    Took a deep breath, wished Olga “sweet dreams,” sank back into my pillow for the third time, and the phone rang AGAIN.  Thoughts of mayhem entered my mind, but this time it was not Olga. Instead, it was my friend Willie Nelson, from the next county over. 

    (Well okay, he’s not really Willie Nelson, but he LOOKS and SOUNDS like Willie Nelson, so that’s what I call him.  Willie is kind of an “old hippie stoner” type of dude, so he’s usually pretty toasty by 3 a.m. This morning was no exception.)

    “Ah got hit by a torNAYdo, Fifi!” he exshclaimed in a shlur. “There’s trees day-own an’ ever-thing!  And some-uns’ ROOFING come rat thru mah front door! Whut’ll ah DO? The waf is down to Cave City all week....kin ah borra yer CAR tomorra?”

    I WANTED to say: “My car? The only one of three that actually RUNS? You live in CAMPBELLSBURG, for crissakes....30+ miles away! Don’t you know anyone ELSE between here and there whose car you could borra?” 

    But I didn’t say that. I just said yes. We all need a little help from our friends sometimes, so it was the right thing to do.  And certainly the quickest way off the goddammed phone, which did not ring again until 2 p.m. this afternoon. (You guessed it, Olga again. This time she wondered if I thought the fish she’d had in the fridge had spoiled during our 2-hour power outage.)

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    Note to Princess Prissy and HighonPrine:  Do you think “IamLuke” can wait a couple more days for his birthday present?  Willie Nelson has my wheels.     

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     Note to EVERYONE: We all really do need a little help from our friends (and family) sometimes. Thanks much for being there to help haul my sorry butt over last weeks’ hurdle of the blahs and the blues.  Uh....any of y’all got a car I can borra?

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It’s Springtime 2006 and I’m trying to think about....

    -The bright yellow daffodils planted by Lin’s Grandmother Lula so many years ago that continue to bloom gloriously and in abundance. I’ve been going out  every day and encouraging them along.

    -The ever-growing burn pile. I must take a day soon and collect the winter’s dead branches and watch for an unwindy day to burn them.  Last years’ dried asparagus fern can be added to the pile, too.....pretty soon there will be so much fresh asparagus that I’ll be delivering it to everyone I know.

    -Finding something to plant along the strip between the sidewalk and the house where the sun beats down so hot in summer.  Maybe Creeping Phlox.

    -Whether I should order some of that Focus Factor stuff they are hawking on TV.  Then maybe I would actually finish my taxes, started two months ago.

    -How Sadie the Sheltie needs to be bathed and groomed. A job and a half.

    -Shedding Season is here for dogs & cat, and the multitudes of  boofs & tumbleweeds of hair that’ll soon be rolling across the floor.....an overworked vacuum sweeper and stocking up on sweeper bags that can only be found in a faraway store.

    -Open windows and breezes that smell so deliciously fresh.
    

It’s Springtime 2006 and I’m trying not to think Springtime 2005. Without very much success.

    Fall is my favorite time of year, but Lin always loved the springtime best. I said spring meant sneezing and that hot, icky weather was coming. He said spring made him think of new beginnings, planting vegetables and flowers and being outdoors working on this land that was his very heartbeat.  But then he also told me that he’d known since childhood that when he died it would be springtime. He didn’t know HOW he knew; he just knew.  I chattered back flippantly, “How morbid can you get?  Just make sure you live longer than me....I don’t want to be left behind.  And besides, my birthday is in April! So if you’re going in the spring, don’t even THINK of going first....it would not be a good birthday present at all.”  He laughed and said, “Well, okay. I promise not to die in April.”  I couldn’t get him to promise to let me die first, but it wasn’t really a big concern. We had years and years ahead of us to laugh, live and love.

    But this time last year, we both knew Lin would be leaving soon. I remember how tired he was. The strong and energetic man of so many accomplishments who had never been still for longer than a few minutes at a time was taking frequent naps throughout the days now.

    I remember never crying in front of him and wondering how I was managing that. Sheer determination? Divine intervention maybe? Who knows. 

    I remember waking up every morning and feeling gratitude beyond words for just one more day together.

    I remember that he never lost his sense of humor. 

    I remember wordlessly taking over various tasks and chores, one by one, as he became weaker. 

    I remember him putting his arms around me and his voice in my ear saying, “I love you...I love you...I love you.”  As if he was afraid that I didn’t already know.

    I remember my friends coming to the house with carloads of Pansies -- Lin’s favorite flower -- that they planted out by the porch.  He was amazed and ever so delighted...and the smile on his that day face lit up the whole world. 

    I remember wishing a thousand times and more that I could make the ultimate bargain with whomever is in charge of such things and trade my life for Lin’s.

    I remember being an emotional disaster inside while presenting a cool, calm exterior facade for his mother, his children, and my children. OUR children. Our friends.

    I remember determinedly staying busy, busy, busy while he napped, but I don’t remember how I did that or even what I was doing.

    I remember Buster Kitty staying close to Lin at all times...purring and ”playing the piano” on Lin’s arm while he napped as if all that kitty love would make his friend well again.

    Lindsey didn’t die in April. We celebrated my birthday on the 16th and our wedding anniversary on the 22nd together -- just the two of us here at home. He felt horrible of course, but he lied and pretended that he felt good. And I pretended that I didn’t know he was faking it. 

    By early May, we knew with certainty that we didn’t have much longer together. We said our goodbyes, we talked about how things would be when he was gone. We talked about things I will never write about or say out loud again. We talked endlessly about our hopes and dreams for our kids and grand kids, too....but not about the hopes and dreams we’d had of growing old together. Not any more. He left me behind on May 15. It was springtime, but it wasn’t April . Lindsey kept his promise to me, as always. 

    At present, I’m not half as flippant as I used to be. And I don’t laugh quite as easily these days. But fall is still my favorite time of year.

   

This space dedicated to Buck Owens, who, to the dismay of her parents, kept a little yankee girl spellbound many years before she moved down south.

And many years before Hee Haw.

It's people like you who make people like me, Buck.  Thanks.

Too lazy to come up with my own topic today...therefore, this entry is dedicated to Angie Dickinson & Kalamutneh.

Angie was an actress/femme fatale with a very sexy voice and a "come hither" smile...quite the hot chick in her day. And even beyond her day! She's one of those women who aged EXTREMELY gracefully. And everyone always remarked on her gorgeous legs. (And stuff.)

She always kinda' intrigued me, and even if I didn't care much for a particular movie or TV show that she starred in, I still liked watching her act. Plus, I was pea green with envy over her voice. (And stuff.)

I have no idea where she is now.

Perhaps Ed Kaz is holding her hostage in Shellpile, New Jersey.

So. Now you can say that you know who Angie Dickinson is.

Or was, as the case may be.  (If Ed does have her, I do hope he's gotten her a more stylish telephone!)

And how did we GET on this subject, anyway?  (insert puzzled grin here)